#[[Luckily she usually has food stocked up so she's been okay. For the most part.]]

[dank-hp--memes]

A Guilty Conscience [1/3]

Authors Note: Hello everyone! It has been ages since I have wanted to write anything. Luckily for yall, I gave a thirst that can not be quenched for Professor Sharp... so there's a lot of WIP's. This fic will be posted in 3 parts, if I finish it...

Anyway, I hope yall enjoy, and I love hearing your feedback. If you're interested in being added to the tag list, please PM me or leave a comment.

Tags: @bountydroid @mothgirl-is-tired

Chapter 1

The wind was howling outside the Three Broomsticks. A light snow had begun to fall on the already snow covered ground as the sun had begun to set. The tavern was very lively, for many had come in to escape the harsh weather.

It was winter break at Hogwarts, and many of the students had gone home for the holidays, leaving many professors with some well earned free time. So, the professors had planned to spend their evening fraternizing in Hogsmeade before retreating to the private room in the Three Broomsticks to drink and continue their festivities. This particular night, almost every professor had shown, besides the Headmaster of course. Black could not stand being in the company of anyone he deemed lesser than himself, so he was not inclined to spend any more time than he needed to with his staff and students. Meanwhile, Professors Weasley, Fig, Ronen, Garlick, Hecat and Sharp found themselves enjoying their free evening and the rare chance they got to socialize outside of Hogwarts.

The small room was filled with chatter as the professors drank together. It seemed that Ronen and Garlick were the only two who struggled to hold their alcohol; then again, it was hard to keep pace with Hecat and Sharp. Though Weasley and Fig managed to keep up okay. After only two butterbeers Ronen ended up asleep at the table they sat around. Garlick had managed about three and a half butterbeers before her flirting with Sharp became even more blatantly obvious. Though he did not seem to mind Garlicks advances, Sharp never really flirted back or acknowledged the advances. Though the other four professors had ingested significantly more alcohol, having finished a bottle of firewhiskey they had shared, they somehow managed to keep their composure.

The night was eventful and relaxing at the same time. After a few hours of drinking and chatting, the group had elected to send Sharp down to procure them more alcohol and maybe some food since he was the least likely to be bothered by any students. It was with a great sigh that Sharp got to his feet and limped for the door. There was a small smirk on his face, though his eyes still seemed cold and empty as per usual, as he closed the door and limped down the many stairs. It had been a long while since he had allowed himself to have fun like this. 

As he stepped off the stairs and into the main room of the tavern, Sharp froze, his gaze fixed on a person standing at a nearby table. As soon as he had seen her, his eyes had widened ever so slightly, and the smirk he had been wearing had faded away.

The person in question was a tall, curvy yet slender woman. Her perfect skin was like porcelain; though, it seemed wind beaten for her nose and cheeks were red. Her eyes, which were obscured by her long lashes, were a piercing and icy blue, and her dark brows were pointy, slim, and sharply shaped. Though, her most distinguishing feature was her long, layered, and fluffy hair that went down past her bottom. It was wind beaten but it still looked very elegant. The top section of hair at the crown of her head was black while underneath was an ashy platinum blonde which almost seemed silver (yes, a lot like narcissa malfoys, but the blonde is more white/silver). She was clothed in an emerald green cashmere turtleneck sweater which she wore over a simple floor length black dress, black stockings and simple black heels. Her most distinguishing article of clothing was her wool cloak. It had been a gift from none other than Sharp. It was a fine black wool with very detailed silver clasps that looked like snakes, with emerald eyes. 

It was like he had been petrified, though he wanted to move, Sharp couldn't bring himself to take another step, nor could he remove his eyes from her. After a few moments of trying to gain his composure, Sharp cleared his throat and took a breath, unable to figure out what he should do.

"Aesop, what's taking you so long?" Garlick's voice called as she stood at the balcony above him. 

'For the love of merlin,' Aesop thought. All the color drained from his face as his attention snapped to Garlick and then back to the woman who was now looking over her shoulder at him. Her icy eyes seemed to pierce Sharp's very being. Though he was far from the table she was at, he could hear her velvety voice excusing herself as she got to her feet. Their eyes had met, and Aesop could hear his heart racing in his ears as he watched the woman's every move.

The woman had risen to her feet, she limped ever so slightly on her right leg as she whisked toward him. Her face was blank and emotionless, like a stone. The sight of her limping made Sharp's heart sink and he could feel a pit forming in his stomach and a strange mix of emotions washed over him. It was as if his nervousness had been completely washed away by guilt and sorrow. As the woman got closer, Sharp caught a glimpse of the dark scars that peeked out from beneath her turtleneck. It seemed like an eternity before she stood just barely in front of him. Her face remained blank and her icy eyes had not left his for a moment.

The two of them stood in silence, staring into each other's eyes, as if trying to break into each other's minds. Suddenly, the woman's lips curled into a small smirk and she closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around Sharp, who stumbled slightly, for both of them were unsteady. As he managed to find his balance, Sharp let out a small sigh of relief and allowed a rare and genuine smile to creep onto his face as he wrapped both of his arms around her. He could barely hear himself think over his heart racing in his ears. 

"I didn't know you were out of St. Mungos…" Sharp hissed as he nuzzled his cheek against hers, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. 

"I thought I'd surprise you, but I got caught up with some Ministry matters," Aurora murmured as she leaned into him, trying to give him some comfort.

At that moment, neither of them had noticed the small gaggle of professors who had gathered on the stairs in search of their colleague. Sharp was too busy savoring the moment. It had been 8 months since he had visited her in St. Mungos after she had been on a mission that had gone awry. Of course, Aurora had been unconscious when he had visited and the healers had been unsure if she would recover. 

The wispies of the woman's fluffy hair tickled his face, and the sweet scent of her powdery floral perfume filled his nostrils. Though, she was significantly thinner than he remembered. A small wince escaped her lips as she put too much weight on her right leg which made Sharp's heart ache even more than he thought it ever could. If the woman had noticed them, she wouldn't have cared. Her cold nose was pressed into the crook of his neck and Sharp could feel a single tear of hers drip onto his neck.

Their sweet embrace could have lasted a lifetime and that would not have been long enough for either of them, but they were roused back to reality by the mumbling of Professors Garlick, Fig, and Weasley.

Sharp reluctantly released the woman from his arms and looked at the three professors who had gathered on the stairs. The woman had turned her head to look at them. She was shorter than Sharp, the top of her head came up to just beneath his nose. This elegant and regal looking woman had an extremely commanding presence and was quite intimidating. So much so, that the professor's chatter ceased as her icy gaze fell upon them, it felt almost like a scolding.

"You must be Aesop's colleagues at Hogwarts…" The woman's voice was almost as cold as her gaze and it easily cut through the immense noise of the tavern. 

Professors Weasley, Fig, and Garlick nodded in silence while Sharp gave a small "mhm" to confirm the woman's assumption, for even he was still quite stunned to see her.

"I am Aurora Malfoy," She said, the corners of her lips curling into a slight smile that almost made up for how intimidating she seemed.

"You're the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement!" Fig exclaimed, an excited look on his face. "I thought I recognized you!" 

"You're --" Garlick began before Weasley cut her off.

"Would you like to join us Miss Malfoy, I'm sure you have some entertaining stories. And it would be nice to hear something other than school gossip." 

Though she was not all that surprised by the offer, Aurora still raised one of her eyebrows at Weasley. She contemplated the offer for a few seconds.

"I suppose I can join you if you're all alright with it… but I will be choosing what we drink," She replied simply.

Without another word, Aurora headed over to the bar and paid for a few bottles to bring up to the private room. Weasley and Fig had dragged Garlick along as they began making their way up the stairs as Aurora paid for the drinks for the professors. Sharp had followed them, but he stopped at the balcony and waited for Aurora.

As Aurora rounded the corner, out of breath from the stairs, Sharp pulled her into a tight embrace. As his arms wrapped around her, Aurora jumped and gasped rather loudly. Sharp loosened his grasp on her just as she wrapped her arms around him.

"You scared me…" Aurora mumbled as she gently rubbed his back with her cold hands, knowing he likely had not meant to.

"I'm sorry…" Sharp breathed as he pressed his nose to the crook of Aurora's neck. 

Sharp was shaking as he held her, overwhelmed with emotion.

"It is alright, I just -"

"No… I mean, I'm sorry…" he mumbled, his voice filled with regret.

"Aesop… it doesn't do well to dwell on the past…" Aurora insisted as she pulled back, placing her right hand on his left cheek and lifting his face so she could look at him.

Sharp looked down at her with watery eyes. This woman was the one thing in life he loved more than his work, and he felt guilty for not staying by her side when she was in St. Mungos. But, he had found it unbearable. He was not as strong as she had been. Though there was nothing he could do, Sharp could not sit in silence at her bedside and do nothing while she was unconscious and hurt.

"Darling, you know how much I hate to see you upset, especially when it's over me…" Aurora sighed as she looked over his face. 

Sharp was overcome with guilt. He hadn't been there to protect her, and he hadn't stayed with her while she was injured and in St. Mungos like she had for him. He looked down at her, his eyes filled with sorrow and regret. His strong arms were still wrapped protectively around Aurora. 

"I forgive you… Aesop, none of this is your fault" Aurora whispered as she ran her thumb over his scar. 

They stood in silence for a few moments while Aurora caressed Sharp's cheek. Their eyes were locked on one another's. Aurora's gaze had gone from icy and cold to warm, comforting and filled with love. A small and comforting smile had spread across her face as she tilted her head at Aesop. As her smile widened, Aurora leaned in, closing the space between them and pressing her silky lips to his. Sharp parted his lips, slipping his tongue into her mouth, his right hand moving up to hold the back of Aurora's head. Their kiss was soft and not too long, like they had shared a million kisses before this one. As their lips parted, Aurora embraced Sharp and quickly kissed his cheek. They stood there, rocking from side to side as they hugged. A few minutes passed before they separated. Aurora's smile had faded but her eyes were still warm. 

Without saying another word, they climbed the stairs, hand in hand. Before entering the room, Aurora turned and gave Sharp a quick kiss. They entered the private room together, it was warm and pleasant. The other professors were chatting away, well besides Ronen, who was asleep in an armchair. All conversation came to a halt as Aurora stepped in with Sharp just behind her. With a flick of her wand, the four bottles of alcohol Aurora had purchased appeared on the coffee table. The professors all had their eyes on her as she strode over to an empty seat. Aurora had given Hecat a small nod in greeting that went unnoticed.

All of the professors except Mirabel Garlick had met her at least once. Hecat and Aurora were good friends from their time at the Ministry together. Of course, Sharp knew her the best, for he had been courting her, successfully, for many years, they were engaged after all.

Aurora had taken a seat in front of the fireplace, her legs crossed, and a drink in her hand as she enjoyed the warmth of the fire. Of course, she drank firewhiskey on the rocks. Her free hand held one of Sharp's hands, her fingers interlaced with his.

The night still being young was the perfect excuse to continue excessively drinking. Unsurprisingly, Weasley, Fig, and Garlick did not have much to talk about that was of interest to Aurora. Though, she did entertain their questions. Well, she entertained them until Fig would not stop asking about what the Ministry was doing about Ranrok and Rookwood. Of course, Fig's attempt to interrogate Aurora made her quite irritable. 

