#i only started regularly watching like a week ago and yet i would absolutely die for chayanne | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sage-nebula · 3 years

Note

Hmmm... "tfw ur evil mom doesnt like ur bf"

Despite the glib file name I gave it, this one is actually pretty serious.

This one takes place in my Paradigm Shift AU, which is an AU in which not only was Keith raised in space, and not only did he join Team Lotor, but he and the rest of Team Lotor (or Team Revolutionary as I call this version of them) became the Paladins of Voltron and are fighting a revolution against the Empire. More specifically, this WIP was an AU of my AU, and more specifically still it's a, "what if Haggar controlled Narti in Paradigm Shift the same way she did in canon? What if the Narti Incident still happened?" After I considered the question I couldn't get it out of my head, so I had to write it down—or at least start to write it down, before I got distracted by other things.

TL;DR: Haggar uses Narti to spy (against Narti's will), and Lotor (in a moment of trauma-induced panic) tries to kill her as in canon, only to be stopped by Keith . . . and things get worse from there. Narti does end up escaping (nothing but unrefrigerated women in my AU), but Team Revolutionary is pretty badly fractured as a result of what Haggar makes her do after Keith intervenes, how Lotor reacts to what she does, how Ezor reacts to how Lotor reacts to what she does, and all the emotional fallout that comes with it.

I actually had quite a bit written, so I'll give multiple snippets:

So one Sincline ship was necessary, absolutely, but Lotor had ordered the construction of four more with the remainder of the comet they had secured from an alternate reality. At first, Acxa hadn’t understood why. They had their Lions, and while she couldn’t speak for Zethrid, Ezor, or Narti, Acxa herself was pretty attached to Red. She didn’t want to trade for a Sincline ship. But Lotor had, when she had questioned him, pointed out the fact that they would not be able to pilot Voltron forever. Eventually, they would die or move on to other things. And when they did, and Voltron passed into other hands, it may be necessary to have a check on its power, just in case.

“At present, the Sincline ships are the only ships in the known universe with a hope of meeting Voltron in a fair fight,” he had said. “They will only be five ships, one per Lion, when completed, but that is still five more ships than the universe had before.”

“But we have them,” Ezor had said, “so aren’t we just making a check on ourselves?”

“We have them now,” Lotor had said, a little smile playing at his lips, “but we need not have them forever. Nothing is eternal, Ezor.”

With that decided, construction had progressed on the remaining four. Acxa had to say, they were impressive. While she still felt a strong attachment to Red that she wasn’t willing to break, the Sincline ships gleamed in the light of their hangar, and their cockpits had a soft scent that was comforting and welcoming at once (“New ship smell,” Keith had called it, and Acxa wasn’t so sure about that, but she also couldn’t think of anything to counter it). The third ship was about halfway complete; between the mechanics they had recruited and the droids they had built for this purpose, construction was coming along at a brisk pace, and so Lotor’s smile as the six of them watched its progress from the doorway of the hangar was (in Acxa’s opinion) completely warranted.

“At this rate, we should be able to begin testing on the third ship within the next few months,” Lotor said, his voice raised a little to be heard over the sound of the ore being soldered. “Acxa, have you checked the calibration and pilot test results from the second ship?”

“Yes,” Acxa said. “Calibration of the second ship is complete, and it passed all other tests with no errors. It’s in perfect form.”

“Excellent.”

Lotor cast one last satisfied look at the half-completed third ship before he turned and left the hangar, the rest of them turning to follow suit. Well, most of the rest of them; Keith alone lingered for just a moment more, smiling a little as he looked back at the ship, but when he turned and caught Acxa watching him, his smile fell.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Acxa said, and though she resisted the urge to roll her eyes, she couldn’t keep a little smile off her own lips as she followed after Lotor, Ezor, Narti, and Zethrid down the corridor. “Attached already, are you?”

“I like ships,” Keith said, a little defensively as he fell into step beside her. “That’s all.”

“I know,” Acxa said. But though it was childish of her, and though there was no reason to rile him over being excited at the construction of the Sincline ships, she still couldn’t stop herself from adding, “Nerd,” under her breath.

She glanced at him in time to see him roll his eyes, but he was smiling a little again as he stepped to the side to knock his shoulder against hers in a playful bump, and that made her own smile grow.

[. . .]

It had been six weeks since an agent of the Blade named Ulaz had infiltrated the castleship looking for someone named Shiro—six weeks since Keith saw a symbol on Ulaz’s weapon that he thought looked vaguely familiar, and six weeks since Ulaz had looked at Keith with an expression caught somewhere between joy and heartache, like he knew him, somehow, but couldn’t acknowledge that even to himself. Ulaz had given them the coordinates to one of the Blade of Marmora’s bases, and had urged them to go there as soon as possible. Keith wanted to; it was obvious that was what he wanted without him having to say it. But he had said it after Ulaz had left them, his jaw set and his eyes burning holes into the floor as he spoke privately to Acxa and Lotor.

“I think I . . . there was something kind of . . . familiar about him. Like I knew him, maybe. And he—there was something he said, before he died, that made it seem like maybe he knew me, too. And I don’t know how, or why, but . . . maybe if I meet with the Blade like he said, I’ll figure it out.”

The logic was sound. It made sense. And it was something, Acxa knew, that Keith was fixated on, even if he didn’t bring it up regularly. But though Ulaz had infiltrated the castle six weeks ago, they had yet to trace the coordinates he had given them to visit the Blade of Marmora’s hidden base. Their delay was justified; there was always more work to be done. But all things considered, Acxa felt there was a good chance Lotor was delaying their visit on purpose.

Acxa glanced sidelong at the frown Keith was sending Zethrid’s way before she faced forward again.

It was selfish of Lotor if that was the case, but if she was honest with herself, Acxa couldn’t say she didn’t understand.

[. . .]

By now they had reached the base of the stairs leading up to another floor (there being too many of them to all cram into the elevator), and whatever had hit the castle did so with enough force to tilt it briefly up on its side. Ezor flailed and grabbed the banister, while Acxa was thrown sideways into Keith, who stumbled and barely kept his balance as she was thrown into him. Narti spread her arms and straightened her tail to keep her balance, Kova digging his claws into her shoulder, while Zethrid grabbed the other banister and Lotor was nearly thrown back off the stairs he had just started climbing. The attack (because Acxa didn’t know what else it could be) was powerful enough to cause the castleship to tremble with aftershocks even after the blow ceased; and as they all stood up, Ezor looked at the rest of them with wide eyes.

“What was—?”

The security alarms blared to life, drowning out Ezor’s voice and causing Kova to leap off Narti’s shoulder with a startled, angry yowl. In lieu of answering Ezor, Lotor tapped the communicator on his wrist, and as soon as the hologram screen flared to life above it, snapped, “Bridge, report! What’s happening?!”

“We’re being attacked by Empire fleets!” Dune, a member of Auxiliary Team One, cried. “Two, three—at least three of them, from different ang—!”

Another attack crashed into the ship, this time from the opposite side. Acxa caught herself against the wall, and held out her other hand to brace Keith was he was nearly thrown into her. Ezor and Zethrid were gripping the stairway banisters for dear life.

“Use Keith’s console to raise the particle barrier,” Lotor ordered. “We’ll be there momentarily.”

“On it!”

Dune’s voice had already been a crackle through Lotor’s communicator, but her response was even more clipped than normal as Lotor cut the communication in a sharp snap before he turned to head up the stairs again. Acxa and the others immediately hastened to follow suit, Kova climbing up Narti’s back to cling to her shoulder again, yet even as the lot of them sprinted up the staircase, Keith took the stairs two at a time to match Lotor’s strides.

“Lions?” he asked, and before Lotor had time to answer, added, “It’d be faster if we doubled back instead of going all the way to the bridge. We can get to the Lions through the Sincline hangar.”

“No,” Lotor said, and perhaps sensing the rebuttal in Keith’s frown, explained, “If we’re being attacked by this many fleets it wouldn’t be wise to counter. We’re better served using a wormhole to relocate until we can better plan our next move.”

“But how did they find us?” Acxa demanded. “Even if we leave, if we don’t know how they found us in the first place—”

“We had to have been tracked,” Zethrid said, and though Acxa agreed, that didn’t ease the knot in her throat, or the fists her fingers instinctively curled in.

“But how?” Ezor asked, a nervous frown on her lips. “Last time we were tracked by those other reality Paladins, right? By their Lions?”

“But they left a while ago,” Keith said, “and Dune didn’t say Zarkon was here. She would have mentioned it if he was.”

“If she knows what’s good for her, anyway,” Zethrid said.

“Then how did the Empire find us now?” Ezor asked. “If it wasn’t the other reality Paladins and their Lions, then what? How were we tracked?”

Lotor hadn’t broken stride the entire time they climbed the staircase. He hadn’t offered his own input, nor had he shown any indication that he heard their conversation at all. Yet as he reached the second floor he slowed, and finally came to a full stop just as Narti made it to the top of the stairs. Ezor and Zethrid, who had managed to pull ahead of him in the mad sprint up the staircase, noticed and stopped as well, both turning to look back.

“What is it?” Acxa asked.

Lotor didn’t answer her. He gave no indication to show that he even registered that she was talking to him. She was near enough to him so that she could see his profile, and while she couldn’t say why, exactly, what she saw was enough to make ice take up root in her chest. Lotor was staring at the floor, his jaw clenched. His hand was resting on the hilt of his sword. Acxa opened her mouth to call out to him again, yet thought better of it in the next tick. She looked over to Keith instead.

But for once, Keith didn’t return her glance. Instead, he was watching Lotor. His eyes were narrowed, his lips tugged in a sharp frown. And slowly—so slowly that Acxa almost didn’t catch it—he palmed and raised the Black Bayard so it was level with his waist.

Acxa restrained the impulse to reach for her Bayard in turn.

The moment, which felt like hours even though it could have only been a few seconds, ended with the ferocity of a lightning strike. Lotor whipped around as though a bolt had gone through him, his eyes wild, bright, and locked on Narti. In the next tick he threw himself forward, his sword clearing its scabbard as he brought it up in a high arc—

And a ring of steel upon rift ore echoed in the corridor as his blade clashed against Keith’s, Keith having thrown himself between Lotor and Narti like a living shield.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Keith demanded. He pushed back, knocking Lotor’s sword up and away, yet though Lotor took a step back, the wild look in his eyes didn’t fade.

“Keith,” Lotor said through a clenched jaw, “move.”

“No. We’re supposed to be under attack from the Empire, not each other,” Keith snapped. “What’s your problem?”

Lotor was gripping his sword so hard his arm was shaking. “You don’t understand—”

“I don’t think anyone could understand why you wou—” Keith froze mid-sentence, and glanced back over his shoulder. “What—?”

Keith’s voice broke, not in a yelp, but in a gasp as his spine arched and he jerked forward.

“Keith!” Acxa said, as both Ezor and Zethrid came closer. “What—?”

Her question died in her throat.

Narti had grabbed Keith. She had grabbed his arm for support, Acxa thought—had thought. She had grabbed him to give him support through whatever spasm had suddenly seized him. But the spasm wasn’t caused by anything to do with him. Three long, claw-like blades crafted from rift ore protruded through the front of Keith’s Paladin armor, dripping with his blood. They had been driven straight through, and Acxa recognized them. They all did. They were Narti’s blades, from her Bayard, as it took the same shape it always did for her. She had run them straight through Keith’s back, pushing them through until they cut open his stomach with three, evenly spaced wounds.

The one prolonged, solitary moment in which everything seemed frozen while they all processed what happened broke. Narti pushed Keith forward, and in the same moment pulled her blades out of his back. They retracted back into her Bayard with their customary shing-click as Keith—his eyes glazed even as they fluttered shut—collapsed. Lotor lurched forward, knees bent in a crouch, to catch him; his arm looped around Keith’s waist to support him as Keith sagged, limp and unresponsive, against his chest. The Black Bayard fell from Keith’s now slack grip and hit the floor with a clatter, but Lotor did not release his own weapon even as he wrapped his other arm across Keith’s back in a secure, though gentle, embrace.

Lotor’s expression was stricken, his voice strangled as he choked out, “Keith—”

The castle gave another lurch as something rammed against—it, Acxa supposed, or against the particle barrier—and though it was sudden, disruptive, and violent enough to cause them all to stumble once again, it was also enough of a shock to break through the lock her mind had slammed down in an effort to reject what had just happened. She didn’t—she didn’t want to accept it, but there Keith was, bleeding out—bleeding out in Lotor’s arms, and—

The shock, the reminder that they were under attack—it was all Lotor needed, too.

Acxa was only awarded a glimpse of his face—one tick to see not the rage, but the hatred in his eyes—before he jumped over Keith and threw himself at Narti, bringing his sword down in a vicious arc. He missed; Narti leaped backwards and hit the center of the staircase in a back handspring that allowed her to flip the rest of the way down.

Lotor wasn’t deterred. He didn’t hesitate for a heartbeat as he tore down the staircase after her. And Ezor, her eyes wide as she realized everything that was happening—

“No . . . Lotor, no!”

—she, too, sprinted right by Keith and took off after.

Ezor was chasing Lotor, who was chasing Narti, who was trying to escape, but Acxa had no time for any of them. She didn’t register when she hit her knees by Keith’s side, or even what she was going to do as she grasped Keith’s shoulders to try to pull him up, but the moment she realized what she was doing—as the reality of the situation kicked in, and she fought against the urge to kick herself for not taking command of the situation sooner, before it reached this point—she said, “Zethrid!”

“Yup.”

Acxa stood and stumbled backward as Zethrid swept forward and easily hauled Keith up off the floor.

#WIPs meme #series: paradigm shift #fic fix #voltron #prince lotor #keith kogane #acxa #narti #ezor #zethrid #keitor #keith & acxa #so basically the situation ends up being:#Narti escapes & is forced to pilot a stolen ship to wherever Haggar is since her cover was blown #(it's not a Lion or a Sincline ship; just a normal one)#Narti is pretty devastated over what she was made to do bc Team Revolutionary is / was her family - Keith included #& she vows that while Haggar made her coat her hands in Keith's blood that the last coat of blood on her claws #will be Haggar's #meanwhile while Team Revolutionary does manage to escape the attack they are just a mess #Keith is on life support in the medbay; it's unclear whether or not he'll survive #Ezor is in love w/ Narti & is sure there is a good reason for why she did what she did & is furious at Lotor for trying to kill her #Lotor is beside himself w/ rage & grief at Narti's apparent betrayal & Keith's potential death & is further furious #Zethrid doesn't want to admit it but tbh she agrees w/ Lotor that Narti is obviously a traitor which further infuriates Ezor #esp bc she assumes Acxa agrees w/ Lotor & Zethrid bc of how close Acxa & Keith are #(Acxa has known Keith the longest; they were each other's found family before anyone else)#Acxa honestly doesn't know what to think beyond the fact that her whole entire family has fallen apart in what feels like 5 minutes #& she cannot handle the thought that Keith might actually die - which he very well could still #later when they're alone Lotor tells Acxa to promise him she'll kill Narti next time they encounter her - bc as a distance fighter she's #the only one who safely can. & Acxa agrees tho rly this whole situation just has her miserable #it's a hot mess & it's all thanks to Haggar being evil as usual. thanks Haggar. you're the best

38 notes · View notes

wish-that-i-was-buckys-girl · 3 years

Note

hey! could i possibly request a blaine one shot where the reader is another girl working on the ski patrol with blaine and they absolutely hate each other, but one day they get stuck in a snowstorm during work and end up lost for a few days? and during those few days they just get more and more lied up with each other until they just end up hate-fucking our in the open? it can end however, but i’ve been dying for some blaine action🥰🥰thank you💕

Thank you so much nonnie! I enjoyed writing this so much. I hope you enjoy it too!

Warnings: Fat Shaming, smut, slight bullying.

If there are any misspellings I’m sorry! I wrote this all on tumblr and didn’t get a time to proofread it in a different document.

Ice, Ice, Baby.

_______________________________________________

You walked to the cafe for hot chocolate at seven o’clock in the morning to prepare for your shift. It wasn’t easy being on ski patrol, that’s for sure.

Dads always tried hitting on you while you were trying to watch their wives kids struggle to learn the most basic of skiing. You just nodded in agreement and smiled a little to get through the conversations. Wouldn’t wanna get written up for being “rude” to a paying member of the resort. It wasn’t always so bad, some of the dads were kind of cute, and they always tipped well if you just did the bare minimum of looking good and reacting to their advances. You weren’t even supposed to get tipped, but that didn’t stop them. However, you didn’t enjoy watching their wives glare at you around dinner time. You could always feel their eyes burning into the back of your head.

Although you absolutely loathed the attention from the dad’s (besides the occasional tip), there was one reason why you absolutely dreaded going to work every day.

Blaine. You could say he was the Blaine of your existence. Shitty dad jokes always crept into your head due to how much time you end up spending with them.

You had tried being nice the first couple of weeks into the job, only to be met with incredible amounts of misogyny and downright assholeishness. God, you hated him. It was so unlike you to hate anyone, but the kid was ruthless.

He always made nasty remarks about the way you look, whether it was your facial features or your weight, he had it covered. Even though he always tried to get his friends to join in on the action, they never did. Everyone else liked you at the resort. Blaine was the only problem.

You made your way up to your snowmobile, tredging in the deep snow with your backpack and snow shoes on. You secured your hot chocolate and your backpack before riding it all the way up to your post. The post wasn’t too bad by itself. It was close to a nearby cabin in case of emergencies, stocked with food, with working water and electricity to last for up to a month. Even longer if it was less than 4 people.

You finally arrived at your post, hoping Blaine wouldn’t be there yet.

He was.

Fuck.

“You’re looking plump today y/n, more than usual. Must be from all the hot chocolate you’ve been drinking” he said laughing to Chaz. Chaz just rolled his eyes under his sunglasses. You could tell.

“Ha ha Blaine, you’re so original. It’s not like I’ve heard that one before yesterday. Or the day before that. Or the day before that.”

“Yeah, well I think saying it everyday is a good reminder. Maybe I’ll see you in the resort gym one day because of it.”

“Why? Is it cause ya wanna see my tits bounce in a sports bra? Get ya all hot and bothered?”

Blaine just gritted his teeth in response. You could tell he wanted to say something, but didn’t cause he didn’t want to give you the wrong idea. Or the right idea.

Blaine always had a pretty girl on his arm. You doubt he was attracted to you, but you say those things because it shuts him up every time.

You bundled up extra today. The news said there was a possibility of a snow storm, but it was highly unlikely. Still, the wind chill was extremely cold today, making you double up on the clothes underneath your snow suit. You wore a beanie, mittens, and a scarf too, just in case.

You and Chaz chatted for a while, Blaine giving you resentful side glances and a few eye rolls here and there to show his detest towards your interaction. God, what was his fucking problem?

At about noon, Chaz took his lunch, leaving you and Blaine alone for at least a half an hour.

Silence filled the mountains. Barely anyone was out on the slopes due to the potential storm coming, but that didn’t stop your job from making you go out anyways.

The silence was broken with a call from the walkie talkies. It was your manager, Janice.

“Get off the slopes, news just confirmed one of the worst snow storms to hit this side of the mountain in three years. I repeat ge-“

The walkie talkies went silent. The wind began to pick up, starling both you and Blaine. You acted quickly, knowing this could be a life or death situation. You both hopped on your snowmobiles to get to the cabin nearby. Unfortunately, Blaines wasn’t working. You quickly shouted “Get on!” Reluctantly, Blaine hopped on the back of your snowmobile. Thank god it was his snowmobile that wasn’t working. You’re not so sure Blaine would’ve rescued you if it was your snowmobile that died and not his.

You reached the cabin just in time, the snow finally picking up with the wind. You quickly grabbed the keys from your snowmobile and stuck them in the front door.

“Hurry! Jesus Christ we’ll die at this rate!”

“I’m trying asshole! Stop yelling at me!”

The door finally swung open. You and Blaine rushed inside, aggressively slamming the door behind you and locking it.

Both catching your breath while clutching onto your things, you made eye contact.

Of course you thought.

Of course I’m stuck with the one goddamn person who hates me in the middle of one of the biggest snowstorms of the decade.

Blaine didn’t hold back what he was thinking.

“Great, I’m stuck with Fat Albert with minimal supplies. We’ll be out of food by tomorrow.”

You scowled at him snd stood up.

“THAT’S IT. First of all, I’m not fat. Second off, even if I was, that is none of your goddamn business to make comments on it. I have fat on my body. Just because I’m not the twink of the century like you doesn’t mean I should be degraded for it. We are stuck here for god only knows how long. If you just shut up I’m sure we can make it through this. But you’ve got to stop being such a fucking asshole to me all the time.”

Blaine just stood there and rolled his eyes again at your response. At least he didn’t open his loud mouth.

Such a fucking drama queen.

_______________________________________________

As the sun began to set, your stomach started to growl, loudly. You resisted eating all day due to Blaines comments, but you knew you had to eat at some point.

You gathered the courage to make your way into the kitchen to look around.

Thank god they keep this up to date regularly.

There were tons of cans of different soups, ravioli, spaghetti, fruits and vegetables, and non-perishables that would keep you sustained for a long time. Especially with only two people being in the cabin.

You decided to microwave some of the ravioli. Just as you opened the microwave door, it shut again with a hand directly planted on the glass.

“Well well well, what do we have here? Is two ton Tony looking for a little snack?” Blaine said in a mocking tone.

“Fuck off Blaine. It’s dinner time, I’m hungry and I know you are too. You just haven’t eaten yet to prove a damn point and humiliate me. Now if you don’t shut up I will eat all the food and make sure you starve to death.”

He grimaced at your response and walked to a cupboard to look for food of his own. Thank god. You swore you were five seconds away from giving him a swift punch to the face.

You both ate your dinners in separate rooms. You didn’t want to interact with each other more than you had to.

After a few more hours of existing in separate rooms, you decided you wanted to fall asleep for the night. You casually walked into the bedroom, having absolutely no pajamas to change into, you figured you would either sleep with the clothes you had on or just sleep in your underwear. There were enough blankets to keep you warm if you did end up choosing the latter. As you walked into the room you noticed something horrible.

There was only one bed.

How could this even be possible? There were supposed to be four, as most times three to four people were on ski patrol.

Then you remembered three out of the four beds were taken out two months ago, as they were desperately disgusting. The shipments for the new beds hadn’t come in yet, figuring a situation like this wouldn’t even happen at all.

Go figure.

You decided since you got to the bedroom first, you’d have the bed. Fuck Blaine, he’d been an asshole to you the entire time you’ve known him, he can sleep on the damn couch.

You began to strip, thinking it was wise not to smell up the two sets of clothes you had to last you for god only knows how long.

You ended up sleeping in a bra and underwear. Normally you wouldn’t have even worn the bra, but considering Blaine was in the building and you couldn’t lock the bedroom door, you figured it was the safest bet.

As you crawled into bed you heard footsteps heading towards the bedroom.

Here we go.

Blaine entered, looking just as bewildered as you did when you found out there was only one bed.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You ignored his comment, simply rolling over under the covers.

He stormed over to the bed and ripped the blanket off, revealing your half-naked body in the process.

You became infuriated.

“Hey!!! Do you fucking mind!” You said screaming and grabbing for the blanket.

Blaine stood there in a daze for several seconds, not expecting to see as much as he was planning on seeing.

Thank god I had my bra on.

You expected Blaine to have a comeback to seeing your body. Something about a beached whale ending up in the bed, or anything along those lines. Surprisingly, he didn’t. He had nothing to say at all. He just turned around and slammed the door behind him.

What the fuck was his issue? Whatever it was, he better fix it fast. Your patience was running thin, and it was only day one.

_______________________________________________

Several days had gone by, and the snowstorm wasn’t slowing down at all.

Blaine had ignored you at all costs. If he had to interact with you, he always made some snide comment under his breath. This somehow pissed you off even more. At least before you didn’t have to guess what he was thinking, he said it directly to your face. Now, you had no clue what he was saying about you. God it made your blood boil.

It was around lunchtime again when you saw him. You had chosen to eat chicken noodle soup that day, as you had been colder that day compared to most others.

On your way out of the kitchen, you bumped into Blaine.

You heard him make a comment under his breath again, something alone the lines of “.......fucking bitch.......where you’re goin.”

You had had enough.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

He was taken aback by your abrasiveness. Nonetheless, he still had a response to your question.

“I said, watch where the hell you’re going you fucking bitch.” He enunciated slowly, in a condescending manner.

You were done.

“I’ve had enough of this fucking bullshit Blaine. Why the hell do you hate me so much? What the hell did I ever do to you?”

“Your looks have insulted me from the day I met you. I learned all that I needed to know by just looking at you.”

Out of no where, you decided to shove him. You shoved him so hard he hit the wall behind him.

He looked confused and offended.

“Did you just shove me?”

“I don’t know, did I just shove you? Or did you trip over your enormous fucking ego?”

Blaine stood up tall and pinned you to the wall.

He looked you dead in the face, his eyes piercing into you with anger and something else...

You returned his stare, hopefully having the same effect on him that he was having on you.

After staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity, Blaine kissed you, hard.

You resisted, you resisted so much but your head didn’t have anywhere to go. After a few seconds you gave into the kiss, slowly moving your lips with his. You hated to admit it, but his lips were so soft. It was like kissing clouds surrounding the gates to heaven.

Finally, Blaine pulled back and began staring into your eyes once more. Again, you lept at each other. You grabbed his hair and the side of his face, while he grabbed your hair and your ass to hike up your leg against his hip. Your lips were on each other in no time, sucking and pulling on both his lips and his tongue.

God you were so turned on.

You hated that he made you feel this way but fuck if he wasn’t good. He felt so goddamn good.

He hoisted you up against the wall, your legs wrapping around his hips as you continued to aggressively make out like the two horny twenty-one-year-olds you were. After kissing for five minutes straight, Blaine put you down so you could both remove your pants.

You spoke first “We don’t tell anyone about this.”

Blaine just nodded in agreement, eager to put his cock inside of you.

He hoisted you up against the wall for a second time, wasting no time shoving his cock into your pussy.

“Ohhhh fuck Blaine... go slow go slow...”

You also hated to admit it, but he wasn’t lacking in at least one department.

He smirked, knowing it was too much for you in such a short amount of time.

“What’s wrong y/l/n, can’t get fucked right either?”

“Maybe if you fucked me better I wouldn’t have to complain so much.”

All the talking had allowed time for your pussy to become soaked. Blaine could feel how wet you were. He also noticed how tight you were.

“Fuck, your pussy has been this tight the entire time and you never told me?”

“Oh Jesus Christ just shut up and fuck me before I change my mind Blaine.”

That’s all he needed to hear. He also took it upon himself to take that as the cue to go as fast as he needed to.

He started pumping in and out of you at a rapid pace, making absurdly loud slapping noises in the process.

You couldn’t help but moan into his neck, his name on your lips every ten seconds.

“Fuck, fuck , fuck Blaine don’t stop! Oh god don’t fucking stop.”

He loved hearing his name come out of your mouth like that. In all honesty, Blaine has wanted to fuck you since the day he met you. He suppressed that lust with crude comments, hoping the feelings would subside. Guess that didn’t work out too well.

“Yeah you like that baby? Huh? Like that I’m fucking your pretty pussy?”

“Oh god yes Blaine! Fuck me harder!”

He wasted no time, pounding into you as fast and as hard as he could. You couldn’t help but let your eyes roll in the back of your head as he fucked you so good you thought you were about to see God himself.

Blaine loved seeing you like this, drained by him fucking you relentlessly. In fact, he loved it so much he felt the need to repress his feelings once again, which would be his last effort in trying to do so.

“I still fucking hate you, oh god, oh fuck.”

You looked at him, dead in the eyes, and said “Bold words coming from a man who’s cock is in me.”

All he could do was smile, going in for another kiss while he continued to plow you.

Both of your moans filled the cabin, screaming with no shame, knowing for a fact no one would hear you.

You felt a tight coil forming in your lower stomach, causing you to hold onto Blaine’s shoulders tighter.

“Oh fuck Blaine, I’m gonna cum, oh god I’m gonna cum.”

Blaine took it upon himself to whisper more comments in your ear as you reached your climax together.

“Goddamn right you’re gonna cum on my cock. This is my pussy. No one else gets to touch it, just me. Cum for me baby, you can do it.”

You both screamed as you came, Blaine unintentionally spilling his seed into you. Thank god you remembered to bring your birth control pill.

Just as you two were coming down from your high, you noticed something out of the corner of your eye.

Not something, but someone.

It was Chaz.

You hadn’t noticed while you were fucking, but the snow had cleared up enough just for a one person rescue party. Chaz had come in just moments ago. However, he didn’t say anything. He really didn’t have anything to say. He was stunned.

As you both stared at Chaz, you were the first to speak.

“Well, fuck.”

#hot tub time machine #sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan #Blaine/reader #Blaine x reader

102 notes · View notes

katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

Text

Okay, so I wanted to get this out, like twelve hours ago, buttttt Tumblr is having issues with me today and it wouldn’t let me. So anyways, better late than never!

This is a Christmas-y oneshot, set years Post-Mockingjay, with their first toastbaby. It’s completely canon-complacent and focuses on their lives and family after the war. It got way longer than I intended. Actually, originally, it was meant to be a Thanksgiving oneshot but uh... I took too long so it’s not Christmas. Only they call it Yuleday here, because I can’t imagine Panem calling it Christmas, idk why. Anyways, please read and enjoy!

Oh yeah, and thank you @rosegardeninwinter for writing the song Katniss sings to her daughter in here!

Summary : Everlark spend Yuleday with their daughter and the rest of their blended family.

The sticky vanilla liquid drying against the counter clings to my forearm. I wrinkle my nose slightly, the smell of vanilla too strong for my liking.

No, I prefer the smells of cinnamon and pine and fresh baked bread, I think to myself, as I watch my husband slip on a oven mitt and pull out a new loaf.

The kitchen is much messier than Peeta typically allows it to get, but he didn't have the time this week he anticipated he would to bake for our family's impending visit.

I lean unconsciously closer to the baked good, my mouth already watering at the sight. "Katniss," Peeta warns while he places a cake pan inside the oven, his voice growing stressed. "Be careful of the door." He gestures with his chin to the white-hot contraption just inches from my legs.

I roll my eyes at his fretting and pick up a piece of bread from a loaf we never finished last week. "Don't worry, I've been married to a baker for a while," I reply coyly as he begins to stir white, creamy homemade frosting around in a bowl. "I'm used to getting burned every so often."

It's his turn to send me a look now. "Yeah, because you forget to put a mitt on when touching the rack."

"Hmm, funny, my husband said at the time it was his fault for not warning me how hot it was," I shoot back as I dig my finger into the frosting bowl and pop the sugary substance into my mouth.

"That's sanitary," he deadpans and pushes me away from his workspace playfully.

"Oh, come on," I implore, pressing my hands against his chest as he tries to move me out of the kitchen and towards the living room. "Don't you ever sample your treats while making them?"

"No, Katniss," he replies, trying to remain serious but I see a smile peaking through. "Because I'm a professional."

I go to make a comment, pointing out every time before he's been less than professional in his workplace—with me, in particular. In the back room, with the most counterspace—when he leans down and plants a kiss on my lips. More than likely to shut me up.

"Yeah, this is sanitary," I tease against his mouth when we break apart ever so slightly.

Peeta leans back a little, keeping his chin still pressed against mine. "When have we ever cared about sanitary?"

I smirk up at him as his hands find my hips tenderly, his fingertips gliding underneath my shirt, touching the edge of my stomach. His lips find mine again or mine find his, but either way, in a matter of seconds I'm opening my mouth to let his tongue enter, eliciting a loud moan from him when my teeth graze his bottom lip.

"Mmm," he whispers when he pulls back again.

"Mmm?" I repeat, chuckling. "That's the best you can do?"

He tightens his arms around my waist, holding me to him. "I was about to say, I do enjoy taste testing my own frosting that way."

"Well, as long as you had a reason for invading my mouth."

"Like I said, I'm a strict professional."

Before I can reply back, there's a loud knock at our front door. Followed by another and then another, growing more noisy and cacophonous with the passing seconds.

Neither of us make a move to get the door. "Are you sure we have to invite Haymitch?" I inquire, my voice very serious.

"I believe I left that decision up to you, my love," Peeta replies cheekily, planting a small kiss on my nose.

"I can hear you two," Haymitch barks from the other side of the door before he knocks again, just as loud, and then rattles the doorknob. "Let me in, I'm freezing," he demands gruffly.

Peeta opens the door with a sardonic look, revealing our grouchy mentor and, at his feet, our tiny daughter, bundled up to keep from the cold. "Put a coat on, Haymitch."

"Why would I do that? I was coming here to sit by your fireplace all day anyway."

"Mommy!" Indigo shouts and races her chubby little legs in a beeline to me.

I scoop her up easily, having missed her for the entire forty-five minutes she was away from me. "Did you have a good time helping feed the geese?" I ask, in a tone I would have found absolutely embarrassing three years ago. I never even spoke to Prim in that tone.

"No, I hate them," she proclaims, very seriously, before laying her head against my shoulder exhaustedly. "They're very demanding cree-ters," she explains.

I nod, petting down her long, dark hair, moving it out of her little face, giving me access to the stunning blue eyes Peeta gave her. "They are very demanding creatures, aren't they?"

"But someone has to help Granpuh," she adds on the end, very matter-of-fact.

I shake my head at that, hoisting her higher on my hip. "I think Haymitch takes care of himself just fine, Indigo," I murmur sternly, as my old mentor passes by me, his eyes falling on the frosting bowl still sitting on the counter where we left it.

"Excuse me, Sweetheart. It's Grandpa to her," Haymitch corrects gruffly, pointing to my child.

Peeta hums as he leans against the doorframe, his shirt tightening up around his shoulders as he stretches his neck. "Katniss, remember when you were pregnant and Haymitch swore our kid wouldn't call him Grandpa?"

"I seem to remember that well."