Once Fig had thoroughly gotten on Aurora's nerves, Hecat stepped in, scolding Fig for pestering Aurora with questions. Hecat and Aurora had actually been good friends during their shared time at the Ministry. Apparently, Aurora had not always been quite this cold. Though they worked in different departments, Hecat had always found herself in the young aurora cubicle for lunch. Even if Hecat could not talk openly about her work, she enjoyed Aurora's insight on certain things, especially when it came to taking down dark wizards. They were inseparable for a while, and when Hecat had been injured, Aurora visited her in St. Mungos every single day until she had recovered. Though they did not talk much, they still sent each other owls at least once a week. Hecat had been the one who had found Aurora after she had been briefly captured by Ashwinders when she was still very new to her profession. They shared a strange bond. They were very different people and led very different lives, but they appreciated one another very much.

As the conversation about ministry work continued, Sharp joined in, talking about their many late nights in the office and assignments they had worked on together. They had been like a perfect match and were one of the most successful pairs of auror's in the department. Of course, Sharp left out many of the intimate details that seemed to become the only thing he could remember. Sharp smirked a bit and would briefly meet Aurora's eyes as he skipped over their countless late night escapades with a pause. Though it had been ages, the memories of their nights together hadn't faded in the slightest. Sharp found himself missing the good old days when they had worked like dogs and fucked like bunnies.

[askthesynesthesiaghostmiku]

“I'm sorry I didn't pick up your call, but I listened to your voicemail, and I would love to join you for tea! My schedule is... pretty open, so when would work best for you? Sh-should I wear anything fancy? ^^;;”

@ask-dress-up-galaco

[chickwiththepurpleguitar]

If you're still taking prompts you should do some rebuke and hurt/comfort!!

Sorry this took so long, but luckily there's a lot of it!! Hope you enjoy!

This is part of my All Too Well Splinterverse series, so a direct sequel to something about it felt like home somehow, cause there we are again in the middle of the night, and so casually cruel in the name of being honest. It won't make much sense if you haven't read all three of those.

read on ao3 here!

--

Bobby gives it three days. Three days where he catches up on missing homework and takes his antibiotics and a lot of naps and feels like a terrible person. And then he calls Luke.

“I fucked up,” he says the second Mrs. Patterson passes over the phone, without so much as bothering to say hello.

“Whoa, uh, okay,” Luke says, and coughs a little awkwardly. “Did you cheat on me or something? Are we breaking up? Cause if we’re breaking up, you gotta at least give me twenty minutes to get over there; no way in hell am I letting you dump me over the phone.”

“No! What? No.” Bobby’s out in the studio for some privacy; he sits up on the couch and runs a hand through his hair, grips the cordless phone a little tighter. “This has nothing to do with you! I fucked up with Reggie.”

“Reggie?” Luke repeats. “Dude, what’d you do? Kick a puppy or something?”

Bobby lets out a sigh that’s really more of a groan. To be fair, he probably could’ve started this conversation with just a tiny bit of context. “ No. I just… I think I hurt his feelings.”

Luke’s quiet for a really long time, in that thoughtful, pensive way he usually only gets when he’s writing a song. It’s usually accompanied by a lot of bouncing and fidgeting, because Luke gets restless easily, and if he can’t expel energy through his mouth, he’s gotta let it out some other way or he’ll implode. It almost brings a smile to Bobby’s lips, just thinking about it. Finally, Luke says, “Can I come over?”

Despite himself, Bobby’s stomach flips at the question. He and Luke have talked almost every day in the last week or so, but they haven’t actually seen each other in person since Luke got out of the hospital. They’ve both been too sick, and then Luke’s been trying to stay home as much as he can, build some trust back up with his mom.

“I might be contagious still,” Bobby warns him, rubbing absently at his chest. “No fever since the day before yesterday, but I’ve still got this cough I can’t shake.”

Luke scoffs, like he knows just as well as Bobby how lame an excuse that is. “Bro, I’m pretty sure I can’t catch the cold I gave you. If you’re not ready, I get it, but… whatever happened with Reggie, I think it’d be easier if we talk face to face.”

Luke pauses, then adds, “Plus, you know… I really do want to see you.”

Bobby has to swallow past a piercing ray of sunshine shooting through his stomach. “I want to see you, too. Okay, come on over, just know my mom’s probably gonna fuss over you.”

“Yeah, well, the last time she saw me, I was unconscious and dying, so I can’t exactly blame her.”

A smile tugs at Bobby’s lips. He and Luke may have gotten together under the strangest circumstances— and “together” is still sort of a loose term; mostly, they’ve just made out a couple times and Luke gave Bobby bronchitis— but at least they have each other now. More than that, even— they both have their families back.

“Think your mom will be cool?” Bobby checks. “With you coming over, I mean? I know she’s been keeping you on kind of a tight leash. And I don’t think she likes me very much.”

“She’s barely met you,” Luke points out.

“Yeah, and the one time she did, she called me a kidnapper. And something in French that you refuse to translate.”

“Purely for your own good.” Luke’s teasing grin is audible, even over the phone. “Listen, Bobbers, that was an emotional day for us all, and Emily Patterson is hardly well-known for being calm and rational under stressful circumstances. But once I sat her down and explained everything to her, I think the ‘saved me from dying’ thing made up for the ‘hid me in your garage for two months’ thing. She likes you just fine.”

Bobby’s not entirely sure he believes him, but there’s no point in pushing it. “Well, if you need me to come over there instead, just let me know.” He starts to swing his legs off the couch, bending over to search for his shoes, but has to pause to cough into his elbow a few times, his chest twinging.

“Half an hour,” Luke insists. “And drink some tea while you wait for me, I don’t like that you’re still coughing.”

Bobby grumbles noncommittally, lays back down on the couch. “Just get over here, Patterson. I can’t deal with your mother henning over the phone.”

Luke breathes out a laugh, and it might just be the most beautiful sound Bobby’s ever heard. “Love you, too, baby.”

***

Luke hangs up the phone and immediately takes stock of himself.

The last week, living back at home with his mom and dad again, has not been nearly as bad as he thought it would be. Maybe he’s gotten more patient since running away from home. Maybe his parents have gotten a little more perspective. Maybe all three of them just needed a few months apart and a serious wake-up call to start seeing things through each other’s eyes.

Whatever the reason, Luke and his mom haven’t fought once since he moved back home, and his dad even told Luke he’d like to come to one of his shows once Sunset Curve starts playing again. They’ve had to establish a lot of new boundaries, the three of them, and quite a few ground rules— if Luke weren’t sick, he’d be in trouble, his mom said, but she thought his hospital stay and cracked ribs were punishment enough— but so far things have been good. And Luke would very much like to keep them that way.

So, he stands in front of the bathroom mirror and takes a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth. The breath is free of congestion, doesn’t make him cough or hurt his ribs anymore. His face is a little red— purely just because talking to Bobby these days makes him blush like crazy— so he splashes some cool water on his face and waits until the flush fades from his cheeks before he heads out to the living room.

Emily’s sitting on the couch with her knitting, an old episode of The Brady Bunch playing low on the TV. She looks up and smiles when he enters, and Luke’s skin crawls a little. She gets this look on her face sometimes, when she looks at him now. Like she can’t believe how lucky she is. Like she still sort of expects to wake up and find she’s lost him. Again.

It makes Luke feel all sorts of guilty.

“Off the phone?” she asks him, a little redundantly, as he hands over the cordless. “How’s Robert?”

“Bobby’s feeling better,” Luke says honestly. He sticks his thumbs through his belt loops and rocks back and forth on his heels, standing awkwardly in front of the couch. “Can I go to his tonight? Something happened between him and Reggie, I was gonna help him out.”

Emily frowns, but doesn’t outright refuse, or accuse him of lying so that he can go out and play a club or something, like she might have three months ago. Maybe she really does trust him more now, or maybe she just likes Reggie enough to put aside her suspicions, but all she says is, “How are you feeling?”

Luke takes another slow breath, letting her hear how it doesn’t so much as catch in his throat. “No cough, no fever. Ribs only hurt when I get out of breath, but I’ll bike slowly, and we won’t be playing or anything. I’ll leave my guitars here, even.”

He sees it in his mom’s expression— the trust in him, the complete and utter belief she has that he’s telling her the truth. It’s something he might’ve taken advantage of, before. But for the first time in his life, he has absolutely no desire to lie to her.

Emily gently lays her knitting down on the coffee table in front of her and gestures Luke forward, stretching out a hand. He obediently leans down to let her brush his fringe aside and feel his forehead.

She hums approvingly a moment later and lets him go. “Ask your father to drive you. Will you be home for dinner, or are you spending the night?”

“I’m not sure,” Luke says, “but I’ll call around five either way?”

“Perfect.” She gives him that smile again— that look — and Luke turns away before he can think too hard about how much he doesn’t deserve it.

His dad is quiet on the drive over, but he lets Luke fiddle with the radio and kick his feet up on the dashboard, and doesn’t protest when Luke rolls the window up and down every five minutes. He parks the car in Bobby’s driveway, right outside the studio, but doesn’t shut the engine off. Something tells Luke to linger an extra moment or two before getting out.

“You need any money?” Mitch asks, finally.

No, but I’ll take some, Luke would’ve said, before, and then probably blown it on junk food or guitar picks or something. Instead, he shakes his head, leg bouncing, says, “Nah, dad, we’re just gonna be talking.”

Mitch nods and leans forward to peer through the windshield up at the studio. Luke follows his gaze. He can only imagine what his dad must be thinking: So this is where my son was living for two months because he didn’t feel safe at home.

“I’ll call home to let you know when to pick me up,” Luke says, desperate to fill the silence, and reaches for the door handle. “See you later, Dad.”

He catches half a glimpse of his father’s face as he heads up the drive: Mitch looks pensive and sad, and at least twenty years older than he really is.

Luke drags in a breath, and tries not to feel too guilty.

He’s barely rapped his knuckles against the studio door when it’s yanked open from the inside and Luke gets a faceful of t-shirt as Bobby tugs him into a strong-armed hug.

“Hey!” Luke laughs breathlessly. “I missed you, too.”

Bobby presses his face into Luke’s neck, tightening his hold. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, baby.” Luke rubs his back, trying to follow his instincts without getting too self-conscious. He hasn’t seen Bobby in a while, and somehow using pet names and terms of endearment was easier over the phone. Holding him and letting himself be held was easier when he was sick and hurting and had an easy excuse. But he doesn’t want Bobby to think Luke loves him any less, or that Luke’s ashamed of him or something, just because they’re both healthy.

Still. “We should get inside,” he murmurs, lips pressed into Bobby’s hair. “My dad’s kinda sitting in his car watching us, and I can feel him getting uncomfortable.”

Bobby snorts, his shoulders shaking under Luke’s touch. But then he nods and pulls away, swiping the back of his hand across his face; Luke thinks he catches the glisten of tears.

Inside the studio, with the doors shut tight and the sound of Luke’s dad’s car disappearing down the street, Luke sits Bobby down on the couch and says, “So. Reggie.”

Bobby’s quiet as he tells the story, his head ducked low and his hands clasped tightly between his legs. Luke keeps a hand on Bobby’s back, rubbing gentle circles as he listens to Bobby talk.

When he goes quiet, Luke takes a minute to breathe and think, before he carefully summarizes, “So… Reggie’s mad at you cause you didn’t wanna tell Alex about your headaches?”

“Reggie’s mad at me,” Bobby corrects, his voice breathy with exhaustion, “because I didn’t wanna tell him either. If he hadn’t caught me in the middle of one, I probably wouldn’t have said anything at all.”

“How come?” Luke tries for gentle, but he’s not sure he quite makes the mark. “You had no trouble telling me.”

“You’re easy,” Bobby grumbles. “I didn’t exactly have to try hard to make a good first impression. Doesn’t matter so much if you think I’m weak.”

“And it does with Reggie?” He doesn’t bother asking about Alex. Luke loves the guy, but he knows better than anyone how bitey and judgmental Alex can get. How slow to trust. Luke doesn’t much love showing weakness in front of Alex either. But Reggie… “Bro, Reggie just wants to be helpful. He’d care that you’re hurting, not that you weren’t totally together all the time. He wouldn’t think you’re weak.” He adds as an afterthought, “...and Alex would get over it.”

Bobby huffs out a laugh. He chokes on it, then turns away from Luke to cough into his fist. Luke rubs his back, feeling the tremors that the coughing fit causes, and winces in sympathy as Bobby takes a slow breath and rubs his chest like it hurts. Luke knows the feeling.

Acting on instinct, Luke reaches over and brushes Bobby’s hair back, pressing a palm to his forehead. He doesn’t feel warm, thank god, but he still leans into the touch, his eyes closing in relief, even as he mumbles, “Told you, I don’t have a fever.”

“I know,” Luke says softly, and really means, I’m sorry. “You want my advice, about Reggie?”

Bobby gives a tiny nod, makes a soft whining sound in the back of his throat that Luke is pretty sure is supposed to be a yes.

“You don’t have to try so hard. Reggie and Alex both, they… they want to be your friends. You just gotta let them.” He runs his hand through Bobby’s hair in slow, gentle strokes. “And with Reggie, a sincere apology goes a long way.”

Bobby nods again and slumps over to lay his head on Luke’s shoulder. “I’ll call him in the morning. For tonight…” Luke feels him tense, but when Bobby lifts his eyes to Luke’s, they’re open and vulnerable and honest, as he says, “Will you stay?”

Luke’s heart does a happy little flip-flop inside his chest. “Of course I will.” He presses a kiss to Bobby’s head and reluctantly pushes himself up off the couch. “Lemme just go call my folks and let them know I’m sleeping over. If I’m not back in ten, assume your mom’s kidnapped me to test out that aromatherapy treatment she kept going on about. And I’m bringing you tea.”

Bobby protests out of principle, calls him a nuisance, and a worrywart and a nag, but Luke feels Bobby’s smile on his back all the way out the door.

***

Reggie drops his bike along the wall beneath the Pattersons’ front window and skips up to the door, swallowing back the nerves drying his throat before quickly jabbing his finger against the doorbell.

Its chime echoes long and loud, enough that it makes Reggie flinch, makes him pick at his fingers and start to think that maybe coming here wasn't the best idea after all.

Because Luke’s still recovering. Luke’s got a boyfriend now. Luke shouldn’t have to spend time and energy worrying about Reggie and all his problems.

But before Reggie can turn around and leave, the door opens, and Luke’s mom smiles at him.

“Reginald! How are you, dear?”

“Very well, thank you!” Reggie smiles politely, bouncing on his heels a little. “How are you, Mrs. P?”

“I’m just fine, Reginald.” She leans against the doorway, her expression turning a little amused. “Did you need something, dear? Luke’s not home.”

“Oh, he’s not?” Reggie’s heart sinks. He clears his throat a little. “Um, is he… do you know when he’ll be back?”

“Probably not until morning. He’s staying at Robert’s tonight.”

“He’s sleeping over?” he repeats, surprised. Mitch and Emily Patterson don’t seem like the kind of parents who’d be particularly chill about their son spending the night at his boyfriend’s house.

It only then occurs to Reggie that maybe they don’t know Bobby is Luke’s boyfriend…

“I have the phone number,” Mrs. Patterson says, oblivious to Reggie’s conundrum, “if you needed to get in touch with Luke.”

“Oh. Oh, no, it’s okay.” Reggie fixes his smile back into place, swallows thick disappointment. “I’ll head over to Bobby’s, or… or I’ll catch Luke another time. Thanks, Mrs. P!”

He thinks she might start to say something else, but Reggie doesn’t hang around to listen. He scoops up his bike and disappears down the drive, pedaling as hard as he can so the adrenaline will overtake his complex jumble of emotions.

He shouldn’t bother Luke. He doesn’t really need him. He’d just been lonely, and his parents were fighting, and getting out of the house seemed like a really good idea at the time. Plus, he’s been sulking for days now since he yelled at Bobby, and Luke somehow always knows how to cheer Reggie up, even if Reggie wasn’t exactly planning on telling him what’s wrong.

But Luke’s with Bobby. Reggie can’t interrupt them. Luke will almost undoubtedly be mad at Reggie if he finds out Reggie shouted at his boyfriend. Bobby’s probably mad at him already.

As far as Reggie knows, Bobby might just turn him away on sight. Before Reggie even has half a chance to apologize.

Despite this thought process, Reggie’s bike skids to a stop on familiar concrete, bringing him to the realization that he rode to the studio without even thinking about it.

One of the doors has been left open. He can smell popcorn and spices carried out on the wind. He can hear Luke’s laughter, Bobby coughing, a Rolling Stones album playing softly in the background.

It makes Reggie’s throat feel tight, makes it hurt to breathe. He’s so… lonely. He wants what they have, and knows he can’t get it.

He should just go home.

He starts to turn away, but Luke’s voice stops him, calling, “Reg, hey! What are you doing here, man?”

Reggie swallows and awkwardly turns back to face the studio, where Luke’s lounging in the doorway grinning at him, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. Reggie manages a tiny smile of his own that he can only hope is convincing. “Hey, Luke. You, uh… your mom told me you’d be here.”

Reggie starts to add, But I should probably just go, but the words die on his tongue when Bobby appears over Luke’s shoulder, looking pale and tired, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders up at his ears.

“Hey, Reg,” Bobby says, low and gruff.

Reggie swallows, his hands tightening their grip around the handlebars of his bike. “I just… I wanted to talk to Luke?” he says simply, which isn’t totally a lie. “But I can go… if I’m not welcome.”

“What?” Bobby’s expression crumples, and he pushes past Luke to step forward, toward Reggie. “Reg, no, I— of course you’re welcome here. You’re always—” He breaks off, glancing over his shoulder at Luke, who gestures encouragingly. Bobby sighs and turns back, squaring his shoulders. “Reggie, I need to apologize to you. Again.”

Reggie gapes, baffled. “Wha— I— Bobby, no, I should be apologizing to you!”

“Me? Why?”

“Cause I yelled at you.”

“Yeah, but you were right!” Bobby takes another step forward, close enough that he can reach out a hand to hover over Reggie’s, still gripping tight to his handlebars. “Reggie, I’m not good at asking for help. I’m not used to being seen as weak and not having that be a bad thing. But I’m done lying, and I’m done hiding things. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, Reg. And I do want to be your friend.” He takes a deep breath, shoots Luke another quick look, and then says softly, “I’m gonna start being better, Reggie. I promise. I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like I didn’t trust you. Like I didn’t like you. I do. I really do.”

Reggie’s left speechless, and a little choked. He stands there for a few moments, his mouth working but no sound coming out, and stares at Luke and Bobby both, searching their faces for any hint of a sign from either of them that Bobby’s kidding or making fun of him.

Reggie knows Bobby doesn’t mean it— liking him — the way Reggie wants him to, the way Reggie likes him back. But it still puts a lump in his throat, to hear Bobby say it at all — Bobby who never admits to liking anyone!

Reggie doesn’t realize he’s started crying until he tastes salt on his lips and Luke bounds forward to pull Reggie into his arms. That seems to break the floodgates open, then; Reggie lets his bike fall to the concrete with a clatter, buries his face in Luke’s shirt, and sobs.

Luke doesn’t ask why he’s crying, or tell him to stop. He just holds Reggie tight, and when Reggie chokes out, “I was just so lonely, ” whispers, Shh, it’s okay, I know.

Somehow, they end up inside the studio on the folded-out couch. Luke gently pushes Reggie to lie down in the middle, and then immediately climbs in next to him, pulling a mountain of blankets over them both.

After a few moments of awkward hesitation, Bobby joins them on Reggie’s other side, lowering himself gently onto the mattress and curling up so that Reggie feels his warmth without them actually touching.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Reggie gasps out, his tears starting to slow.

“I wish you’d do it more often.” Bobby gives him a tiny smile and slowly slides his hand into Reggie’s. “You can’t get rid of me, man. I got you.”

--

Taglist: @whenweremarried @sunsethimb0s @pink-flame @penguin0613 @fighttoshine @sunsetcurvecuddles @teenagedirtbag-dot-jpeg @brightattheorpheum @queenmolina @jandthephantoms @lexilucacia @sapphossidechick @acnhaddict @shrimp-colours @sunset-bobby @lenacarstairspotterstewart @conversationaltreestump @burntchromas @molinapattersons @julieandthequeers @joyandthephantoms @it-tastes-like-lizard @jatpfs

[redqueen-hypothesis]

thaw ➳ helios (mlqc)

➳ PAIRING: reader x helios (mlqc)

➳ WORD COUNT: 2188

➳ GENRE: injured! helios, fluff

➳ SYNOPSIS: helios breaks into and enters your house. you break into his heart in much the same fashion.

➳ REMARKS: i clearly cannot write for helios, spoilers for chapter 17+

A crash from your living room startles you awake.

Still half asleep, brain not quite running at a functional speed yet, you lie stock still in bed with the covers drawn up to your neck, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if you’d simply imagined the noise. A few seconds later, however, there’s a sound of something heavy hitting the floor outside your bedroom, a little muffled but still too loud to be anything imaginary, and goosebumps prickle down the back of your neck as you let out a little ‘eep’ of fear.

What’s happening? Had the wind from the window blown something over? Or had a burglar somehow gotten into your house? You swallow, trembling slightly at the thought as your mind runs wild with scenarios from previous crime programmes that you’ve filmed and all the cold murder cases Gavin has told you about. What if you end up a victim just like one of them?

Heart thudding wildly in your chest, part of you wants to just stay buried under the covers like this, the thick blankets at least providing you with some false sense of security, but the sheer need to know just what is happening in your house refuses to leave your mind like some sort of relentless itch. You slip out from under the covers carefully, reaching under your bed to grab the first heavy object your fingers wrap around before inching towards the bedroom door with caution in every step.

Pausing for a moment, you press your ear against the door. Completely silent.