"Yeah, well I seem to remember you saying no one is ever calling your daughter Indy and yet, here we are," the older man reminds me and all levity is gone from my face instantly, only to be replaced with irritation.

Three years ago when I gave birth, me and Peeta both agreed on the name Indigofera. Or, more like, he agreed because I liked the name.

I never expected to have a child. I spent majority of my life swearing I'd never procreate. The world I grew up in, the only world I knew, was nowhere I'd allow a child to grow up in. Not if I had any control of over.

Not when every year from the age of twelve to eighteen, my child could be stolen from me, could be taken away and tossed into a dressed up cage, forced to fight to the death, likely die on national television.

I'd never allow my child to live in that world.

That sentiment only grew stronger once a child of my own was no longer just a vague image, but a living, breathing, loud little being.

The idea of my Indigofera being subjected to the world I knew, the world that fell apart almost twenty years ago now, is beyond devastating to me.

I still wonder sometimes how Peeta ever was able to convince me to have a child.

As I think of him, he's right beside me, saying something quippy to Haymitch, before pulling Indigo out of my arms and unzipping her coat. I watch on at their exchange as she puts her tiny little hands on his cheeks, telling him happily about her time with Granpuh and the geese. I watch as Peeta's eyes brighten when he looks at her, I watch as she smiles more and more with his encouraging nods, prodding her to keep talking. I watch as she squeals out and laughs when he tickles her and kisses the side of her face.

And I still wonder, how on earth he convinced me to have a child.

But I'm thankful every day he did, from the bottom of my heart. That little girl is the most important being in both our lives and, though I had no idea at the time, we were not complete without her.

"Daddy, I'm hungry," Indigo complains as he starts to pull away, very obviously intending to head back to the kitchen and finish up baking and frosting.

"We're going to eat once Grandma and the others gets here, Bean," I promise, stepping in to scoop her back up.

"They're so slow," Indigo says, with no shame or remorse in her voice for the blunt statement.

"Indigo," Peeta chides gently. "That's not a nice thing to say."

"It's kind of true," I add sheepishly after a moment, agreeing with our daughter.

My husband just rolls his eyes at me now. "You're a bad influence on her."

"Oh, give me a break, Peeta!" I exclaim defensively. "You gave her chocolate pancakes for breakfast today. I think you're the bad influence."

"I made them for you too, Katniss," he reminds me wryly.

"That's a little different-"

"Hello," Haymitch interrupts as he plops down on the sofa, his usual spot in our house. "Some of us would like to eat Yuleday Dinner tonight."

"And?"

"And that's not going to happen if we don't let the boy work, Sweetheart."

The boy. Haymitch never did get new nicknames for us, despite Peeta being a man, a husband and a father for quite some time now.

Peeta hauls Haymitch up by the arm from his seat. "If you're going to be in my house, you're going to help me with dinner," he says firmly and Indigo giggles against my neck, watching her daddy drag her grandpa into the kitchen.

Haymitch being grandpa was only ever meant to be a joke. Neither me nor Peeta ever intended for Indigo to actually view Haymitch Abernathy as her grandfather.

Though it makes sense. He's been a constant in our lives since we were sixteen. And even when me and Haymitch are at each other's throats, he still shows up here, sitting on the couch, expecting dinner, at least once a week. He regularly shows up at the bakery Peeta runs now almost entirely on his own, asking for free samples. And he still loves our daughter like his own flesh and blood.

The only true gripe I have about Haymitch and Indigo's relationship is the nickname Indy. I knew when we named her Indigofera, after the mysterious plant that my father used to jokingly say was about as real to us as unicorns—the color plant was all but extinct long before I was even born—that her natural nickname would be Indigo. Peeta himself says we gave her a mouthful of a name, choosing to go as far as adding in a middle name that we both lacked ourselves. But something about the nickname Indy is extremely unappealing to me.

And as her mother, as the person who grew her and carried her inside me, and loves her more than all the things in the world combined, I think I should have final say on what she's called.

I'm abruptly pulled out of my thoughts by a soft, little hand pulling my tangled hair. "Mommy, what time does Finn get here?"

Of course, that's who Indigo is focused on. It's not just my mother arriving today to join us for our Yuleday Dinner. It's everyone that me and Peeta consider family.

Including Annie and Finn, her child with the sensual, alluring, kind-hearted Finnick Odair. The child who has taken after his father in ways that seemed unimaginable.

Indigo knows, even at three-years-old, that we always treat Finnick's memory with respect. We never forget him or anyone else that ever helped us make the country a safe place.

Of course, she's too young to fully understand. What she understands is Finn, who at eighteen, has all his father's looks and charm, is her suto-cousin, is her playmate and brings her presents. And as far as I'm concerned, that's all she needs to understand.

"In an hour," I reply gently, bringing myself back to reality. Pushing her dirty hair back, I lean my nose against her's, letting my eyes grow bigger. "You know what that means?"

She lets out a loud shriek of excitement and all but kicks her way out of my arms. "Bath time!" She yells as she propels herself excitedly towards the stairs, going on all fours to struggle her way up independently.

I stay inches behind her, making sure I'm able to catch her if she should tumble, but the precaution isn't necessary. Indigo gets to the top stair and takes off running towards the bathroom down the hall.

"Lots of bubbles," Indigo commands in a very serious tone as she watches me pour a cap full into her bath water.

I remind myself for the thousandth time to send Effie a thank you note for bath bubbles she sent weeks ago. My old escort is one of the few people I haven't kept in close contact with over the years and it's no surprise really. Me and Peeta never stopped looking at the Capitol with disdain, perhaps even more so after the war, and Effie, even with a good heart deep inside, is Capitol, through and through.

But she's still sent sporadic gifts here and there over the years. She's still called Haymitch dozens of times since the end of the war. She's still kept her mouth shut about Indigo's existence for the last three years and for that, I am indebted to my old escort for life.

Peeta and I agreed early on in my pregnancy that Indigo would never be property of the Capitol. It didn't matter how much safer the world was now, or how many new faces have come along for people to fawn over in the last eighteen years, or how adorable Indigo is, we both vowed with everything we had that no one outside our family and friends and community would know of her birth. If I did anything in my life, it would be protect my child.

The way I failed to protect my sister.

Even almost twenty years later, the memory still stung. The image of my sister being blown apart, right before my eyes, is permanently ingrained in my mind. I still wake up from nightmares, reliving Prim's last moments alive before the bombs took her away forever.

But the once searing pain had faded into a dull ache, a deep imbedded hurt that never went away entirely but instead became a part of who I was.

I help Indigo into the tub and instantly get to work, washing her up as she splashes around and plays with her bubbles. Technically Effie sent them to me, along with a lot of other useless items that I all but threw out immediately, but they were better used for Indigo. Whereas I saw the impracticality in many of Effie's gifts, Indigo saw a new luxury, a new toy, a new activity or adventure she could have.

It's the Peeta in her. It's his appreciation for beauty that he passed down to our daughter.

I've told him countless times in the last few years that if she turns out to have a massive spending addiction or have desires to live a luxurious life, it's all on him.

"Alright, eyes shut," I warn dramatically, waiting for her to cover her big blue eyes with her tiny palms before dousing her head with water.

After she's dried and dressed she runs into the kitchen barefoot and immediately flings herself onto Peeta, gripping his prosthetic leg. "Daddy, look how clean I am!"

He chuckles as he finishes wiping the counter off before scooping her up. "Imagine how clean you could be every day if Mommy didn't take you to the woods to play in the dirt?"

He's teasing me and I know it, but I still shoot him a dirty look. "She gets dirtier in Daddy's kitchen than the woods."

"Dirty? From baking?" He directs the questions towards the three-year-old in his arms. "No!"

Indigo gives him a shy smile before a loud giggle escapes and nodding her head, affirming his point. "See," he points out, gesturing to her grinning face.

"Daddy is the bad influence around here," I say as I pull her from his arms.

"Only because Mommy corrupted me," he says back as he moves to grab the broom, the last step in his clean up routine before the rest of our guests arrive.

He leans around me and Indigo to grab the cleaning device, before not so subtly sneaking a kiss on his way back. I just look to our daughter and, indicating to her father with my chin, wrinkle my nose dramatically, causing her to laugh more.

"Mommy's mad at you," she informs him, finding this very humorous.

"Hmm, is she?" Peeta asks, as if he's shocked by the news.

"Yes," I affirm. "For implying I dirty my child, when it's you who covers her in flour and cake batter every other day."

"Oh, well, Indy, whatever will we do to gain Mommy's forgiveness?" He isn't gaining any sort of forgiveness from me by using her annoying nickname. Still he pretends not to notice my narrowing eyes, as if after eighteen years he doesn't know me like the back of his hand.

"Bake her somting!" She exclaims, clapping and excited again. She's always excited. I'm not even sure if she's mine some days with how enthusiastic this little human can be.

"Hmm, I could," he agrees, but then dramatically he gazes around the kitchen, as if seeing it for the first time. "You know what though? I just cleaned it all up in here. So I guess I can't bake Mommy something. I guess I'll have to try other methods."

As if he planned it the entire time—which, without a doubt, he did—Peeta leans in gently and starts pressing kisses to my skin, right where my jaw meets my neck. I resist at first and so his lips move upwards, towards my forehead, towards my nose and then my chin.

"Okay," I relent, laughing in spite of myself, batting him away. "Okay, you're forgiven." I reward him with a smile as he moves his lips from peppering my face to my mouth itself. He only gives me a chaste kiss, since I'm holding his daughter, but it's enough to make my stomach flip like it did on the beach, when we were seventeen.

We were also in a death match, neither of us intending to live through the following day, but that fact somehow has separated itself in the almost twenty years since the war from the moment between me and Peeta, and for that I'm grateful. I'm grateful for my mind compartmentalizing itself, for the horrors witnessed and forever printed inside my head somehow shifting away from specific moments in the games, moments I can now look back on more fondly than when I was seventeen.

I look at Peeta again then, as he gives me a sweet smile and turns away to start sweeping the floor, to rid it of the thick layer of flour split while baking, and I'm suddenly intensely grateful for the last eighteen years. I'm suddenly intensely grateful for the almost two decades he's given me, that had been the best years of my life.

Of course, the little squirming creature in my arms have only made the years better, and I kiss her face gently, murmuring softly, "Let me braid your hair," against her little pink cheek.

She obediently sits in front of me and starts humming as I comb the knots from the long dark locks she inherited from me. "What're you singing?" I ask, smiling, already knowing what song she's trying to hum.

"Bloo sky," she replies simply, before going back to humming again to herself. I smirk softly, waiting for her to ask me to take over.

And, of course, with the predictability of a three-year-old, Indigo turns around abruptly after a long moment of silence with a frazzled look overtaking her big blue eyes. "Mommy?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Can you sing bloo sky? I can't 'member all the words."

My smirk turns to a full on smile now, as I begin to twist her now soft and silky hair into a braid. "Don't let your mind be troubled, dear. Don't you get lost in fear. For through all the storm clouds and darkest days, I promise I will be here."

Indigo beams at me, tipping her head back to watch me sing before her own little voice, lisp and wrong words and all—though, I have inexpressible pride that her melody is perfectly on pitch—joins in with me.

"And a blue sky will come shining through. And a blue sky just for me and you," I sing as she accidentally says too instead of through. "Through all the storm clouds and darkest days, there's a blue sky for just me and for you," we finish.

"And for Daddy," Indigo suddenly asserts, like she forgot him until now.

I laugh gently. "Yes, but that won't fit the rhyme."

"What's a rhyme?"

"Nevermind, Indigo." I can barely hold back a chuckle as I finish her braid, tying it with the band around my wrist. Since she grew hair long enough to get caught on things, I've always made a special point in carrying extra hair ties for her, everywhere we go.

"Sweetheart, am I expected to go grab our guests in my car? Because I don't have enough room so someone's going to have to hang onto the bumper-"

"Don't worry, Haymitch," I cut off, laughing again, at the image of him attempting to gather up our blended family and friends in what he refers to as a car. "And I didn't miss you saying our guests," I add, turning away from my child to give him a look.

"I helped the boy clean the kitchen, I get to take ownership over the guests as well."

"Grandpuh?" Indigo's little voice peeps. "I wanna go for a ride before Finn gets here."

"Finn?" Haymitch picks. "Every person you've ever met is coming over today and it's Finn Odair you're excited to see?"

But Indigo adores—and I mean, adores—Finn and he's always been so good with her, more patient than any typical teenager is expected to be, and his arrival is all she's really thinking about.

"Haymitch, stop giving my daughter crap and take her for a ride in town," Peeta calls from the kitchen, evidently by the clanging noise, putting away the last of the dishes. "Hurry up too, I don't want her out there when the crowd comes in."

We never allow Indigo out into town during the busy times a day. During the times when the crowds, even here in the once decimated Twelve, grow too large for either Peeta or my liking. Too many opportunities for a stranger to grab her, too many chances for her to get lost, too many things could go wrong. Too many dangers exist for a three-year-old, even in this world that is miles better than the one we used to know.

Peeta and I do our best to put the past behind us, but we both still have times when the memories of war and bloodshed and cruelty creep in, and it's on those days all I can imagine is the world shifting again, some sort of disorder or disarray ruining the peace that will always feel foreign to me. It's on those days all I can see is the games coming back, is someone taking Indigo from me, putting her through what no child should have to endure, her sweet, little innocence being ripped away violently. Someone taking me or Peeta from her, her pure heart being hardened, the blue eyes that sometimes I swear I could see my sister in turning ice cold.

It's on those days I shut and lock the doors, I refuse to open the blinds, I refuse to let my daughter out of my sight. It's those days I beg Peeta not to run to the bakery, to just stay with us, to just not go where I can't see either of them.

It's on those days I plan what I will do if the world does fall to its knees again, if my worst fears when even thinking of the abstract idea of having a child come to life. I never tell anyone of these thoughts, but on the days Peeta has a flashback or can't sleep, on the days when he feels like he’s still seventeen, locked inside Snow's mansion, a tortured shadow of the wonderful boy with the golden heart, on the days he paints horrific images he'll never let our daughter see, I know he makes his own plan too.

As always, Indigo breaks me out of my thoughts as they run dark, jumping up excitedly, ready to go for a ride in Haymitch's car. It's actually more resemblant of a cart, with just room for three people if you squeeze, and no doors in sight. But she loves it and it makes her happy and after everything else, I know I can trust Haymitch with my child.

I fix her little green overall dress, straightening her dandelion patterned shirt underneath. "Don't let Haymitch get your dirty," I instruct very clearly.

"Yes, Mommy."

"And don't mess up your hair."

"Yes, Mommy."

"And don't be too long."

"Yes, Mommy."

"And don't talk to strangers."

"Okay, can I go already?"

Both Haymitch and Peeta laugh at me and it takes all my restraint not to say something profane in front of Indigo.

As soon as they leave, I get to work, helping Peeta straighten up the house before our guests arrive.

As I'm finishing fluffing and re-arranging the pillows, two warm hands come into contact with my waist. "Excuse me, sir, I'm working right now."

Peeta's arms wrap entirely around me now, his lips on my neck. "Don't worry, I know the boss. She'll... understand."

"Will she?" I cock an eyebrow at him teasingly.

He nods confidently. "She rather enjoys activities such as these."

I'm about to coyly ask what activities he's implying when his lips trail up further, finding residence closer and closer to my mouth.

His lips have just contacted mine when I whisper breathlessly, unable to stop myself, "the second our daughter leaves, you just can't help yourself."

His kiss turns to a laugh. "She does tend to take up a lot of the bed space. We have to catch these opportunities for us when we can."

I chuckle in response, because it's true. As much as we both love our child—more than words could ever say—lately, her fear of sleeping in her room down the hall has meant we've gained a new, invasive bedmate.

"That we do," I agree, smirking now as I fiddle with his sky blue collar that matched his eyes. "I see had a wardrobe change."

"Mhmm. Thought I would look nice for Yuleday."

"Is there someone special you're expecting to see? Someone you want to dress up for?" I tease, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my lips to the center of his chest, right at my eye level.

"There is, actually," he affirms slyly. "Two people, in fact. Both women. One a little smaller than the other. Both have dark hair and loud voices—"

"Excuse you?"

"Both have me wrapped entirely around their fingers," he adds, full on smiling now.

"Good save," I retort, about to turn away when I feel his hands grip the underside of my thighs and hoist me up against him.

I pretzel myself around his body, unable to help the girlish noise of surprise that slips out as he holds me in his arms. "We only have maybe ten minutes until Indigo and Granpuh," he imitates his three-year-old, but his nose teasingly presses against mine and his voice is very suggestive, "come back. We should... make the most of it... before we have to entertain guests all day."

I return the glint his eyes, my desires in line with his. Our lips meet halfway in the minimal space still remaining between us, and we waste no time before our tongues begin to intertwine, twirl and gently twist.

I feel his hand sliding up my ratty, torn shirt, just barely crossing over my stomach to my ribs when a knock at the door suddenly catches us off-guard.

"Haymitch isn't usually back this fast," I say as Peeta—very reluctantly—sets me down.

But as soon as the words slip from my lips, a thousand thoughts race through my mind.

What if Haymitch had lost Indigo somehow, in the crowd that always grows large on Yuleday? What if someone took my baby? What if she's scared and can't find me and I don't even know it yet because I let an old drunk man take her out of my sight? What if she fell out of Haymitch's cart and smacked her head on the town's icy cobblestones? What if the car spun out and hit a tree and now one of our neighbors is coming to tell us the grave news?

I'm holding my breath, my heart suddenly beating a million miles a second, as my husband pulls open the door.

Behind the door is not Haymitch nor a random member of our community. It's Delly. Delly Cartwright-Bagley and her husband and three children in tow.

A half hour early.

I can't help the reaction that slips from my lips, the stress of my fears overpowering my filter. "Would it have killed you to show up on time?"

Peeta shoots me a look but I ignore him. Delly however is unfazed by my irritation. As is her husband, Kanon.

"Happy Yuleday, Katniss!" Delly beams and pushes her plate of frosted cookies into Peeta's hands to hug me tightly. "And we only showed up early because your husband invited us to," she adds, talking too loudly into my ear.

My eyes narrow at Peeta but he's clearly just as unhappy with himself, since now our plans have been interrupted.

"I said they could come early and help," Peeta defends slightly, just as Delly's husband notices the button I must have unknowingly undid.

"Mmm, well you two could go upstairs while we finish getting everything ready for the rest of the guests," Kanon teases, ruffling Peeta's conspicuously tousled hair as he leads the three young ones inside from the cold.

Delly pulls back from me then and leads her eldest, Evelyn Malia Bagley—but, much like with Indigofera, is known solely by Evie—to the kitchen, with a high level of familiarity.

The confidence inside my house is only natural at this point, considering the relationship with our family and Delly's has grown much closer than I ever could have anticipated.

Delly is Peeta's childhood best friend, and therefore after the war she was one of the biggest supporters and greatest confidants to him in his darkest hours. The times I couldn't do anything, because I was the source of his fear, of his anger or his pain.

Or rather, Snow made him believe I was.

Delly's presence in Peeta's life was far more helpful than any over the phone therapist could have ever been, and for that I am eternally grateful. However, I never expected her to be a close friend to me as well.

Begrudgingly on my part some days, but it was fact. If I ever needed anything, if I was having a hard time, if I ever wanted to talk with someone besides Peeta—which is rare but happens every so often—I'm still shocked to realize Delly Cartwright-Bagley is one of the first people I'll turn to. I’m still shocked to realize the girl who once had baby fat and yellow hair, who sat two rows ahead of me in school and chewed her bubblegum obnoxiously loud, is one of my closest companions.

She's surprisingly more understanding and wise underneath her overly perky personality and boisterously loud voice.

And, of course, the man she married also helps the equation. Kanon is a kind, tall man, a few years older than the rest of us. He's rather quiet but will poke a joke at someone he knows well enough. He's hardworking and loyal and intuitive.

He's the exact opposite of Delly, which sounds like it should be a recipe for disaster but in reality has proven to be a wonderful occurrence in everyone's life.

After all, we all let out a sigh of relief when she could quit working at the medicine factory.

For all of Delly's good qualities—and there are a great many—she's not exactly an ideal factory worker. Or manual laborer. Or cleaning personnel.

When Delly took over operating the counter at Kanon's Candy Store, which unlike the bakery, is more of a novelty than an essential, everything sort of fell into place.

"Aunt Katty!" I hear a small voice shriek, pushing her older brother out of the way to sprint into my arms.

I barely have time to catch little Kendall, Delly's youngest child before she’s flung herself onto me with a force only her mother could have matched.

"Hi, Sweetie," I all but coo, disgusting even myself a bit.

I hug her almost as tightly as she hugs me, and I intentionally ignore Peeta's smirk in my direction.

Okay, so I'm not the most subtle about having a favorite out of Delly's litter. But Kendall is only three months different in age than my Indigo, so I have the excuse of spending the most time with the little wild, rambuctious thing.

Although my child is by far the ringleader in their friendship. A fact I try not to think of too often, as I could easily imagine a multitude of things Indigofera could get into if I don't keep a close eye on her.

"Where's Indy?" Kendall asks as I cart her to the kitchen. She's the only one I let that nickname slide with.

"She went for a ride with Haymitch."

Speaking of my child only increases my anxiety for her whereabouts. I suddenly regret letting my old mentor take her at all, as my gut continues to constrict painfully, thinking of every scenario in which she could be taken away from me. Forever.

My only job, the only one I truly cannot live with the idea of failing, is keeping my daughter safe.

I failed once before to protect someone I loved more than my own life. Twice, I correct myself, looking at Peeta, who's now guiding five year old Rhys by hand to the kitchen.

I cannot fail Indigofera, like I failed both Prim and Peeta.

Delly senses the tension building inside of me as I come to stand beside her, Kendall still on my hip. "Haymitch would never let Indigo get hurt," she says without preamble. To her credit though, she says it quieter than her typical range of volume. "C'mon. It's his granddaughter."

The four of us laugh, the fact that a little person with giant blue eyes and a constant pair of messy braids is what entirely melted Haymitch Albernathy's heart still laughable three years later.

I let Kendall down and watch as she and her siblings begin to set the table dutifully, with more order and structure than I had at their age.

I feel the everlasting anxiety that's making a permanent home inside my gut suddenly release, like a knife being pulled out of a stab wound, as Indigo's voice fills the room.

"Mommy!" She yells, racing into the kitchen as fast as her little legs can carry her. "Look at what Gamma Sae gave me," she exclaims, holding up a stuffed bear for me to see.

I don't acknowledge the toy or her hair that's coming out of the braid I only just did, or even the grass stain on her dandelion patterned shirt. I just yank her up into my arms and squeeze her tight.

I should be ashamed of myself, that my three-year-old knows when I've worried or been in distress over her, but all I am is awed when she lays her little head on my shoulder and whispers softly, "I'm okay, Mommy. Granpuh wouldn't let anything hurt me."

There is an awkward pause in the room for a moment, only noticeable to the adults. I don't know if it's because they understand my anxiety—Peeta, at least, typically does—or if it's because they think I'm insane, but no one speaks until Indigo shuffles herself downwards and immediately tackles Kendall, excitedly showing her the stuffed animal Greasy Sae gave her.

Delly, as per usual, breaks the silence. "You know, if you two ever want to finish the... activity you were engaged in when we showed up, I will gladly take care of Indigo for an afternoon."

I roll my eyes, long past the point where Delly could make me blush with her innuendos. "I'll keep that in mind."

Peeta is chuckling as he finishes drying off a now clean cooking bowl. "You're a more appealing babysitter than Haymitch," he says, his eyes falling on the older man, who's standing with the kids now, not-so-subtly keeping closer to Indigo, as he isn't too fond of most children in general.

"You sure we wouldn't be ruining your fun?" I tease now, looking at Kanon, who's arranging the cookies they brought onto a different plate.

"Katniss, we have three kids," Delly all but deadpans. A rarity for her. "All under eight years old. One more won't make a difference."

Kanon speaks up then as me and Peeta snicker. "We also learned to be faster," he adds slyly, looking directly at me. "The joy of having a few kids. Makes you a better multi-tasker."

"I so miss when you used to be quiet," I say in a monotone as the doorbell, that no one uses, unexpectedly rings.

"Peeta, how many people did you invite early?" I snap.

He holds up his hands defensively. "No one else, I swear."

"Sure."

But when I open the door, revealing my mother, Annie and Finn, I know he's got to be telling the truth. He wouldn't have invited my mother early for anything. The tension that existed years ago is all but gone—especially since Indigo's birth, the event that drew us closer than we had been since I was a child—but still, Peeta remains cautious. When it comes to my mother, he leaves her visitation completely up to me.

Her husband, Rod Marin, doesn't attend our celebration however. I don't know if it's the chilly reception he may or may not receive from me, or if it's the fact that my mom doesn't want to bring Rod's daughters with them, but either way, she has attended our home alone for the last five years and, as selfish as that may be, I prefer it this way.

Still, I greet her warmly. "Hi, Mom," I say as she hugs me tightly.

"Sorry we're a little early, honey," she professes as she steps into the house that was once her home too.

"That's fine," I assure, even though I'm not dressed or ready yet.

Annie is next and she instantly throws her arms around my neck. "I missed you," she murmurs in the sweet, gentle way she's always had since I met her in District Thirteen.

"We missed you too," Peeta calls from around the corner as he comes into our eyesight, holding a very excited Indigo in his arms.

"Finn!" She screams as she all but launches herself away from Peeta and into the eighteen year old's arms.

"Hi!" He exclaims as he catches her and swings her upwards, returning the overzealous squeeze she's giving his neck. "How's my best girl?"

"She's gweat!" Indigo beams and my heart melts a little, watching her with the boy who looks so much like his father. The boy who's always been such a joy in life. The boy who saved his mother eighteen years ago, who has been nothing but respectful and kind and funny to me and Peeta, who has shown incredible maturity at such a young age.

Then again, at his age I had already been through two games and a war. Peeta had already been hijacked and fought his way back. I'd already lost my little sister. Me and Peeta had our toasting at only a year older, at nineteen. Maybe eighteen isn't a young as it seems to me now, looking at youthful Finn, who I watched learn to walk and talk and swim and tie a knot.

Or maybe I was just as young when all that tragedy occurred. Maybe I just felt older because of the circumstances in which I was born, because of the world in which we lived.

I shake my head slightly, trying to shake the bad thoughts away.

"Indy, guess what?" Finn prompts enthusiastically—but not without shooting me a teasing glance, knowing my distain for her nickname.

"What?"

"I brought something."

"What?"

Both Peeta's and my curiosity has been peaked now, just as much as our child's. Annie's hesitant glance, that looks both hopeful and apprehensive, only fuels my confusion more.

"Well, there's a new tradition in some of the other districts that I think you'd find fun," he explains, but his eyes flicker to me and I raise an eyebrow, wondering what he could be suggesting. "You see you cut down a tree—or sometimes people in One or Two buy a plastic tree—and then you bring it home and decorate it."

Indigo claps her hands together, too excited and too precious for me to disappoint her. "I want to do it!" She yells, with an exuberance only a three-year-old could possess. "Kenny, we're gonna decorate a tee!"

I hear a variant of what being exclaimed in the other room, where my mother, Haymitch and the Bagley's still are.

"Where do we buy decorations?" My child asks, abruptly serious, the details of this tradition becoming clearer in her little mind.

"Indy," Finn quickly tries to corral. "I brought decorations with me, but we need a tree and..." He hesitates, looking at me now.

"And?" She prompts, confused.

"We have to ask your momma if it's alright to get one. Since it's her house we'll be doing this in." He winks at me, then turns his eyes pleading, half mocking me.

Indigo doesn't have to even feign the look, she naturally inherited that sweet, wide eyed, begging glint. Either from Prim or Peeta—probably both—and I'm powerless against it.

"Fine," I relent dramatically. Indigo rewards me by jumping from Finn's arms to mine and kicking her little chubby legs excitedly. "But not until after dinner," I condition.

"We should probably go get the tree now though?" Peeta suddenly speaks up, looking at the clock on the wall. "Before it gets dark?"

I shoot him a glare over Indigo's head. "It won't get dark for hours. And why do you seem not surprised by this?"

Peeta shrugs too innocently and when Annie giggles and nudges his shoulder, I realize they had been conspiring behind my back.

"Daddy is definitely the bad influence around here, Indigofera," I declare, as my husband walks closer to us, leans down and kisses my hair.

"We love you," he says teasingly, against my crown. "Even if you are a stick in the mud sometimes."

Before I can respond, likely with a snappy comment, our daughter pops her head off my shoulder. "Daddy, I want to pick out the tee."

Of course she does. That girl has been in charge of us since the day she was born.

"Okay, Bean. Ask your mother if it's alright," he tells her, but it's just a formality at this point, as to not ruffle me further. She's his kid too, he can take her to get a tree if he wants.

"Mommy, can I-"

"Yes," I say exasperatedly, giving Peeta a look as I hand him Indigo.

"Don't worry, Sweetheart," he whispers, leaning down and touching his nose to mine. "I'll take care of our girl."

"I know," I sigh, because I do know that. I've never not trusted him with our child. Even if I prefer to keep them both here with me. Even if I'd have preferred to keep her inside of me, where I knew I could protect her always.

I can't keep the smile off my face though when he pecks my lips unexpectedly and then my nose. "We won't be long."

"Better not be," I call as he grabs their coats and carries my little girl out the door, following behind Finn and Kanon and the Bagley kids. "Or else I'm eating without you."

"Same here," Delly calls from the kitchen, though they probably can't hear her.

"Go change," Annie suggests, touching my messy braid gently. "I'll go help Delly and your mom."

I shoot her a grateful smile and make my way upstairs. In the years since the war both Annie and Johanna have remained, shockingly—maybe only to me—constants in mine and Peeta's lives. They both returned to their home districts, but through visits and telegraphs and phone calls, even just for Jo to call me an idiot, they both became a part of a new blended family I didn't even know was being created.

Though I am grateful now for it. Beyond words. As neither me nor Peeta can offer Indigo any sort of extended family, her having Johanna, Delly, Annie and their families somehow fills the space left empty from the loss the war gave us.

As if on cue, just as I'm thinking of her, I hear a loud rapt on the bathroom door and know Johanna has arrived.

"Come in," I yell as I pull on a dark green—which for some reason is an acceptable color on Yuleday—sweater and push a brush through my hair viciously. I'm just moving on to rebraiding it simply when Jo enters.

"Hello, Brainless," her voice rings out as she steps into the bathroom.

"I'm shocked you knocked."

"I didn't wanna see you indecently."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Probably won't be the last."

We both let out a laugh and—pretending to be at least a little begrudgingly about it—embrace for a moment.

"Missed your stupidity these last couple of months," she murmurs as she pulls back.

"My stupidity? You once almost shot an arrow at Haymitch."

"You thought that was an accident?"

I can't help but snort as I turn back to the mirror and finish up my braid. "How's Christopher?" I ask, my tone a little more serious.

But she just shrugs, her gaze focusing now on Indigo's tiny comb. The one with the diamonds that Effie sent and Peeta insisted we keep.

Christopher is the man Jo, almost against her will, fell for almost two years ago. She refuses to commit to him entirely, especially since he has a son not much older than Indigo and that prospect alone terrifies her, but when Peeta visited her last year he told me that Christopher and his son, David, without a doubt live in that house with her.

"I can't believe you keep stuff from Effie Trinket?" Jo segues gracelessly. "Especially for a three-year-old."

"Blame Indigo's father. Both for her love of fancy things and his compliance in letting her have them."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, because you make sure she only gets the bare necessities."

"Okay, who's side are you on?"

"The one who makes the dinner around here."

"I hunt it."

"He stuffs it and bakes it."

"This feels personal. Is this because I didn't save you any pumpkin cake or sweet nut bread from Harvest Dinner?"

"Now that you mention it-"

Johanna is abruptly cut off by the sound of a yelp. Only, instead of the sound being a distress call or a bone chilling cry, it's one of excitement.

"Johanna Mason, get down here!" Annie yells, way too excited to be beckoning Jo of all people.

She rolls her eyes—a little too good-naturedly to be as annoyed as she'd like for me to believe—before exiting the bathroom and heading down to greet Annie at the bottom of the staircase.

I chuckle to myself, marveling at their odd friendship, before brushing my teeth and washing my face and heading down to join them as well.

I almost run headfirst into my husband as I walk by the front door. "That was quick," I note breathlessly as Peeta catches me by the waist, burying his now chilly face into my neck. Probably more for warmth than romance.

"Hmm, Indy-Indigo," he corrects himself humorously. "She is very decisive. Saw the tree she wanted and looked at no second options."

I wrap my arms around his neck and peer over his shoulder. "And where is the little decisive thing now?"

"Having a snowball fight with Finn and Kendall in the snow. You'll be happy to know your daughter is winning."

I roll my eyes. "Of course she is. Well, I guess we better start the fire to warm her up when she's done."

"Hypothermia would be a bummer on Yuleday," he agrees cheekily.

"For us more than her."

"Pretty much."

Inside the living room, Kanon and Haymitch—but mostly Kanon—are finishing setting up a newly trimmed tree, right by the back door.

"Sweetheart, it's your dream," Haymitch taunts. "Having part of the woods in your house."

"Did he knock a few back on the way to grab a tree?" I ask Peeta quietly, as he wraps his arms around my waist from behind.

"Probably. I was busy watching the four little ones, I didn't have time to monitor an old man too."

"Should have put Finn on Haymitch watch."

"You know, I can hear you," our old mentor barks as Kanon finishes putting up the tree.

"Indigo!" I hear my mother exclaim, as the front door opens again.

I spin around in time to see a little person, shorter than all the other kids, practically dance her way into the house. "Gamma!"

"Hey," I halt her, pulling away from Peeta. "Let's not track snow into the house, baby."

Delly and Annie both help dust off the other three while I pull Indigo's scarf, boots, hat, gloves and coat off and toss them all aside carelessly. Much to Peeta's dismay, as he sees the snow fly all over the entryway.

"Let's not track snow into the house, baby," he imitates.

"Shut up."

As soon as she's free from the white frozen slush, she launches herself towards my mother. "Hi!"

"Hi, sweet girl! How'd you like playing in the snow?"

"It was fweezing. But I beat Finn and Kenny at our snowball fight so it was worth it." She smiles up at my mother proudly and for a moment, Indigo looks exactly like Peeta and I am amazed at that fact somehow. Considering, at first glance, she's all me besides the eyes.

Except sometimes she looks at me and I see my sister at her age, so deeply ingrained in her eyes, in her mannerisms, in her voice, that I'm taken back to being child again myself.

"You're a little messy," my mother also notes, pushing back the hair that has fallen from her braid.

"Well I like to play so, things happen." Her little shrug is one of the most endearing things about her.

"Your mother also loved to get messy."

I furrow my brows. "I was always very clean, Mom."

"Oh I doubt that," Peeta disagrees and has the audacity to laugh, standing right beside me now. "You aren't even very clean now."

I turn to him, pressing my face close to his, trying to look threatening as I push my nose against his. "I will get you."

"Oh, please do," he eggs on, his smile turning into a grin.

"I have a bow, I could literally-"

"Is dinner almost ready yet?" Rhys, Delly's only son, complains.

Chuckling slightly, I pull my face away from a still smirking Peeta. Thankfully, no one else noticed our exchange, aside from my mother, who's too polite to do more than smile.

"Yeah, Rhys, dinner's all ready," Peeta says, putting his hand on the back of the little boy's head and guiding him to the table.

Dinner is only slightly chaotic. Four kids under eight-years-old, a teenager who can match Haymitch's humor effortlessly, Jo and Peeta and I swinging insults back and forth like compliments and then Annie, who's quiet and blissful spirit can't be tempered for anything in this world on holidays, and my mother, who feigns oblivious to the chaos surrounding her, all adds up to an interesting affair. Add in the stupid stray cat my daughter adores meowing at the back door and it's practically a circus.

But it's a circus I have found myself loving, more and more, since Indigo joined us. Since I somehow made the most beautiful and intelligent and spirited human being, somehow the dreary outlook I used to hold on this new post-war holiday has turned to excitement.

Maybe it's the fact that eighteen years have passed since the war that stole my sister from me. Or maybe it's that I'm looking forward to who's here now, who's experiencing this holiday with me, who I get to share this day with and witness their enthusiasm.

My daughter.

I never thought, in a million years, I'd have a child of my own. I never thought once that she'd come to exist, that I'd feel safe enough or strong enough or brave enough, to bear bringing something to delicate, something so wonderful and precious and breakable, into this world.

But she has lit up my life in ways I didn't even imagine possible. I thought I was happy, blissfully happy most days, with Peeta. And I was. But that was before I saw what life was like with Indigo and now I can't even picture how miserable and downcast this day would be without her.

As the sky begins to darken outside and Peeta stands up to light candles along the windowsills while Kanon adds logs to the fireplace, my child suddenly starts squirming in her seat. "Can I decorate the tree now?" She asks as I wipe her face with a cloth napkin.

"In a minute, Bean."

"I want to now!" She whines as I scrub the leftover food that didn't make her mouth off her cheek.

"Indigofera," Peeta says in a warning tone.

"I wanna decorate the tree right now," she says in a slightly quieter voice.

"Okay," I murmur, smiling slightly as I drop my hand from her face and let her go. "Go decorate, Sweetie."

With my consent, she practically flies out of her chair and—nearly knocking Evie over—pushes her way to the bag of ornaments Finn brought from Four.

"She didn't get a nap today," I explain to Johanna and my mother, who watched the almost tantrum unfold.

"You were the same," my mother replies and then chuckles. I toss her a look, before I spot Finn lifting Indigo up to place a trident high upon the tree.

My eyes aren't perfect but from where I'm sitting I can make out the name Finnick Odair gracefully carved underneath and my gaze falls on Annie.

She offers me a knowing smile and shrugs. "He wanted to handmake the ornaments himself. Meaningful ones you can't just buy. I wasn't going to discourage him."

I nod, a feeling of pride for some strange reason flooding me. I didn't raise Finn. The indefinite length of my sentence to Twelve was never revisited and, in truth, I had little reason to care enough to fight it. But it did mean I wasn't able to make it to Four, to see my mom or Annie and Finn at my own whim.

But Annie has always made a point to come here, every so often since the war ended. She's written letters and called and sent photos, consistently, for so many years that I've lost track. They were both here the day after I had Indigo. They've never missed any of our birthdays. And I've watched that boy, with his father's tan skin, bronze hair and sea green eyes grow into a man who'd make Finnick proud.

And it's nearly impossible for me not to feel so sort of pride in him as well. If for nothing else, the way he treats my daughter. Always patient, always kind, always ready to play.

"Where'd he get this idea?" I ask, if for no other reason, just to change the subject before I get visibly sentimental. "To decorate a tree, I mean."

Annie's expression shifts and changes slightly. "Coral McGonigill."

Johanna's ears almost noticeably perk up. "Is she is his new flavor of the month?"

"Well, she's lasted for several months," Annie corrects, but doesn't seem too enthusiastic of this girl.

"Do you like her?" I ask, my brow furrowing. I don't even want to imagine my child dating. The idea of her spending time alone, with anyone I don't personally know already drives me nearly to the brink of insanity, but to add in teenage impulses and hormones? My skin is crawling at the thought and I feel a wave of nausea come over me suddenly.

Before Annie can answer though, Haymitch is cutting into the conversation.

"Look at you guys," I hear him guffaw over my shoulder. "Gossiping like old ladies."

Jo throws her fork in his direction, barely missing her target. His left eye and cheek. "Hey, hey, hey," Haymitch bellows now. "Not in front of the children."

"I agree with Haymitch," Delly calls from behind the tree, where she's helping Kendall hang up a pink squirrel ornament.

"Of course you do," Johanna mumbles, loud enough only I can hear, and I have to repress a laugh.

All levity though slips away from my features as I watch Finn hand my child a new ornament. I feel Annie's eyes on me, apprehensive and a little fearful.

The ornament is an angel. It has blonde hair and blue eyes and my sister's exact nose and mouth. She's wearing a skirt and blouse, both pure white, to perfectly match the halo floating above her head. But the skirt is untucked in the back, giving her a duck tail, and it's this fact that registers in my brain. It's this fact that makes me realize that the ornament is Prim, even before I read the name sprawled across the bottom.

Peeta's staring at me now too, but it's my mother that grasps my hand. Our eyes barely meet for a second but we both understand what the other one is thinking.

She should be here. She should be helping decorate the tree. She should be playing with my daughter, who she'd surely love.

But she isn't. Because someone I trusted may or may not have built bombs that killed her. Because a vindictive woman thought that killing her and dozens of other children was the only way to win. Because I was too stupid for too long and didn't see what the real plan was, even as it sat right under my nose.

But she can be here now. If there's anything I learned from Indigo, it's that someone can exist, even in a small part, inside another person. It's that life doesn't have to end at death, as long as someone is around to remember them.

"That's a beautiful ornament, Finn," I say, as evenly and as kindly as I can.

He takes my other hand, his eyes sweet and gentle. "I made it for you. I thought..."

I nod, even though he doesn't finish his sentence. "I know. Thank you."

My mom keeps hold of my palm underneath the table for minutes after everyone else has moved, and even with the issues that still lie between us, I give her fingers a squeeze. Because she's the only one who really understands my grief.

I watch on as the kids decorate the entire tree, top to bottom, with shaped ornaments, ranging from plants to flower to boats to berries to pastries. And a loaf of bread, which Peeta finds particularly funny.

At the end though, all that's left is a large star, clearly meant to sit at the top of the tree. "What is this?" Evie asks Delly, turning it over in her hand.

"That goes on top of the tree," Annie explains, gesturing to the point of the pine near the ceiling.

"How do we get up there?" Rhys asks, stealing the star from his sister, his little eyes confused. "Daddy isn't even that tall."

"Someone's gotta lift us up to the top," Kendall states, munching on something I hope came from her dinner plate and not the floor.

"My daddy can lift me up there!" Indigo suddenly exclaims and reaches her grabby little hands for the star.

Rhys, however, jerks it out of reach automatically. "Why do you get to do it?"

"It's her house," Delly chides her son sternly.

"And she's the youngest, Rhys," Evie says, in a tone that clearly imitates her mother. "Give her the star."

He does so reluctantly and I'm glad that moment passed by quickly, before I had the chance to tell Rhys—as much as I care for him, and I do, deeply—that he better give my kid her star.

I don't even care that this isn't my tradition to start with. My house, my rules. My kid puts the star on the tree, end of story.

"Daddy!" Indigo squeals as Peeta scoops her up in his waiting arms. "Lift me," she commands, holding the large tree-topper with both hands.

Kanon and Haymitch start directing her, as her little eyes can't see to the top, even with Peeta lifting her as high as humanly possible. But when she gets it into place, she grows so excited that her limbs start flailing.

"Look, Daddy! I did that!" She says once he has her on his hip again, pointing to the star she just placed.

"I saw," he enthuses, brushing back the long, dark hair that's almost entirely out of her braid. "You did good!"

And if I thought my heart was melting before, with Finn and Indigo, it explodes when Indigo puts her tiny hands on Peeta's face and turns him towards her. "I love you, Daddy."

His eyes are awed and grateful, as this was all he wanted for years. For years upon years, he remained patient and understanding when I said I wasn't able to give him a child. When I explained all my reasons to why I didn't want a family. He always was respectful of my wishes and of my feelings.

But I saw it in his bright blue eyes, the ones he passed down to our daughter. He wanted a child so badly. He wanted this, this love that Indigo so easily has to offer, that we effortlessly shower her in.

It took me fifteen years to realize that perhaps I wanted it too. Perhaps my fear was overshadowing me from what I truly wanted. Perhaps it was better to have a child and do everything to keep her safe, to fret and worry in addition to love and adore her, rather than to never know that kind of love at all.

"I love you too, Indigo Sky," he murmurs back softly, before she leans in and kisses him.

I feel my mom squeeze my hand again and I know it's not out of sorrow this time, but out of joy. Joy that her child was able to have a family full of so much love. A family so similar to the one she had decades ago.

I squeeze her hand back, feeling horrific now for how angry I was with her for so long. I don't know who I'd be or what I'd do if someone took Peeta or Indigo from me.

"I think Mommy needs to admire the tree," Peeta says, eyeing me conspicuously.

I stand up, looking at the decorations admiringly. Of course, this tree was mainly decorated by young children, so the majority of ornaments gravitate towards the bottom or are clumped into one place, but still, I tell Indigo how pretty it looks and how good of a job she did.

My eye still catches on the Primrose Everdeen angel, hanging right in the center of the tree, and I have to force myself to refrain from tracing the face on it. The details are even more impressive up close and I wonder if Finn has become an artist or if his girlfriend is the talented one.

Just as I'm about to say something, anything really, to take my mind off my deceased sister, a meaty smell fills the air and my stomach lurches without warning.

I propel myself towards the kitchen sink and lose majority of what I just consumed at dinner.

Behind me, I hear a small commotion. Peeta telling Indigo to go to Finn, Delly and Kanon keeping their kids back, Annie and Johanna saying something to Haymitch.

My mom's hand comes in contact with my cheek, feeling my face and pushing the hair that fell from my braid back behind my shoulder. "What happened?"

As I'm about to answer, Peeta comes up to stand on my other side, one hand subtly turning on the water to flush out the sink, while the other rubs my back soothingly.

"I don't know," I croak, as puking always makes my throat raw. "I just smelled something like meat-"

"Told you it was Haymitch's fault," Jo cuts in, clearly speaking to Annie.

"I only asked if this bird was still good," the old, paunchy man defends himself, holding up some game I shot a while back.

"Well, if it makes Katniss throw up just by smelling it, I'd say no," Finn says.

"You don't have a fever," my mother notes, but her eyes are still confused. Though, I will say, not as worried as I thought they might be and for that I'm glad. The last thing I wish to do is ruin everyone's holiday, especially when I've only just started to enjoy this festivity in the last few years.

"I'm fine," I insist, pulling away from both my mother and my husband and wiping my mouth on a cloth quickly. "Seriously, I'm fine."

"Okay, but still sit down," I hear Delly say and I roll my eyes but do so anyways. Because I'm genuinely tired, not because anyone told me to.

"I'm fine, Indigo," I promise when I spot my daughter's scared eyes, still being held in Finn's arms. "I'm just tired."

Peeta follows me to the couch and, even though I wish to refuse out of embarrassment, when he offers me a fizzy water and starts subtly massaging my back, I can't help but lean my head into his chest gratefully.

I still fight the urge to fall asleep right there though. I still conjure up as much willpower as I can to stay alert, to watch Indigo and Kendall play with their stuffed toys, to listen to Finn and Haymitch shoot smart remarks back and forth, to listen to Annie and Jo catch up or my mother and Delly share stories of their vastly different lives.

By the end of the night though, when it's way past all of our bedtimes, as people start to filter out, planning on catching the late night train or taking a shortcut to their houses here in Twelve, my eyelids begin to involuntarily droop.

"You can sleep," Peeta whispers against my forehead. "I'll take care of everything else."

I want to turn down his offer, to say I can help clean up and put Indigo to bed. But when the last of our guests dissipate and Indigo, exhausted herself, climbs into my lap and curls up against me, I lose the battle and doze off right there on the couch.

Hours must pass, because when my eyes crack open again, the flames in the fireplace have been put out, the entire kitchen and living room are clean, and my child is missing.

Of course, those are the first words out of my mouth. "Where's Indigo?"

"I tucked her in. She's in her own bed tonight," Peeta promises, pulling my arm up to wrap around his neck. "I told you I'd take care of everything."

"You didn't have to..." I mumble sleepily as he lifts me up against him.

"Shhh, just go to sleep," he whispers, his lips pressing against my neck then collarbone. "Just rest, Katniss."

When I wake up again, the sun has already risen in the sky. Thankfully though, my child hasn't yet.

Peeta is alert already, propped up on his elbow, when I open my eyes. "Hey," I rasp, my voice not working yet.

"Hey, beautiful," he greets softly and I roll my eyes at the compliment. I do appreciate hearing it though, despite the years we've been together and how some things can lose effect over time. Peeta's little comments and gestures still haven't. They still mean more to me than I'd ever admit.

Now that I'm fully awake, I feel a small bit of embarrassment creeping back in. "Sorry about last night."

His blonde brows twist with confusion. "You mean getting sick? I don't think that's anything for you to be sorry about, Katniss."

"It was just strange," I note, more to myself than to him. "I just smelled the meat Haymitch found and for some reason, my gag reflex couldn't handle it."

The look that crosses his eyes is sly and reserved and I must still be a little foggy from exhaustion, because it's a rare time where I don't understand what he must be thinking.

He changes the subject abruptly anyway. "Did you have a good time yesterday?" He asks kindly.

"Yes," I reply, maybe a little begrudgingly. Considering for years I complained that I hated this newfound holiday, it is both a joy and a joke to Peeta that I look forward to this day now.

"Good," he replies and kisses my forehead, then my mouth warmly. "I like it when my wife is happy."

"Your wife is always happy when she's with you."

He moves back a little to smirk. "Me too."

I can't help teasing him though. "You're always happy when you're with you too?"

"Yes, Katniss, that's exactly what I meant."

I lean up then and kiss him again, this time with more passion. It's a real testament to our marriage that he can still conjure up butterflies in my lower stomach, after almost two decades since we had our first kiss-our first real kiss-in that cave.

"Thank you," I whisper softly as we break apart.

His eyes flicker lightly with confusion. "For what, Sweetheart?"

"For everything. For Indigo and the life we have. For the last eighteen years," I profess, genuinely. Words have always been difficult for me, and they still don't flow at the slightest slip of my tongue, but it's easier now. It's easier with Peeta, just the two of us, and the strong foundation in which our relationship and life is built upon.

Words for him, however, have always come as easy as breathing. "You have made my life so wonderful," he murmurs and tenderly kisses my lips one more time. "Thank you."

Weeks later, the source of my mysterious illness, my nausea and exhaustion, is discovered when we find out I'm pregnant again.

#everlark #thg #the hunger games #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #everlark fanfic #everlark fic #fic #writing #christmas #oneshot #post mockingjay #canon compliant

101 notes · View notes

theroundbartable · 3 years

Text

Dragon Island

“Absolutely not.” Sometimes, Arthur Pendragon was not only a prat, he was a downright Clotpole. Not that Merlin ever failed to mention it.

“Arthur, I am going with you!”

“And what exactly can YOU do against dragons, Merlin? This is THE dragon Island! My father has been searching for this place for over a decade! There are rumors that there will be dragon lord's there as well! Do you even know how many knights have died since the purge started? Since my father fought these monsters and erased them from this part of the world? If we find this Island, we can end this war! But this is too dangerous for a servant. I can not waste my time consoling you, when the sea is making you sick, Merlin. I have battle strategies to discuss.”

Merlin huffed and crossed his arms. They were standing at the shore, far far away from Camelot. Uther Pendragon had a ship army remaining here in position. He regularly send out spies to find the home island of the dragon lords. Not that there were any actual dragon lords with dragon lord powers left. They were wiped out in the war. But their families remained. Those who valued their traditions and taught each other magic. But weren't the first son's and therefore had none of the abilities their kind was so proud of. But magic was another reason to have them wiped out.

About a week ago, one of Uther's spies had found a trace that lead them to an underwater cave. Barely shallow enough to have a narrow boat sail through. They had found runes engraved in the walls. And the spy was pretty ecstatic that this MUST be the entrance to the secret island.

Well... Since Arthur was the only knight known to have actually killed a dragon (which he didn't), his father found it absolutely logical to send his only son and heir on another suicide mission. Into unknown terrain, with unknown enemies and not one dragon, but a whole army of those impossible-to-kill-except-you're-a-dragon-lord creatures.

It was truly perfect. Arthur could finally proof his worth as crown prince.... again. And almost die.... again. Heroically of course. Uther was a genius.

And apparently Arthur was just as smart, because the idiot prince had decided to go on that mission WITHOUT Merlin. The only ACTUAL dragon lord left in the entire known universe. Not that they knew about that.

“Just so you know – I do NOT get sea sick. And I already know how to use the sails and stuff. Will and I often went out with the fisher of our town. Other than you who grew up in a fancy Castle with perfect temperature in every single room and hundreds of servants working for you. You may train, but you have NO idea how to deal with the weather, with the tides. You barely know how to dress yourself!”, as Merlin exclaimed the last part, he could basically feel the steam of anger from Arthur's nostrils flaring at him, while a few knights were snickering behind them.

The knights were, by the way, currently occupied readying the boat.

“Fishing on a boat and Sailing on the open sea is totally different.”, Arthur argued, causing Merlin to roll his eyes and facepalm himself. “Fisher's... sail, Sire.”, he muttered, causing Arthur to frown as if that confused him for some reason.

“I don't care. You cannot stop me. I'll come with you.”, Merlin's expression was final.

“I'm the crown prince of Camelot, Merlin. You have to do what I say.”

“I never listen to what you say. Why would I start now?”

In the end, Gwaine and Leon were ordered to drag Merlin away from the boat. All while Arthur ignored the very obvious argument (provided by Merlin and confirmed by at least two other knights), that he NEEDED Merlin. If as a servant or a navigator or maybe a warning radar for obvious danger that Arthur was certain to ignore. He NEEDED him. So, Merlin would definitely find a way.

“Hey, buddy. I gottcha.”, Gwaine winked at him, while Merlin was still trying to make up a perfect strategy, how he could sneak on the ship. Merlin blinked up at him, while Leon just rolled his eyes and pretended not to listen. “What?”, Merlin asked, confused.

“I got a few barrels of water and wine and stuff for the ride. Leon and I have already prepared an empty one for you. You get in and we'll sneak you on.” Merlin had never wanted to hug Gwaine more. “Thank you!!!!”, he beamed at them. “Wait, Leon? You're IN on the plan? You're not going to rat me out to Arthur, are you?”

Gwaine cackled. “It was HIS idea.”

“Huh?”, Merlin looked at the blond knight in confusion.

Leon was still looking away, as if embarrassed by his treason. “If you're not there, Arthur will focus all his attention on US. And I did not sign up for this.”, he was frowning. As if he was already dreading the following days.

“But... how long have I to stay in the barrel? I mean... If I step out too soon, Arthur will insist to turn around.”

“I can survive five days of Arthur being a whirlwind of emotions. You have FIVE days. Gwaine will sneak you out at night. Lancelot has agreed to help. I can distract Arthur, until you're in. Other than that, I was never involved.”, Leon was grimacing the entire time. He seemed exhausted, as if he had already had five different yet similar arguments today and wanted to throttle someone.

“Wow, thank you Leon.”, Merlin looked at him amazed. But Leon's frown only darkened. “Don't thank him.”, Gwaine whispered. “He originally asked, if we could dress you up like him, so he can stay in Camelot and have a vacation until we're back. You may not get sea sick. But HE does.”

“Why.... And he's still allowed on the ship? Wait, why don't we try that? Doesn't sound like a too bad plan. If Leon's sea sick anyway, people would leave him alone to suffer in silence, right?”

Leon sighed with exasperation. “As if that ever stopped Arthur from discussing battle strategies.”, he made a dramatic pause. “If I don't make it -”, Leon made a sound that reminded Merlin of a creaking door. “It was nice knowing you.”

“Don't be so dramatic, Leon.”, Gwaine rolled his eyes. “Honestly, what's with you? Since Uther announced this mission, you've been nothing but a drama queen.”, he scolded. Leon pouted a little. “I'm being realistic if anythikng. If the sea doesn't drown us, we don't freeze to death or a sudden storm destroys our boat, and we don't get horribly lost in that strange cave and starve to death, then we arrive on an island full of dragons who probably hate Arthur for killing the great Dragon. And being the son of a man who ordered the murder of all dragon kind. Not to mention him indirectly causing the death of the last dragon Lord as well. So we either die, or we die. I'm just planning ahead.”

“So dramatic.”, Gwaine mumbled. But Merlin frowned. Leon got a valid point.

“Be positive. What if we meet a bunch of mermaids?”, Gwaine winked at Leon. Leon frowned even further. “Which kind?” “The hot kind, duh.” “Which is?” Gwaine blinked. “Not this again. You're no fun.”

“No, no, Gwaine. Go ahead. Tell me. Which is the hot kind of mermaid? The Siren one's that lure you in with magic voices and then drown you, so they can rape your dead bodies and make more Sirenbaby's; The manatee's that only start to look appealing when you're so starved and Vitamin C deprived that you start hallucinating right before you pass out and die or the classic one's with boobs and a fish tails that make NO SENSE in their anatomy. Which I will be hearing you complain about for days. When all I want is peace and quiet.”, Leon closed his eyes – yet again- dramatically.

Gwaine was about to open his mouth to counter, when Leon added: “Also, we're knights of Camelot and mermaids are magical creatures. It's your job to kill them, regardless of how hot they seem to you.”

With that, Leon had set Gwaine's brain check mate and left him and Merlin standing there with their mouths comically wide open. Half in shock, half with laughter and amazement. “Holy shit, I think he's finally lost it.”, Gwaine laughed as he watched Leon slump down at the next tree and saying goodbye to the dry unshakable ground.

“Maybe we should ask George to come as well. Or convince Arthur to get him off the ship.”, Merlin muttered. After all, Leon was always a lot calmer when George was around. Maybe because George didn't bully him, did what he was told and was also a good person to be quiet with. George also seemed to prefer Leon as the one ordering him around, because Leon wasn't chatting endlessly. He was precise in his orders and didn't talk around the bush. They got along well. Because they didn't have to get along at all. They had the ultimate work-efficient dynamic. It was horrifying.

“Are you kidding? This will be hilarious.”, Gwaine grinned.

“Don't you think Leon deserves a break?”, Merlin asked, still startled by Leon's obvious irritation. “From work? Yes. From me? NEVER!”, Gwaine winked again. And Merlin already pitied the poor knight.

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

Leon was indeed... sick. The moment the ships left the haven, Leon was slumped over the reeling and holding on for his life. He was suspiciously green in the face and tried to avoid Arthur. Who was continuously ignoring Leon's condition and decided to ask him for how many days they had planned to be on sea. How many weapons they had and discussed whether or not they were actually suitable to kill dragons. And if there was enough food and water and so on and so forth.

He did not realize that the barrel Gwaine had decided to sit on had a few holes in it, that should not be there, were wine in it. Gwaine was chatting with Lancelot and occasionally Merlin, albeit in third person like... “I wonder what Merlin would think of this.”, and then get a hushed answer from underneath him.

The sea was relatively calm for the first three days. And Elyan, who was assigned to steer the ship, had no trouble finding the right path. Arthur seemed content too and left Leon alone on day two.

Leon was hardly eating. And if he ever did, he puked it out ten minutes later. By the third day, he was leaning against the reeling once again. Eyes closed with an obvious headache and ready to drink poison to free him from his misery.

Merlin was still sitting inside the barrel. Except for at night, when Lancelot would let him out, while Gwaine annoyed the prince. It worked surprisingly well. Yet, Merlin was a bit worried. Not necessarily to be found out. That was kind of part of the plan. No... By the way Arthur behaved.

The first two days, it was hardly noticeable. Arthur had focused on talking to Leon. Or Elyan or Gwaine and Lancelot. But after they had run out of conversational topic, Arthur had started to isolate himself. Merlin could see him through the holes of his hiding place. He was often standing at the reeling and staring out towards the horizon. He was eerily quiet. And appeared to be melancholic. If not slightly sad.

“Hey, Merlin.”, Lancelot whispered at an afternoon on day four. Merlin was still shocked that his disguise had apparently worked well so far. Then again, Arthur was terrifyingly oblivious to most of his secrets. “Can't you like... use magic to heal Leon's sickness?”

Of course. If anyone had it bad these days it was Sir Leon. Gwaine was currently occupied with drinking. Otherwise Lancelot would not have dared mention Merlin's illegal existence to him. “Do you think that's wise? What if they all notice? After all, Leon has been sick for three days now. If he was suddenly fine, wouldn't they ask?”

“And you think they'd explain it with magic? Merlin. Leon could have just gotten used to the sea. I'm sure no one will notice.”

“Are you sure?”, Merlin asked back and tried to focus on Leon's pitiful form. “I'm positive. Even if they think it's magic, they don't even know you're here. And what sorcerer would just appear on this ship, just to heal Leon?” “Good point.”

Merlin took a shuddering breath, as he strained himself to look through the barrel once again. Leon had his eyes closed and he was breathing harshly. Arthur was standing right next to him. Deep in thought. As if on cue, he suddenly straightened up, pushed himself from the reeling and went under deck.

Merlin nodded to himself. And then whispered a silent spell in Leon's reaction. There was a flash of gold for barely a second. But in that moment, Leon opened his eyes and looked at Merlin. Merlin froze. They locked eyes. Merlin caught his breath. “Lancelot. I think he saw.”, Merlin muttered, panic was slowly sinking in, along with the realization of the situation. Lancelot frowned. “What?”, he asked. “Lance, I think he knows.” “Merlin, stop mumbling. I'm certain you're imagining things.”

Leon's eyes flickered shut for a second and he took a deep breath. Then he held his head in slight irritation, before looking in Merlin's direction again. He ….. sighed in relieve. Slowly, he pushed himself up. Still holding his head, as he took a deep breath. He nodded at Merlin. Like he was... thanking him? Was Merlin really imagining this? But Leon smiled, stretched himself and rubbed at the dark circles under his sleepless eyes. As if to say: “finally.”

Soon enough, he was gone as well. Merlin opened his mouth to say something, but shook his head to himself, while Lancelot had a firm hand on his barrel.

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

It was night, when Merlin was finally let out of his barrel. The knights were asleep. All but the one on watch. Which was Gwaine, fortunately. Meaning, Merlin could safely leave the barrel, chat with him and eat in peace. He had slept through the day mostly. He trusted that Lancelot and Gwaine would stop anyone from opening this particular barrel during the day.

And if anyone got to close, he could always hear one of them say, this was the “victory wine.” Like this was the finest wine of them all and reserved for the day they managed to defeat the dragon lords. It was a good excuse. Albeit difficult to maintain, because nobody believed Gwaine could hold himself back from wine for that long.

Either way, for now it was fine. Merlin's legs were dangling off the watch tower, while Gwaine leaned against the rod behind him. The sails were up, because the wind was in their favor.

It was then, that suddenly, someone crawled up from under deck.

Even in the dim moonlight, Merlin could make out the shine of Arthur's armor. Everyone had already told him, wearing armor on a boat was absolutely insane. If he ever fell off the boat, he'd drown immediately. Because the weight would just drag him down. But the clotpole was too stubborn to listen. And right now it was as useful as a warning signal to them. 'Why is he up?', was all Merlin could think, as he nearly shrieked through Gwaine's mindless chatter and hid underneath a blanket that lay around behind them. Gwaine, surprised at his reaction, finally noticed the prince as well and waved at him, while Arthur gave him a startled expression. Merlin could have kicked Gwaine for drawing Arthur's attention to them.

“Gwaine? What are you doing?”

Gwaine rose both his eyebrows in amusement. “Oh, I'm on watch. You know. Talking to myself. Looking at the stars. Nice weather out, don't you think?”, he laughed suspiciously.

Arthur frowned and sighed, before climbing up the ladder with a sigh. He shook his head, as if used to these antics and hardly caring for them at all. Merlin hurried to shuffle behind Gwaine, so that Arthur wouldn't notice him. And Gwaine did his best to position himself in a way that Merlin was mostly covered by his frame. In a practiced manner, Merlin steeled his heart and his breathing and went completely still. A method he had accustomed to during his time out in the barrel.

By the time Arthur got up to them, Merlin might as well have vanished. That's how invisible he was. Though, to himself, he felt extremely obvious.

“So, er... Sire. Can't sleep?”, Gwaine asked. It was pretty late. Too late to still be up. Too early to have woken up again. Gwaine pat the ground beside him, so Arthur could sit down. It would be suspicious if he send him away. But Merlin was certain Gwaine did it to taunt him. “Not really.”, Arthur said and yawned. If Merlin could see through the blanket, he would see that the circles under Arthur's eyes were nearly as dark as Leon's had been.

His voice didn't really leave room for conversation. He sounded tired, as if he really didn't want to talk. And despite Gwaine's usual annoyance, he didn't press the matter. He hummed instead. For one, because it was Gwaine. Who would he be, if he wasn't drinking ale and doing noisy things all the time? However, this also served the purpose of covering up all unintentional noises Merlin could have made in the dead silence of the still night. It was too still. But they weren't used to the ever changing weather of the sea. Else, they would have been alarmed.

“It's funny.”, Arthur said after a moment of hummed silence. “What is, Sire?” “I would have thought Merlin would have sneaked on to the ship and come out by now.”

Gwaine laughed comically. Startled by the sudden comment. Arthur ignored him, but Merlin nearly smacked Gwaine for that obvious reaction.

“Well. That surely sounds like Merlin. But we would have found him in no time.”, Gwaine assured him.

“Yeah I know. Still.”, Arthur sighed and shook his head, before running a hand through his face. “I mean... Now that he's not here, I can't stop thinking that I basically left him alone with my father. You know my father. If Merlin doesn't behave, the king will certainly have him flogged. Or worse. I mean... he has these moments when he accuses random people to be sorcerers. What if I left him to one of those antics? Did I make a mistake leaving him home?”

Arthur sounded worried and he was suddenly found playing with his own hands.

Gwaine opened his mouth in surprise. “Huh?”, he asked. “I thought you didn't want him to come? ”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “He's still saver with my father than he is raiding a dragon infested island with us, isn't he?” That was.... an actual question. Not a rhetoric one, like one would expect. No. Arthur was seriously asking. His tone was probably supposed to be rhetoric, but he sounded too emotional. Too concerned. Too guilty.

Gwaine's mouth dropped open. Merlin's heart stilled. “Since when are you so worried about Merlin?”, Gwaine asked and sat up straight. After all... Arthur had never really shown his emotional side to Gwaine. Not like this. Not verbally. There would be lots of teasing, surely. Later on, of course. And Arthur should know that. But Arthur was sleep deprived and concerned and he needed to vent. That may not be wise. But since when do people do reasonable things?

“I'm not worried.”, Arthur denied immediately. Gwaine raised an eyebrow. Which Arthur noticed. “Look -”, Arthur started. “I couldn't take Merlin with us on this trip. Merlin is a servant and he's always unarmed-”

“That never stopped you from taking him on hunts.”, Gwaine raised both eyebrows now.

Arthur groaned. “That's different. We're knights. We can protect him from bandits. Dragon's are.... a whole different story. I faced one and I passed out and I still don't know HOW we survived. I know I killed it, but it was incredibly close. And this mission... I'm not sure we'll make it.”, Arthur let his head sink.

Gwaine paused for a moment. “Wait... you think we'll all die?”, he asked, eyes wide and suddenly terrified. “Of course not.”, Arthur said absently. But it was clearly a lie. “Jesus. You're in a good mood.”, Gwaine mumbled to himself. For the first time, he sounded worried too.

“So... you left Merlin in Camelot because -”

“I don't want him to die.”, Arthur confessed. Albeit reluctantly. “But … you said you thought he'd be here?”, Gwaine pointed out. Arthur breathed. Then he turned to look at Gwaine. “Is it selfish to wish he had ignored my orders?”

Gwaine blinked. “Huh?” To be fair, he had wanted to tease Arthur about the fact that nothing Arthur just said opposed the idea that he was – indeed – worried about Merlin in any way. But that last comment confused him and changed the focus of this conversation.

“I don't want him to die with us. But -”, Arthur bit his lip. “If I die, I'd rather die at his side. Is that weird?”

Gwaine glanced at the blanket, where Merlin strained his ears to hear every word Arthur was saying. Merlin's breathing was getting rigid. This conversation.... was unusual. Very... unusual for Arthur.