For some reason, that just makes the trepidation all the more potent for you. Unable to take a second longer of this, your fingers wrap around the doorknob and pull delicately.

The door creaks open, alarmingly loud in the dead silence of the night. Concluding that any advantage of surprise you might have had is now flushed down the drain, you decide to throw all caution to the wind and leap out into the darkness of the living room, raising your item above your head menacingly.

“Hands up, intruder!” You yell, with as much aggression as you can muster.

No one responds.

Confused, you glance about the living room. There doesn’t seem to be anyone inside the apartment with you, and what seems to have made the earlier noise is-

“Oh no!” You yelp, dismayed. The gardenia plant Lucien had given you a few weeks ago is lying on the floor, its flowerpot cracked down the middle. The wind must have blown it over somehow, you reason with yourself as you step towards it. The weather forecast last night had predicted a possible storm with strong winds, so it’s no wonder that-

You pause midstep, a frown forming on your face.

You had closed the windows before going to bed last night precisely because you’d read the weather forecast. So if the windows were closed, how did-

You whirl around in horror, raising the object in your hands once more as realisation hits you, but it’s already too late. An arm snakes around your middle and tugs you hard against a solid chest, while a hand clamps hard around your mouth the second you try to scream for help. Flailing, you drop whatever you’d been carrying and struggle in your assailant’s grasp, and the person behind you lets out a sharp hiss of pain when your elbow strikes their side.

“Stop moving, idiot.”

Your gasp of surprise is muffled against the palm of his hand, you know this voice.

“Don’t scream,” the intruder warns lowly as he releases his grip on you. You spin around to get a look at him the second you can move, and the pale moonlight that lends an almost ethereal gleam to his silver hair confirms his identity for you in an instant.

“Helios!” His name leaves your lips in shock. You have to rub your eyes twice to make sure you’re not really dreaming, and even after you do so, you just can’t seem to find the words to ask him what he’s doing here. “You... What are you... Wha-”

“What were you even planning to do with this...” He grunts, glacial blue eyes glancing down disdainfully at the object of your choice for defense - a heavy binder of past proposals that had been rejected by Victor. In spite of the situation, you find your cheeks flushing.

“I was panicking, okay?”

Before you can find the opportunity to explain yourself, however, Helios lets out a sharp groan and sags to his knees before your eyes; you barely manage to catch him before he hits the ground hard. He’s too heavy for you to hold up in spite of your best efforts, so all you manage to do is slow his collapse to the floor. “Helios? Helios!”

“Shut up... you’re loud...” He waves off your frantic concern with one hand, but even in the dim light of the moon you can make out the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead and neck, his jaw taut and a pained glare on his face. “Just let me lie low here for a couple of hours and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Completely ignoring him, you tug at the white winter parka he usually wears to reveal the tattoo inked onto his right arm, yanking it down so that you can inspect him for injuries. Sure enough, the second you do, you catch sight of crimson staining the inside of his parka, the bloody gashes across his biceps. “You’re bleeding!”

“It’s just a scratch, nothing life threatening-” He tries to brush it off, but you’re already up and running into your kitchen to fetch a first aid kit. Helios groans in resignation as he settles against the wall, shaking his head and holding one hand to the wound at his side. “Shouldn’t have come here.”

“You shouldn’t even have gotten hurt in the first place!” You rush back to his side with a white box clasped firmly in your hands, kneeling next to him and inspecting his wound carefully, hands gentle as they probe at his side. “I can’t clean your wound properly like this... take your shirt off.”

“What.”

Too impatient to wait for him, you grab the hem of his skintight shirt and lift a pair of scissors to the material, snipping away before he can stop you. “Why is it that every time you visit, you’re hurt like this? I thought you were supposed to be some highly skilled assassin...” You mutter under your breath. Helios rolls his eyes at your words, but you can see the pain he’s trying to play off behind that indifferent facade.

“You weren’t meant to know that I was here.” He grunts, but otherwise staying still as you cut his shirt in half. This brings up conflicting emotions in you, on one hand, you’re glad that he at least trusts you enough to take care of his injuries, but you’re also upset that he’s hurt like this. “I was just going to steal your first aid supplies and patch myself up, but that stupid plant on the windowsill got in the way.”

“Don’t talk about Garda like that. Now I’m going to have to repot her... if she isn’t dead.” You scold, pulling the fabric away from his skin. Now that his shirt is off, you try the best you can to ignore the lean, defined muscles of his chest and inspect the injury where most of the blood has come from. A clean cut through skin and flesh at his side, dark red oozing slowly from it. “Oh my god, what happened?”

“None of your business-” He begins, but you uncap your bottle of hydrogen peroxide and pour it liberally on his side before he can stop you. The second the strong disinfectant hits his wound, he lets out a shout of pain, almost curling up on himself. “Ow! Fucking hell, that stings like a bitch, you-”

Your glare is about as terrifying as his. “I said, what happened.”

“... got knifed,” is all he mutters very unwillingly, but you consider that a victory, because he’s speaking to you at the very least. Resolving to be more gentle this time, you soak a cotton pad with disinfectant and proceed to dab carefully at the edges of the wound to clean off the blood and grime, brows furrowed in concentration. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me how you got knifed in the first place?”

“No.”

You let out a sigh, shaking your head at his stony reply as you reach for the box of butterfly bandages in your first aid kit. Luckily for him, the wound doesn’t seem to be too deep after all that cleaning, and you’re not sure if you’ll do him more damage if you attempt sutures on him. “You break into my house in the middle of the night, scare me out of my wits, break my flowerpot, make me treat you... the least you could do is tell me what happened.”

“I didn’t make you treat me.” His blue eyes bore sharply into yours, a slight scowl tugging at his mouth. “Don’t expect any thanks from me, busybody. Keep your nose out of my problems next time before you get dragged into them as well. I’m not going to save you when that happens.”

“You’re as naggy as an old granny.” You hum, completely ignoring him and leaving a pat on top of his silver hair. Now that the most serious wound at his side is done, you move to cleaning the gashes on his arms, which are similarly bloody but not worryingly deep. “If you want to break into my house again, at least bring some nice food with you. I get hungry when I get woken up in the middle night.”

He glares at you. “Are you even listening to me?”

“And that’s the best I can do!” You say loudly over his words, dusting off your hands as you do a once over of his body. With no more visible wounds in sight, you gently put your hands under his arms to help haul him to his feet, even as he protests with all manner of curses and some very unsavoury remarks, before steering him to lie on the couch. “Now, Helios, we need to set some ground rules. As much as this little relationship we have is very fun and interesting-”

“We are not in any relationship!”

“–it is also very illegal! Breaking and entering is a big no-no, and it’s against the law. So, I have come up with a solution!” You turn around and rummage in a nearby cabinet for a moment, before you pull something out from the drawer and hold it up to light.

Helios squints at it, not quite understanding whatever antic you’re pulling this time. Exhaustion is tugging at his eyelids, his will to leave seeping away along with his wakefulness. Must be the blood loss. Or the comfort of your too small couch. Or maybe... just maybe, the familiar ramble of your voice. Either way, it’s not a good thing, he’d meant to make it back to headquarters before the night was over. “That’s... a key. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Exactly!” You beam brightly, opening up his hand and pressing the key into the middle of his palm. The grooves press into his skin, as if he’s holding the key to unlocking himself instead. It feels uncomfortable in his hand, but his fingers close around it on instinct. “It’s the key to my apartment. Next time, you can enter through the door, and not by less law-abiding means.”

He doesn’t tell you that he could unlock your door in a matter of seconds with the right tools. Instead, he only holds the key up, studying it wordlessly until your smile turns a little awkward. “Well, I mean, you don’t have to.” You tack on hurriedly, reaching to pluck the key from his grasp. To your surprise, however, he pulls the key out of your reach before you can so much as touch it, tucking it in the pocket of his pants.

“Your security is shitty anyway.” He says, before turning over so that you can’t see his face. Pouting a little, you stick out your tongue at him behind his back before you rise to your feet, intending to get him a blanket so that he can spend the night. Just as you’re about to step into your bedroom, however, his words stop you in your tracks.

“What do you want?”

You tilt your head back to look at him in confusion. “What do I want...?”

He glances up at you slightly, silver hair falling into icy blue eyes that seem to have just thawed ever so slightly. “For supper, you dolt.”

“Oh.” You say, and then suddenly you’re smiling so hard that your cheeks hurt. “Fried chicken.”

“So basic.” He mutters under his breath, but you only smile and throw a blanket over him.

“Goodnight, Helios.”

When you wake up the next morning, he’s already gone.

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Detours on the Road so Far - Ch 1

Detours on the Road so Far

- Or - 

Why Sam and Dean Need Actual Adult Supervision

Summary: Shenanigans. Lots of them. Crack. Probably some pie. (SERIES SUMMARY)

Warning: Shenanigans. Unintentional drug use. Crackfic. 

Rating: Let’s call this one at least Teen, if not Mature. See Warning above.

Word Count: 1700-ish

Author’s Note: THIS IS CRACK: unapologetically, unequivocally, utterly crack. Some of it makes little sense. Some of it makes fun of our favorite characters. I love these guys; this is just for fun. The stories are not in any particular order. Time frames will be referenced at the beginning of each chapter. Also, I was having some formatting issues, so if this ends up looking really wonky, please let me know, and I’ll do what I can.

This story is dedicated to a wonderful friend who let me behind the scenes into their writing process and watch the development of a wonderful story, a friend who fiercely has their folks’ backs and is the first on the scene if support and flails are needed. To a writer who can write action, romance, intrigue, and brothers being brothers. @stunudo​ , I am so glad I met you, and even gladder you didn’t absolutely fire me for all the awful puns.

ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 1: Everything is Awesome (set sometime in season 8...ish)

Sam yawns as he shuffles down the hall, scratching the back of his head and grinning to himself. It still amazes him, even after the months they’ve been here, to have an actual home and comfortable bed to come back to after their days and weeks on the road. Even the hours crammed in the car with his brother and his painfully slow evolution of music is more bearable, knowing there are clean sheets, peace (relative peace, anyway) and quiet, and their very own refrigerator waiting for them at the other end.

He pauses as a new sound drifts towards him from the kitchen, and he frowns. It’s not a bad sound, exactly; he knows exactly what it is. But Dean doesn’t tend to sing this early in the morning, and not ever in the kitchen. It’s not the most wrong thing Sam has ever heard, but it’s strange enough for him to take notice.

Well, he can’t be possessed, so...hex bag, maybe? Their last case in Colorado didn’t involve witches, but there was always the chance they’d run across one without realizing and pissed him or her off somehow.

Dammit.

 He cautiously enters the kitchen, hoping that he’s just assuming worst case scenario. He is greeted by the sight of Dean seated at the table, staring intently at a large, clear glass coffee mug as he adds creamer to the steaming brew. 

“Morning,” Sam says, stretching. Dean waves distractedly, his concentration focused entirely on his coffee. At least that part is normal. He doesn’t usually add creamer, but it’s not unheard of, so Sam simply shrugs as he turns to the fridge. 