Gwaine blinked, then he forced himself to grin and make a more joyous expression. As he always did. Because positive energy was his thing. “Now now, princess.”, he put an arm around Arthur shoulder, which Arthur let him do with a disapproving frown. “Sounds like someone here got a small crush on our dear Merlin.”

Merlin fought the urge to kick him yet again, worried that this would reveal him from underneath the blanket. Gwaine was clearly overdoing it. He was clearly out to annoy Arthur. Merlin knew that. And he really wanted Gwaine to stop. This was humiliating and mean.

Arthur stared at Gwaine. At the laughing face. The poking and joking and attempt at humiliating him expression. But Arthur's stare didn't waver. And Gwaine's expression lost itself on the realization that he actually hit a mark.

“Wait – seriously?”, he asked and pulled his arm back. Merlin behind him froze. Merlin's inner turmoil was at Gwaine's antics. He had been so focused on cursing Gwaine, that he was completely startled by that sentence. He had not expected for Arthur to just.... not deny it. Which was basically a confession. Merlin's eyes widened. And he stared at the blindness in front of him. Once again, he was completely still. 'Huh?', he thought.

“You think it's weird.”, Arthur turned away, still fumbling with his hands. And had the little snide remark from Gwaine not been, maybe they could have pretended this sentence didn't mean so much. That this was simply about hoping his friend was here. That they just continued their conversation from before, without the additional information that Arthur – indeed – liked Merlin more than he ought to.

“I- what? No!”, Gwaine was quick to retaliate. “Of course not. I'm just surprised, is all. I mean... it's Merlin.”

“And?”, Arthur was frowning. As if ready to defend his friend. Which in itself was news to Merlin. Since when did Arthur defend him behind his back? Either way, this was Merlin they were talking about. And it was Gwaine he was talking about him with. There was no need to get defensive. “I didn't think you'd admit it! Especially to me.” The 'everyone loves Merlin, so of course I'm not surprised' was left unsaid. Needless to say. It was only Merlin who didn't recognize that implication.

Arthur let his shoulders slump. “Yeah well. If we're dying anyway, even you teasing me and telling everyone can't make it worse.”

“First of all. Rude. You underestimate me, Sire. You have no idea what I'm capable of. Second of all. Why are you all so dramatic these days? First Leon, now you? We haven't even arrived at the island yet and you're all planning our funerals! Who is to say we even find the island? Or the dragons?”, Gwaine flailed his arms, before putting a soft hand on Arthur's tense shoulders. His tone turned soft. Very unlike Gwaine. But it was not the first time he had worn that expression. He'd acted like this before. Tender and soft and fond. Mostly for Merlin, because Merlin was his first and therefore best friend. And he worried about him too. “And last, but not least. You'll see Merlin again, Sire. And even if he found out, he wouldn't tease you for this. Merlin has a good heart.”

Arthur looked up. Surprised by the comforting tone of Gwaine's voice. After all, Gwaine was not exactly the go to type, when it came down to emotions.

People often underestimate the clown friend. Radiating joy and fun doesn't always come from ignorance and obliviousness. It doesn't always mean they are secretly depressed either. Often, these kind of people have gone through much more than they let on. Often, they have learned to deal with their own emotions and come to the conclusion that having fun, being truly blissful brightens not only the world of others. It brightens their own as well. That doesn't make them less empathetic. It doesn't make them less understanding. Quite the contrary. They have a deep understanding of such situations and decided not to take it seriously. Because not everything has to be. And sometimes it's smarter not to think about stuff too deeply.

“You think?” Arthur's own voice was strangely hopeful. Like knowing he'd see Merlin again was all that mattered. Like the other comfort about surviving wasn't nearly as helpful. Or dare say, important.

“I'm certain.”, Gwaine grinned knowingly. Arthur smiled in relief at that. There was a pause between them, before Arthur added. “If you ever tell him about this conversation, I'll drown you in the ocean.”

Gwaine laughed at that. “No promises, princess.” Truth is, he could. He could easily promise it. But he wouldn't be Gwaine if he said that. It would be too obvious that he was hiding something as well. Arthur laughed.

“Nuts?”, Gwaine asked, suddenly and held out a can full of salted nuts. Startled by the question, Arthur almost bend over from laughing. “You're unbelievable.”, Arthur shook his head. Suddenly embarrassed that he confessed all this to Gwaine. But he accepted the nuts anyway.

The rest of the night was spend almost quietly. Which wasn't for long and Gwaine did his best to just distract Arthur. Which meant, it was just Gwaine and Arthur chatting about Merlin. It was mostly Gwaine. Because Gwaine's mindless babbling often meant talking positively about Arthur's servant. Arthur was already used to this.

For once though, Arthur was just as deeply into the conversation. “I think, if Merlin was here, he'd feel guilty.”

“Why is that?”, Gwaine asked, encouraging Arthur to continue. He barely concealed his grin, because Merlin was witness to all of this. Unable to move which would lead to exposure.

“Well... the last dragon lord died for him. And now we're visiting the last remains of his culture. Even if they have magic. I can't imagine Merlin be anything but devastated, when he meets them. I suppose the idiot would apologize to them. Like it was in any way his fault! Merlin can be such an idiot sometimes. One would think he wants to die, so often as he drinks poison for others or jumps into mid battle, unarmed. I'm honestly glad he has the decency to hide most of the time, while we handle things. I don't think I'd be able to concentrate on fighting, if he just -”, Arthur exhaled a deep breath and flailed his arms to imply Merlin running into knifes. “He's too brave for his own good.”

“Merlin is the bravest.”

“The bravest man I ever met.”, Arthur agreed and got a chuckled clap on his shoulder for that. “Look at you, Sire. Saying all these nice things about Merlin. Wait till I tell him about it.”

Arthur immediately recoiled. “Seriously, don't.”

“Why? What's so bad about him knowing that you care?”, Gwaine frowned in amusement. Thinking, that Arthur was just shy.

“He knows that I care. I'm pretty damn obvious about it. No need to put any more attention to it.”

Gwaine scoffed in disbelieve. “YOU? Obvious that you CARE? Really? This is what you call obvious?”

“What do you mean?”, Arthur frowned, honestly confused, while Merlin was trying to breathe even slower. Because somehow Arthur had shifted closer to the blanket. A hand was put on it. If Arthur himself made the wrong move, he'd accidentally pull the blanket off of him.

“Arthur. I don't think Merlin even knows you appreciate him at all.”

Arthur was stunned with silence. “You're joking.” Merlin blinked underneath the blanket. Just what on earth was Arthur talking about?

Gwaine stared at him. “Sire... what exactly do you understand about being obvious about this?”

Arthur frowned. “Well... Erm. I'm the prince of Camelot. My father has never allowed me to have friends that are not royal enough to be of knightly status. Merlin is a servant. Yet, he's my best friend.”

Gwaine stared back at him. “Have you told him that?”

Arthur blinked. “No... because my father would ground me, if I ever did. But I have...”, he slowly swayed to the side, searching for the right words. “I treat him like a knight. I take him on hunts where servants are not allowed. I used to punch him, too, like I would a knight, to cheer him up. Though I stopped that, because he said he doesn't like it. And I mean... I stopped. I wouldn't do that for just anyone!

My guards have been ordered to let him into my room, even if I ordered them to let no one in. If I don't want him around, I have to tell them that specially. I er... let him steal my food. He loves blackberries. So do I, but he doesn't need to know that.

He's always insulting me or my father behind his back, but I don't really throw him in the stocks for that. Which I should. That kind of talk is treason. He could be hanged for that, you know?

I give him unnecessary chores, just so he has a reason to hang out with me. And he doesn't get punished, though what he does is a really shabby job. Now that I think about it, I think I mostly pay him for insulting me.

I've defended him in front of my father. I have used my word as knight for him more than once. I have trusted him with my life and drank poison because he told me it was a good idea. Or because the choice was either him or myself. And I trusted him with the antidote or with taking my royal seal back to Camelot to whoever I want to precede me. I have saved his life and protected him in battle...”, at this point, Arthur was counting on his fingers and it looked like he was about to go on for hours.

However, Gwaine looked at him oddly, which made Arthur pause as soon as he noticed. “What?”, he asked, clearly confused with Gwaine's reaction.

“Well... just. I see what you mean.”, Gwaine was talking slowly. Realizing that yes... from Arthur's point of view, all of that was actually extraordinary behavior. But for anyone else... “But you do realize that most of that is just... Look. The things you describe...

Half of the stuff happens behind his back, which you don't tell him. So how would he know? Other stuff is like.... Merlin probably thinks he's just stealing your stuff. Defending someone innocent is not something you do for someone you like. It's something you do for strangers, if their life depends on it. It's something Merlin himself would do for anyone.

And... treating him like a person when he argues with you and taking him seriously is hardly an expression of love, Arthur. I know in your position that's different. But to anyone else. Jesus christ, how do I put this?

The only extraordinary thing about all this, is you risking your life for him. Which he would do for you – for anyone really – without even thinking. And YOU would die for your own people too. I hardly think he sees a difference in your behavior towards him and your general behavior to your people.

Merlin would risk his life for anyone. He doesn't even demand thanks for it.

What you do, is... for a prince.... extremely … er... let's say affectionate. But for Merlin, it's... how do I put it … less than the minimum.”

Arthur blinked. Finally Merlin shifted underneath the blanket. His eyes blinking rapidly now. Gwaine was right. This WAS how he saw things. But the way Arthur described the way he acted.... that wasn't just Arthur trying his best to be a good prince or person. This was Arthur trying his hardest to show he cared! Cared for Merlin! Merlin felt... touched? Kind of. The crush thing aside. That was a whole different level of work in process. (1) He felt his own face heat up with the knowledge that these things... These things that Merlin had guessed were normal for Arthur... that Arthur had done them on purpose. That he had actually thought about Merlin to make sure he was cared for. That this was a far as he could push himself and did it despite the risk of being scolded by his father.

Arthur's mouth was open now. Unable to retort or add on to his previous examples. “But -”

“You do know, Merlin still doesn't believe us, when we tell him that you risked your life getting him a flower, because he thinks we're messing with him, right?”

“That's ridiculous. That flower was needed for an antidote! What is there to doubt about it?”, Arthur exclaimed, almost furious. Merlin shuddered in surprise. 'Huh?', he thought to himself, his face flushing hard.

“Yeah. I know. He does not.”, Gwaine nodded eagerly.

“But... I thought I was so obvious? I mean... Even my father noticed! He's told me I was getting too close to Merlin. So I tried to hold back, but... I thought Merlin knew.”, Arthur appeared shocked. Like someone had just turned his entire world upside down.

“The king noticed?”, Gwaine raised both eyebrows in shock.

“Yes, I mean. When I came back with that flower, he threw me in the dungeons for it. He keeps reminding me that I'm not supposed to be friends with Merlin. He keeps offering me new servants! I've turned down five offers last week!”

Gwaine's mouth dropped open. “Woow.”, he made impressed. “If Uther thinks THAT's a lot. What kind of childhood did you have?”

Arthur looked up, surprised. “I dunno? A normal one I guess? I mean. I didn't have a mom and my father was always busy and Morgana and I were fighting all the time, so....”

Gwaine's eyes squished a little. “Have you ever even been hugged?”, he asked with suspicion.

Arthur straightened his back. “I'm.... not supposed to get close to people until I get married.”, he muttered. Gwaine stared and his mouth dropped open again. “I meant Uther. Did you father never hug you?”

“Was he supposed to do that?”

Gwaine's jaw dropped. “And here I always thought you just were a stuck up royal like anyone else. But your father abandoned you. No wonder you have no idea how to deal with emotions.” Arthur flushed and tried to retort, but then he closed his mouth. Embarrassed.

Gwaine hurried to correct himself. “I mean... considering all this, you're doing a lot, actually. You're a good man, Arthur. I wouldn't be your knight, if I didn't think you were worth dying for. Just. God damn it, I'm getting so mad right now. Your father is an asshole. I mean, I already knew that. But holy shit.”

Arthur frowned. “Don't talk about my father like this!”, he growled, but Gwaine stopped him again. “Nope. You don't get to decide that. You're in denial. He abandoned you. He keeps sending you on quests that could get you killed. He didn't even show you that he cares if you come back!”

“He cried when he thought I was dead though!”, Arthur commented, remembering the troll Catrina accident.

Gwaine blinked. “Good to know where he draws the line. What the fuck, Arthur.”

Arthur bit his lips. He felt defensive for his father. But... wasn't it bad... that he couldn't see a single flaw in Gwaine's accusation?

“Merlin is your exact opposite, you know.”, Gwaine suddenly said and slowly patted Arthur's shoulder. This time highly aware of the fact that this was probably the closest contact Arthur allowed for anyone. Apart from the fact that Arthur had a crush on Merlin and Merlin was the guy who dressed him.... Let's not get into that.

“I know.”

“He grew up with a mom who hugged him every day. Arthur, Merlin is the most affectionate person I know. He's extremely emotional and he's not afraid to show it.”

“I know.”, Arthur said again, but this time softer.

“Compared to that your way of dealing with things probably looks more like you're pushing him away.”

Arthur's head sank and his shoulders dropped. He grabbed the blanket tighter. “I know.”, he said yet again. Frustrated this time. 'I'm trying.', he didn't say, but they all knew it.

“You should talk to him.”

“I know.”, Arthur was defeated.

It was quiet between them once again and Arthur stared out on the sea. And from the distance, you could see the first sun rays of the day illuminate the wooden deck of the ship. Arthur stared at it, as long as it was possible to look into the direction. While Gwaine watched him with worry. Gwaine had almost forgotten Merlin was still there. Merlin, who was trying his hardest to appear invisible. And quiet. And still. Nobody could hear his loud heart beat, but Merlin himself. Though he could swear someone had to notice at some point.

“Rise and shine.”, Arthur suddenly said and smiled to himself. For the first time, the conversation went beyond Gwaine's understanding and he could just stare at him in confusion.

But Merlin could hear what Arthur was actually saying. It was the sentence Merlin always woke Arthur up with. In this context, it meant, Arthur was thinking of that. Of early mornings and Merlin in it. The way his smile slowly fell, Merlin could feel that Arthur was actually missing him. And hoping he was here. Unaware that his wish had already come true.

It took Merlin everything he had in himself, to not jump up from underneath the blanket and just hug him to death. Which he now knew would equal a marriage proposal to Arthur. Oh god, all those love potion incidents …. where Arthur hugged and kissed random women. The boy must have had a mental breakdown afterwards. Now that Merlin thought of it, Arthur used to behave really strange after those incidents.

Meaning, he wouldn't talk to anyone. He would excuse himself a lot. Would be anxious around everyone he was forced to talk to. And he'd be especially awkward around Merlin. Merlin's eyes widened once again with a start and it paralyzed him as he realized precisely WHY that had been. He flushed. And he was glad Arthur couldn't see him like this.

“Sire?”, Gwaine finally asked, still uncharacteristically gentle. Arthur shook his head. “Nothing. I'll go back to sleep. Leon should be up soon. I think he's already feeling much better.” Arthur sighed and pushed himself up. He let go of the blanket, making Merlin exhale a deep breath. Then he took the ladder down again.

One last time, he was stopped by Gwaine. “Wait, Arthur.”

Arthur stopped for a moment. “What is it?”, he asked.

“You like Merlin right? As in, you're in love with him.”

Arthur flushed, but he answered with a hesitant “yes.”. Which was like a major blow in Merlin's guts. Because being in love was an entirely different thing than having a crush. And yet, to have this confirmed... Merlin struggled to breathe.

“What will you do, if he doesn't like you back?”

There was a pause. A heavy one. Then Arthur sighed. “Gwaine... It's not like anything can happen between us anyway. Even if Merlin did like me back. I can't tell him. Merlin is the best friend I have. I couldn't bear to loose him. I won't let anything or anyone, not my father, not a potential wife, not even my own feelings get in the way of that. I won't ruin what we have. I couldn't live with myself.” And with that, he disappeared under deck. Leaving Gwaine behind, completely stunned.

Finally, Merlin pulled the blanket off of himself and dramatically breathed the fresh air around him. It had started to get really stuffy under that.

Gwaine turned around, almost startled. As if he had truly forgotten that Merlin had been there. They looked at each other for a moment. Unsure what to say.

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

The storm hit the boat without any warning. Maybe, if they had known about the “calm before the storm”, they would have noticed that there was – indeed – a warning. But they didn't. Because Uther didn't care that these knights had no idea about sailing. Or rather, most of them. The one's who did know about it, had been asleep, as Arthur had assigned none of them to keep watch.

They were lucky they made it in time to get the sails in. But as soon as the storm was raging, they had to hold on to everything for dear life. They had no time to fixate any of their belongings to the ship. Which meant that now, barrels and bottles and cups and knifes and anything they had lying about, was now thrown around their ears.

Those who had the great misfortune to get knocked out by a barrel, got thrown of the ship. But through all that, you couldn't hear the screams and the shouts. The storm was so loud, it deafened everything that was further than two steps away.

In a strange way, the storm came over them silently. Merlin had never managed to get back into his barrel. But he had shushed Gwaine to bind himself to the watchtower. The entire thing was about to be blown off, was it not for Merlin's magic.

In fact, while Gwaine closed his eyes, praying the storm to be over, Merlin used his magic to keep his friends safe. Albeit, there were too many of them. He couldn't safe everyone. But he DID manage to keep Arthur safe. Who was running around in that blasted armor and shouting orders to his subordinates. He was not lucky to be okay. He was lucky to have Merlin to keep him that way.

That was, until Merlin saw his own barrel being thrown off the ship. And Lancelot saw it. But Lancelot didn't know Merlin wasn't in there. Oh fucking hell no.

Lancelot screamed his name. And he managed to shout so loud, that Arthur turned around, totally confused why one of his knights would shout out the name of his servant in the middle of a storm. But Arthur, foolish, kind, love deprived Arthur, made the connection. And when Lancelot shouted at him to explain that Merlin was supposed to be IN that barrel that was now about to drown on the ocean. Arthur did the most foolish thing a prince could do.

He gave Leon the authority.... and – in a panic- jumped after Merlin.

Who was not in that barrel, but on the watch tower. Who watched and stared and couldn't believe what he saw. Because Arthur had just JUMPED of the ship for him. Fully armed with his sword and knife and wearing armor.

'That fucking idiot.”, Merlin mouthed and now panic washed over him as well. In a moment decision, Merlin yelled at Gwaine to stay where he was. And then he slid down the ladder. Not even bothering to use the steps. His hands already burned from the heat of the fraction. And splinters of the cold wood edged into his skin. But he didn't give a damn.

He ran over the deck, seeing panicked and confused faces everywhere and then he directly jumped after Arthur.

The storm wouldn't stop for another five hours. Thanks to Merlin, the casualties were little to none. But even after the storm had calmed and the sea lay still around them, while the knights tried to catch their breath.... Merlin and Arthur could not be found among the wrecks. And Leon's headache was returning. (1) The sentence: work in process is a mix of work in progress and processing something. I found that creative. It’s intentional :)

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

First (you are here) <<Masterlist >> Next

#merlin tv #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #fanfiction #my writing #I'll try to post here too now #dragon island #chapter 1 #The calm before the storm #merthur #merlin #arthur #freya #edit later

30 notes · View notes

thanksjro · 4 years

Text

More Than Meets the Eye #21- Situations in Which it is Appropriate to Stab Your Roommate

You know what’s generally considered bad for your health?

Getting fingers stuck into your brain meat.

Tailgate reveals himself to be immune to Tyrest’s “fall down on the floor” signal, because his hearing’s gone to complete shit due to Cybercrosis. Tailgate then turns off the “fall down on the floor” signal, allowing everyone back up. Tyrest dislikes this turn of events every much- so much so, in fact, he’s turned into a Nazgûl out of sheer rage.

Rodimus, feeling a bit bolstered by the fact that he’s gotten his hands on one of the massive guns the Legislators dropped, tries to talk a big game at Tyrest, before being reminded that a lot of their party is still at risk of dying, by way of their souls cheese-wizzing out of their heads.

Tyrest, now using Tailgate as a hostage, tells everyone to back off so he can go hang out with the Guiding Hand, otherwise he’s gonna poke holes in Cyclonus’ morality pet. Tailgate screams for Rodimus to fire, finally revealing that he’s been dying this whole time. Rodimus has a weird moment where the plot overrides his knowledge of his situation as a character, as he claims shooting them both is unnecessary, as it looks like someone’s already working on it.

Not sure how he saw the gun and not the man it was being held by. And Minimus has some fucking explaining to do.

Outside, Star Saber is yelling about everyone being unworthy of God’s grace, save for himself, because Real Bastard Hours are 24-fucking-7 with him around. Cyclonus decides that he’s going to deal with the stress of not being able to find his dying roommate through violence, and agrees to a religiously-inclined sword fight.

Star Saber has a good start, sucker-punching Cyclonus in the chin, holier-than-thou as he goes. Cyclonus turns the tables however, when he uses his remaining helmet horn to gouge one of Star Saber’s eyes out, revealing his fashion statement to be a deadly weapon in its own right.

Then we get a taste of Cyclonus’ personal brand of faith.

That’s a mighty high opinion of Tailgate you got there, pal. Quite the jump from “I think you’re pathetic.”

Unfortunately, having this little character moment gives Star Saber enough time to warp the hell away from Cyclonus’ Nazgûlian wrath.

Back with Zombie Bullshit Part 3, we get some friggin’ answers.

Minimus looks super tiny here, but remember that he’s still at least ten feet tall. This is not a man you can invite inside your house for a tea party.

After Minimus’ head got crushed, he had to Alien chest-burst his tiniest self out, which allowed him to grab that gun that’s as big as he is and shoot Tyrest in half. Rodimus has to be reminded again that people are still dying, including Brainstorm, which is weird, because he made it seem like he was forged a few issues back. Perceptor runs off to try and parse the Killswitch, and Pharma offers to help, striking a weirdly sultry pose as he does. Everyone ignores him, because that’s just what happens when you become evil and cut your old coworker in half hotdog-style- you get ignored.

Off in the corner, Swerve is talking to Tailgate about the fact that he didn’t tell anyone he was dying, then makes a joke about his impending demise, because Swerve has a lot of trouble handling serious situations. No one has helped him pop his nose back into place, either. This entire team is just falling apart.

Skids stares blankly at Ratchet and First Aid as they check to make sure all the cold-constructed ‘bots are still dying- they are- then remembers that he’s supposed to be watching Pharma.

Prowl only hires the best, clearly.

Skids runs for the portal, with First Aid right on his tail because there’s a gotdang score to settle, and also Rung for some reason. They find Pharma chilling in the tunnel, completely unable to get through to the other side, not because he’s guilty, but because there’s a forcefield in place.

Of course, because Tyrest was an engineer, and you can always find a running theme with everyone’s work, Rung theorizes that the forcefield is working with Aequitas rules, and actually can sense guilt- not of the legal sense, but of the personal variety.

Which sort of implies some unfortunate things about the Aequitas trials as a whole.

Skids starts sinking through, whereas Rung is hitting a wall. Rung, the hell you got to feel guilty about? What sort of horrors have you inflicted upon the world, you skinny creamsicle of a man?

Skids, people are dying. Can your personal nirvana not wait until after this galactic-scale crisis is resolved?

While Skids fucks off into the portal, First Aid’s taking care of Pharma, as Rung watches and has a Nam flashback to issue #6 in the distance.

Sometimes I wonder if First Aid is somehow aware of how Eugenesis went for him, and that’s why he’s so aggressive all the time in MTMTE.

With his revenge exacted, First Aid finally has that breakdown that’s been a long time coming.

You know what we haven’t had in a while? Gratuitous religious imagery.

“They call it the Eugenesis Code. Has something to do with intellectual property, I dunno.”

So this move they’re about to pull might kill Rodimus, and is for-sure going to annihilate the half of the Matrix they have. Bummer. Perceptor goes to finish setting up, leaving Rodimus and Minimus alone to discuss that thing Getaway brought up about Ultra Magnus luring the Lost Light to Luna 1.

Over on the floor, Tyrest isn’t dead, because of course he isn’t, and enacts the homophone game with Swerve and Tailgate as he relays an order to the Legislators.

Outside, all the Legislators stop whaling on Whirl with their swords and start parroting prime numbers at the sky.

Back with Rodimus and Minimus, it’s revealed that Magnus/Minimus/Miniminimus DID lure the Lost Light to the moon, but it was to have Tyrest yell at Rodimus for being a crappy captain. He didn’t know that Tyrest had gone completely bonkers.

The worst part is that Minimus doesn’t know the half of all the bullshit Rodimus has pulled since the end of the war.

No wonder Rodimus was so upset before the funeral- Overlord was partially his fault.

Prowl, prior to the Lost Light’s launch, had wormed his way into Rodimus’ brain, convincing him that an Autobot Phase Sixer was absolutely necessary for the safety of everyone. He, along with Drift, Brainstorm, the Duobots, and eventually Chromedome, assisted in what culminated in one hell of a bad day.

Rodimus would really prefer if this whole space-crucifixion didn’t kill him, because he’s feeling like he’s got a lot to make up for. Which, yeah. I’m guessing all of Tripodeca’s friends are going to be mighty sore about this whole thing once it comes to light.

And that’s a series wrap on Rodimus!

We get a brief intermission, as we find out where exactly Skids got to. It’s… somewhere. Not even he’s sure. He tries to ask for directions, but it would seem there’s a language barrier.

It really speaks volumes to Skids’ sense of self-confidence, that he’d see a giant ball of technicolor light and decide he’s gonna go try to talk to it.

Back at the current crisis at hand, Rodimus screams some more, the Matrix shatters alongside any hopes of finding the Knights of Cybertron, and Ratchet has himself a little smile, because that did the trick.

The reason we aren’t seeing Crankcase in this set of panels is because his head wound was also spewing oil, and he looks super nasty right now. Well, nastier than any of the Scavengers usually are on a day to day basis. They regularly drink corpse juice, they can’t NOT be nasty.

Unfortunately, we aren’t out of the woods yet, as that whole Legislator thing still needs to be taken care of. They pour into the room, throwing Swerve along with the steel door, as he shrieks in terror.

Back outside, Cyclonus and Whirl are having a little breather up on the edge of the smelting pool, since all the Legislators they were fighting went inside. Whirl, who is looking just awful, brings up that little deal he cooked up in issue #19, where Cyclonus would stop trying to murder him if they got through this fight. It’s important to remember that verbal contracts aren’t binding, and that Cyclonus didn’t agree to anything.

And that’s a series wrap on Whirl!

Actually, no, Cyclonus was just daydreaming. He agrees to put the past behind them, then shoots off to go find Tailgate.

Back in Legislator City, things are getting dicey, as Rung screams for Skids to come back, because if nothing else, he knows he can depend on Skids when the chips are down.

Skids, playing to Rung’s expectations, vaults over Pharma’s headless body out of the portal, and starts kicking ass. In the background, some creepy tentacle nonsense pulls Pharma through the portal. This, surely, will never come up again, nor will it be a major plot point down the road.

Because Tyrest decided he was going to play fast and loose with the law, Minimus has no idea what “one one” is meant to refer to. Tailgate decides that cram school did serve a purpose after all, and books it towards that massive computer off in the corner. After a bit of combing through the index, he finds what he’s looking for and makes a few choice edits to the Autobot Code. The Legislators freeze in place, and Tailgate reveals that he’s just completely voided a section of the law.

Just off panel, Minimus barely contains the urge to pop Tailgate’s cubic little head off of his neck. Not that he’d have much time to do it anyway.

Smash cut to the next day, where Tailgate’s laid out in a dark room, Cyclonus sitting by his side. Chromedome is also there for some reason. Rung is nowhere to be seen, despite him likely being a better fit for this situation than the guy whose husband died less than a week ago. Chromedome leaves, because this is a very intimate moment between these two guys who are roommates.

Tailgate, who has developed an honest-to-god “guy-who-is-going-to-die-by-the-end-of-the-movie” cough, tells Cyclonus that he made him something, and it’s waiting in their room for him. I’m going to guess it’s a macaroni art picture of the two of them fighting a dragon.

Tailgate has literal minutes to live, and Cyclonus just sits there, Nazgûling with grief, until Tailgate decides that NOW is the time to reveal his hand.

…Well, there’s the answer to the Babygate question.

Tailgate’s come to the conclusion that all his wanting to be important and a hero was a bit misguided, because as it turns out, it kind of sucks when it’s your final act in the world of the living. He really would have preferred to do just about anything else with his last days, even if it had been just chilling in his room with Cyclonus.

Tailgate asked Cyclonus off-panel to do him a solid and kill him before the Cybercrosis did, a plea which Cyclonus couldn’t agree to. Then he gets a call, and the tension of the scene is somewhat ruined by some goofy-ass cinematic parallels.

Where the hell is Tailgate, that Cyclonus has to book it down the hall to make it to the medibay? That isn’t clear, but what is is that Tailgate has the rottenest luck in the world; they figured out a cure for Cybercrosis, but his case is too advanced for treatment to be effective.

Cyclonus thinks that this is a major bummer, but thanks Ratchet for trying anyway. Whirl tries to talk to him, and he better watch out, before that little deal he made gets thrown out the friggin’ window.

Tailgate hits the final two minutes, as Cyclonus returns, sword in hand.

And that’s a series wrap on Tailgate!

…That was almost a sincere one, you know. Tailgate was supposed to die here, in an earlier draft of the story. He didn’t, because Roberts realized it would completely nerf Cyclonus’ character development. I can’t even begin to imagine who Cyclonus would have been if both the Rewind/Chromedome thing hadn’t gone over well, AND Tailgate got offed.

Later on, Ultra Magnus is back in action, Minimus Ambus having redonned the armor to reassume his position as S.I.C. of the Lost Light. He discusses the changes that have come about as a result of their time on Luna 1 with Rodimus, who’s pretty bummed about the whole situation. A quick rundown of all the nonsense that happened:

The mystical portal to the Guiding Hand no longer works

Hot Spot faded out and won’t come back on

Ambulon is dead

First Aid is very sad about Ambulon being dead

The ship is falling apart

The only person who seems to have had any sort of a positive experience is Brainstorm.

…James, did you put that baby inside that robot?

Anyway, so yeah. Luna 1 sucks butt. One star, would rate zero if I could, I don’t care if it has sweet rocket thrusters strapped to the back of it and is super mysterious, and might potentially be an idea pulled from the delightfully earnest Children of a Lesser Matrix.

Later on, Magnus makes his rounds, stopping by Cyclonus and Tailgate’s room to check the vibe. Turns out that stabbing sick people is considered medicine on Cybertron, at least when you’re using a Great Sword to do it.

Whirl had the awesome idea to slap Cyclonus’ weird spark energy into Tailgate’s frail body, so it could kickstart his heart and give him enough time to actually get treated for Cybercrosis.

Ultra Magnus is impressed, and perhaps a bit concerned with how easily Cyclonus was willing to risk dying so that Tailgate could potentially live. So much so, in fact, that Cyclonus gets an achivement- he’s finally collected enough good karma to be allowed to have friends!

Looking mighty fresh-faced there, Cyclonus. And is that a new horn? Someone’s got a plastic surgeon on speed-dial.

No, this is actually the gift that Tailgate made him, the one he was working on in Hoist’s workshop back in issue #15, just before the Overlord attack. The one we never got to actually see, probably because it would be very easy to tell what it was and who it was for if we had. The set up for our slowburn romance has to be just so, no shortcuts allowed.

#transformers #jro #jro punches me in the face #mtmte #remain in light #issue 21 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing

80 notes · View notes

blueeyedheizer · 3 years

Text

All Over Again - Matt (part 4 - the end)

WARNINGS: amnesia, implied sex, super soft overall <3

A/N: it's finally here, the last part to this short story!! I really like this part although I had a bit of a hard time finishing it. It's a bit cliché but i'm happy with it. Also, thank you so much to everyone who still reads my Matt fics, I appreciate you guys so much <3 (PS: I know the transition from part 3 to part 4 is really sudden...I hope the timejump isn't too disappointing) Anyway, enough talking. Enjoy xx

•••

After two months, you are finally released from the hospital.

You weren't surprised to find out that you shared an apartment with Matt, and at this point you didn't mind at all. You felt comfortable around him and despite not remembering your old life with him, you were starting to feel strongly for him. He had been there for you since day one, he never gave up on you even though you still couldn't remember anything about him. You never thought it was possible for someone to ever love you this way but there he was, doing absolutely everything in his power to help you get through this, even when he knew things might never be the same again.

Matt opened the door and you walked in closely behind him, taking a look at your surroundings. The house was quite messy, but you couldn't blame him. His mind had been all over the place these past weeks and he had spent most of his time with you. Tidying around was really not his prioritiy.

Everything around you looked familiar. Somehow, you still remembered where most things were situated, and you had no trouble in finding each room, including yours and Matt's shared bedroom. And yet you had no real memory attached to it. You couldn't associate anything with it. You knew it was there, but the room itself was just like the rest; a blur.

---

Your first week home was mostly focused on resting. You were dying to go out and do something other than sit on a couch and watch TV but the doctor had said it would be better if you spent a few days home to let your bruises heal properly before envisaging going back to your normal everyday life. Matt was just as supporting as he was before, cancelling his plans to stay with you, hoping that you would remember something, just a fragment of your old life with him. But that was a long process, and even though you two were basically back to being a couple it was different. You loved him, but it was different. You loved the boy who visited you everyday at the hospital, not the boy that you had met at a gig almost a year ago now.

In order to train your brain, the doctor had recommended to regularly go through familiar things such as photos, videos and possessions. Considering the fact that you and Matt had a common passion for music and cinema, you decided to focus on this.

You were cuddled up against him, a blanket covering the both of you as the end credits of your favorite movie rolled on the screen.

"Why didn't you tell me he was going to die?" you sniffled, wiping a tear from your cheek while chuckling.

"Didn't want to ruin the experience"

"Well that would've spared me a heartbreak." you pouted. Matt chuckled, pressed a kiss to your forehead then stood to turn off the TV before settling back next to you, allowing you to cuddle up against him. A comfortable silence fell upon you both as he intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand every so often and running his thumb over your skin.

A few more minutes passed by and you glanced at the clock, sighing softly.

"I should probably get some sleep." you announced. Matt kissed the top of your head and you reluctantly pulled away from the warmth of his body.

"I still need to work on some things, I'll join you later."

"Alright."

"Good night, love"

"Good night." you smiled and pecked his cheek before making your way to your shared bedroom. You quickly changed into your night clothes and brushed your teeth before slipping under the covers.

You tried to close your eyes but your mind was racing with thoughts about everything and nothing. You just kept moving around on the bed, changing your position every two minutes, unable to find your usual comfort. You sighed heavily and rolled onto your back, hands crossed over your chest. However a small smile tugged on your lips when you heard the quiet sound of Matt's guitar as he worked on his song. It probably would have lulled you to sleep if your brain cooperated with your desire to sleep.

You spent another fifteen minutes or so just laying wide awake on your bed, waiting for sleep to eventually come. A few more minutes go by and you hear footsteps approaching before seeing the door open, Matt walking in seconds later.

"You're still awake?" he asked and you hummed in response.

"I can't sleep."

"I'm sorry, was it the guitar? I tried to be as quiet as I could—"

"No, it wasn't the guitar. I actually enjoyed it." you chuckled. "It's just me. I have a lot on my mind."

Matt stripped down to his underwear, put on a random shirt then slipped under the sheets, taking his spot next to you. He propped himself up on his arm so he could look at you.

"What's on your mind, love?" he wondered. You shrugged, looking down at your hand as your fingers drew small patterns on the sheets. Your face dropped a little bit.

"Everything." Matt brushed a strand of hair off your face as you spoke, tucking it behind your ear.

"Tell me everything then."

You stayed silent for a moment, knowing that the conversation you were about to start wasn't something easy to talk about on both sides. A few more seconds go by and you finally ask the question you were dying to know the answer of.

"Matt...— what were we arguing about?"

You didn’t miss the way his entire body froze at your words. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it again, detaching his gaze from yours. Then he shifted and sat back against the headboard of the bed, causing you to sit up as well.

With a heavy heart, he began to explain what happened. How it all started, how he snapped at you when you were just being rightfully worried about not having any news of him over two hours after he was supposed to be home. He was hardly holding back tears by the end of his explanation, and so were you. You couldn't help but feel a sting in your heart at the thought of him raising his voice at you.

"I'm not mad at you." you assured him in a small voice, seeing guilt written all over his face.

"You would be if you remembered. I almost got you killed."

"Don't say that."

"But it's the truth Y/N! If I had just kept my mouth shut and dealt with my anger alone then nothing of this would've happened. You wouldn't have had this accident and you wouldn't have lost your memory. I did this to you."

"And I could've just locked myself in our room instead of going for a drive in the middle of the night." you argued. "You're not responsible for any of this, Matt."

He didn't say anything after that, he just kept his head lowered and shook his head. You could see tears begin to fall down his cheeks. Pulling yourself closer to him, you placed your hand on his face, wanting him to look at you.

"Matt." when he still refused to look at you, you climbed over him so you could straddle his lap. "Matt, look at me." your hand came underneath his chin and brought his face up to meet your eyes. You moved your hand to cup his cheek, gently wiping away some tears while one escaped the corner of your eye. "This is not your fault." you whispered, leaning in to press your forehead against his, your hands moving to the back of his neck and gently scratching. "Okay? This is not your fault."

You stayed like this for a moment then you kissed him, pouring all your emotions into the kiss. Your hands found their way to his head, threading your fingers through his hair as your whimpered softly, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, both your breathing gradually growing heavier.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he murmured against your lips after pulling away, understanding your intentions. Your thumb brushed softly over his bottom lip as you nodded, still slightly panting for air.

"Have we ever...?" you said and he nodded. You answered with a barely audible 'okay' before pressing your lips back against his. But this time he didn't kiss back.

"Y/N..."

"Do you not want to do it?" you asked as you pulled away, sounding disappointed.

"It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

"I- I don't know, shouldn't we wait until you get your memory back? Are you actually ready for this?" he spoke hesitantly, and your face softened at his words.

"I don't want to wait for something that might not happen anytime soon." you said softly, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. "And yes, I am ready."

He looked down sadly, his thumbs stroking your hips gently. Your forehead was resting against his as another tear rolled down your cheek.

"I love you..." you murmured, trying to fight back more of them. "Please don't give up on me now." that seemed to have startled him as he looked up at you almost immediately before cradling your head between his hands.

"I won't. I promise."

You nodded and closed the space between you, your lips meeting in a soft, passionate kiss. Your heartbeat was accelerating in your chest since this was new for you. It wasn't for the old version of yourself, but the new one had never been in such an intimate situation with him. You broke the kiss to pull his shirt over his head, discarding it to the side. You did the the same with yours before cupping his cheeks and kissing him again.

His lips eventually started moving down to your neck, pressing a trail of kisses there as you leaned your head back, giving him more access. His hands started roaming over your lower back and you shyly began to grind your hips, moaning softly.

---

"I love you too, you know." Matt said as you both laid on the bed, your head resting against his chest as his hand moved up and down your back soothingly. The silence of the room only highlighted how loud you had been moments before.

"I know." you smiled. Your hand travelled across his torso, absentmindedly caressing and drawing small patterns on his skin.

Tilting your head up a bit, you laid your eyes on a small framed picture of the two of you that was on his bedside table, one you hadn't seen yet. It looked quite recent. You propped yourself on your arm and reached for the picture, looking at it closely.

"That was the day I came back from London."

You turned to Matt, a genuine smile curving your lips.

"You've been to London?"

"Yeah." he smiled, his thumb caressing your shoulder. "One of our biggest gigs. 450 people, more or less. I'm not sure if they appreciated the music, but they were here." you both shared a quiet laugh and you shook your head, looking down at him before leaning in to kiss him softly.

"I'm sure they did."

You placed the picture back on the table and cuddled back against his chest, sighing in content. You quickly felt your body relax fully against his own, your breathing becoming even, steady, slow. With his fingers running through your hair soothingly you finally allowed sleep to take over, staying snuggled tightly against him.

---

The next morning you woke up to an empty bed and the smell of coffee. Rolling onto your back, you stretched your arms and smiled at the thought of last night's events, remembering how caring Matt had been the entire time.

You eventually rolled out of bed and got dressed, pulling on a shirt of his along with your jeans.

Then you decided to rummage a bit through your stuff to train your brain like you had been told to do. You started with the books that were on the shelves; you let your fingers run along their spines, reading their names. Then you looked through Matt's records before picking one and placing it on to play. The Sun Always Shines On T.V. began playing and you smiled when the chorus came on, the lyrics easily coming back to your mind.

You continued your exploration around the room and opened up a jewelry box, taking out a small star shaped earring. Your lips pressed into a thin line and you frowned as you searched your mind, feeling a déjà vu.

And that's when it happened.

***

"Is that...is that an earring ?"

"Huh?"

You smiled and cupped his cheek, tilting his head to the side to take a proper look at the small moon shaped jewel. Then you tilted his head to the other side, noticing another one with a different shape; a small golden star.

"I like the moon one better." you smirked, leaning in to peck his lips.

***

"Matt..." you breathed out. Your eyes widened and you called him louder this time, breathing and heartbeat accelerating as you started crying.

After two more almost desperate, sobbed out calls of his name, Matt came running into the room, a terrified look on his face.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he rushed to your side and cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes were already puffy and red and your breathing was ragged as you cried, hot tears soaking your cheeks, heavy hiccups leaving the back of your throat. You didn't answer, instead you grabbed his face and crashed your lips against his, kissing him as deeply as you could.

Matt immediately understood what was going on and kissed back, his own eyes watering up quickly. You eventually had to pull away for air, your current state making it hard for you to breathe. You rested your forehead against his and played with his earring, unable to say anything.

You eventually let out a small laugh through your tears, smiling softly as you looked into his teary eyes. Then you kissed him again, pouring out all your love and gratitude into it as you held onto him, wanting this moment to last forever.

"I remember."

#blueeyeddean #matt

11 notes · View notes

otpnessmess · 4 years

Text

Of Casual Encounters And Late Nights Pt.2

Here it is! I don't know if it's as long as you wanted but it's almost double the first chapter. I hope you like it!

First Next Ao3

A week went by where Jason managed to avoid meeting Ladybug again while investigating, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t heard of her. Akuma attacks were as frequent as ever and gave him an opportunity to learn more about the terrors that had been plaguing Paris for years now apparently. He sent all new info on it to his family, who couldn’t believe none of it had reached them up until that point. Bruce was feeling particularly flabbergasted among them.

“You mean to tell me there’s been a terrorist in Paris for years, one that’s been destroying the city twice a week, and we knew absolutely nothing about it?” He seemed to be going through the seven stages of grief before excusing himself to call Diana.

Meanwhile, Jason’s brothers piled up in front of the computer screen wanting to hear more about the heroes and their work. Tim was looking up information on the internet while Dick asked questions nonstop about their powers, and their suits, and if he had had the chance to talk to them yet.

“They sometimes stay back after the attacks, but their powers have some kind of time limit so those are rare occasions, or so I’ve heard. They’re all proficient fighters and each have their own set of powers and weapon. Ladybug’s powers are the most impressive by far”

The mention of her name threw him right back into the memory of the night they first met. Despite resenting not being given an opening to talk to her more then, Jason had to admit leaving had been the right choice. He wanted to stay in the shadows as long as possible, and dealing with the police on his second night in the city wouldn’t have made that easy for him. Adding to that, even though he was quite stubborn and didn’t want to accept it, he felt curious about the spotted heroine. She was sassy and clever and, if the two battles she had this week were anything to go by, her abilities to strategize rivaled Tim’s.

He came back to the present with a jolt when Dick whined about him not paying attention, eliciting a snort from both him and Damian, who also looked at the eldest with a sneer. “You’re 29 Grayson, no one that age should be making those types of noises.” Jason would rather die than saying it out loud, but sometimes he did miss the dumbasses that were his brothers.

“You know, I don’t think we would have believed this was real even if someone had told us about it. I found a... Ladyblog? It has videos of almost every attack from the last 4 years as far as I can see, and these look every bit as outlandish as I expected them to. There’s this one where apparently the whole city was flooded.” Tim pulled up the video in the peripheral monitors for the others to see and, lo and behold, there was the video from the day Ondine had drowned Paris. Faint screams could be heard in the background as the person recording managed to get to the roof of a building just in time to see the people still left on the street be swiped by the giant wave. From then on it was all silent. “This is horrible, so many people must have died during this. How did they manage to recover? I’m sure the news of Paris underwater should’ve popped up SOMEWHERE.”

“They didn’t because it didn’t last more than an afternoon.” Jason ran a hand through his hair impatiently. The whole week he had been aching to go out as Red Hood but couldn’t risk meeting Ladybug and it was making him jittery. “That’s what Ladybug’s power is. She just….reverts everything. I haven’t been able to find out how yet, but I’ve been told it must be magic or some shit.”

“Reverts everything? Just like that? Like….turning back time?” Dick looked confused trying to come up with a rational explanation

“I don’t think so. Everyone except the victims remember everything that happened. It’s more of a cure, if you will. She fixes everything, makes a new Eiffel Tower appear, brings the dead back to life, you know, no big deal.” Jason couldn’t help but chuckle at their faces. “I know, if anyone tried to tell me this before I saw it myself I wouldn’t have believed it either.”

A moment of silence on his brothers’ end was interrupted by the return of Bruce. “Diana is positively furious right now. Apparently someone received a message from these heroes years ago and thought it was a joke, so they dismissed it. Diana asked to see the message and just unleashed hell on the poor guy after watching it. It seems her mother was a former Ladybug and she grew up knowing about the magic of the ‘Miraculous’” He said the word in a way that made his sons think he was as confused as they were “The League is planning to make a trip to Paris as soon as possible to assess the situation.”

Now that brought a frown to Jason’s face. “I know I’m usually the reckless one here, but listen to me for a moment. You’re just planning on barging in here, with an angry Wonder Woman, and a probably scared shitless League, to battle a guy who makes you his minion if you show the tiniest hint of a negative emotion? Imagine if Diana got akumatized. You must really want the apocalypse to start huh?”

He scanned their faces and wasn’t surprised to see skepticism and some smirks too. This was so not typical of him. Jason was a shoot first, ask second kinda guy, and he used to enjoy killing a little too much for it to be healthy. But he remembered what Ladybug had told him about resorting to the least amount of violence possible, and he was honestly worried about what could happen if three dozen superheroes just showed up one day to a fight. “Listen, as far as I can see, Ladybug and her team have things covered here. Give me some time to gather more information and maybe I can find a way for her and Red Hood to have a meeting. I’ll ask her if she still wants our help. But until then, you should refrain from bringing anyone here. Unless you want panic to run rampant among the citizens because the whole Justice League came.”

Snickers could be heard coming from Tim and Dick. Even Damian was trying not to show his amusement at the situation. “Who would’ve thought Todd actually had a brain. We should go if only to check whether he’s been replaced by a clone or something”

“Oh fuck off Demon Spawn, I can be smart too if I want to."

Their father seemed to be mulling over his words before sighing and nodding. “Alright. I think we can go along with what you said for now, but I want you to keep us updated regularly, and to inform us if something out of the ordinary happens. If you need us there, we’ll be on alert. And I expect that meeting with Ladybug to happen sooner rather than later. Also don’t forget why you’re originally there, we have to gather more information on what the Penguin is planning."

“You got it Brucie.” He made fingers guns at the screen with a click of his tongue. “Expect it to be at least a week until I have some big news for you, but I’ll try to make it happen as quickly as possible. And worry not about my mission, I’m almost done with it. Now my dear family, if you’ll excuse me, it’s already 2am and I would like to pretend to be a tourist at least for a day tomorrow. I’ll let you know if something comes up.”

He quickly ended the call and face planted on his bed. This was going to be a long mission. One week in and he was already exhausted. He wasn’t lying when he said he was close to finishing the mission he was originally sent to Paris for, though. He had infiltrated the goons quickly and efficiently, and managed to hear about a drug shipment due to arrive in a couple weeks together with a human one. As soon as he got the information as to where he’d call his family and they could resolve the problem easily. For now though, he couldn’t help but want to keep them away a bit longer. Be it because, even though he loved his brothers (not that he’d ever tell them), he wanted some time alone, or be it because he wanted more time to try and figure out Ladybug, he still wasn’t completely sure.

If you asked him, he would deny it to his dying breath that he was interested in the heroine, but something about her made him want to get closer and know more about her. In spite of the great amount of knowledge the public had on her, she was surrounded by an aura of mystery and something else that Jason couldn’t pinpoint, which had him turning in his sleep ever since that encounter in the alley. It also didn’t help that she seemed to be around the same age as him, her suit doing her great favours in all her red and black. Alright. Maybe he thought she was a bit attractive. Very attractive?

“No. Nope. Not going there.” He got up and decided to ignore that part of his brain as of now. For no particular reason whatsoever. It was only normal to want to know more about the person protecting the city. Call it a professional interest, thank you very much.

The dark haired man decided to take advantage of having an expensive suite for once and took a long bath while doing some more research on Paris. He was indeed planning to walk around the city the next day after all. When he was done, Jason headed to the bed and fell asleep promptly. Dreams full of back alleys and superheroes.

As luck would have it, it didn’t take long for the both of them to meet yet again. Only maybe not in the way the Gotham vigilante would have hoped for. Set on at least enjoying this pseudo-vacation he was gifted, Jason left his hotel the next morning to visit the most popular places in the city. The Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc of Triumph and the Champs Élysées were the places he had chosen to visit during the morning and early afternoon, but, even though his main goal was to distract himself from the tasks at hand, he couldn’t will away the questions roaming around his head.

How was he going to contact Ladybug? He wanted to do it as Red Hood, but he didn’t want the heroine of Paris to distrust him since he was pretty sure his reputation would precede him. He was known for being the most ruthless of the batfam, the only thing keeping him from killing criminals once he was done with them was Batman’s No killing under any kind of circumstances rule (which if you asked him was a special kind of bullshit, some of them did deserve to rot in hell in his opinion), and he wasn’t sure if Ladybug would be as willing to hear him out as she may one of his brothers or father. However, his only other option would be to approach her as Jason Todd, one of Bruce Wayne’s adopted sons. He didn’t even know whether Ladybug would care about his family name. This wasn’t his city. And on the off chance that she might have recognized him… He was still a mere civilian. One that had, on top of that, to explain his connection to the Gotham vigilantes without giving away any of their identities. Jason knew his hands were tied. Red Hood had to be the one to try and get the attention of the spotted hero. Knowing there was no other option didn't make him happy about it though.

Once he was done with this line of thinking his brain decided to go back to the Penguin. He was trying to instill one of the worst types of businesses in Paris and he couldn’t wait to put a stop to it. As much as he knew drug trafficking to be terrible, he was of the opinion that people who engaged in (as well as profited off of) human trafficking should have a special circle of hell destined for them. Preferably in the very depths of it.

Jason was very much aware that, for as long as he remained in this city, negative emotions had to be controlled and dissipated as quickly as possible to avoid an akumatization. Especially those of someone with the skills and knowledge he had. He had a lot of the latter in strange topics, most of which he acquired growing up during his training. And albeit he wasn’t sure whether it would actually be useful to Hawkmoth or not, he would rather not put it to the test. All of this, however, was sent to the back burner for a second as Jason's thoughts strayed towards what he would like to do to the Gotham villain when he captured him.

Being so busy imagining the 30 different methods of torture he would like to inflict upon the Penguin had made him completely disregarded his surroundings, however. Coming back to his senses, his brain pointed out they were standing at the door of what seemed like a very nice patisserie, just in time for his stomach to growl, his lunch seemingly having been digested some time ago.

‘Maybe something sweet is exactly what I need right now’

Some days had passed since Marinette met Jason, and though he was still burning in the back of her mind, she had way too many things to worry about during the day to remember him often. At night, however, the questions she had originally asked herself the first night continued to plague her, and since Tikki told her not to worry about it too much, the designer saw wise to keep her train of thought to herself. She wasn’t even sure why her brain seemed so fixed on this stranger she had only met once. Sure, he was involved in a fight, and seemed to be a foreigner, but it wasn’t that uncommon for petty altercations to break out around the city while she patrolled. Also this was Paris, for Kwamis’ sake. One of the biggest tourist capitals of the world. There was no reason why this Jason guy should’ve stuck to her mind as he did. Yet here she was. In the middle of her afternoon shift at the bakery. Still thinking about him.

A chime coming from the door brought her out of her stupor. But as she looked up, ready to greet the new customer, she suddenly froze, and her brain could only supply her with the word green.

Green eyes she had only got a quick glance into a week ago were now in front of her and the color was even more intense as they reflected the sunlight rays that entered through the bakery’s windows.

There you have it peeps and pals! I'll try to update sometime again this week in between Daminette December.

Tag list:

@18-fandoms-unite-08 @bamagirl513 @j-a-n-e--d-o-e @dawnwave16

#jasonette #jason x marinette #maribat #of casual encounters and late nights #miraculous ladybug #part 2 #liswrites #ml x dc #marinette dupain cheng #marinette dupain-cheng #jason todd

180 notes · View notes

purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1024

What would you say is your favorite food? Sushi. < Ahhh, this is a good one. My favorite is down to a tie: it’s either chicken curry or burgers.

What color eyes does the person you like / love have? Are they pretty? Dark brown. I’m not too sure what the second question is referring to but yeah, she and her eyes are both pretty.

What was the first television show you were obsessed with? Hi-5, omg. That show was my life in preschool and I always watched the 12 NN replay as soon as I got back home from school, back when I was still on a half-day sched. I was so hooked I remember having legit tantrums before starting Grade 1 because grade school meant full days in school and thus having to miss out on the show entirely.

Do you like Mexican food or any other foreign foods? For sure. All my favorites are Asian (Indian, Japanese, Indonesian, Chinese, etc.) but I also enjoy Italian, Mexican, Greek etc cuisines. I generally haven’t tried African cuisines but I really, really want to.

What color is the keyboard you are currently using? The keys are black with white lettering.

Do you own any of those ‘chunky’ and cute rings? Nope, not my style.

What are you planning on eating for dinner tonight if you haven’t already? I saw my dad cooking up something deep-fried; it was like his own version of katsu or something, or maybe it’s fish fillet? I’m not too sure what it is yet but I’m excited and will probably eat lots of it as I skipped all my meals and have only been running on coffee and vape all day - not good.

Do you own an iPod or MP3 player? If so, when did you get it? Technically I still do. Haven’t used it since high school. I got it when I was 10 back in ‘08; I was envious of the kids in school who had iPods, so I asked my dad to buy me one even though I wasn’t super into music at the time. Not the best kid in the world.

When was the last time someone took your picture? Last Saturday when my package came. Apparently online deliveries now require your photo to be taken upon receiving your package and I think it’s for the seller to keep track of their transactions. I’m not a big fan of the new procedure, but it’s whatevs.

Would you rather write a report or type it on a computer? Type.

What color was the last jacket or hoodie you wore? Gray.

Do you receive more compliments or insults on a daily basis? Neither, really. I haven’t been talking to people a lot; and when I do it’s for work, where I receive neither compliments nor insults.

Who is the lead actress / actor from your absolute favorite movie? Audrey Hepburn and Albert Finney, or Matt Damon and Ben Affleck.

Can you recite the alphabet backward? [continued from last night] Slowly, but I’m sure I can finish it.

Do you eat chili when you get a hotdog, or do you like it plain? We don’t do hotdogs with chili here. I generally don’t see chili much where I live and I wouldn’t call it a common dish.

Would you say it’s easy for people to make you smile or laugh? At first I thought it was, but I’m slowly realizing that it isn’t.

What would you say is your favorite cereal, if you even like it? Cookie Crisp is the only one I like. I don’t have cereal often.

When was the last time you went on vacation? Where was it? It was a quick weekend getaway to Tagaytay and then Cavite, if it counts.

How many states have you been to in your lifetime? Zero.

Do you and your friends normally say you love one another? Yep, especially with Andi and Angela.

Have you ever been an outcast at your school or anywhere else? I was definitely one in early grade school, and again in Grade 6 when both my closest friends migrated in a span of six months, and I spent nearly all my lunch periods alone. Looking back on it, I’m really glad I powered through and made it here because I truly wasn’t happy at the time.

Do you own any dresses? If so, what colors are they? I have lots of sundresses and little black dresses because I was into those for a very long time at one point. Some of them are black, obviously, but I also have dresses in blue, maroon, and olive.

Would you say you drink more pop / soda than you should? I never drink soda as I’ve always felt like I spend more time complaining about how drinking it feels like burning my tongue and throat than actually enjoying it.

Would you rather have orange juice or milk with your breakfast? Water.

How many different colors has your bedroom been painted? Just one. The walls have been white ever since we moved here 12 years ago.

Do you cuss? If so, do you ever cuss in front of your parents? I’ll slip in front of them sometimes but I never get in trouble for it anymore.

Would you ever tell your mom about the things you’ve done sexually? Our humor together can be raunchy sometimes but I don’t think I’d ever do this. I dunno if she wants to hear I’ve had sex with a girl either.

Is there anyone out there who can make you cry very easily? Yes.

What was the worst news you’ve heard this entire week? *In the last week, hearing about the typhoon’s effects in other cities didn’t feel good. This entire country is literally only getting by with donations from the private sector because the government isn’t doing shit for cities and families who got severely affected by the typhoon; it’s almost depressing to hear and read about.

Have you ever been in a car wreck? I’ve been in minor car accidents but it would be too much to call any of them car wrecks. They had all just been tiny bumps or thuds.

Do you have your ears pierced? If not, what do you have pierced? Yes, my mom had my earlobes pierced when I was an infant. I don’t plan on getting any more new ones as I’m not really into piercings.

Has anyone ever told you that they think you have ADHD? Nope.

What is your biggest pet peeve? When people reach out first via text/IM then even if I get back to them in 5–10 seconds, it takes them a long time to get back to me. It’s especially annoying if they classify it as urgent, I drop everything to reply quickly, then they end up disappearing. Like why?

Do a lot of people understand you completely? Who does exactly? No, I like keeping a wall up.

Would you say you’re really good at cooking and baking things? Haha no. But it’s something I want to be skilled in, definitely. I’d love to be able to make the food I usually just thirst over on the internet. I’m taking baby steps, like figuring out how to make certain sandwiches, but I have a long way to go before I can consider myself any good.

How is the weather outside right this second? It’s been a little cloudy this morning but it might start to get fair seeing how I’m beginning to see the sky turn blue. I’m just hoping there won’t be too much sun, period.

Do you have a lot of trees around your house? What about buildings? No buildings as I live in a gated village. We have a number of trees around, but I wouldn’t call it ‘a lot.’

Would you say either one of your parents are 'pack-rats?’ No. I have that title, and I believe I inherited it from my great-grandmother who was a bit of a pack rat herself, as I’ve been told.

Have you ever disowned anyone in your family? For what reasons? Kinda. I don’t associate with one of my uncles because he has a terrible drinking issue that he never got to permanently fix. Whenever I see him at family gatherings he just smells like stale gin or whatever it is he drinks, and it just ruins the essence of family reunions for me. As recent as Christmas Day last year he drove drunk and crashed into a car with an entire family, but as always his ass got lucky because 1) no one in the family got hurt, and 2) said family let go of the lawsuit they were planning to file against him.

Have you ever seen That 70’s Show? Do you watch it regularly? I tried watching the first episode but genuinely could not find it entertaining for the life of me. Sorry, Mila :(

If you could choose, what decade would you rather live in? I never really think about revisiting decades - they’re already behind, so what’s the point? As bad as the 2020s have been looking, I’m okay with staying here.

How often would you say you get sick? Once a year at most.

Is there anyone out there who has hurt you so much, you wish they’d die? I used to wish they would die, but I don’t feel that way anymore.

Has anyone ever called you a socio-path before? I don’t think so.

When was the last time you watched a movie in theaters? December.

Have you ever moved to a completely different state before? We’ve moved to different regions before.

Do you mind it when surveys ask you really personal questions? No. Isn’t that part of the point of surveys?

When was the last time you told someone you love them? Thursday or Friday I think, when Andi said it to me first and I said it back. I wasn’t having a good day and they were just looking out.

Which one would you like more: kiss on cheek / kiss on neck? Depends on my mood. Right now a kiss on the cheek sounds nice.

Does it bother you when people steal your stuff on MySpace? This never happened to me because I had Myspace for such a short time and I never caught it at its peak. Also, how do people steal your stuff over there? That’s pretty intriguing lmao

Do you have freckles? Do you like / dislike them? I don’t have any.

Who would you say is the best actor / or actress in your opinion? My biased ass would rally for Kate Winslet all the way, but some other great ones for me are Toni Collette, Emma Stone, Jodie Foster, and Natalie Portman.

How many times have you been drunk in your life? Many.

What would you do if the last person you kissed said they hated you? Be confused and ask them to give me a few concrete reasons. I don’t think too highly of myself, but I know I’ve never done anything to make me deserving of hate, especially with regard to us.

Do you ever think you might be pregnant? No, it has never been a worry of mine.

When was the last time you acted really immature? The weekend.

Do you enjoy watching comedies or horror movies more? Horror. I never watch comedies and the only subtype of it that I watch is romcom.

As a child, did you ever have an imaginary friend? Yeah but it lasted all of five minutes until I got bored with the concept.

Does anyone call you baby? Who would that be? No.

Can you rely on one or more people to take up for you? I have no idea what take up means. If this also means ‘stand up for me,’ then yeah I can.

#survey #surveys

5 notes · View notes

lovemesomesurveys · 4 years

Text

Have you ever had a computer virus before? Not with any of my Apple laptops, which I’ve been getting for over 10 years now. Prior to that, I did have a few issues with viruses. Not fun.

Are you dependent upon anyone? >> Of course. Everyone’s dependent on someone, even if only indirectly. <<< True. I’m also very dependent upon my family, especially my mom.

Are there any book characters you’d like to portray? Uh, I don’t want to portray any character. I’m definitely no actor.

Who did you last text? My dad.

Is there anything on your bed right now? Yeah, several pillows, my bedsheets, my throw blanket, a few stuffed animals, a coloring book, a couple sets of colored pencils, two little pencil sharpeners, a little notebook, a book, an Nintendo Switch, my laptop, my phone, the chargers for aforementioned electronics... lol my bed is also my desk since I spend majority of my time in bed.

When was the last time you went to the grocery store? Back in early March. Prior to this quarantine/lockdown, I went with my mom twice a month. Since all that began, she’s just been going. We’ve been using the online order thing. What way would you like to die when it’s your time? Peacefully.

What are you most afraid of in the world? Death, diseases, violence, losing loved ones... Have you ever been caving? No.

Do you do well in math related things? Noooo. Me and math never got along.

What is your favorite fruit? Bananas.

If you had to choose, which sibling would you live with? My younger brother and I already live in the same house.

Do you have any tattoos? Nope.

Are you planning on getting any in the near future? No.

When was your last date? Four years ago.

When did you get Facebook? Sometime in 2008.

What was your first pet’s name? Buster.

Are you good when it comes to computer issues? Uhh, depends what the issue is. If it involves the hardware itself then no.

Are there any people at your job who absolutely hates you? No job.

What was the last book you read? Don’t Tell by Willow Rose. I’m just starting, The Girl and the Hunt by AJ Rivers, which is the 6th book in a series.

Have you ever read any books in one day? Yeah, several.

What was the last thing you bought? A couple shirts and masks from Young and Reckless. The masks are black and say, “Keep your distance.” The shirts are black and say that as well in tiny font on the upper right side and on the back it says, “Thank you for staying away” in big font. I got one for my mom as well because it seemed like the perfect shirt for her to wear to work lol.

What are your plans for tomorrow? Nothing out of the ordinary.

Is there any jewelry you wear constantly? Nope.

Are your fingernails painted at the moment? Nope.

Do you prefer cool, warm or neutral colors? >> I like a variety of colours for different reasons. <<<

Have you ever taken art classes? Just an art history class in college.

What’s the most boring movie you’ve ever seen? Hmm. I’m blanking. Do you know how to work a cash register? I’ve never used one.

Fact or fiction novels? I’m more of a fiction gal.

Have you ever suffered from depression? Yeah, it’s been an ongoing battle for as long as I can remember, but these past few years have most definitely been the worst. Depression won.

Do you think you’re a clingy person? I can be when it comes to my mom.

Do you enjoy kisses on the cheek? Uhh depending on who it’s from.

Have you ever been in a physical fight before? No.

How often would you say you disagree with your parents? We definitely have our disagreements, but I don’t know how often I’d say they are. A lot of them are about the same things.

What color shirt did you wear yesterday? >> Black.

Do you have a job? If so, do you like it? Nope.

Have you ever been called a slut before? I’ve had friends say it as a joke.

What’s something you’ve been craving? A day at the beach. D:

Have you ever slept with your window open? Yeah.

Can you play violin? I took lessons in 4th grade, but I didn’t enjoy it. Just wasn’t my thing. I stuck it out for the whole year, though.

What was the last desert you had? Brownies.

Have you ever had a wild animal as a pet? No.

Do you know anyone you talk to on Facebook but won’t talk to in person? No.

What color are your mother’s eyes? Brown.

Do you have a best friend? If so, how long have you been best friends? All 30 years of my life.

Do you cry easily? Yeah. Somedays I’m just on the verge of tears all day and anything can set it off.

Have you ever been into a court room? I think during a field trip in elementary school.

How many necklaces would you say you own? Hmm. Maybe five.

Do you plan on being strict towards your children? I plan on not having children. I’m going to be 31 soon and feel strongly about not having children and I just don’t see something super drastic happening that makes me change my mind. But I’d be even older if something drastic did happen, so probably not even then. I’m meant to have doggos. (:

Do you own any tie-dye shirts? Yeah, a few.

What would you say is your favorite day of the week? They’re all the same for me, really.

Do you ever wear lipstick? I haven’t in a long time.

Do you own a pool? Nope.

Do you have a Tumblr account? Never heard of it.

Would you say you’re overweight? No. I’m actually too underweight.

How many colors are in your hair? Well, it’s mostly red, but my roots are starting to grow out. It’s not too bad, yet.

Do you flirt with a lot of people? I’m not a flirtatious person in general. If I flirt, it’s with someone I’m interested in and have been talking to. I don’t flirt with everyone or with people I don’t know.

How many bank accounts do you have? Just one.

Have you ever been falsely accused of starting drama? Yes.

How old are you? 30.

Do you attend church regularly? Not physically, but a local church uploads their service every Sunday to watch or listen to and I’ve been watching that even before the lockdown/quarantine. Since then, they’ve been live streaming since they can’t meet in person.

Have you ever found a song that describes your whole life? There’s a lot of songs where the lyrics just speak to me as they say and I really relate to them.

What time did you wake up this morning? I haven’t gone to bed, yet, but I assume I’ll get up sometime between 1 and 3 since that’s how it’s been the past few months.

What time do you plan on waking up tomorrow morning? ^^^

What kind of car do you drive? I don’t drive.

What kind of car would you like to have? Not something I’ve given much thought.

Have you ever been to Dairy Queen? If so, what’s your favorite thing to eat from there? Not since I was a kid. I remember liking the blizzard things.

How old did you turn on your last birthday? This is just another way of asking how old I am, which you already asked me.

Ever felt like falling apart? Oh yes. I’ve felt like I’ve fallen apart and like I’m going to fall apart, just barely hanging on. I’m always just trying to keep it together. I’m like Humpty Dumpty who couldn’t quite be put back together again.

Have you ever been in an ambulance? Yes.

Do you tend to worry a lot? Yepppp.

How old were you when you lost your first tooth? Like 6, I think.

Do you remember your first time on the internet? It was when I was 9 or 10.

Which website do you email from? Yahoo.

Do you enjoy receiving souvenirs? Sure. I love getting them myself when on vacation and I’d certainly appreciate if someone brought me something from theirs.