At least the singing stopped, or (better yet) maybe he just imagined it in the first place. Maybe he just hadn’t been fully awake yet. Sam opens the refrigerator, his eyes already moving over the contents to find something for breakfast that won’t add to Dean’s cholesterol issues his older brother tacitly refuses to acknowledge.

Except there aren’t any contents to peruse. The entire refrigerator is completely empty. Not even a wrapper.

 He turns back to Dean, the questions dying on his tongue as he watches his brother continue to add creamer to his coffee, dark brown and beige swirling in the clear mug. Dean finally sets the creamer down, watching the coffee cup as if he’s been interrogating it and it’s finally about to break.

 “Sammy,” he says, his eyes glued to the mug, “we are never using anything but clear coffee cups again. This shit is magic.”

 What?

“Seriously, Sam,” he continues, his eyes lit with pure, childlike innocence and curiosity. “It just...it mixes itself. Food doesn’t do things to itself, Sam. I mean, yeah, Jell-O moves by itself, but no other food does that. But Jell-O is evil, anyway, so yeah. Wait, except for Jell-O shots. Jell-O shots are awesome. But otherwise, Jell-O is a slime creature sent by Eve to torment small children into thinking they’re getting a real dessert when it’s really just ectoplasm’s third cousin. Twice removed.”

 And then Dean giggles.

 Sam stares at his brother, his jaw hanging down, absolutely clueless as to how to proceed. First, Dean has never said that many words together in his entire life. Second, what the fuck? Third, what. The. Ever. Living. Fuck.

 Dean adds more creamer.

 “I think...I think that’s enough, Dean. You’re going to spill your coffee.”

 Horror washes over Dean’s face, and he slams the creamer container on the table, dropping down to eye his coffee along the top edge. “Sacrilege! I wouldn’t do that, Sam, you know I’d never waste coffee like that!”

 Sam knows he needs to close his mouth at some point, but it’s just too damned early to go with the flow on this shit.

 “Dean, are you feeling okay? I know we got back pretty late last night, but you’re acting a little off.” But his brother isn’t acting tired, not exactly. Sam realizes that his brother is also still wearing yesterday’s traveling clothes.

 “Dean, did you sleep in your clothes?”

 Dean reaches out a finger and slowly pokes his coffee mug. The cream swirls lightly through the dark liquid, further mixing the two, and Dean...giggles.

 Again.

 “It’s kinda sad when they finally get all mixed together,” he says, frowning a little. Then his face brightens as he grabs the mug. “But now I can drink it, so that's less sad, right? I mean, you can’t really be sad drinking coffee, Sam. You should drink more coffee; you’ll be less sad all the time.”

 Sam’s jaw clenches involuntarily as he watches Dean alternate between sips and sloshing the cup around to watch the contents. His brother is obviously not in any distress, but spells have started out like this before, seemingly harmless and then, before you know it, hearts are exploding or organs disintegrate or something else equally nasty.

 “I can hear the colors, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, tapping the mug gently. “I think...what, would you say? Beige? Ecru? Does it sound like ecru to you?”

 Sam was unaware Dean even knew those colors existed, much less how to pronounce them. Luckily, since Dean is wearing yesterday’s clothes, it makes looking for the hex bag easier. After two unsuccessful attempts to get Dean to go through his own pockets (“But the coffee isn’t in my pockets, Sam, it’s in my hands. Why the hell would I put down the coffee to look through my pockets?”) Sam gives up with a sigh that holds the burdens of the world in it and searches his brother’s clothes himself.

 “Knock if off! That tickles; you’re gonna make me spill the coffee!”

 For fuck’s sake.

 His search proves frustratingly fruitless. But if the hex bag isn’t on Dean, then what? A spell? A curse? What the hell is going on?

 Sam’s stomach growls, adding another question to the long list. Where the hell is all the food? Well, that, at least, he can ask Dean and maybe get a straight answer.

 “Dean, do you know why the fridge is empty? It was pretty stocked when we left. Where’d all the food go?”

 Dean grins and points down at the stomach of his shirt, which is a bit rounder than normal. “In mah belleh.”

 When Sam’s face finally emerges from his palms, he finds Dean staring at him with alarming concern.

 “Are you hungry, Sam? We can go to town and get breakfast! That would be awesome, breakfast is awesome! Do you want pancakes or waffles? Nevermind, you’re huge, you should eat both. You need to eat more, Sam, you’re too skinny.”

 “Seriously, dude, are you feeling okay? You’re acting...weird.”

 “You know what’s weird, Sammy? I ate two pies, a block of cheese, and all those protein bar things you hide in the back of the pantry. And by the way, you don’t need to hide those things from me anymore, they are absolutely vile. But then I had those bags of chips, and...what else. Oh, yeah, there was some bologna, I think, and I ate the bacon, and whatever was in the vegetable drawer, which actually ended up not being horrible. But I’m still kinda hungry.”

 Sam is speechless. It doesn’t happen often, but apparently it can still happen, even after all these decades of living with his brother. He just can’t wrap his head around-

 Wait, what pie?

 “Dean, we didn’t have any pie before we left, and we didn’t stop on the way home yesterday. What pie did you eat?”

 “Sarah gave me two pies as a thank you. It would have been rude not to eat them. I had a piece last night after you crashed, and it was -awesome- so I had another piece, and then I had to try the other pie, and it was friggin delicious, and then I looked up and some asshole had eaten the rest of both the pies.” He eyes Sam suspiciously for a minute, clutching his coffee mug a little closer to himself.

 “And then I got hungry, so I had a snack.”

 “What was in the pies, Dean?”

 “Dunno,” he says, slurping coffee obnoxiously loudly. “Deliciousness. Sarah didn't say what kind they were, just said they were her way of saying thanks for getting rid of the ghost. Called it her ‘University of Colorado Specials’ or something like that. But those pies were made of magic, Sam, delicious, delicious magic.”

“What else did Sarah say, Dean?”

The elder Winchester thinks long and hard for a moment, frowning. “She didn’t. She winked a lot, though. Do you think she had something stuck in her eye?”

 Sam leans on his hands to keep from using them on his brother. He takes a deep, steadying breath and tries again.

 “Can you tell me anything else about the pies, Dean? Anything at all?”

 He thinks for a long moment, then his face melts into a dreamy expression Sam is pretty sure he’s never seen on his brother’s face before. “One of ‘em was this lemon thing that was like a citrus tree starred in a porn. The flavor just explodes in your mouth like-”

 “I don’t need to know!”

 But Dean is still going.

 “A firecracker, Sam, a Roman Candle of delicious. And the other was this...chocolatey, coffee, creamy thing. Coffee, Sam! Coffee and chocolate in a pie! They can do that now! What’ll these crazy college kids think of next?”

 He grins at Sam, taking another long slurp of coffee. Sam bites his lip, considering Dean for a long silent moment. He’s pretty sure now that Dean will be just fine and more than likely back to normal by the end of the day...maybe.

 “I’m gonna go check in with Sarah. Just make sure she hasn’t...erm...seen anything else weird.”

 “But, Sam, we ghosted that ghost!” Dean stops, thinks about what he just said, and giggles.

 Again.

 “I just want to see...how much...we ghosted that ghost. And maybe get the recipes for those pies. I’m sure everything’s fine. You know me, I just like to be sure.”

 “That’s awesome, Sam, you’re so awesome! We could make the pies together! And you could even eat some! You still need to eat more. Can we go get breakfast now?”

 Sigh.

 “Yeah, Dean. We’ll go get breakfast. I’ll call Sarah on the way.”

 Dean grins, his whole face lighting up, and Sam allows himself to see at least a little humor in the situation.

 And then Dean starts singing that song from the damned Lego movie, and Sam. 

Just. 

Can’t.

[ohwhatamessiam]

Self Control - Chapter 11

Summary: Thanksgiving break comes and goes. And it leaves you angry, wondering how much Chris really cares about you. Will he prove that he wants this, or will he let your spark burn out?

Pairing: Professor!Chris Evans X TA!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Language, angst, lots of pain (the tweets from Brandon outlined this turn of events), I’m really sorry but y’all are gonna hate me for this one.

A/N: Hi everyone! I made it back for an update under 9 months this time (barely lol). There’s only 2 more chapters left in Self Control, and you guys will probably hate me for them, but this is the path we’re on together! Thank you all for your patience, and thank you to @fangirlisms-22. I have started on the next chapter but knowing me, it’ll be a while before it’s done. I’m going to ask y’all to be patient again. I tried to tag everyone, but some blogs have deactivated, changed urls, or won’t let me tag them. Let me know if you need me to change your url on my list. Here’s the Spotify playlist for the entire fic.

I love feedback, so send me your thoughts, feelings, wishes, etc!

Tags are still barely open for this story, so send me an ask here to be added to it or my permanent list!

Self Control | Masterlist

A week of radio silence goes by and you’re left alone with your thoughts. And lonely, desperate thoughts are not your friends. 

You try to stay in for the weekend, telling yourself that the distance is for the best. It’s giving you time to work on your story. You tear that piece to shreds and stitch it back together 10 times over. Your heart is starting to feel that same way.

Wednesday afternoon you realize you’ve run completely out of your grad student food staples: mac and cheese, tortillas, shredded cheese, peanut butter, and milk. And there’s only one box of cereal left on top of your fridge. Corn flakes. The bland cereal Chris loved so much. 

You can’t bring yourself to touch it. 

Forcing your body into a pair of sweatpants and shoes, you leave the apartment. The sun feels too bright for your sensitized eyes, and the temperature is much colder than you planned for, but you know better than to turn back. If you go back, you won’t come out until you have to see him after break.

As you pull into the grocery store it finally hits you. It’s already Thanksgiving eve. That much time had slipped away from you.

You trudge through the throngs of people scrambling for last minute items. No one pays any attention to your state of disarray.

Luckily, your basic needs are in stock and you’re able to get what you need without too much difficulty. You’re about to head to the registers when you stop at the liquor aisle. The thought only has to enter your mind before your feet immediately pivot toward the wine section.

You find 3 of the cheapest, most tolerable bottles and are stuffing them in your cart when you hear glass clanking behind you. You turn to find two of the last people you wanted to see.

Sebastian and Dr. Mackie.

“Oh shit,” Sebastian yelps as he tries to balance three separate bottles of liquor in one arm. Dr. Mackie snickers at him as he adds another bottle to their collection. 

You shift quickly, trying to keep your back to them. There’s no need for a conversation on a day like today.

“(Y/N),” Sebastian calls out. 

Your whole body tenses, fingers clenching the cart handle. How did he even know it was you in your chaotic state?

Footsteps approach you and you try to muster the strength to face them. At your best, you gather a forced smile.

“Hi (Y/N),” he grins as he slides up to your cart, Dr. Mackie in tow. 

“Hi guys,” you manage. You catch how Dr. Mackie’s eyes flash to your hair, and then your clothes. You try not to get caught up on how that makes you want to crawl home, with or without groceries. 

“What are you doing in town? It’s Thanksgiving,” Sebastian asks as he tries to pay more attention to his assortment of alcohol instead of your appearance.

“I’m staying here for break. My family’s a little spread out, so it’s hard to pick a side.” You glance over at Dr. Mackie, hoping that answer seems somewhat believable. 

He seems to buy it as he nods, “I get that.”