Do you get angry with people easily? Not angry, but irritated and frustrated.

Do a lot of people dislike you or is it the other way around? I feel like I’m just not even on the radar for most people.

Have you ever had the flu? Yes.

What about strep throat? Yes. It’s been a longggg time, though.

Have you ever been to a psychologist? No, but I need to.

What’s the worst part about school? For me it was that I just got so overwhelmed and stressed out so easily.

Do you normally have a lot of homework, if you’re still in school?

When was your last vacation? Back in early February. I can’t believe that even happened this year because quarantine/lockdown has felt like 84 years.

Would you ever consider going on a cruise? I’ve thought about it and they do sound fun, but... I don’t think I could.

What did you last buy from the store? A few Starbucks Doubleshot energy drinks.

Would you say you enjoy being single or in a relationship more? All I really know is being single, so I can’t really say for sure. I do miss being interested in someone and talking to someone in that way, though, and the very little experience I do have with dating. It’s best for me to be single, though.

Do you try to stay busy a lot? I spend my days with my usual go-to distractions. I wouldn’t call that keeping busy, though. I don’t feel like spending all day on various social media platforms, watching YouTube and TV, reading, playing Animal Crossing, and lounging is “busy” if that makes sense. I think of productivity when I think about keeping busy. To me the things I do are just distractions and things to pass the time. Just something to do, ya know? *shrug*

What’s your favorite quote? “Blah.” ha.

Do you lie a lot? I’d be lying if I said I never lie, but I’m not a pathological liar.

Do you still act childish most of the time? I sure can be stubborn, moody, and whiny like one.

Did you ever enjoy gym class? Nope.

What is your biggest insecurity? I have a lot of insecurities.

Have you ever painted a room alone? Nope. Or at all.

Speaking of which, when did you last paint your room? Never.

What’s for dinner tonight? I don’t know, it’s only 3 in the morning.

Do you ever drink alcohol? Nope.

Have you ever had a terrible hangover? Ugh, yes.

Do you ever get migraines? No, but I get terrible tension headaches.

Do you know how to garden? I don’t do any gardening. Not my thing.

What was the last thing you plugged into an outlet? The egg cooker thing to make hard boiled eggs.

Do people consider you to be a funny person? I have my moments.

Do you have any bad habits? Oh do I ever.

Do you like children? If not, why is this? Sure, in small doses. haha.

What is your favorite snack? Deviled eggs. Super random, but they make a delicious snack.

Do you own any gaming systems? I have a Nintendo Switch. I use my brother’s PS4 to access stuff like Netflix or watch DVDs in the living room.

How old were your parents when they had you? Early and mid 20s.

Is there a big age difference between you and the person you like? There’s no such person, currently.

Do you trashtalk people a lot? Nah, just myself.

What is the most amusing thing on the internet, in your opinion? TikTok has been pretty amusing.

Does the future excite you or scare you? It terrifies me.

Have you ever been to Disney World? If so, how many times have you been? No.

Do you try to spend a lot of time with family? I spend a lot of time with my immediate family. We’re very close, but we also live together so we’re able to do so. I don’t see my extended family very often, and not at all since the quarantine/lockdown.

How often do you shower? Every couple of days.

What would you say is your favorite genre of music? I like a variety of music.

Do you need to clean your bedroom? It could use a little straightening up.

What do you plan on doing with the rest of your life? I don’t know. I don’t want to keep going on like I have been the past few years...

Do you enjoy Chinese food? I like some. I haven’t had any in quite awhile, though. I’ve actually been really wanting potstickers.

Do you smile a lot? *shrug* I give a lot of half smiles.

What is your favorite movie from the nineties? That’s tough. I love a lot about the 90s.

Which decade were you born in? The 80s, albeit halfway through the last year of the decade.

Are you good at giving advice to people? I think I used to be. Not now.

How many huge secrets do you have? Wouldn’t you like to know? Maybe I have a lot. Maybe I have none. Like the Tootsie Pop owl says, “the world may never know.” Oooh, I’m so ~mysterious.

How many people know these secrets?

How many times a day do you brush your teeth? Once.

Do you ever floss? Once in awhile, but no not usually.

Have you ever been in a long-term relationship? No.

Ever considered suicide? If so, did you try to commit suicide? Yes. No. Is there anyone out there who makes you feel completely useless? No, I do that to myself.

Do you like texting or calling people more? Text. I don’t like talking on the phone. I don’t a lot of texting either, though.

What’s your favorite band? Linkin Park will always be one of them.

Do you have a lot of friends? I don’t have any friends.

Have you ever painted something and been impressed by it? I don’t paint.

Would you rather go out to eat or stay in? Oh, I’m not going out to eat anywhere anytime soon. I don’t care if dine in is slowly becoming an option again. Things are starting to open up again in phases, but please don’t mistake that to mean we’re in the clear and it’s perfectly safe to do so. We’re still very much in the midst of this pandemic. Please don’t be lax about your outings or start going all over the place.

When did you last babysit, if ever? Not since my brother and a couple of my cousins were kids. They’re all adults now.

Do you have any younger siblings? Yep, just mentioned my younger brother.

Have you ever thought of someone as useless? I don’t think of others that way, just myself.

Have you ever considered bleaching your hair? Yes and I do.

Do you drink vitamin water? I was super into Vitamin Water back when I was in high school. I haven’t had any in quite a long time.

Do you ever straighten your hair? It’s been a few years since I’ve straightened it myself, but when I go to get my hair done the lady who does my hair straightens it.

What’s the best way to end a conversation? Uhhh it depends?

Are there any old movies you absolutely love? Yeah, there’s several.

Have you ever had a Big Mac before? Many times. I’ll get a craving for one every now and then.

Do you think you attract the opposite sex at a reasonable rate? Haaaaa no, not at all.

Where is your favorite place to travel? Beachy places.

What is your goal for the next few months? Getting through the summer somehow. Next week we’re having a few triple digit weather days.... it’s not even summer, yet. I don’t know how I’m going to do it. I can’t even escape to the beach this summer. D:

Can you count to ten in another language other than your own? Sí, en Español.

Do you own a lot of shoes? A few pairs.

What is your favorite season and why? Fall and winter. I just love everything about it--the cold weather, the holidays, the smells, the decor, and just the coziness of it.

Does photography interest you at all? >> Not really. I like looking at photographs other people have taken, though. <<< Yeah, it interests me in that way but I don’t have any interest in taking up photography myself.

Have you ever played on a sports team before? If you have, what was that sport and when? Nope.

Have you ever filed a lawsuit on someone? No.

Do you think you’re a good singer? Nope, I know I’m not. Doesn’t mean I don’t do it anyway at home to myself, though.

Would you rather wear jeans or sweatpants? I’ve only been wearing leggings the past few years.

Do you think you have a good sense of style? I like what I wear, which is all that matters.

Do you enjoy reading often? Yes, I love reading.

Ever had food-poisoning before? Yes. Not fun.

Where did you last eat dinner at? We got Wingstop takeout last night if that counts. I haven’t physically been out to eat in months, though.

Have you ever shot a gun before? Yes, once. I went to a shooting range with friends and learned how to hold and shoot one. I don’t know what type it was exactly, but it was a small handheld. It actually made me quite anxious doing so and even just being in that environment, so yeah it was just that one time.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

2 notes · View notes

amazingflyingdick · 4 years

Text

counsel

WHO: Dick and Jason (@thatsjasonfkntodd) WHERE: Wayne Manor 2.0 WHEN: April 4th, 2020 WHAT: Jason goes to Dick for advice.

Jason: Jason sat on the shitty half-conversation he’d had with Roy for a couple of days. He hadn’t actually expected him to show up at his place, so when he hadn’t, he technically wasn’t surprised. It still left him with the question of what the hell he was supposed to do next. Just let it go? Start things up with Roy again and then just let it fucking die because he didn’t know what kind of answer he actually wanted and Roy wouldn’t tell him?

Though it went against absolutely everything in him to do it, he was going to have to talk to someone, and unfortunately the only someone that would be both eager to listen, knew Roy, and who Jason was at all willing to discuss his personal life with was...Dick. The thought of actually approaching him about it had ended up stalling him several extra hours because he loathed it. The alternative, though...the alternative would be just letting it go and calling it quits, and he wasn’t willing to do that yet. So he sucked it up and went to the manor only when he was sure that Dick would actually be there. He didn’t plan on bumping elbows with anybody else or staying for dinner or anything. He just wanted to get in, get some kind of damn answer, and leave.

He found him working and cleared his throat, hoping he would not come to fully and completely regret being there as fast as he expected to. “You got a few?” Dick: It was easy to lose track of time in the batcave, especially when Dick was focused on his work. As scattered as he could sometimes be on a day to day basis, when he honed in on something he was laser-focused and unwilling to stop researching until he found all the answers to his questions. A pile of files from the SCPD were sitting next to him. He had set them aside a while ago with the intention to take a break, but then he quickly started looking into Slade’s information again to see if anything new popped up or if Barbara might have left a note in the file. There was still nothing about his targets or who might have put out a hit, nothing he could locate in any database, and the lack of leads was making him nervous.

He wasn’t listening out for anyone, so he didn’t even hear Jason behind him and had no idea he was there until he spoke up. Dick looked over his shoulder and then rolled back a few feet in the chair, indicating to the one next to him. “Yeah. Unless you’ve been fighting with Damian or Tim,” he added dryly. It was a joke but also not. It was hard to navigate how to handle his brothers’ rivalry and Dick was fresh out of ideas, but still not ready to give up. It wasn’t impossible.

But this was about something else. Jason never came to talk to him about anything unless it was important. A little spat wouldn’t qualify. “What’s up?” He asked, making a face after taking a sip of his coffee and realizing how cold it was. Jason: “What are Tim and Damian doing?” As soon as he asked, he moved to backtrack and held up his hand. “Nevermind. Remembered I don’t care.” Even on a good day he wouldn’t have had time for that shit, and he wasn’t there on a good day. If he got distracted by some other mess he wouldn’t reel himself back in enough to return to his own, and he had to deal with it before he changed his mind.

Jason blew out an audible breath and went to pull over one of the other chairs from where it had been pushed aside. “I need to talk to you about Roy.” He decided to just rip it off like a band aid, rather than go through the small talk dance and waste time. Dick: Dick started to explain, but he stopped himself and just gave a heavy sigh. He didn't really want to talk about it either. After speaking with Bruce, Barbara, Alfred, Tim, and Damian, he hit his quota on the topic a long time ago. There was nothing Jason could add to it that would be anything but sarcastic or dismissive. Alfred was about as objective as it got and not even his advice worked this time.

When Jason didn't take the chair next to him he put his feet up on it instead. It wasn't a huge surprise this was going to be about Roy, especially since Dick just saw him the day before and he knew something was off. Roy opted not to talk about it when he asked, so he'd let the subject drop, but it didn't take a genius to figure out it was about Jason. "What about Roy?" Jason: Jason had, predictably, told no one anything. He’d assumed that Dick was at least aware that he’d seen Roy again, but he hadn’t offered any information, and since no comments had been made...he figured he may not know all of it. The thought of going through a whole explanation on top of the fact that he was there for advice, of all things, made him long for the grave again. For the twentieth time since walking in the manor, he regretted it, but pushed on anyway.

“I went to see him at the rehab place a few months ago, November or something. We hung out a few times, just...had food, watched shitty tv, whatever.” That was nothing. He pushed a hand back through his hair and leaned back further in the chair, pushing it toward one side and onto one leg. “It uh,” why was he pussyfooting around it? It was Dick. “We fucked a few weeks ago and more since. Apparently I didn’t follow up the way he wanted, so now it’s all,” he made a gesture with his hand, “screwed up, I guess.” Dick: Roy was someone Dick knew since they were both barely old enough to be taken seriously. Back then he was still Speedy. He considered him to be one of his best friends, so there weren't a lot of things they didn't talk about, but Jason was an awkward topic to navigate. Back when he dragged Roy off to rehab he'd heard some about what happened (most of it incoherent), but Dick had the feeling he didn't know the full story. He tried to approach the topic with Roy a couple of times later, even though Jason was his brother and it made them both uncomfortable on some level, but he wasn't going to force it.

That was going to be his policy this time, too. He didn't expect Jason to be the one to come to him, even though it made sense. He leaned back in his chair, his elbow propped on the table next to him, and was clearly unfazed by the explanation of events since it confirmed a lot of assumptions he'd already made. "Yeah, he told me saw you. Didn't say much more than that. So you followed up the wrong way or you just... didn't?" Jason: When he got next to no reaction by explaining what had been going on, he assumed Roy had said enough for Dick to put it together. It saved him having to deal with any kind of surprise and wait for him to get over it. He moved on quickly. “Wrong way. It’s not like I slept with him and fell off the planet. I’m not that guy.” And it was Roy, it’s not as if it was just some random person he had no connection to. “He’s spent the last, I don’t know, two weeks, just not being home, which is somehow my fault. It’s not like he said he wanted to see me regularly, or more, but me showing up when I can,” or when he wanted to, “is the fucking problem apparently.”

Jason hadn’t asked Roy what he wanted when he broke things off, and he’d own that, but what had been stopping him from speaking up for himself this time? Why was it on Jason to define everything when Roy was the one who wasn’t satisfied with what was happening? The more he’d thought about it, the more irritated it had made him. Dick: It put him at ease, kind of, to know that Jason didn't just panic and stop seeing Roy altogether, since that didn't sound like a salvageable situation, but there was a reason why Jason was here. Dick might not have heard anything from Roy directly, but he knew him well enough to speculate. Still, he knew he was only getting one side of the story. "That's the problem?" He didn't know anything about their relationship, admittedly, but somehow he doubted that was it. Somehow.

Both of them were awful at communicating in their own ways. Roy wouldn't talk about anything serious and Jason just acted like everything was nothing. Anyone could see that wasn't the best combination when it came to handling anything real. "Did you guys actually talk about it? What did he say?" Jason: “I don’t know if we talked. Words were said, loudly.” It came up, obviously, or he wouldn’t be sitting there with Dick. “He wanted me to tell him what I want. Like I’m sixteen and need to ask for a boyfriend.” He’d likely hit a wall with that with Dick, who was trying to get married, but he still didn’t see the point. It seemed juvenile and unnecessary and just one more potential complication. All he wanted to do was be with Roy. How was that not an answer?

He made an exasperated sound and ran both hands back over his hair before clasping then behind his neck. “I’m the one who went to him. Me. How is that not telling him something?” Dick: "Talking about what you want doesn't make you sixteen. There doesn't have to be a label if you don't want one. It's about... you know, boundaries, or whatever, and you talk about it so you know what's expected. Otherwise someone might do something and not think it's a big deal, like sleep with someone else." Dick thought not talking about those things was asking for more trouble in the long run, but he was no relationship guru.

"It says something, but not as well as you could if you just... told him with words. What's the big deal? Are you afraid it won't work out? Or one of you might not be able to do it?" Jason: “Why is it on me? He’s the one that wants something. If I’m thirsty, I’m going to ask for water and not stand around expecting somebody else to offer it to me and be pissed when they don’t. If Roy Harper needs something, why is it on Jason Todd to figure out what the fuck it is and then say it the way he wants it said?” Was it all because Jason had walked away? Ending things meant the rest of it was his to figure out and shoulder forever? That seemed like a bunch of bull.

He was already getting frustrated with the conversation and was talking himself in the same circle he’d been going in since he’d left out the window of Roy’s apartment. “You already gave me your whole dumb spiel about how it doesn’t matter if something doesn’t work and you’re happy just trying or whatever contrived thing you said,” he didn’t remember the precise wording when he’d questioned him about why he wanted to marry Tanya. Dick: "It's not just on you, but you're the one that left, so yeah, it is on you to make more effort. At least in the beginning. I'm not going to pretend like I know anything about what it was like with you and Roy, because I really don't, but I know plenty about what it was like after. Maybe you thought just showing up would patch all that up without you having to talk about anything, but that's obviously not working or you wouldn't be here."

Rolling his eyes, Dick crossed his arms and sat up more in his chair. "I just don't get it. What do you think is going to happen? The worst already happened, didn't it? To both of you?" At this point he didn't see what else there was to lose, other than pride. Jason: “I made more effort! I showed up and kept showing up. He wanted to know where I lived, I fucking told him. Has he shown up? No. So here I am talking to you,” which so far was yielding nothing of value.” Jason stood back up, restless already, and paced away from him.

The last question got a dry laugh from him. “What? You think dying was the worst?” Was that really what he believed? Jason had always had a problem with misdirecting anger. It had taken years of slow progress to come around to realizing that and catching it, usually belatedly. It was still his gut reaction most of the time, and it was right then. He had to take a breath not to round on Dick again when he’d not done anything except just sit there. Dick: It was hard to talk to Jason just because they were so dissimilar in every way possible, it seemed like, but that never stopped Dick from trying. He received the brunt of Jason's anger plenty of times and kept his cool, so he was prepared for that. If it happened. "He doesn't know how you feel and that's what you need to tell him. Do you... know how you feel about it? Any of it?"

Dick let almost a minute tick by before he said anything. "For you? No. I don't think that. Come on, Jay, sit back down." He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and when he continued his voice was much quieter. "You can't just shut that part of you off because you don't think you need it. Or it doesn't belong. I mean, look at your doormat. You don't let anyone in, man. And whenever your emotions are compromised by anyone else, you either deny it, disconnect from it, or minimize it. You can't... cut everyone you care about out of your life just because you think that's what you deserve." Jason: He knew more or less what he’d already said. He’d never let himself quantify it beyond that, beyond just knowing that he’d missed Roy, and that felt better when he was around him. But he’d said that, and that hadn’t been enough. “I thought I did, but apparently not.”

It was a few long beats before he relented and walked back over to sit down again. “It’s not about what I deserve.” Well, not entirely. He couldn’t say that he didn’t question that, and he often had when his mind went particularly dark places, but that was not necessarily the heart of what made him hold Roy at bay. “It’s just...fucking exhausting to disappoint people all the time.” It was more honest than he typically was, aloud and certainly to Dick. Dick: Dick had dozens of conversations with Roy and Jason that resulted in some type of misunderstanding because of poor communication… or no communication, so it was difficult to know who wasn’t listening and who wasn’t speaking, but he assumed they were both guilty of it to a degree. Roy’s issues were different than Jason’s, even though there were some parallels he’d drawn between them that Dick wisely kept to himself.

“People are always going to want things from you,” he finally said quietly, looking down at his hands. “Things you won’t be able to deliver, even if you wanted to, but that’s different. Unavoidable. You just…” There was a way to explain this without discussing specific things. Some subjects he would rather leave untouched. “It’s like you don’t want to look beyond the moment because you’re convinced something’s going to go wrong. Having no expectations doesn’t mean everyone is safe from disappointment. Most of the time it just guarantees it, especially with someone like Roy. It’s not like you went in with no strings attached - but even if you did, someone always seems to walk away from those situations feeling hurt and disappointed.” Jason: “What do you mean, someone like Roy? You’ve known him longer than I have,” though Jason wasn’t sure he could say the word better considering Dick had not seen exactly the same Roy Harper than Jason had. He did read people differently, in any case. “What is he waiting on me to say? What are the boundaries? If it’s not a label, then what?” Because Roy had demanded something from him. He’d said honesty, but he hadn’t meant the kind of honesty Jason was offering. “What’s the terminology I’m looking for here to make this shit end?” He wasn’t trying to placate him, because Jason didn’t do that. He didn’t spare feelings or sugarcoat anything just to make people walk away feeling better, but he didn’t know what to say to Roy. Dick: “All I’m saying is that you’re both always waiting for the other shoe to drop.” They were both sensitive to disappointment, anyway, and even though Dick always thought they shared a similar reason for that, it was’t one he was going to express. He frowned at the question and considered it, leaning back in his chair again. It was hard to be specific when he didn’t really know anything but what Jason told him about the conversation. He could put himself in Roy’s shoes, which could be a mistake, but he didn’t think it would be.

It made him realize just how little guidance Jason had in this area to lack something that, for Dick, felt like common sense, and he wasn’t sure if he were angrier at Bruce or himself for that. “Tell him if you want it to be casual or serious. Say it’s more than sex or it’s not. If you want it to have sex with other people or not. If you love him, say it. If not, just… just don’t say anything about that. Cover the other bases. That’s it.” Jason: “Because the other shoe does always drop, and it’s usually a drop kick.” It wasn’t like he was cynical for no reason, or because somehow it was fun. Part of him envied Dick’s ability to just shake off the things that went wrong and keep moving, which Jason had never really been able to do. Not the shaking off part, anyway.

He shook his head, not in protest, but just resignation. “Fine. But you use that word too easy.” Love. That wasn’t the point of what they were talking about and he didn’t linger over it. Instead, he just raked his hands forward through his hair and ran them down his face. “Fine,” he said again, getting back up for the second time. Dick: Dick sighed. He knew he wasn’t going to change Jason’s entire philosophy in one conversation, but he was always tempted to try. The only thing he could offer was proof that he wasn’t going to eject Jason from his life and maybe, eventually, Jason would believe differently. Instead he just shook his head. “I’m about to kick you out of that chair.”

It didn’t surprise him that Jason would believe that, but he just shrugged. “Some people love easier than others. Wait." He reached for a notepad where he’d been scribbling notes from Slade’s files. “Do you need me to write this down? Are you going to forget? I’m serious.” Jason: “I’m already out of the chair,” he pointed out, shoving it toward Dick with his foot, “so it’s all yours.”

He immediately narrowed his eyes. “I’m not a moron. Yes, I can remember like four freaking sentences.” He couldn’t even imagine what an idiot he’d look like walking up to Roy holding a notecard like he had vows to recite. Dick: Dick let his feet fall off his chair to stop the other chair with it, his eyes narrowing, but then he nodded. "Okay." Tossing the notepad back on the table, he looked up at Jason briefly before casually turning back to the screen. "I can check in on Roy tomorrow, if you want." And Jason, too - not that he would say that. Jason: “He’s your friend. Do what you want.” Jason wasn’t going to ask him for that. It was bad enough that he’d felt the need to get advice from him in the first place and he certainly didn’t want to add a whole layer of mothering to it, but if Dick wanted to see about his own friend...it’s not like he could tell him not to, either.

Desperate to move on, he picked the first subject that seemed like some kind of transition. “Deathstroke’s in town?” He saw what Dick had been working on, but couldn’t remember any job popping up on the dark web or elsewhere recently that would bring a name like that into Star City. Dick: Dick already knew he would be checking on Roy (and Jason, in a less obvious way that he already had a good plan for), so he let it go, nodding as he selected a few subfiles. Everything was starting to look the same to him. He already knew this folder inside and out - but he kept thinking of the possibility of missing something, some tiny hint, and because he didn’t see it, someone’s life would be snuffed out.

“Yeah. Ran into him just outside of the SCPD. He has to be here for a contract, but I can’t find anything that might link him to any big organization. Not in recent years.” Tired, he sat back and rubbed his face. The exhaustion was getting to him because he felt it all of a sudden. His shoulders and head felt heavy. “So, if you hear anything…” Jason: “Maybe it’s personal,” he shrugged. Not that Jason had seen or heard from Rose in awhile either, but that meant absolutely nothing. They didn’t keep tabs on each other. She was around when she was around, and once in awhile they got in each other’s way or ended up finishing a job together, but it had been awhile since the last run in like that.”I’ll keep my ear to the ground. I think I run closer to his circle than you do.”

He was fine leaving it on that note. At least it didn’t feel completely like he’d just gone there for Dick to give him four multiple choice questions and tell him to hand the answers in to Roy. Dick: “What’s that supposed to mean?” It was a knee-jerk reaction that he would have caught, if Dick were rested and not still conscious because of Tim’s ridiculously strong coffee. He figured it out a second later and blinked, some of the tension leaving his body. “Oh. No, Rose isn’t here. I already checked. Sorry, this file has my brain all…” he made a gesture. “Scrambled. Thanks. Let me know, even if you think it isn’t important. I want to be the one to handle it.” That was what he told Bruce and he didn’t get any argument. Slade didn’t start out in Gotham. The way he saw it, Bruce didn’t have the right to make a move without him. Jason: Jason narrowed his eyes, but ultimately let that weird reaction go. Well, no. He didn’t let it go. He just didn’t comment on it. “Right. Rose isn’t here,” he agreed, running his tongue out between his lips. “I normally don’t say this to people, but maybe you should get some sleep or something.” Dick: Even if Dick tried to sleep, he knew this would be the only thing on his mind. He had to make at least some headway, or feel like he did, but he nodded anyway. It was true. "Yeah... I know. I'll head there in a little while. The coffee's wearing off. I have no idea how Tim devours this every day. These coffee beans must be illegal." Jason: “Because Tim is a monster,” Jason said without missing a beat, though there was no venom behind it. He’d long since made his peace with Tim. When he’d started the long, annoying process of rectifying some of that misplaced anger he’d carried around, that had been one of his first stops. He ran a hand along the back of his neck and stopped halfway to the exit. “See you, Dickie.” Dick: Dick just shook his head a little in response, making a face as he finished off the rest of the coffee. When Jason said his name he looked over his shoulder and nodded, smiling a little despite how clearly troubled he was with the file. “See you later. Don’t forget to let me know what you hear.”

#c: thatsjasonfkntodd

1 note · View note

thehappymessproject · 5 years

Text

100/100 - 5 steps to make the most out of our life

I started this essay months ago... Writing about it made me frustrated and sad : by taking stock of my thoughts ont the topic, it was all too clear that I had lost my way on several of them. It was the perfect time to write about it for many reasons, but also the worst for many different reasons.

So I followed my own principles, and let it sit, while exploring them one by one, reclaiming them. Real deep growth means getting back to beginner’s state over and over. Overdoing it is part of the process too. So are feeling lost, afraid, doubting ourselves and the process while trying to trust it. All of it and more. Change (and life itself) is a big mess.

Here are some signs that you may not use your time in a way that is satisfying to you (one is enough, especially if intense and persistant) :

Sleep issues (including fine quality of sleep but constant fatigue)

Reduced functional time : someone fine can function for 10 hours on average before being really tired. Anxiety or depression and other disorders can reduce this to 1 hour in severe cases.

Frequent/permanent bursts of sadness or fear (especially if ‘unexplained’).

Feeling like time tends to fly by ‘too quickly’, even if it can seem way too slow as well sometimes.

Feeling like it’s impossible to do what really matters to you because you don’t have enough time or energy.

I was checking 3 out of those boxes, and in an intense way until a few weeks back. I realised that I had slipped into this territory again, the one of being caught in so many vicious cycles that it feels like it may never stop and I may never have time to do what’s important to me. So I went back to basics and made sure I would embody these words, not just aspire to them.

Here are the steps I am following to reset and ease back slowly the way I spend my daily time.

Pausing and listening

Stillness and reflection are absolutely key in this process.

Without them in our life, everything feels way too blurry to take on real deep change, or even to understand what we are experiencing. And trying to change the way we use our time is definitely real deep change.

To learn how to pause, we need to start from what we consider as a pause. Meditation is one of the surest, fastest and strongest way to learn stillness and to connect to ourselves. But many people have even difficulty to stay a few moments doing nothing in silence. For them, meditation is simply too hard right now.

This specific difficulty is in itself a symptom of deep underlying emotional struggle. It shows us also how much we struggle to accept ourselves the way we are. But be sure of one thing : we can all find our way back to stillness and delight in our own company, which is our deep natural state... As long as we start from where we are at.

When stillness isn’t available to us yet as a safe practice, we can already benefit from simply slowing down. Doing activities that make us feel almost still, or at least calmer helps greatly.

Taking breaks without getting our phones out. Taking a deep breath from the belly and slowly letting it out through the mouth. Practicing staying silent with people, just enjoying each other’s company or even just being bored together. Walking and letting our thoughts wonder. Listening to music while daydreaming. Stopping for a few instants once in a while during our commute to simply observe the world going on without us… There are many ways to progress back towards that childlike and very wise ability of staying in the moment.

(check this essay for more ideas on how to train your mindful muscles)

Daring

To live the most out of our life, we will need to change regularly, either to adapt to the environment we choose, adapt to life itself or simply to follow out deeply human need to evolve. Change is the only real constant we’ll ever face.

That change (especially when it’s deep) will always requires that we get out of our comfort zone, which will always have that scary vibe that accompanies vulnerability. When we change, we take risks, and real risks are scary : we need courage to take them on.

We will need to find out what we really want, which can be scary enough as it is. We will need to explore what it is by doing all sorts of new unsettling things. We will need to learn how to listen to ourselves more and better. We will need to fail miserably every so often (the bigger the goal, the more frequent the failure involved). We will need to face how little we know about ourselves and how paradoxical we really are. We will need to embrace the awkward messes that we are. How much we suck, we are wrong, imperfect, incompetent, uncomfortable, scared, intimidated, self-limiting we can be…

Change is a journey that can be as great, liberating and empowering as it is humbling, unsettling and subtile. One big happy mess when it’s taken on fulll speed.

More on the courage to change and be who we really are in this essay.

A little bit of everything

If I had to choose just one word to characterise deep change, it would be balance. No life lived in any kind of extreme is sustainable or even really appreciated on the long term, most of us know that deep down...

But humans are also really bad at finding balance, even more in our fast paced world. Instead, we tend to have some sort(s) of cycles, going round and round between being too self-indulgent and too harsh on ourselves.

We often call them “being reasonable” and “letting ourselves live”, but rarely truly do any of both in the end. There is something very disheartening in living stuck in those cycles.

Life stuck in cycles doesn’t feel at all like we can have an impact on our destiny, like what we do actually matter in the grand scheme of things. We feel stuck and discouraged. Often bitter too.

That is why there is something so liberating in finding ways to balance everything that is important to us. Even if it will never be achieved as a goal : even if we do find some sort of balance, life changes, circumstances change, WE change no matter what we do. So balance has to be found over and over, the way our courage or what we think we know about ourselves does.

I’ve met so many people betting their life on something big in their future, ready to sacrifice things they know are important (like time with our loved ones, their passion, their sleep…) for things they think they really need first in order to be happy (generally money, status, diplomas…). I have yet to meet someone who really “won” that kind of bet.

What I’ve met a lot, are people who lost their dreams, their will to live or simply lost themselves in that game. They will need more, always. They will keep procrastinating what they deem as really important in their heart, until something breaks. Their bodies, their soul, their spirit… Or simply until they die.

How many cautionary tales and tragic anecdotes do we hear about those people who were waiting for their retirement or these other big things (money, status, power, diploma...) to ‘really live’ (be it travel, make art, spend quality time together…) until they actually got retired and couldn’t do any of it, because they were too sick, physically shattered, depressed to have lost all that was their daily life, or tragically lost their spouse? Or, they got the job, money and status they just don’t have more time, jut more responsibilities? Young adults who will have spent their lives between mental health issues and studying before tragically passing in an accident?

It might sound morbid, but like many people who have faced death in a very intimate way, I use my mortality as an incentive for being brave and go after what truly matters to me.

Don’t get me wrong though, there is nothing wrong about making sacrifices for our bigger goals. We will always have to sacrifice things to get what we deeply want.

I’m just saying, don’t forget to also live : paint on the week end, write that book on stolen minutes, learn/practice that craft 10mn of practice at the time, go on dates with people you love and create actual memories with them, take time to breathe and look around you, to connect with nature, to dance and listen to music, to read good books and taste great food...

Learn to know yourself and the world around you. Switch your phone off and use your senses to live your life. One meaningful moment at the time. LIVE!

You can have more of the life you really want, right now. Allow yourself to make a bit of it happen.

And if you already do that, and know deep down that you really love what you already have and wouldn’t change a thing, but still feel like life is passing by : make bigger bets.

Decide that you will save money for that thing you really want to do someday, NOW, give that thing a deadline. Take some risks. Evening classes. Online classes : thanks to the Internet, we can learn everything we want NOW. Look for things you might want to explore, start where you are, and bet on yourself.

Start making your dreams happen bit by bit. One step at the time, we will make the hard things happen. Don’t wait for the perfect time to do what matters. STEAL the time, it’s yours anyway. DARE!

More on balance on this essay.

Make room for play

I don’t know you, but I’ve been raised with the idea that play is for children and immature adults. And I always hated it.

Play was such a privileged time of my childhood. Its scarcity as I got older really made me very sad and slowly infused bitterness. The day I watched the TED talk on the power of play was very joyful and dare I say, life-altering.

Humans are wired to play until they die. When we don’t play, our brains work less efficiently, we are more prone to depression, anxiety and all sorts of things that make life MUCH harder than it already is.

Play is like putting on happy glasses : everything is slightly lighter and easier when we play, even the hardest things.

After a few years making room for play in my life and learning more about it, it takes me very little time to diagnose a lack of play in someone’s life : they simply lack “colours”. Even when they are joyful and lively by nature, there’s a sadness in their eyes and voice, in their words.

I can hear their inner child calling for help. Some kind of soft “There must be more to life, that can’t be all there is to it, can it?”. Yes, there is more to it.

Play is some of that “it”. We all need it in several forms. Humour by itself isn’t enough. Entertainment either. We need to enter some kind of games, to be active in that process, find engaging activities that bring us joy to share with people close to us.

Video games, board games, rough and tumble play… alone or with company : pick your favourites, and don’t be afraid to experiment with the ones you don’t know well. You might find a new love hidden there.

There is no way around play, we all need some : it reminds us of our aliveness. So : what are you playing at lately?

(Find an essay on play here)

Honour pleasure

Another thing that is often missing in our lives. We hear so often in many different ways that we need to be productive. That our duties and our ability to own up to them define how well we “got it together”. And boy, do we want badly to get it together…

How many of us feel ruled by our to-do lists and duties?

Here’s one little secret about to-do lists : we will always have more things to do than we have time, they should be directions, not orders. They are certainly not the boss of you!

If we focus on doing everything more than on choosing what things we want to prioritise, life tends to feel a lot like a permanent run, feeling late and overwhelmed.

If we focus only on minimising the to do lists to diminish stress, we always end up cutting out things that are in reality more important than the ones we actually do.

Do not focus on the to do lists. Focus on balance instead. And never forget that pleasure must be a part of that balance.

Pleasure doesn’t need to cost anything, use huge chunks of time or anything really. Pleasure is about perceived luxury : things that make life fuller, more worth living.

It can be as simple as getting up 10mn earlier so we can really take our time drinking our coffee in the morning, changing your commute to walk in that area you enjoy, taking 10mn everyday to walk with someone you love (even in complete silence), switch technology off so we can really enjoy that meal, that break, that moment; taking time to dance recklessly, calling someone you love and didn’t hear from in a long time…

Pleasure is about not taking life for granted, making sure we are not just machines working, taking care of logistics, and surviving.

What are tiny things you can do often that would bring you pleasure? What things do you love but don’t do as often as you like? What makes your days special?

So here it is.

I am lacking words to describe how much working on those tiny but big things more seriously has been helpful for the past couple of months (and the past decade) to come back to myself. I finished my 100 days project exhausted, overwhelmed, sad for it to end and a bit lost.

Even if I still had really hard and stressful days, and I’m currently in the middle of some of the biggest and deepest change I experienced in years, I’m putting an end to this essay that much more centered and calm.

Life doesn’t have to be different (not even less stressful or painful) for you to be able to enjoy it more. All those things are small and big at the same time. Making sure we check on them and incorporate them can make our experience of life much richer and more satisfying, even if we don’t enhance anything else. No matter how life has to be stressful or hard, those are tiny things in our control that makes it easier to manage.

So... What does this essay inspire you to try?

#meaningful life #life hacks #positive psychology #emotional intelligence #growth hacking #therapist #counseling #the happy mess project #emotional badassery

12 notes · View notes

otome-addicts-notsoanonymous · 5 years

Text

This is the entry for @letting-them-take-liberties for the fanfic giveaway! Remember, if you want to vote for them you must COMMENT on this post. All the rules for voting as well as the master post of submissions can be found under #fanficgiveawaymaster or here. Other submissions can also be found under #fanficsubmissions.

26. Tending an injury

He should have been used to it by now, hearing the whimpers and the tears that would sometimes stain his kimono, and the way her fingers would latch on to the front of his robes as she tried to sleep off the pain.

But he hadn’t, couldn’t get used to it, even after getting into this… habit of allowing her to lie on top of him so that she could rest and heal properly.

Not when she was suffering for the consequences of his inability to protect those around him.

Guilt had been eating him up ever since she had been struck down by an assassin who had been tasked to kill him. At that time, they were both walking around the area of Hamamatsu Castle, as she had announced to him earlier that day that she had been unable to find the herb he was looking for. Annoyed that he had to go out in the cold just so he could properly show the stupid kitchen wench what the herb in question looked like, he had been rather hostile and curt towards her the whole time they were making their way to the fields. It had only been a few seconds of him turning his back to grab the plant when, upon turning to show to her the herb, she had fallen on him. His initial reaction was to sneer and taunt her for being a weakling who had fainted because she was unable to stand the winter chill… until his eyes gazed upon the back of her light pink kimono, which was slowly turning into a dark crimson.

He could not remember what happened next, other than what Sakai had told him when everything had somewhat calmed down.

How he had been too stunned to move at that time, and how it had been Hattori Hanzou who had subdued the man and the other assassins in the area when they took advantage of him being too shocked to move.

How his retainers had been unable to pry his hands away from her when the others have arrived, as he had actually managed to put enough pressure on the wound to temporarily stop the bleeding, despite him in a daze.

How he had taken it upon himself to bring her to his room and had decided on his own that there would be no need for a doctor, as he would do the work himself, to the horror and amazement of his retainers.

When she started bleeding again as soon as he had laid her down on his futon, he used linen bandages and bound it tightly around her torso to cease the blood flow. He had seen horrific wounds on soldiers, but seeing half of her back raw and open from a diagonal sword wound had made him feeling light-headed.

The attack was meant for him, yet she took the blow and was suffering for it.

Seeing her lying unconscious left him feeling strangely desolate over the fact that a woman had protected him.

Probably in a desperate bid to make sure that she would not suffer in his failure to keep her safe, he cleaned her wound after a few days of binding it. Ieyasu then took it upon himself to stitch her wound shut to lessen the chances of it getting infected. He had seen a number of men dying from both blood loss and infected wounds, and he refused to stand by and watch her die.

Three days later, she was whimpering in her sleep for her father not to leave her side and for Death to claim her already.

The instant he heard about it, he felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him.

The voice in his head had mocked him for doing more harm than good to her, and that he might as well end her misery by letting her die.

The wound he had stitched shut in an attempt to avoid infection had, ironically, become infected in a matter of days. While she was delirious from fever, he had been attempting to lower her temperature with a sponge bath. During that time as well, when he was about to replace the bandages, he had noticed that the wound he had treated a few days ago had turned into an angry red. Wasting no time, he regularly cleaned the infected wound with water that he had drawn from the well and changed the bandages.

He had been having thoughts of her dying ever since she got wounded, but the possibility of it becoming a reality because of his foolish decision to stitch up the wound—

Despite the bleak situation, he found himself laughing.

How could he have ever thought that he had it in him to save her?

He was slowly killing her with his own hands, and right now, it seemed merciful to end her life once and for all, instead of prolonging her suffering.

No doubt, the voice in his head told him, this was her way of blaming him for putting her in the current state she was in, and that she would rather end her suffering than be stuck with him for the rest of her life.

You will not leave me.

If, after all this, she still wanted to leave the clan because of his failures, so be it.

Right now, she was still his retainer, and he was still her lord; he will not allow Death to take her from him that easily.

It had been a task more exhausting than all of the campaigns he had participated in combined. As he did not want anyone involved in the task of nursing her back to health, mostly because of guilt, he took it upon himself to draw buckets of cold water from the well, completely drench a clean strip of linen, and use it to wipe down her feverish body. When the water was not cold enough to his liking, he would proceed to get more water from the well, ignoring the winter chill, and do the same thing over and over again.

At one point, Sakai had told him to get some rest, only for him to glare at his most senior retainer.

“Don’t tell me what to do, old man.”

Sakai Tadatsugu only smiled. “Right now, you have done wonders for her, milord, but you must rest—”

“No.” came the curt reply.

“It would not do well for the lord of the clan to get sick, and you have hardly eaten anything.” Sakai gave him a worried look. “I know Sanae is… not in the condition to serve you meals, but I am sure she will not be happy when she finds out that you have forgotten to eat because of her.”

Trust the old man to say that words that would make him feel even guiltier.

In the end, he had reluctantly allowed Sakai to ask the servants in the castle to prepare a meal for him and bring it up to his room. After the tray was placed in front of him, Ieyasu forced himself to eat the food and downing it with hot tea that nearly burnt his mouth and his tongue.

If he was going to take care of her until her wounds healed, he would need all the nourishment and strength he could get. He could not feel the hunger right now, but he knew that it was better to sate the hunger before it distracted him from what he was doing.

He would make sure that Death would absolute have no chance of taking her away from his side.

He would not allow it.

After an exhausting week of keeping her wound clean and her temperature down, her fever finally broke, and the first thing she did as soon as she opened her eyes was to flash him an exhausted smile and call out his name.

He stopped himself from propping her up from the bedding and holding her in his arms, knowing that her kindness was something that he did not deserve. “… You’re finally awake.” He said, his tone sounding similar to a man who could not be bothered.

Her smile faltered for a split second upon hearing his harsh tone, and the Lord of Mikawa ignored the stab of regret that made its way to his chest, reminding himself that he was the one at fault as to why she was confined to the bedding. While her wound was not infected anymore and her body temperature was back to the way it was, she should not push herself.

“I… guess I am, Ieyasu-sama.”

She sounded so forlorn that he took it as a sign to leave; it was obvious that he was making her feel uncomfortable with his presence. “Don’t move around too much if you want to heal quickly,” was all he said before leaving the room.

That night, he had single-handedly prepared a meal that he was sure would tempt her appetite. To his relief, she had the strength to prop herself up and eat… until for her to stop midway and put the tray down.

“… What’s wrong now?” he managed to ask after he struggled to form the words to ask her why she had suddenly stopped eating. “Was the food that unappetizing?”

She gave him an apologetic smile. “The food is good…” she gave a wistful glance at the tray that she had left on the floor. “It’s just…” at this, she pressed a hand to her mouth.

“What now?”

“Ieyasu-sama…” she took a deep breath. “Can you please bring me to the toilet?”

Puzzled at her request, he took her to the toilet anyway; he had barely managed to bring her in time just before she threw up everything she had eaten.

While she had assured him that she was probably not well enough to keep down the food he had made, in his mind, it did not seem that way to him. She could have simply told him a lie, as she was too polite to outwardly reject him, and that she was actually disgusted with the food she had eaten.

Countless times before, he had rejected the meals she had prepared him without so much as a reason why, and recently started to reluctantly eat the meals she had prepared, if only to shut her up. He ate her food with an impassive look on his face as not to give her any hint with just how satisfied he was, and would proceed to critique and pinpoint every single thing that was wrong with it.

In her case, she ate his cooking without complaint, but when she had put down the tray and heaved it all out of her system… she might as well have slapped him on the face.

As he had been sleep-deprived for the past few days, he had actually forgotten the fact that sick people would not be able to eat properly, and that they needed something light and nutritious to help them regain their appetite.

How could he have missed that?

Seems like I’m the one killing her now, he thought bitterly as he took the uneaten tray of food after helping her back to her bedding. Just before she had lied back down on her side as not to disrupt the healing of her wound, he had asked her if she wanted to eat something else, only for her to shake her head.

“I’m not hungry right now, Ieyasu-sama. I’ll just go to sleep.” Her response was neutral, and yet, it alarmed him enough that it took a minute for him to calm his nerves.

She was rejecting him, and he didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

The him before the incident would have been glad that she would stop annoying him and getting all clingy because she wanted his opinion on her cooking, but now… feelings that he never knew he had were hitting him in full force that it was difficult for him to comprehend what was happening.

She hated his cooking… hated it so much that she threw it all up in the hopes of making it look like she had no appetite.

It made no sense for him to be feeling so down over it, and yet…

Clenching his fists, he took the tray of uneaten food and left the room once more, unable to comprehend why he was feeling so dejected.

On the third week of her confinement, he found her crying silently on the bedding, though as soon as he had made his presence known, she had hastily wiped her tears before forcing a smile on her face.

“Ieyasu-sama.” Just before she could attempt to get up, sit on her calves, and bow at him, he stopped her by holding out a hand.

“Don’t bother, can’t stand to see you looking so pathetic and in pain.” Inwardly, he winced at his choice of words, but knew that he was deserving of all her hatred.

She nearly lost her life because of him.

“Understood. Forgive me for being unable to…” she winced as she shifted slightly on the bedding, trying to adjust her position.

“As I’ve said, don’t force yourself.” He reminded her, and she nodded slowly. “As long as you don’t move too much, you’ll be fine.”

“… Yes, but it’s so hard to sleep…” she sighed heavily, her lips curving downward into a frown. “You keep telling me not to lie on my side too much… but I’ve always been a side sleeper so—”

He masked the feeling of dread with a sarcastic smile. “Aww, are you asking me to cuddle and hold you tight while you sleep?”

Ieyasu meant for his statement to be simply that, albeit a sarcastic one. And yet, he found himself saying out loud, “But if you insist, wench, I will allow you to be selfish just this once and I will allow you to lie on top of me and hold you while we both sleep. After all, you did save my life, and because of you, my quest to unify this country will continue.”

Upon seeing her puzzled look, he chuckled. “I am giving you the option to opt out—”

“I couldn’t possibly impose, Ieyasu-sama. You’ve… you’ve made so much effort to accommodate me. Please, just let me—” before he could even lost his nerve and run away from his own challenge, he found himself sitting down on her bedding and lying down next to her. “W-w-w-what are you—”

“It’s too cold, and I need a heat source. You’re perfect as a warm body that I can hold while I sleep.”

“W-w-wha—”

“I will not repeat myself.” He hissed at her, his tone angry, in order to mask his embarrassment at the boldness of what he had suggested. Even after saying those words, he still felt self-conscious and overwhelmed; for those words to easily slip out of his lips as if it were nothing serious, it shocked him.

To add more to his shock, wordlessly, she had not-so-gracefully climbed on top of him, her hands grasping his shoulders in order to get herself to lie on him. Much to his private relief, she did not look uncomfortable at the… peculiar sleeping arrangement that he suggested; on the contrary, she sighed when she proceeded to place her head on his chest, making him blush at the rather intimate contact.

It was a good thing that with her position right now, as she would be unable to see him blushing like a child whose first love had confessed her feelings for him.

When she started adjusting herself into a more comfortable position, her hips pressing against his own, he felt his eyes widen in surprise before hissing, “Stop moving so much!”

“S-sorry.” She mumbled. “T-trying to find a… c-comfy—”

”… Yes, and you’re making me uncomfortable with what you’re doing.“ He said blandly, hoping that she wouldn’t notice that a part of him was slowly becoming stiff.

The kitchen wench, however, really did not let anything go unnoticed. ”… Is that a dagger I feel on my hip?“

“I’ll stab you with it if you don’t shut up.” He hissed angrily, making her jolt from the coldness of his tone. While he did not want to scare her, the wench was really testing both his patience and his self-control.

… And he was afraid of what he was capable of doing when his mind gets clouded with lust.

“M-my apologies, Ieyasu-sama. I shall have to settle for this position then.”

When she placed the top of her head on the crook of his neck and sighed deeply, he took it as his cue to blow out the candle and settle in for the night.

The first one to take note of their sudden change in sleeping arrangements was, surprisingly, Sakakibara Yasumasa.

One afternoon, just after he had managed to get her to eat some porridge mixed with sleeping draught to help her rest, Sakakibara had opened the sliding doors to the room to hand over a letter. Amongst the clan, only a handful of people knew that it was her who was injured, and that he was taking care of her. The rest, on the other hand, had assumed it was the other way around.

Sakakibara had also thought it was the other way around.

Which was why, upon opening the sliding doors and seeing his lord looking rather nonchalant with the wench sleeping on his chest, even the snarkiest general of the Tokugawa army was rendered speechless at what he had just seen.

“… The last thing I expected would be the wench in the same room as you.”

Ieyasu shrugged one shoulder. “What do you want, Sakakibara? I assume you’re not here to see my condition and report about it to Sakai.”

With him currently taking care of Sanae until she was well enough to go back to her duties both as his retainer and his personal chef, he had tasked Sakai to take over for him during war council meetings in the guise of being injured and recovering from the ‘wound’ he received. With Sakakibara now running around the castle to hand him a letter, he figured that his most senior retainer was too busy to do it himself.

“The rumors are true then.” Yasumasa remarked. “It’s her who’s actually injured, and not you.”

“She was exactly where she shouldn’t have been, which is why she got cut down instead of me.” Another shrug. “It’s a pain to go through finding another chef, so I figured I might as well try and save her.”

“I see.” Sakakibara’s tone, however, sounded like he was not convinced with the explanation.

As if to make his point, he gave out an exaggerated sigh. “Idiots who can’t even protect themselves getting hurt and placing the burden on others… can’t believe this is happening to me. I would’ve been able to handle it without her.”

The lie had been so easy to say out loud.

While she was burning with fever and muttering for Death to take her, Hanzou, sensing that his master was beating himself up over her condition, had told him time and again that the plan to assassinate him had been so carefully planned that the first strike that had cut her down was not the only thing that his enemies had planned. If he had actually survived the first one, there were four more who would chase him down and gut him open until he was dead.

Sanae, in Hanzou’s words, had been the ‘collateral damage’ in an effort to keep him safe, which had angered him to no end.

She shouldn’t have protected him.

It was still difficult for him to accept the fact that she had done this out of the goodness of her own heart.

It was stupid of her to do so, and yet, he couldn’t think of any other reason.

He handed back the letter to Yasumasa after scanning the contents. “Tell Sakai I’ll see him tomorrow morning to discuss this with him.” With another bow, the male retainer left the room and closed the doors.

She was angry at him, and he did not know why.

Last night, she had wordlessly eaten the porridge he had prepared, and just when he was about to open his mouth to ask her how her day went, she had the nerve to ask if it was possible for her to sleep in a separate bedding, which did not sit well with him.

… Not that he was desperate for her to lie in his arms all the time, but he felt more at ease with the current sleeping arrangements. Ieyasu would know immediately if something had happened to her, and if she needed help, he would be able to spring into action.

While he was well-aware that she was already out of danger, with her wound finally closing up and her stitches were to be removed the day after tomorrow (he had been persuaded by Sakai to at least call for a proper doctor for the stitches to be removed), he could not help but be worried that there was still a chance for her to succumb to a fever and die from whatever unknown infection that was lying in wait.

When he arrogantly informed her that the sleeping arrangements could not be changed to cater to her whims, she had the nerve to actually walk out of his room, a first for her since she had been confined, and made her way back to her room to sleep in her own bedding.

As for him, he had no choice but to try and keep himself warm, despite the fact that he had two layers of woolen blankets to fight off the chill. Suffice to say, he did not sleep well at all last night, and had been in an awful mood the moment he chose to get up from bed and preside over the war council. It had only been yesterday since he was back to attending meetings, but he had managed to catch up on everything, all thanks to Sakai.

With that out of the way, there was still one aspect in his life that had to be fixed… and fast.

That afternoon, after he had been informed by Sakai that the doctor had arrived and had been led to his room where she and the doctor were waiting for him, the removal of the stitches began… along with the doctor admonishing him for what he had done in order to close up her wound.

“Should I actually be grateful that you vaguely knew what you were doing? I don’t think so.” tsked the old man, who was also a personal friend of Sakai. “You may have helped close the wound, but I wouldn’t be surprised if, at one point, the wound got infected and she had succumbed to a fever.”

Still, he said nothing, neither confirming nor denying the accusation, choosing instead of keep his expression neutral, as if he had no idea what the older man was talking about.

“… if there’s one thing you did right, you managed to keep her alive long enough for me to remove the stitching.” continued the doctor.

Thankfully, she had managed to interrupt the conversation and prevented the doctor from reprimanding him further from his recklessness. “W-will it scar though…?” she asked in a nervous tone.

“It already did.” The doctor lamented. “But not to worry; it’s not as bad as it looks. In time, it will fade.”

Trust the old man to point out that on her skin was proof of his inability to protect her from his shortcomings. From her upper back down to the middle of her torso was a thin, red line… and even if he was sitting far away from her to give it a closer look, he could feel the dread burning within him.

Though it may be hidden from his view, at the back of his mind, he knew it would always be there to remind him that he was too weak to prevent that attack from happening.

Right after the doctor was done removing the threads, the old man had handed him a small can. “My lord, I will leave you some salve. Apply it on her wound whenever there’s discomfort.” Upon hearing the doctor’s advice, she actually had the nerve to glare at him, as if to tell him that he had no business in getting involved with her any further, something that he ignored.

“After applying to the wound, leave it to dry on the skin for at least half an hour before getting dressed once more.” He nodded at her. “My lady, please take care and take it easy until you are fully healed. My lord, if you’ll excuse me.”

“I-I’m not a—” before she could even protest over being called by the wrong title, the doctor was out of the door.

As for him, he did not know whether to be amused or annoyed that the doctor has assumed that they were a couple.

If Sakai had anything to do with it, he would definitely pull out all of the old man’s hair in one go.

“That old man is getting ahead of himself.” He muttered under his breath.

“Ieyasu-sama.”

He was too preoccupied with his thoughts that he did not notice her until she was standing in front of him. Immediately, he put on a mask of indifference, despite the fact that his heart was doing otherwise.

“Would you please hand over the salve? I will ask Umeko-san to apply it for me if the itchiness gets unbearable.” She held out her hand.

“No.” he glared at her.

“And why not?” despite the calm response, he could see the anger etched on her face.

“Because other than the doctor, I am not allowing anyone else to see nor touch your wound until you’re fully healed.” He stated.

“But I am healed! Weren’t the stitches removed just now?” while he wanted to throttle her for being so stubborn, he knew he could not do such.

Sometimes, her fighting spirit amused him to no end, but today was not one of those days. Why couldn’t she just listen to him?

“You’re not the one who gets to decide if you’re healed or not.” He told her harshly.

The anger in her eyes said it all… and he was actually afraid of what she would say until she simply sighed and shook her head in resignation.

“Fine.”

Inwardly, he sighed in relief.

It was a hollow victory, but a victory nonetheless.

He had to figure out why she had become so cold to him, or risk losing her.

Days later, just when he thought she would be more accepting of her situation (he had managed to persuade her to stay in his room until he deemed otherwise, one of the perks of being the lord of the clan), he found her with Toramatsu, the latter waiting for her while she was in the middle of lowering her kimono to show him the place where the medicine was supposed to be applied.

Ieyasu knew he had no right to get angry over it, as both of them had no hold over the other, but the fact that she had actually called upon his page to help her apply the salve while he was busy with the meetings… it left him seething on the inside.

Did he not make it clear enough that only he could check upon her while she was on the mend?

“Toramatsu.” Upon hearing his name, his page turned around and bowed at him. “I’ll take it over from here.”

His page was out of the room even before she could utter a word of protest.

Upon realizing that she was stuck with him until he applied the salve, she gave out a long-winded sigh and undid her clothing without blinking an eye, startling him. While he had endlessly mocked her by saying that he felt nothing over seeing her naked for the past few weeks, it had been half-true.

With her slowly recovering from her injury, it had been a struggle for him to calm himself whenever she laid down on top of him. A part of him hurt, but he ignored it all, focusing instead on steadying his hold on her waist so that she wouldn’t strain her back and thought back on everything that he considered repulsive in order for the erection to die down. She had caught him once in that state of need, on the very first night he brought up their unusual sleeping arrangements, and despite downplaying it, he found himself threatening to ‘stab her’, but not in the way she thought it would be.

The need for him to bury himself in her… right now was not the time for such, nor would she be ready for it.

He sat across from her, ignoring the fact that she was exposing her upper half to him. “Did you just asked my page to put salve on your back?” it had been difficult to keep the disbelief from his voice, but he couldn’t help it.

Not when she looked like she was eager to remove her clothing when Toramatsu was there, and how she looked like she was facing her doom when he entered the room.

She shrugged. “You were busy, and Toramatsu was not.”

“You couldn’t be bothered to wait?” he asked, irritated.

“What’s it to you?” she asked hotly, her eyes flashing with anger. “You’re the one who told Sakakibara-sama that I’m a burden to you. You should’ve left me to die if I was such a pain to take care of.”

If it was possible to beat his old self for saying the most asinine statements about her, he would do so in a heartbeat. Instead, he hid his hands inside his sleeves and clenched his fists, trying to calm himself, even though her words were hitting close to home.

Her telling him point blank that he should have let her die… he felt his façade breaking at her words.

How dare she say that?

“Besides, you said it yourself: you feel nothing when I’m half-naked in front of you, so what makes Toramatsu-kun any diff—”

He had never been the type who was good at saying what he felt; he either wrote it down, or he covered it up with the most vicious statements he could think of, only for him to regret it midway.

This time around, he knew he couldn’t say anything, as he did not trust himself to say the right things at this particularly critical time.

And so, he did what he thought was best in order to calm his raging emotions and her angry outburst: he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips.

She struggled to get away from him at first, but he held on tight, not wanting her to get away until they were both calm and level-headed to talk. For now, all he wanted to do was hold her in her arms and reassure himself that she was alive, she was breathing, and that she was most likely to slap him after he pulled away.

And so, he put some distance between them, buried his face on the crook of her neck and held her tight, unsure of how he was going to proceed.

“Ieyasu-sama, am I… a burden to you?”

The hesitancy in her tone made him answer right away. “No, you are not.”

“Then why did you… why did you say those things to Sakakibara-sama?”

He was not surprised to know that she may have listened in on the conversation between him and one of his generals, but Ieyasu figured that the sooner she knew the sentiment behind his words, the better it would be for the both of them.

She had to know sooner or later.

Pulling away from her momentarily, he looked into her eyes and said, “Because a failure like me had nearly gotten you killed.”

What was he saying?

Try as she might to make sense of his words, nothing came to her mind at all.

He had sounded so flippant and nonchalant during the time he was talking to Sakakibara, even going as far as to tell the man who disliked her the most that she was a burden, and that he was only keeping her alive because he did not want to bother looking for a replacement chef.

Now, however…

“What are you saying?” she whispered. “I-I don’t understand.”

“Why do you think you’re in this state?” he gave out a cynical laugh. “It might as well been me who had cut you down and killed you.”

“Ieyasu-sama, it was not your fault.” She began, feeling distressed over the fact that he was blaming himself for what had happened. “It was my choice to protect you, and not anyone else’s.”

When the desolate look on his face persisted, she found herself speaking in an attempt to persuade him not to blame himself for what she thought, at that time, was the best thing to do. “Look, Ieyasu-sama, I’m simply just a chef. I’m not like the others who are of use to you in the battlefield. If it had been Sakakibara-sama or Tadakatsu-sama who had gotten hurt, that would have been the worst case scenario for the clan in the midst of this war. They’re your strongest generals in the clan, right? Compared to them, and the rest of your retainers, I am replaceable. After all, you all managed to get everything together, even before I got here and—”

“… The hell did you just say?”

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if what she had said was the right thing to do.

The look of desolation had now been replaced by fury, and immediately, she had the urgency to run far, far away from him.

“I—” it had been some time since she had felt some sort of fear towards the lord of the clan, but while before, she had feared him before because of his ruthlessness, now she feared him because she had no idea what she had done to anger him. “I-Ieyasu-sama—”

In a split second, she had found herself on her back, and while the impact had made her wince because of her wound, Sanae was more concerned with the man who loomed over her. In order to keep her from trying to get up and run away from him, he pinned her down by her shoulders and looked straight into her eyes.

What surprised her was when he demanded her not to look at him as he buried his face on the side of her neck, she instantly felt hot tears on her shoulder.

The light-hearted teasing she had in mind to ease the tension between them failed to escape her lips as she heard him speak once more.

“How dare you… do you really think so lowly of yourself that you wanted to die? Or are you so disgusted with me that you would rather die than be in my service?”

What is he saying…?

For his voice to tremble like that… she felt as if she had done the gravest mistake in her life.

“‘Replaceable’? Is that how you see yourself?” he laughed bitterly. “You were unconscious and burning with fever during the time I was losing my mind, wondering about a ‘what if I didn’t try and stitch that wound to keep it from getting infected’ scenario.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have done that stupid thing and let the wound repair itself… but I was so afraid of…” at this, she felt him shake his head, as if dreading the scenario that his mind had came up with. “But when you pulled through, I… I thought everything would turn out alright.

“For you to tell me that you are ‘replaceable’, and that it was better that it was you who got cut down… how dare you say that to my face.”

The guilt was weighing him down, she was sure of it.

How many times had she seen him looking so grim whenever he had to apply the salve on her back? She had dismissed it as the face of someone who didn’t want to do a task so degrading, but now that he was confessing everything to her…

Ieyasu-sama…

The burden that he alone had to shoulder because of the guilt… it hurt her.

“Crying on a woman’s shoulder…” another bitter laugh. “How low will I go this time?”

If she had to be honest, she was too stunned to even respond.

No one knew what had actually happened to her after she had been cut down, save for him. According to Sakai-sama and Toramatsu-kun, Ieyasu-sama had been the one who single-handedly took care of her from the very start. While she could hardly believe that he had been able to do such, as the lord of the clan was a busy man, he himself had confirmed all of the doubts she had.

And the doctor… he did mention that it was Ieyasu-sama who had stitched her wound shut, and even reprimanded him about it.

For him to rely on no one… it was an amazing feat that only he could accomplish.

A soft snore on her right shoulder should not have surprised her, and yet, it still did. It seemed like the exhaustion has taken its toll on him, and Sanae figured that there would be no talking for tonight at least.

There was always tomorrow.

With his grip on her shoulders now loose, she had managed to grab the thick winter blanket that had been discarded beside them, and was just about done draping it over her lord’s body when the sliding doors opened, revealing Sakai Tadatsugu.

“Ieyasu-sama, pardon me but—” seeing Ieyasu slumped over her had made the senior retainer blush, especially since their positions right now did look rather… compromising. “M-My apologies, I-I will come back in the morning…! G-good night, Sanae-dono!” after a quick bow, Sakai closed the doors, though she could have sworn that she saw a smile on the elderly man’s face.

As much as she wanted to ask for the older man’s help in putting Ieyasu-sama in his bed, she knew she couldn’t. In the midst of their argument, the can of salve had been laid forgotten in the frenzy, especially since he had pinned her down on the tatami. Aside from that, she had been topless the moment he had sat across from her in preparation of applying the salve… and was still topless until now.

Feeling her cheeks flame at the thought of exposing herself to her lord far longer than necessary, she tried to sleep off the embarrassment.

Needless to say, she was unable to properly sleep at all.

The sun was shining early that winter morning, and as much as she wanted to get up and start her day, she couldn’t. Tokugawa Ieyasu, lord of the clan, was still sleeping, and no matter how many times she tried to push him off, it had been impossible. Not only that, but she didn’t have the heart to wake him up, especially since he was sleeping so soundly.

Unconsciously, she began running her fingers through his hair, feeling its softness. While she was well aware that Ieyasu-sama never really liked being touched, just this once, she knew she had to take advantage of the moment.

This was the man who blamed himself, all because she had gotten hurt.

This was the man who had confessed his fears to her, all because he thought she wouldn’t make it.

This was the man who made time for her in order for her to recover and regain her strength.

“… The hell are you doing?” came the groggy response on her right.

He was up and awake, and the first thing she noticed was how puffy his eyes were, all because of the crying he did last night.

As if sensing where her eyes were aimed, he glared at her from where he laid as he used his arm to prop himself up. “Where the hell are you looking at?”

Good morning to you too, Ieyasu-sama, she said to herself, struggling not to laugh as he began an early-morning tirade about how rude it was of her to forget what he had said yesterday about not looking at him. Despite the puffiness, she still found him rather handsome.

So distracted was she over his looks, most especially his eyelashes, that when he asked her if she was listening, she had actually gave him a blank look, irritating him further.

“I said, are you listening—”

Before she could stop herself, she sent a quick prayer for her own safety, sat up, and kissed him on the lips.

Even she had no idea what possessed her to kiss him all of a sudden; all she wanted to know was if he was as passionate as the man who had kissed her yesterday, and to her own surprise, he responded to her kisses as he ran a hand on her back, his fingertips lightly tracing the scar. Immediately, she felt goosebumps on her skin at the innocent yet sensual touch, but ignored it, concentrating instead on how to divest him of his clothing so she could touch him as well.

In the course of their kissing, he had actually managed to sit her on his lap, her legs folded underneath her on one side as she sat between his legs. As he parted her mouth and began sucking her tongue, she found herself moaning at the new sensation, though it did not distract her from yanking his top down his shoulders, making him shudder as the cold air touched his naked skin. Momentarily, he pulled away from her, his breathing heavy, as did hers.

“I—” before she could utter another word, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her again, pulling her closer as his chest pressed against her naked breasts, making her moan at the contact.

“Ieyasu-sa—MA!!!”

Immediately, she felt him move his body in an attempt to cover her from whoever it was that interrupted them. With his back now facing the person who had opened the sliding doors, she was both embarrassed and horrified to find out that it had been Sakai-sama who had barged in.

… And she had actually forgotten what he said last night about visiting Ieyasu-sama in the morning.

Before she could contemplate on what she should say, Ieyasu-sama had beaten her to it.

“Sakai, get out.”

A loud bang was heard as the sliding door made contact with the frame; Sanae figured that Sakai-sama had also been embarrassed upon seeing them in a state of… half-undressed, which was why the door had been slammed shut and the old man had left without any words of farewell aimed at any of them.

“That old man… I’m gonna turn him bald the next time I see him.” absent-mindedly, he slipped her kimono back on her body before fixing his own, murder evident in his eyes.

“I-Ieyasu-sama, I don’t think—” when he turned to look at her, she felt her face flame. “I-I think you should leave Sakai-sama alone… h-he didn’t meant to, and I-I forgot to tell you that he wanted to speak to you last night, but you were sleeping already so—”

He raised an eyebrow at what she had told him. “Sakai visited last night? How dare he—” before she could try and reassure him that there was no need for him to hunt down the elderly man, he was on his feet and exiting the door, but not before giving her a peck on the lips. “Don’t let anyone in here. Wait for me to get back and I’ll put more salve on your back.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell him that she was no longer feeling any pain nor itch from her scar, but figured that if he wanted to be of help to her, she should just let him.

For now, she would just have to hope and pray that Ieyasu-sama wouldn’t be too harsh on his most loyal and most senior retainer.

Sakai-sama, I’m so sorry… I’ll make you the best tea yet after this…!

“As long as you will allow me to stay by your side… I will wait for you.”

She figured that what she said had startled him, for his crimson-colored eyes widened in surprise upon hearing her words.

“So please… let me stay with you.”

“… Do what you want.” Despite sounded so detached, she knew that she had won him over, as she noticed his face turning a light pink from embarrassment.

“And… another thing.” When he said nothing, she continued. “Please allow me to continue our previously-interrupted sleeping arrangement.”

“And why would you think I would allow you to do that?” despite the smirk on his lips, his tone had been playful.

“Don’t you agree that we both sleep better that way?” she asked him, smiling. “And as you have said… you need a heat source. The winter in Hamamatsu is becoming particularly this time of year, and I do need a heat source to keep my warm as well.”

He sighed dramatically. “Such a demanding retainer. I should put you in your place once I’m done dealing with Sakai.”

“If you say so, Ieyasu-sama.” As she watched his retreating back in search of the older man who had interrupted them, Sanae found herself smiling once more, glad that despite the pain and the misunderstandings, she and Ieyasu-sama’s relationship had turned out to be better than she expected.

Despite everything she went through, she was thankful that the incident had led them to become closer… and that it gave her a chance to let her feelings known to the man who had done everything possible to keep her alive.