You’d never seen these men outside of an academic environment, and when you finally notice their current clothing, you feel the tiniest bit better about running into them. Dr. Mackie’s wearing a navy polo and a pair of gray chinos, while Sebastian’s in a pair of black jeans and a red henley.  

Something about seeing even your colleagues out of business casual, made you feel a little special. Like you were welcomed into Chris’s friend group with open arms. Like the relationship you and Chris have could exist both inside and outside of school safely.

Or had.

“If you’re staying in town, why didn’t you answer our email?” Sebastian asks.

“What email?” Your mind is already trying to remember the last time you glanced at your school account. It must have been nearly a week. But why would you check it when clearly staring at your text messages and voicemails from Chris had been filling your weaker moments?

“The one where we reached out to every grad student and faculty member whom had nowhere to go for Thanksgiving, and invited them to a potluck in the Webster hall student lounge?”

Your eyes shift between the men nervously, “Oh, uh, I must have missed that one.”

“That’s okay,” Dr. Mackie answers.

“Well look,” Sebastian continues, “we’re going to have a lot of food, and just need people to eat it now.”

“You could absolutely just bring a bottle of wine and load up a plate.” Dr. Mackie adds as he notices the bottles in your cart. Unfortunately, he doesn’t realize you already have plans to finish those bottles by yourself, and maybe even before Thanksgiving.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.” More like you really hope you never have to leave your apartment again.

“Ah, you already have plans.”

You don’t, but you nod like you do in hopes they’ll back off. 

“Well I’m sure we’ll have leftovers,” Sebastian’s eyes become too sharp as the words leave his mouth, “so if you wanna stop by after you’re done doing whatever you have to do, you’re welcome to.” His tone of voice leaves you surprised he didn’t just outright wink at you.

But apparently he didn’t know yet. Chris hadn’t told him about your “distance.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to, but I’ll try.”

“Good,” Dr. Mackie nods, his eyes cutting to Sebastian, clearly trying to get his friend to leave you alone. You know the only time you’ve spent with him was at the faculty dinner, but inside you quietly thank him.

“Yeah, great. And you can bring anyone if you want. Thanksgiving is about sharing.” Sebastian’s eyes stay on yours, still unsubtly trying to communicate that Chris is welcome. Under his gaze, you feel a bubble of tension build in your chest, the precursor to more tears. 

“I won’t bring anyone, but thank you for offering.” You need to get out of here. You will not cry in front of Chris’s friends and colleagues. You drop your focus back onto your grocery cart, trying to stave off the warmth behind your eyes.

“You are very welcome. Seb, we should probably get going now,” Dr. Mackie swoops in for the save. “Whether we see you or not, have a good Thanksgiving (Y/N).” And he’s already guiding Sebastian away from you.

“Thanks, you too,” you call out. They don’t answer, and fortunately they round the corner before the first tear drops.

_______________________________________________________________________

You finish your last bottle of wine late on Thanksgiving. You pick up your phone and nearly dial his number, but just as you reach his name in your contact list, you picture it in your mind.

Him, sitting at a large table covered in all the traditional Thanksgiving dishes. On his right is Jennifer, and she’s beaming. This is her in her element. She’s getting what she wants because Chris won’t tell his family yet that they’re getting divorced. But your mind focuses on the space between them, their joined hands sitting on the table.

You can’t help but throw your phone across the room.

You don’t need confirmation that you’re right, that your fear isn’t imaginary. But you also don’t need to sit around calling him, embarrassing yourself with desperate voice messages that ultimately won’t help your relationship.

You know there has to be something else to fill this void.

And then pull out your laptop and start writing. And it’s a very different story than the one you’ve been working on.

_______________________________________________________________________

The rest of break comes and goes, and somehow you manage to honor the “distance.” Maybe it’s that your sadness has started becoming little pockets of anger, or maybe it’s that you’ve already cried and moped enough. 

But the first day back to classes, you go in with your head held high.

You made it this long without caving and calling, or going to see him. It’ll hurt, but you’ll make it through a class together. You end up being one of the first people in a seat, the students seem to have gotten slower since Thanksgiving break. Lethargic and ready for winter break already.

Winter break was supposed to be when you and Chris could end your distance, your weird work power dynamics would be over and neither of you could lose their job. But what used to feel like a hopeful promise felt like a drawn out execution now. If Thanksgiving had gone even vaguely how you imagined it had for him, you were sure the end was coming. 

Part of what made you love Chris was his heart, his empathy, his willingness to try to see the best in people. And while those traits hadn’t been applied to Jennifer in a while, you were nearly positive they could be again.

Tom comes in at his usual time, but sits at the end of the row behind you. You find that odd, but barely have a moment to dwell on it before Chris arrives. And his face is clean shaven.

A piece of your heart sinks, and you slip further into your chair. 

He avoids eye contact with you until after he has the presentation pulled up on the projector and the rest of the class has filed in. He takes a deep breath, his hands gripping the sides of the podium, and he looks out at the room. But his eyes seem to gloss over the break-hungover students and fall on you.

You feel yourself gulp, but you don’t look away. Not yet. His clothes are nicer, less rumpled than before break. His hair is shorter and slicked back, like it had been at the beginning of the semester. And his wedding ring seems to just catch the fluorescent lights perfectly. 

Everything but his gaze feels foreign. Almost too different than your Chris.

And that’s when you drop your gaze back to your laptop. Of course he’d been home long enough to do laundry and look like his old self again. Maybe it was for his family over break, but maybe it was for Jennifer. 

He watches you for one more moment, and then focuses back on the students. “Good afternoon, class. I hope everyone had a good break.”

Hearing his voice hurts worse than seeing him, but you straighten your spine and get through class. He does not hang his attention on you again, and the only one who seems to notice besides you, is Tom.

_______________________________________________________________________

Your office hours feel like slow torture since you’re left alone with your thoughts about Chris again. And how he looked. And how he barely looked at you.

You wish for a distraction. A student, Robert to come in, or even Tom to show up even though he’d been icy towards you recently. But you get nothing.

So instead, you work on the new piece you started over break. That piece about cycles, and circumstances. About love given, and love lost. About power dynamics and the risks you take when you ignore them. 

Office hours nearly end before you look up. 

And Chris is standing on the other side of your open door, not knocking, but not walking away. You’re not sure what to make of that. 

Is he stopping himself from rushing up to you? Or is he forcing himself to stay there until you say something, until you force him to admit what’s really happening here?

He finally meets your eyes and your heart drops. Just like it had during that awful phone call. And you knew what that meant then, and what that says now.

But you try to fight it. You tell yourself it is just paranoia.

“Hi,” you say, your voice coming out short, trying to hide its shakiness.

“Hi.” Just one word from his lips and your very marrow wants to crawl to him, pleading to forget Thanksgiving break. Forget whatever transpired then. Remember what you had before. What you could have next.

But you stay in your seat and watch him step into your office gingerly. His eyes take in the room, either looking for new evidence in support of your relationship, or looking for a distraction so he doesn’t have to say it. Or at least that’s what it looks like. 

His hands are shoved in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. And it makes this feel even sadder.  He’s resigned to this. Whatever’s coming, he doesn’t really want it. Not fully. 

You can’t take it anymore, you have to end this pointless staring. His at your office, yours waiting for him.

“So, what do you need?”

His face changes, the slightest furrow of his brows, the gentlest sigh. As if you wounded him, rushing him through this moment. A moment you were starting to want over.

He closes your office door, leaving you two alone in a room with so many memories. A room that just a couple weeks ago held what you hoped was the promise of a future.

“We need to talk,” he says, sitting on the edge of the seat across from you. You nod, but don’t say anything. Not until you know what kind of talk this is.

He stares at you for a moment, watching your face, waiting for it to change, shift into something else. But you keep your emotions away from the surface. You’ve had enough time to think about this during your distance.

He finally continues, “This Thanksgiving was tense. A lot happened. A lot was said. But the time apart helped me figure somethings out.”

“Like what?” You watch as his fingers twitch, his eyes roaming you for clues on what you want to hear.

“Like, I’m not the only one who’s been seeing someone else. She wouldn’t tell me who, but I can’t help but feel like it was her way of throwing us in my face.” He pauses, but you don’t break, don’t reach for his hand or tell him he’s right. You wait for the rest.

“And I learned that our families aren’t ready for a divorce yet.” His eyes focus on the edge of your desk. He still won’t stand up to them yet. 

He knows this isn’t fair to you. And he won’t even look you in the eye as he admits it.

“So, where does that leave me?” A fire fuels in your belly, you want to scream at him. You can’t keep living in this state of distance. That he needs to figure out whether he wants you more than he wants to avoid conflict with her and his family.

“As someone I want a future with.” He’s watching your chest now, the way your breath fills your lungs, and you hold it in, praying that he’ll just drop the other shoe. “As someone I could see myself growing old with, living a full, creative life together.”

“But?” 

He hesitates and you try to keep the air moving in and out of your body. You do not have any new breath-held wishes, everything you could ever hope for from this moment has already found a home in your mind. And it is accompanied by all your fears about this relationship, and its end. 

But the way his shoulders slump, and his elbows dig into his knees as he leans on them. The way his head now hangs in his hands. You feel that your fears are unfortunately, closer to this reality.

“But not someone I can have a now with.” 

Your heart felt it coming, and it hurts worse than you ever would have expected.

That fire is in your chest now, beating your lungs, eating the oxygen from them. Like a hit to the gut. There’s no more breath to hold. 

Was this relationship always going to be a waiting game? Or just a dalliance to fill the time?

“This time apart, this distance has already been painful enough, Chris. But I was doing it to protect both of us.”

He raises his head, and his watery eyes catch on your own, “It’s been terrible not seeing you, not talking to you. It’s been painful for me too. But it’s been for the best.”

“Best as in it protects us for our future? Or best as in it allows you to give your marriage another shot?” Will he stop trying to dance his way around this, stop softening this? You need a clear answer on where you stand, and where you are going to be moving forward.

“I- I’m afraid to say both.”

And that hits you with an overwhelming force. Your heart has sunk so far, you are not even sure you have one anymore. You just want to curl into a ball and cry. But instead, you let that fire from before crawl its way into your mouth. “So do you want me to wait around for you? Let you test the waters with Jennifer again until you're sure you want to be with me? Because that’s not what I signed up for with us.”

“I know that, and that’s not what I wanted for us either.” 

“And if I wait any longer, I’m not protecting us anymore. I’m protecting you, and your life, while mine gets boxed away. But what I want should matter too.”

“Y/N, it does,” he whispers, but it doesn’t slow you down.

“Should we still even try to be together? If you’re not sure that this is it, that I am who you should be with, what’s the point? What are we holding out for?”

All the air from the room feels like it has been sucked out. Chris is staring at you like you’ve wrecked his whole world. And inside, it absolutely feels like you’ve just ripped apart your own. But you know it had to be said. 

“Because I love you. And you love me.”

“Is that enough Chris? Because it’s starting to seem like it isn’t anymore.”

He looks at you, eyes wide as his lower lip trembles softly, but you remind yourself to hold your ground. He was the one who’d come in there to tell you he might go back to his wife. He was the one who had already planned on doing this.