As long as he would allow her, she would stay by his side and support him in whatever way she can.

For now, she would have to wait until he was back so that he could treat her injury… and they could probably continue where they left off before Sakai-sama had interrupted them.

My apologies if it took too long and if it dragged on and on.

Honestly, I had so many ideas for this fic, but decided to settle for the one that I think would fit both Ieyasu’s and Ieyasu’s MC’s personalities.

I am a bit satisfied with what I wrote, and I am kind of getting the hang of the Japanese honorifics, as I have been playing KoiRan nonstop ever since the ‘comeback event’ featuring Ieyasu and MC’s First Night together. Hopefully, I can keep on writing, and I hope my writing would become more consistent.

Again, thank you for reading all the way to the end. I hope you enjoyed it!

#fanficgiveaway #fanfic #fanficsubmissions #slbp #slbp ieyasu

32 notes · View notes

arielleyoga-blog1 · 5 years

Text

Do Less

http://www.bu.edu/quantum/zen/readings/keepingQuietNeruda.html

I have been reading KEEPING QUIET by Pablo Neruda in some of my classes lately. It was read on an episode of ON BEING with Krista Tippet, and I immediately had to pause the podcast so that when I parked I could look up the poem and read it. Every time I read this poem, different parts of it come to life for me. That’s what’s so wonderful about writing: you, the reader, get to take what works for you and leave the rest.

Currently, the second to last paragraph is the one that is speaking volumes to me time and time again.

I have been working in some form of care-providing field for over two decades now. I started in elementary school as a mother’s helper, which moved into babysitting and eventually being a nanny for 8 years. During all of that I also have been a manager, an assistant, a bill payer, a book keeper, a dog walker, a pet sitter, an actress, worked in customer service, worked as a bartender…and for the last 5 years I have spent everyday holding space for others as a yoga instructor.

Part of my insane work ethic and juggling of multiple jobs at once has been out of necessity: rent/bills/student debt...the usual. But I must admit that there is this other part of me that has this overwhelming fear that if I don’t work the world will come crashing down around me and I will die.

Sounds dramatic. And it’s yet, it’s my truth.

All I do is talk with clients and students about self care, about how important it is to make time for themselves, to rest, to go to yoga, to put themselves first. And as I sit there watching them flow, I think to myself “How lucky they are to be able to take a yoga class...I wish I could take a yoga class.” Because my truth is that I put them, I put my job, I put income before myself.

Living this way for over a decade, has for sure caused various burn outs: emotional breakdowns, physical breakdowns, all the typical signs of somebody that needs to take care of themselves. Body pain, depression, migraines, panic attacks...you know, the stuff most of us live with pretty regularly. And even with those experiences, even with the knowledge of the importance of self care, I've always kept going because my worth, to myself, has been SO intrinsically tied up to how much I do in a day.

We live in a culture that glorifies the grind, that encourages hustling, that celebrates the fact that we are all doing too many things at once, not so slowly destroying ourselves and the world around us at the same time.

And I’ve had enough.

I don’t want to wake up exhausted every day, I don’t want to live in a world where people feel like they need an IV drip of coffee all day, I don’t want to be a mom that shoves a phone in her kids face or has a phone in her face when her child is asking for attention because I’m too burnt out to even care for the one who needs me most, I don’t want to be a wife that is too tired to connect to her husband, I don't want to wake up in my 60s and feel like my whole life was a blur. I found myself on Sunday nights wondering what happened (not just about GOT, but like in general), and gritting my teeth to get to Saturday again.

That’s no way to live.

And that is what this poem is speaking to me: TO DO LESS. That life is not about how much you do, but it’s about HOW YOU LIVE!

To take my dog on a long walk without my phone. To read a book on the couch, until my eyes get heavy and I take a spontaneous cat nap. To start blogging! To do yoga! OMG TO DO YOGA! You guys: I’m an instructor and for the first time in TWO YEARS I just took TWO yoga classes in ONE week! I am so busy training people and driving around LA that I don’t even have a personal practice. And that’s embarrassing.

When I decided to start this blog I asked for post ideas: and one that brought up a lot of shame for me was: “How you find time for your practice in your day.”

Well, I don’t.

Or rather, I didn’t. But this week three clients are out of town, and I’ve been reading that poem over and over.

That poem came to me last week after I started actively asking the universe to allow me to do less.

I have found that when I truly need or want something and I am too afraid to make the first move, eventually, the universe gives me a little shove. A few weeks ago, a morning class of mine got moved. And with that one move, I took a few steps that were difficult and scary for me because they required me to put myself first and to vocalize it: to my husband, to my mom, and to a client.

But now... two days a week I can sleep past 5:30am!!! One day a week, I do not drive the over 20 miles one way into LA at all!

I am doing less...and that is allowing me to do more!

But not more for the sake of doing more. But, because I prioritized myself, I have more energy. More energy to cook, to get stuff done around the house, to be efficient, present, and joyful. I get to BE more, and learn and explore what that brings up for me. Which, at times, is a lot: I absolutely have to talk myself off a ledge sometimes when I don’t have a completely full calendar for the day. I’ll sit there and think what I can schedule in. And then, I stop myself. DO LESS! These two days a week I am not up at 5:30am: I’m only two weeks into it, and so it’s going to take me some time to embrace the space! But I’m trying!

Living life is about BEING yourself, and loving yourself, and living a life that feels good. Not a life that flies by that you were too busy hustling to enjoy and appreciate.

America is one of the wealthiest countries in the world, and yet we have the HIGHEST rate of unhappiness. Yoga has also BLOWN up in the Western world over the last decade in ways that I won’t even begin to bore you with. But it’s exploding. And do you know why? Because whether you’re taking a yoga sculpt class, a kundalini class, yoga and spin, restorative yoga, yoga with wine, yoga in a sauna...YOGA IS WHEN YOU GET TO JUST BE. You’re not on your phone, you’re not working, you’re not talking...YOU ARE JUST BEING YOU. You’re listening to your body, you’re honoring yourself, you’re breathing consciously. AND THAT FEELS GOOD.

IT FEELS GOOD TO JUST BE.

In a country where we are inundated with success being linked to an image of extreme material possessions, where we work without boundaries because our cellphones have brought our bosses into our bedroom, where we are being fed food that’s fast and inflames our organs so much that we walk with aches in a fog so thick we can’t even make eye contact with the person in front of us yoga is spreading. Yoga is spreading because that image of success we are force-fed on plastic spoons that destroy our planet covered in GMO’s, is giving us the ability to breathe over the noise. To see through the fog. To redefine our idea of success.

Success is not about having, it’s not about doing. It’s about being.

So I’m going to take the towels out of the laundry, walk Dusty (my really cute pug), and do a little less before my evening classes.

I would love to know what you don’t have time for that you wish you did have time for, and why.

Sometimes, when we can write out what we want and what’s stopping us: it’s easier to see that it’s really US standing in our own way of feeling good.

Say it with me: My worth is not dependent on how much I do, how much I make, if I have initials after my name. My worth was given to me the moment I was born. I deserve to feel good and to live a life that feels good.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: YOU ARE MORE THAN ENOUGH.

#wellbeingcoach wellnessblogger arielleyoga livewellwitharielle doless selfcare selflove yoga workingonyourself bestversionofme

2 notes · View notes

in-this-light-on-this-evening · 5 years

Text

99 Question Tag

@your-basket-case tagged me - thank you so much dear!!! I'm a giant sucker for tag games, so here. WE. GO.

1.DO YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR CLOSET DOORS OPEN OR CLOSED?

Actually it's always half open because I need that air to circulate hah!

2. DO YOU TAKE THE SHAMPOOS AND CONDITIONER BOTTLES FROM HOTELS?

Only if I like the smell.

3. DO YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR SHEETS TUCKED IN OR OUT?

Tucked in! How can you sleep with sheets tucked out omg?

4. HAVE YOU STOLEN A STREET SIGN BEFORE?

I WISH

5. DO YOU LIKE TO USE POST-IT-NOTES?

Hm not really. I usually keep a big notebook/notepad on my desk and I fill it with things to remember, drafts, etc

6. DO YOU CUT OUT COUPONS BUT THEN NEVER USE THEM?

We don't have as a big coupon culture here in Italy as it happens to be in America but sometimes I do!

7. WOULD YOU RATHER BE ATTACKED BY A BIG BEAR OR A SWARM OF BEES?

Bear.

8. DO YOU HAVE FRECKLES?

No but I wish I had them!

9. DO YOU ALWAYS SMILE FOR PICTURES?

For selfies yes, for other pictures not so much.

10. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST PET PEEVE?

I have to many, honestly, but I guess Cancelled Culture and psycho stans are the biggest at the moment.

11. DO YOU EVER COUNT YOUR STEPS WHEN YOU WALK?

Maybe.

12. HAVE YOU PEED IN THE WOODS?

Yes. Traumatising experience.

13. HAVE YOU EVER POOPED IN THE WOODS?

You insane? I'm too scared of pooping in the woods.

14. I think I deleted this question on accident.

Lost in time and spaaace!

15. DO YOU CHEW YOUR PENS AND PENCILS?

Chewing pens and pencils? In this economy?

16. HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE YOU SLEPT WITH THIS WEEK?

3 with my imaginary lover.

17. WHAT SIZE IS YOUR BED?

I think it's an European King sized but I'm not 100% sure. I WANT THE CEASAR ONE.

18. WHAT IS YOUR SONG OF THE WEEK?

Hm, I'm still losing my mind over "Almost (Sweet Music)" by Hozier but I just discovered the new James Blake's album and that, as a whole, is a big mood for this week as well.

19. IS IT OK FOR GUYS TO WEAR PINK?

Bitch yes?

20. DO YOU STILL WATCH CARTOONS?

Sometimes.

21. WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE MOVIE?

Hm, nothing comes to my mind at the moment.

22. WHERE WOULD YOU BURY HIDDEN TREASURE IF YOU HAD SOME?

I can't tell you. It wouldn't be hidden anymore although:

23. WHAT DO YOU DRINK WITH DINNER?

Diet coke or water because I'm too broke for wine.

24. WHAT DO YOU DIP A CHICKEN NUGGET IN?

Nothing. I die like men.

25. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FOOD?

Sushi, pizza, pierogi, carbonara, tomato & corn salad, fried mozzarella, tiramisù.

26. WHAT MOVIES COULD YOU WATCH OVER AND OVER AGAIN AND STILL LOVE?

Stardust, Dead Poets Society, Mean Girls, Little Miss Sunshine

27. LAST PERSON YOU KISSED/KISSED YOU?

A guy that broke my heart last year.

28. WERE YOU EVER A BOY/GIRL SCOUT?

Yes!

29. WOULD YOU EVER STRIP OR POSE NUDE IN A MAGAZINE?

If I wasn't an ugly potato... yes.

30. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WROTE A LETTER TO SOMEONE ON PAPER?

2 years ago, I think.

31. CAN YOU CHANGE THE OIL ON A CAR?

32. EVER GOTTEN A SPEEDING TICKET?

Who do you think I am? A redneck?

33. EVER RAN OUT OF GAS?

No.

34. WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE KIND OF SANDWICH?

Rye bread + thin spread of cream cheese + lettuce + thin slices of chicken or smoked ham + tomatoes + red onion + pickled artichoke

35. BEST THING TO EAT FOR BREAKFAST?

Granola. Dry. Straight from your hand as if you're a starving horse in disguise.

36. WHAT IS YOUR USUAL BEDTIME?

00:00-01:00AM

37. ARE YOU LAZY?

I'm not lazy. I procrastinate.

38. WHEN YOU WERE A KID, WHAT DID YOU DRESS UP AS FOR HALLOWEEN?

Back in time Halloween wasn't a thing in Poland, so unfortunately I didn't dress up.

39. WHAT IS YOUR CHINESE ASTROLOGICAL SIGN?

I'M A HORSE.

40. HOW MANY LANGUAGES CAN YOU SPEAK?

3: Italian, Polish and English

41. DO YOU HAVE ANY MAGAZINE SUBSCRIPTIONS?

Nein, but I'd like to get Wired subscription.

42. WHICH ARE BETTER: LEGOS OR LINCOLN LOGS?

What are even Lincoln Logs... Did Lincoln harvest the logs himself, though?

43. ARE YOU STUBBORN?

Yes and no. Depends on the situation.

44. WHO IS BETTER: LENO OR LETTERMAN?

My tit.

45. EVER WATCH SOAP OPERAS?

Not anymore.

46. ARE YOU AFRAID OF HEIGHTS?

Not really. But if I find myself on the edge of something high without a fence, I'll probably panic and casually fall down.

47. DO YOU SING IN THE CAR?

Do I sing? No. I PERFORM.

48. DO YOU SING IN THE SHOWER?

Only when I'm home alone.

49. DO YOU DANCE IN THE CAR?

Yeah, sometimes when the inspiration and the right bop kick in.

50. EVER USED A GUN?

A glue gun.

51. LAST TIME YOU GOT A PORTRAIT TAKEN BY A PHOTOGRAPHER?

Does the mugshot for the drivers licence count?

52. DO YOU THINK MUSICALS ARE CHEESY?

Depends.

53. IS CHRISTMAS STRESSFUL?

The concept by itself isn't stressful. My family tends to ruin it with the overdramatic stress.

54. EVER EAT A PIEROGI?

BITCH THAT'S MY MOTHERLAND'S MEAL WE SNIFF THAT SHIT LIKE COCAINE.

55. FAVORITE TYPE OF FRUIT PIE?

Apple, rhubarb, pear.

56. OCCUPATIONS YOU WANTED TO BE WHEN YOU WERE A KID?

Doctor, fashion designer, archeologist, paleonthologist...

57. DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS?

Yes. I've had paranormal experiences and I'm still not over it.

58. EVER HAVE A DEJA-VU FEELING?

Very often.

59. DO YOU TAKE A VITAMIN DAILY?

No. I die like men.

60. DO YOU WEAR SLIPPERS?

Yes!

61. DO YOU WEAR A BATH ROBE?

I don't have any but I would like to wear one of those super cozy and soft ones!

62. WHAT DO YOU WEAR TO BED?

Hmm, depends. Now I'm wearing a hoodie, leggings and socks because it's cold as fuck.

63. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CONCERT?

I'm pretty sure it was DeMono, a Polish band. I casually saw them with my parents when we were on holiday back in 1997.

64. WALMART, TARGET, OR KMART?

I'M NOT AMERICAN BITCH. TESCO.

65. NIKE OR ADIDAS?

Both actually!

66. CHEETOS OR FRITOS?

What the fuck are FRITOS? I've never tried them, so I can't answer lol!

67. PEANUTS OR SUNFLOWER SEEDS?

BOTH. I'm a sucker for NUTS.

68. EVER HEAR OF THE GROUP TRES BIEN?

Of what now? Is this another American thing I'm not aware of because of my ancient and unbothered European nature?

69. EVER TAKE DANCE LESSONS?

Nein!

70. IS THERE A PROFESSION YOU PICTURE YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE DOING?

I don't care, really. I do care about them doing what they love and want to do. If they'll be happy about it, so will I :')

71. CAN YOU CURL YOUR TONGUE?

Sí, señor!

72. EVER WON A SPELLING BEE?

We don't have this in Europe asdfkgkf

73. HAVE YOU EVER CRIED BECAUSE YOU WERE SO HAPPY?

Kind of.

74. OWN ANY RECORD ALBUMS?

I have regular cd's but I would love to start a vinyl record collection.

75. OWN A RECORD PLAYER?

Not yet!

76. DO YOU REGULARLY BURN INCENSE?

I used to but I don't do that anymore.

77. EVER BEEN IN LOVE?

Yes but nobody loved me back.

78. WHO WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE IN CONCERT?

QUEEN. On the more possible side: Andrea Boccelli, The Struts, George Ezra, MORE HOZIER, The Killers, Arctic Monkeys... The list goes on!

79. WHAT WAS THE LAST CONCERT YOU SAW?

HOZIER. It was a magical experience, I love him so much, I want to cry 😭♥️

80. HOT TEA OR COLD TEA?

Both.

81. TEA OR COFFEE?

Tea.

82. SUGAR COOKIES OR SNICKERDOODLES?

Both.

83. CAN YOU SWIM WELL?

Avarage just so I don't die sucked into the abyss.

84. CAN YOU HOLD YOUR BREATH WITHOUT HOLDING YOUR NOSE?

Wait, people CAN'T do that? What dysfunction do you have? It's literally so easy?

85. ARE YOU PATIENT?

Yes, very much but in the last couple of years I've started slowly losing my shit in certain situations.

86. DJ OR BAND AT A WEDDING?

Band.

87. EVER WON A CONTEST?

No. I'm an avarage bitch that thinks she's more than that but the truth is that I'm not a winner.

88. HAVE YOU EVER HAD PLASTIC SURGERY?

Does the surgery on my toe count?

89. WHICH ARE BETTER: BLACK OR GREEN OLIVES?

BLACK

90. CAN YOU KNIT OR CROCHET?

Not yet but I will learn at some point!

91. BEST ROOM FOR A FIREPLACE?

Living room.

92. DO YOU WANT TO GET MARRIED?

If I meet the love of my life then yes. The bar is too high, though, so I'm not sure if that's gonna happen haha!

93. IF MARRIED, HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN MARRIED?

94. WHO WAS YOUR HIGH SCHOOL CRUSH?

His name was William and that was the most embarrassing moment of my life because a bitch that considered herself as my "friend" told everybody that I had a crush on him. When he got to know it, he basically humiliated me in front of the entire clique, if not the whole school. I hate him ever since and it's been already 10 years or so.

95. DO YOU CRY AND THROW A FIT UNTIL YOU GET YOUR OWN WAY?

No.

96. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?

My dog is my son.

97. DO YOU WANT KIDS?

Kids? In this economy? On this planet? Just for my liking? Absolutely fucking not. That would be a crime and absolute torture for them and I don't want them to suffer as I do.

98. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE COLOR?

Black, emerald green, gold, yellow, purple.

99. DO YOU MISS ANYONE RIGHT NOW?

Freddie Mercury.

I tag: @santonicababy, @chaotic-pansexual, @songparade, @fossa-poplitea and everybody else who wants to do this! :’D

#tag thingy #long post

8 notes · View notes

diningpageantry · 6 years

Text

Don’t Worry

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15909690/chapters/37085310

Chapter 1/16 of Love You All, Die For This

Word Count: 3393

Fic Summary: Simon and Baz have been married for a good couple years and made the decision to have child. Life has other plans for them, though.

Notes: thank you to my betas @ravenclawbaz and @jessethejoyful for helping me out! to let y’all know, i’m not quite sure how regularly i’ll update, but hopefully it’ll be at least once a week.

SIMON

I don’t tell him enough, but I love him more than he can imagine.

Granted, we’ve been together for seven years and married for three, but sometimes, I still look at Baz and remind myself to tell him how I feel. Tell him he’s my world. After everything. After uni, after my breakdown following graduation. He picked up the pieces; he believed in me. He still does. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but Baz is there.

Beautiful, brilliant Baz Pitch is still somehow here with his magick-less husband whose wings take up half the bed and still has nightmares and nonverbal days. And, Merlin, I love him for that.

I remind myself to say it again. “I love you,” I whisper into his ear, bending over him as he tries to fit a plastic cover onto an electrical outlet. We contemplated for at least 10 minutes in the shop whether or not it was the right one. It was.

Baz lets out a breathy laugh, rolling his eyes and replying. “I love you too, Snow. Now, will you cover the rest instead of just standing there?”

A smile presses through my lips. I haven’t really been ‘Snow’ legally for years. Suppose I have been, since I just opted for a double last name. Tacked on that Pitch to the end while Baz dropped his Grimm. Although, nobody calls me Snow anymore, except Baz. I’m only Snow to him, which makes me melt a little now. I’m a Pitch, but I’m his Snow.

My hands dig around the bag, looking away towards Baz as I push the contents around and find more outlet covers. Carefully, one by one, I set them throughout the house, reminding me of the meticulous baby proofing Baz insists on, despite the fact that the surrogate has only just been picked. I can’t blame him for his eagerness, though; he is the one who brought the baby thing up first.

It isn’t that I don’t want a child; he doesn’t seem to understand that because he keeps asking if I am sure. I am sure . I am absolutely sure, and I want a child more than anything at this point in life. I’ve always wanted a child, in the respect of a “typical life”. The ideal normalcy that I craved for so long. Married life, a kid or two, and the bliss of not constantly running after some monster.

I’m just not sure if I can give him what he wants out of a child; magick.

Of course I can’t physically give him a child (I think that’s a tad important to this relationship), but I can’t be the father either way. I know he wants a magickal child. I want a magickal child for him. I just… can’t give that.

He says he loves me either way. Sometimes, I worry that isn’t true. I can only hope it is true.

I can only hope, as he wraps his arms around me and kisses my temple, that it’s genuine. And as I kiss him back, I hope that he can feel how much I want him to be happy.

Can someone feel that?

I hope so.

“Do we really have to put up a baby gate this early?” I mumble against his lips, feeling his curl up into a smile.

“Don’t you fancy tripping over knee-high walkway blockers? I thought that it’d be a lovely exercise of looking-where-you’re-walking,” he quips, fingers lacing closer around the small of my back.

I roll my eyes, pinching his arm before planting a kiss on his cheek. “Surprisingly not what I’d want to have in the way at 3 am.”

“Hm. Pity.” His arms drop, hand flying to catch mine and eyes meeting. He gives me one of his beautiful, just-for-Snow smiles. “Better to be ready than rushing.”

“ At least t en months early?”

His lips press to my knuckles before he drops them too, swiftly strolling off to the living room, shifting through the bags of baby proofing latches and the like. “ Never too early, Snow.”

A chuckle slips through my throat as I lean against the wall, eyes drifting over his hunched figure as he rifles through the bag for a cover here or a cabinet lock there. I suppose it’s my fault that he bought everything that various Mummy Blogs I’d found (and he obsessed over) suggested as “Mum Certified” objects; I enable him, but I can’t help it. The last time I saw him this excited was when we got referred to as “Mr. and Mr. Pitch” for the first time (and that was at the bank of all places).

And now here he is, listing off our plans until we have a squirming real-life child of our own; a possibility that hadn’t even been a real thought for us until about a year and a half ago when Penny had her second.

In the airport rush, getting to our gate with carry-ons in hand and Baz’s hair pulled back into what I like to call the “onion sprout” ponytail, he looked at me and asked “Why don’t we have a kid already?”

And I didn’t have an answer for him.

Because, frankly, I wasn’t sure either. Sure, we’d mentioned it a couple times, but never in the respect of having one in the foreseeable, plannablefuture. It was always “Yeah, a baby sounds nice” or “When we get old, our kids will have to wheel our bitter arses around”. But it was never the question of why we didn’t have one yet .

Then Penny made it worse.

As Baz held Rosemary (whose name was given because Penny joked that there needed to be another herb name in the family), Penny looked at him, then me, and said “What’s taking you two so long?”

So, of course, we talked about a baby on the flight home.

It started as an “Adopt or surrogate?” This lead to Baz tiptoeing around the fact that I was orphaned (“Those kids need homes…” “I know, Baz, I was one of those kids .” “I meant… oh you know.” “Yes, but what do you want?”). Then we settled on surrogate, eventually, because we both agreed that it would be best because magickal children are almost never orphaned (which, I suppose, I’m the only known abnormality to cause that almost ).

Afterall, we can’t have a normal kid. Not when one of us is a vampire and the other has wings and a tail, for crying out loud.

And now here we are, shuffling around no more than a week after the surrogate was confirmed, getting everything ready for a baby we weren’t even planning on two years ago.

And I couldn’t be happier. Granted, Baz is a complete and utter git and at least a tad dramatic when it comes to baby supplies, but that’s how he is, and I love that.

I love watching him huff over the door hatches, looking at me as he tries it out, pouting when it falls off with one too-hard nudge. “That’s utter shit,” he curses under his breath, glaring at the latch. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

I laugh under my breath, going over to examine it. I feel Baz’s hand press to the bottom of my back, my wing extending out around his shoulder as I read the instructions. “Did you hold the glue for 20 seconds?”

“I counted to ten,” Baz snaps impatiently, sticking the plastic stopper to the door of the cabinet and stubbornly holding it once more. “I’ll spell it on if I have to.”

I give a quick nudge into his side and look at him pointedly, clearing my throat. “If I have to do it one way, you have to do it one way. Even-even.”

He pouts and says “Even-even” with me, knowing too well about the house rule.

It isn’t a threat, per-say, but something we settled on once we moved back in together post-uni. It was frustrating to watch him wave his wand for something that would take me longer to do, or something worth equal effort if he did it the Normal way, so now he can’t waste magick for everyday things, so long as he could do it without. It solves an awful lot of fights, an awful lot of discomfort and memories.

Solves a fight here—even-even—as he holds it for 20 seconds, my head sneaking up and diving into the crook of his neck. I hum as I hear his faint, rhythmic counting off until he hits 20 and drops his hand. “There.” He closes the gate again. This time, it doesn’t fall off. I feel him roll his eyes, and I tuck my nose deeper into his skin as I grin. He must feel it, because in seconds he’s turned around to press a forceful kiss to my forehead. “It only worked because I let it work.”

“Mmhm. Whatever gets you through the night, love.”

I hear the soft, lighthearted scoff against me as arms drape over my shoulders. “Wow, endless support. I love my husband.”

The word husband makes my heart flutter every time. Damn, he has me for life like that. “You love me more than life itself.”

“You could say that.”

“I am.”

He snorts shortly again. “Sure,” his words rattle against me, hands meeting behind my back as he leans his head down and swiftly presses a kiss to my lips. I beckon him to stay, hands resting against his lapels and giving them a quick yank to keep him in place as I sweetly twist his body towards mine.

Just after he stoops down to meet me, I let back and give him a wink, loving the way his breath hitches. “Don’t you wanna finish putting all the hooks and everything away?”

His eyes roll, still hunched down to trail his lips to my neck. I shoot my chin up in the air with a breathless laugh. “That can wait for later,” he mumbles against my skin, fingers locking tighter onto me, finding belt loops and pulling my hips against his thighs (lanky bastard). “I’ve got something better to do, now.”

I let him have his fun, cold lips pressing delicate along the slopes of my neck and collar as my tail trails along his calf before I abruptly snap back, smile drawn up. “Unless that something is dinner or working on finishing up the baby-proofing, I’m quite sure it can wait.”

A soft huff passes through Baz’s nose as he stands upright, cocking a brow. “Alright. Fair.” After a quick clearing of his throat and a dance around the kitchen, he stops and glances at me. “Am I cooking?”

I click my tongue teasingly. “You’ve got it, Pitch.”

A smirk plays at the corner of his lips as he throws back a glance at my moving figure, making my way out to the dining table. “Well, Pitch , you have breakfast duty in the morning.”

“Fair.” I shrug, clearing off the bags of hooks and latches and whatnot. “You’re shit at pancakes anyway,” I whisper under my breath.

“Hm? What was that?”

“What? Oh, nothing, love.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Baz calls out over my stifled snickers as I set places for dinner. I trail into the kitchen and lift myself up onto my tiptoes to sneak a kiss onto Baz’s cheek before going off with a bottle of wine from the fridge.

I brace myself before popping it, pouring two glasses, and swirling my own for the effect. “Oh no, my dearest husband can hear me mock his pancake skills. Whatever shall I do?”

“Hm. I don’t know. I’m quite hurt.” His smile is so evident that I can hear it turn his voice. I grin back. “I suppose the only way to fix it is to kiss it better.”

I chuckle, setting my glass down with a soft clink, and reach over over to trail my fingertips along the underside of his chin. He lifts it, glancing over to meet my eyes as he draws his attention from the pan.

After all these years, his breath still catches when I go for a kiss.

And, still , after all these years, he gets caught up too quickly and I have to swat him away before the food burns. This gets followed by pouts and protests, then I have to stand next to him until he finishes cooking, my tail lightly wound around his leg for comfort as my head perches on his shoulder. I listen to him ramble on about whatever’s on his mind at the moment (right now, it’s baby names).

I unwind myself once he’s dished out everything and take back up my glass, finding my seat at the table. In moments, he joins me, pressing a prolonged kiss to my cared-for curls (something I started doing a couple years back; actually taking care of myself for the sake of others. Others meaning Baz). My eyes drag to his body, watching him take his usual seat across from me as he serves me then himself. We clink glasses, a soft murmur of “Cheers” from each of us before we sip and dig in.

My eyes raise to Baz’s face as we eat, my elbow resting against the wood of the table and my chin fitting snugly in my palm. He quirks a brow even before I speak, a smile playing at his lips.

That’s something else to add to the list of things that amazes me after all these years; he’s grown so comfortable.

At first, he was so reserved; changed in a different room, would awkwardly excuse himself before slipping out to hunt and refer to it as “doing thatthing… oh, Snow, you know what I mean”. Even when we first started messing around, he’d get all flustered and go off to the bathroom despite me being more undressed than he was (under his own doing, might I add).

But now, he’s just Baz. He eats without covering his mouth, he actually laughs (sometimes snorts, which is one of my favorite sounds), and he always says what he’s thinking. He exists unapologetically, and just for me.

He breaks my mental diverge, clearing his throat. “What’s on your mind, love?”

I shake out the words tumbling around in my head, blinking. “Oh, yes. I was… thinking something…” I gather my thoughts, taking a deep breath and catching his eyes. Yet another addition to the list. He’s so remarkably patient. That took a little while too, but he grew to it. “It’s just the egg. I… I hope we made the right pick, that’s all.”

His hand lays across the table, to which I drop the one propping my chin and meet his in the middle. “I’m positive we have,” he reassures, fingertips dancing over my pulse. I shiver, a smile pressing across my concerned expression. He drags on. “The donor’s lovely, and I don’t see a flaw in her, besides her haircut judgement.” I give him a playful kick under the table, to which he returns with a grin and a scrunch of the nose. “She’s intelligent, comes from strong magick, and she’s a mother on her own. It’ll be fine, my love.”

Realistically, yes, I know it’ll be fine. I know it’s fine right now . But the lump settling in my throat says to keep pushing. To say how I feel.

The lump bubbles up, pressing out in a blurb. “I’m sorry I couldn’t provide.” While my voice is weak, my words carry and hit a pained expression on Baz’s face. I pause, holding my breath and wanting to fix what I said, but I’m not sure if I can. I don’t want to lie to him.

Slowly, Baz exhales, hand still holding mine. “I love you. I have no reason to blame you for something you can’t control.” He holds eye contact with me, and I know what he’s really saying. It’s harder like this, Simon. Biology is a bitch and we can only hope this works with me because nobody knows fuck-all about vampire reproduction.

I nod wordlessly. Enough has been said with very few words, but the ones being spoken out still sink to my stomach like a stone in a river, kicking up debris and sending ripples through my consciousness. Fuck . I sip my wine, hand curling tighter around Baz’s. He gives a kind squeeze in return, the pad of his thumb dragging across the calloused and scarred back of mine. I breathe in, and out, finding what I want to say. “I love you too,” I utter.

He nods knowingly. We both know I mean a lot more than what I said. I’m saying that I know the consequences. I know what will happen, and I can’t say more because I can barely speak on good days. Merlin, I just love him, and it’s so much easier to say it because he knows and he’s not going to push more out.

We finish off the rest of dinner in silence, our hands locked together until I break them apart to clean, trying so hard to repress the numbness building in my chest. It’s familiar--almost welcoming, to an extent--because once it takes over, it’ll explode.

It feels friendly to me, but my therapist reminds me that it’s not a friend, but rather a roadblock that I have to step around.

“Baz,” I call, resting the dish I’m holding in the sink and leaving the water running. I look up, forward, straight ahead and swallow my mind. He steps in quickly, concern flooding over him.

Or maybe it’s been there, and it’s just hitting me now, pressing against me as his hand rests on my lower back. “Yes, love?” He asks, turning off the water swiftly and grabbing the dish towel to dry my hands.

“That... feeling is there.”

He nods as if he already knew. Again, maybe he did, and he was just waiting. He’s doing everything as if he rehearsed it: bringing me upstairs, helping me out of my shirt and trousers as he undoes his own and lays them aside (he needs to hunt later; we won’t talk about it now). We tuck in together, and he turns on the bedroom telly to some cooking show before muting it, just filtering in the bright white lights of the kitchen and the moderately paced speaking of whoever the hell this is trying to teach me how to chop an onion properly.

And there Baz is, holding me, tucking his face into my neck and slotting in front of me. A finger traces curved lines and ovals around my back, his hair tickling my nose as he whispers to me, trying so hard to ground me, to find me again.

“You wouldn’t believe the conversation I overheard today,” He says. I hear it more as echo-y vibrations than audio itself. My hands press to his back, feeling more and more of him talk rather than listening. “People are clueless, can’t even figure out 2+2 if they didn’t have a calculator next to them and someone to double check it later. Someone genuinely asked if the other person knew the time, then the person replied, while wearing a watch, ‘ I don’t know ’. Either avoidance has hit a new low and morons are on the rise, or I’m going mad. All three, though, may be true.”

He keeps talking, my hands smoothing over his chilled skin and fingers taking in every rumble of words until I feel present enough to even be tired, to which he responds by pecking my cheek and pulling back. I don’t protest, knowing full well he’ll be back soon.

I flicker my tongue over my lips, parting them to speak but leaving my eyes closed. “Biology is an arsehole.”

I feel his chuckle ripple through the air as the sound of him shuffling his clothes back on simultaneously. “I know, my love, but we’re going to make that arsehole our bitch.”

I can’t help to giggle at that, even if it is a bit childish. “Mm. I can only hope,” I whisper, body growing heavier and heavier with each word.

Lips press into my hair and I hear Baz tell me “I’ll be back soon, love” before falling asleep.

#snowbaz #carry on #fanfiction #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm-pitch #baz pitch #baz #love simon #fanfic #mine #love you all die for this #lyadft #parenting fic #archive of our own #established relationship

48 notes · View notes