“It was, it is. We just need to wait it out. See if Jennifer and Robert will leave us alone.”

“They already know, and so does probably half of the department.” You hope your words aren’t actually true, but between all the conversations you had before break, it sure as hell feels like it. “I’m not staying your secret affair. I’m not your office hours hook up because you can’t tolerate your wife. You either tell me right now that you will fully work on what we have, or you tell me it’s over.”

His eyes are searching your office again, looking for courage, or maybe an excuse. He doesn’t seem to find it, and his focus settles on your joined hands. You clench them together, a silent prayer for the truth. 

“I can’t do either of those things.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You just want a straight goddamn answer. “Chris…”

“I can’t. Because I don’t want to lose you, it hurts so much to be apart from you. But I can’t gamble with the rest of my life, my job, my family. I can’t just ignore them and run away again. It’s not working out for any of us that way.”

You want to snap that it was working out fine for you, but you try not to be more selfish than you already feel. And as well as you were making out, he is right, these last few months hadn’t been perfect. Except you don’t want perfect, you just want a promise to try. A whole-hearted attempt. 

Instead, you stay quiet for a moment, watching him, taking him in. His clearly upset features, his body perched on the edge of his seat. His words are telling you that the one fear you had grown so very close to this entire break, is real. His already established, semi-comfortable life is more important than you, or your happiness. And you had really wanted to be wrong.

“That is my answer.” Your mouth finally moves, saying what you were thinking all along. “Your inability to make a decision is everything I need to know.”

“I didn’t want this to happen (Y/N). I don’t want this to be over.” His hands reach out for yours, searching for a physical connection, a spark. Something that will help him soften this, or make you change your mind.

But it won’t. And you pull your fingers from your desk.

“Then you should have thought about that earlier, Chris. You should have considered whether kissing me in this hallway could ruin your life. That sleeping with me in your office could demolish everything. You should have decided then, if this last 3 months was worth it, to risk it all? Because I decided that then. I decided I wanted you, and this, but I knew I might regret it one day. And you’ve probably proven me right.”

Chris’s eyes latch onto your own, shock lifting his brows so gently. Like you’ve landed the final blow, you knocked him out. But this wasn’t a match for you to win. No, this was a mercy kill. You know now this relationship had to end before it sacrificed what was left of your control, and your sanity.

“I always wanted this. There’s not a single second I’ve regretted it.” His tone comes out rough, as if the anger you’ve let out finally reaches his own gut. And you hope it burns as much for him as it does for you.

“Good for you. But if you really wanted this, why didn’t you tell me about Jennifer’s sudden interest in getting back together earlier? Why didn’t you tell your family that you guys are over? That there’s no hope for your marriage, and that you’re ready to move on? Would you rather have a second chance with her instead of a first, real chance with me?”

You look down at your own hands in your lap, your fingers twisted together. And for a moment you second guess this whole conversation. Is this really how this has to go? “Or at least that’s what I asked myself over and over again during break.”

He stays quiet, his eyes shifting down, settling on his knees. They bounce as his heels tap the floor. His nerves are so raw, that he might just be finally admitting to himself, that this has reached its conclusion. That maybe this was never going to end any differently.

The words leave his mouth so quietly, you almost miss them. “So this is the end then?” 

As much as this already feels like slicing a part of yourself off, you were staying strong. But his tone, its soft resignation, it builds a heat behind your eyes. And your tears threaten to let loose.

“I’ll finish the semester as your TA, but yes. I-” the crack in your voice gives away more than you’ve shown this entire conversation. And his baby blues latch on to it, to you. A final, silent pleading. But you gulp, “I think it is.” 

Inside you are begging for him to say no, it’s not. That he won’t let this be the end. That you are more important than Jennifer, than his family, than anyone’s opinion.

He nods to himself, his eyes squeezing shut. He takes a moment to make himself accept it, and then he pushes himself up.

“I’m sorry this is how we’re ending, (Y/N). I never meant to compromise your feelings or your wants. I didn’t mean to hurt you. But I understand how my intentions have gotten lost in our situation.” He moves to your door, turning his back to you. 

You feel your bottom lip quiver as the tears in your eyes start to bleed out.

“I’m sorry too, Chris.” He hesitates, looking back at you as his hand reaches the door knob. “Goodbye.”

One more quick nod as his gaze drops, attempting to ignore your quiet sob. His fingers push open the door and he whispers, “Goodbye.”

And then he’s gone, and your office hours are over, and you want to be anywhere but here. But as you try to stand, you can’t move yet. This loss feels paralyzing. Your limbs lock in denial, your mind wants to bargain now. But you know it’s too late.

So you sit there, and cry every tear out you can, waiting for the pain to subside. Waiting for your breath to stop shaking. Waiting for you to feel confident in your choices.

And eventually, it does. And you do.

_______________________________________________________________________

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How To Be A Queen [Part 2]

Note: Part 2, so soon! I couldn’t help myself. Here we’re taking a deeper look at palace life and how Zelda copes with it. And not without surprises! I hope you like it! Also, I crave validation.

Summary: Princess Zelda is at a loss. Her handed royal responsibilities have begun to weigh heavily on her and she is eventually backed into a corner. Live a life she loathes or run away from everything she’s ever known? Navigating life is hard, and Link forces her to learn that she doesn’t have to do it alone.

Warning: Just Zelda’s antics.

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How To Be A Queen

The days preceding me weren’t much different. The winter solstice wasn’t far, in two days in fact, and they were growing longer with each passing hour. The circles under my eyes darkened and I was basically a walking zombie. It wasn’t just the preparations that were making me this way, but the long hours I stayed up coping with everything. From dawn to dusk, I have been whisked away each day to do some type of formality. I chose the drape colors for the dining hall, the menu for the kitchen, the number of candles to be at the table, and so much more I’ve pushed away for the meantime.

I stared down at a bowl of oatmeal and played with the fruit that sat of top. This is a metaphor, I thought while smushing down the blueberries, a metaphor for my brain. I haven’t eaten much of it. Mushy grains weren’t my cup of tea. It confused me why I was even dealing with oatmeal.

“Darling?”

I looked up with a start, not used to having my father at the table. The dining table was said to be cut from a large, ancient oak and the size was emphasized as I looked across at him. I swallowed my thoughts, “Yes?”

“Do you not like your food?”

He had glanced down at my bowl already and I wondered how he noticed from that far away that it was still full. Must be a father’s intuition. He put down the morning paper and looked critically at me through reading glasses. Even now, you can tell he exuded influence. He was the king after all, and you could still tell without the crown. I wondered if people could say the same about me.

“No, it’s fine,” I said, sleepily. I don’t understand why I’ve been lying about my food preferences lately, I suppose saying “fine” is better than a morning argument where I must think about my responses. I shrugged and glanced up at him again. He didn’t seem too convinced. I shoveled a spoonful into my mouth. Ew.

Finally, he looked back down at his paper.

“You know the Yiga Clan has ramped up activity again.”

My eyebrows raised. Oh, an exciting topic. “Have they, now?”

“Oh, yes. They’ve recently raided the royal banana stock to the south and left a note!” He flipped a page to the paper, not seeming particularly bothered but the tone in his voice said otherwise. I think he knows how much I loved the subject. Castle life gets boring, but any mention of danger usually got me excited. Immature? Yeah, probably.

I feigned a serious expression, “And what could the note possibly say?”

“Something about a big attack planned for the solstice. You know, Zelda,” he looked up from his paper with an amused demeanor, “Perhaps you should let your uncle know. We should have proper protection during the festival. Hyrule does not negotiate with rebels!”

The Yiga Clan is notorious for empty threats, and it’s widely known that they’re realm of influence is fear. Not action. Nevertheless, I suppressed my grin as I dutifully stood, “You can count on me, Father.”

I lifted my bowl and walked towards the kitchen. The back door led to a passage, which in turn could take me to the barracks.

My uncle was a general and reported directly to Father. Though he was the eldest, Uncle seemed to favor the art of war over politics. I don’t blame him. I set the bowl down near the sink so that the kitchen boy would be able to see it when he woke. It was still fairly early. The sun wasn’t fully in the horizon and my body could feel it. I tried blinking the sleep out of my eyes as the drapes and décor faded into stone walls. The original designers of the castle obviously assumed non-royalty didn’t need the technicalities. Feeling alone enough, I let myself fall into a daze. The zombie was back, but I don’t have the energy to care.

When I’m queen, I should really consider updating the barracks. Stone walls, the lack of drapes, not even a coat of paint? How drab. Not to mention the chill that penetrated my skirts. The path from the kitchens to the barracks weren’t exactly a secret, but they were tucked away to the point that you wouldn’t notice them if you weren’t looking carefully. That thought made me smile, like my own secret that wasn’t really a secret. Oh, well. Close enough.

I came around a bend, and not bothering to rush I peered through an embrasure that was cut out of the stone. It overlooked Castletown below as the city was waking. An embrasure wasn’t a window per say, it was built for defense long before we had the peace to afford luxuries. Luxuries being normal windows, if you look closely enough the typical window in the castle was relatively new. They were added in the last century when my great grandmother had enough of the darkness and demanded some natural light. Can you imagine not just being locked in here, but also in the dark? I felt the etched-out stone of the embrasure. I suppose I can see myself being able to aim an arrow through it, but it doesn’t exactly scream clear visibility… I wonder if anyone has ever actually used it for its intended purpose? A chilling breeze entered through it and I breathed in sharply from the shock. Goddesses, why am I here again?

Oh, to see Uncle. A gave out a “hm” and let my feet start walking before my head could catch up.

Then, I smacked into something. Something hard, I almost thought I was dumb enough to run straight into a wall until I noticed it was warm. I let out a weird noise as I doubled back and felt myself tip over. There was a shock of adrenaline and the person I crashed into grabbed onto my shoulders. Heels weren’t made for stone cracks, and it really shows.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” they exclaimed, and I caught my breath.

“It’s okay! I should be the one saying sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” and it’s true. I wasn’t expecting anyone else to even be awake.

“It’s alright. Don’t worry about it,” the man let go of me and I paused.

Wait.

I squinted, the small corridor was still full of early morning shadows.

Oh, Hylia, I shouldn’t have come this way.

He wasn’t in uniform. Instead he wore a simple white shirt with brown pants. Loose and relaxed, the complete opposite from when he was at his post. His blond hair was shaggy from sleep and stopped just below his ears. But, goddesses, he didn’t look bad. Really the opposite. The air around him was completely different. Far more comfortable, almost warm and he was probably not far from the state I was in. I felt my cheeks flush.

“Link?”

And at the flip of a switch it donned on him. Link looked almost flustered, if I wasn’t the same it would have been endearing. He opened and closed his mouth several times while looking at me with wide eyes as if I was an apparition. I never noticed how deep a blue they were, I had always thought they were a shade of gray. To be fair, it wasn’t like I was wearing a crown. I wore a simple blue dress with no frills. Other than the material, I would’ve looked like a simple kitchen maiden. It wasn’t what I usually wore, and this wasn’t where I usually am.

“Princess?”

I really should treasure this moment. What is that? Three sentences now? I swallowed and tried not glancing down at him, a thin shirt showed a lot. Has he always been like this?

Before I could speak, he spoke instead, “I apologize, I shouldn’t be here.”

He’s stiff now and looks over my head. This is annoying. He has every right to be here.

“Of course you should be. Why not?” I scowl. A sudden anger courses through me and I realize once more of my place. Always business. He’s on leave, why can’t he speak to me like he does to others?

“Because,” he pauses. I look at him critically. I know I shouldn’t, I’m doing nothing to quell this, but I can’t help it. I’m not just tired, I’m sick of the formalities. If I hear him say-

“Your Highness, I-”

“Zelda!” I raise my voice and he looks at me for a moment in surprise. It’s refreshing, but I suddenly feel horrible. I probably look like a crazy tyrant to him. I clear my throat, “Please. Call me Zelda.”

His rigid shoulders loosen. I can only assume out of confusion. He is still staring at a space above my head. I glance at my feet and apologize again, “I’m sorry, Link.”

I was probably making him uncomfortable. I bite my lip, trying to come up with the most diplomatic way to wrap up the confrontation. What would Uncle say.

“Um, well, carry on with your business.” Ew, gross, why did I say that. That sounded completely foreign, even to me. I put my face in my hands, brush past Link, and pray to the goddesses to end me quickly. The embarrassment is too much and I hurry down the hall thinking about my sins from the conversation.

 “Why does your face look like that?” Uncle glanced up at me as I walked into his office.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Why does it look weird? Did you do something wrong?”

I wasn’t going to tell him the truth and he knew it. I gave him the look and went for the door.

Uncle chuckled, “No, no it was banter, Zelda. Please, sit.” I closed the door and sat in one of the chairs. It felt like I was about to be interrogated. He was a stocky man with a full gray beard. He wore a relaxed uniform with the royal emblem. His hair was quickly thinning, but no one dare tells him. The hair was a sensitive subject. His large nose fit my father’s and luckily I inherited my maternal nose. His face was of a hardened soldier, but it was softened with a smile. Uncle leaned back in his chair lazily, “So, what do I owe the honor of being in the presence of the Princess Zelda?”

“Well, General,” a smirk cracked through as I folded my legs, “I actually come here on business.”

He gasped, making me give into a full-blown grin, “My, my, my! Business!”

“Yes, General Nathaniel, it appears my father,” she looked pointedly at him, “the King would like enhanced presence at the royal winter solstice.”

Uncle sits up and takes a pencil that was positioned behind his right ear and flips through a large book. “The Winter Solstice Celebration,” he muses to himself and stops on a page. He looks up momentarily, “The Yiga situation, yes?”

I nod and watch him think. I shouldn’t be surprised that he knows, it’s his job to know.

“I do think I can make some adjustments,” he scratches his chin, “I could call the men who are supposed to be on leave in that night.”

I pause, they would be visiting family. I purse my lips, “Is there anything else we can do?”

Uncle leans back again, “We don’t have many options. For morale purposes, I thought putting them on leave would be beneficial. However, with other factors in play I have been considering rescinding that order.”

Apparently, I gave off a displeased impression. “I’m sorry, Zelda. But the family’s protection holds precedence,” Uncle gently said. I sighed and offered a small smile, “Thank you, Uncle. I’ll let Father know.”

The day went on as it normally did. I went through the guest list with my father who tested me on every minister attending and I attended the final fitting for my solstice gown. Mrs. Bea said nothing except for when it would be completed, and for that I was thankful.

Afterward, I slipped away. I wasn’t sure if they were finished with me yet, but I needed some sanctuary. I climbed the stairs and cursed my shoes along the way. I could feel blisters forming through my stockings. I sighed loudly after ascending the last step. Dusk was settling in the sky and I wanted nothing more than to be alone. My voice was shot from speaking so much and my legs were weary.

My footsteps were heavy and loud, but I couldn’t find it in me to care. I sniffled and surprised myself. Was I coming down with a cold?

No, I was tearing up too. Why am I crying?

Now I was angry.

Stop crying you Twit, I told myself, you have nothing to cry about. I aggressively rubbed the tears out of my eyes. Stop crying. Queens aren’t emotional. Ugh, you’re always doing this to yourself. I reached for the door my quarters.

“Zelda?”

I froze at my name and looked up at Link. Was he always there? Oh, Din, of course he was. That’s like his job. He was staring at the wall like he does and for a moment I think I’m just hearing things.

“Why are you crying?” His voice is low and I can’t stop staring. A weird feeling hits me after he spoke. Happiness or satisfaction, I’m not sure.

“Oh, um,” I sniffed and tried to dry my nose with my hand quickly, “I don’t know.”

He’s silent and I think he’s not going to reply before he says, “You seem tired, you should get to bed earlier.” I blink and look at the ground. He isn’t wrong. Link shifts a bit, “I’m sorry, I overstepped.”

My eyes widen and I speak fast, “No! You’re not! I needed to hear it.”

Link glances at me, somewhat unsure but he doesn’t say it.

“Thank you,” I look away from him and open the door, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he responds, and I shut the door behind me.

That night I slept better than I did in weeks.

[araminia16]

Illness or Not? (Part 2-First Trimester) Rated T (Not an Illness After All)

“Wait, Rayla. Let me get that.” Callum hurried over to her and lifted the box in his stick-like arms. He struggled a little to put it up on the shelf and Rayla sighed softly in annoyance. She had been with child all of two weeks now and Callum as well as the rest of the male population seemed to think she couldn’t lift but a wee pinky lest she crumble like a castle made of sand. The first few days she thought it was adorable and sweet he wanted to make sure she didn’t overexert herself. Her energy level hadn’t improved with the past two weeks either though the nausea came and went at odd times.

He turned to her and his eyes widened as she took on a green tinge. He had darted across the bedroom to the lavatory as Rayla hurried before she began to heave up the contents of her breakfast. Callum took her pale hair in hand and held it back from her face as he rubbed her back in circles. The motion soothed her as the heaves subsided. He hated to see her sick but knew from what the healers had told them it should pass in a few weeks. “Water?”

“Yes.” She panted out and he handed her the glass next to him for just this situation. It never hurt to be over prepared. Rayla took a few swallows from her seat on the floor and sighed. “This little beast is already going to be punished before it’s even born.”

“It’s not the baby’s fault.”

“No. It’s yours.” She grumbled and stood as he let her hair fall back. “You and your--.” She gestured to his groin. “I wouldn’t be in this mess without that.”

“Excuse me. It takes two to make a child and you didn't’ complain when it happened. In fact I think I heard the words ‘Callum please. I need you.’ So don’t give me that.” He realized he had probably said the wrong thing when her eyes narrowed.

He didn’t wait for her to land her blow to the side of his head. “What did you just say then? I think I misheard you.”

“Sorry, Rayla. I didn't’ mean it. It’s just I’m--.” He dodged a projectile thrown his way as he darted across the room.

“Ya didn’t mean it? Well how about you carry this wee creatures inside ya then? Have it upset your stomach and breasts and make ya feel so tired you can barely keep yer eyes open? I could sit there and spout about how it takes two.” She lobbed pillows and clothes at him mostly until they both were winded. Then after a beat tears began to pour down her cheeks and she wailed. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to try to hurt ya.”

He approached then more comfortable with her tears than her rage. He managed to sit onto the bed and pull her into his shoulder as her body heaved with sobs. “Shhh. It’s okay. I shouldn’t have said that. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He rubbed her back as she wet his clothes and sniffled.

The mood swings were something they were both now used to. Her rage, then sadness, then happiness and nausea were interchangeable at the drop of a hat. Callum could usually navigate them decently well and keep her happy but there were times where he couldn’t.

“I’m hungry but the potions aren’t working to keep me from being ill. I can’t eat and I just want ta sleep but I can’t. I need ta train and keep up watch for Ezran.”

That had been a topic of discussion since her pregnancy had been revealed. Her work as a member of the Crownguard. More than qualified when she came to live in Katolis Ezran had fervently agreed to her appointment and she had more than proved her worth in the past few years to him. She wanted to continue to train and serve and Callum had some concerns about both those things.

“Will you want to guard him up to when it’s born?” He asked quietly.

“Well no, of course no’.” She mumbled into his shoulder, “Just fer now. I’m not even showing and it’s barely bigger than a seed from what they told us. The healer said I could do everything I did before.”

“I know but maybe you should think about taking a few days to rest.”

She didn’t reply and he looked down to find her eyes closed and in a light doze on his shoulder.

Callum bent down to kiss her head, “I love you.”

She mumbled something back to him as he shifted her around and laid back onto the bed with her head still cradled atop his shoulder. At least she slept now.

But as they thought the nausea had improved one day a week later they were proved wrong as every little change in motion, scent or just a stray wind had her at the lavatory. Callum sat at her side and offered her sips of fizzed water with crackers. A remedy for nausea one of the older ladies had given him. Rayla tried to take in the water she lost with each upheaval to her digestion as best as she had been able and they thought they could beat it. The tonics didn’t work and each day she weakened.

Bedridden now at a solid week of nothing but vomit Callum carried Rayla to the physician and once the healer laid eyes on her he rushed over and barked orders to his assistants. Callum couldn’t hear them for the way Rayla’s chest seemed to rise and fall too fast and the thready way her heart beat in her wrist as he pulled it up to his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Rayla croaked out to the healer. “Is the bairn well?”

Callum cared about the baby. Of course he did but the baby was nothing compared to her. Whatever this was would kill her if it kept up. “Let’s worry about you right now.”

“You seem to have one of the worse case of morning sickness I have seen yet.”

“What does that mean?” Callum didn’t mean to sound harsh but he couldn’t help it.

“It happens sometimes to mothers. No one is quite sure why. Something their bodies make too much of is the theory. Most recover with time.” The unspoken end to his sentence set Callum’s heart to ice.

“How do we fix it?”

“How long has she been this way?” The physician pinched up her skin and watched as it tented and fell back into place slowly. He took stock of her eyes, then of her mouth where she bared her teeth at him. “

“A week. I thought we were keeping ahead of it.”

“Apparently not. She should have been brought here on the third day. Has she been eating?”

Callum already felt as if he had failed as a husband and now a father in name only. “No. Of course not. She keeps throwing everything up. Water. Crackers. She’s dry and hungry and nothing comes up but bile anymore.” He half yelled as his fists clenched and the air around them sped up.

The healer put his hands up in placation as Rayla extended a weak hand to Callum to reassure him and he tried to relax.

“There are things we can do. Try hydration, a topical mixture, to attempt to contact Elven healers aside from the one who treated you before.” He trailed off and looked uncomfortable then cleared his throat. “Or the most drastic would be to induce a delivery and your symptoms would resolve after the--.”

“No.” Rayla struggled to sit up and put a protective hand over her belly. “No. I will not do that to my child.”

“You heard her. Now fix her.”

“Surely you could find some way to heal her as a mage, Prince Callum?”

“Healing has never been my strength.” Callum stroked her wrist with his thumb.

“Very well.” The healer nodded. Lycas. That was the healers name Callum remembered now.

“Thank you, Lycas.” He nodded and looked back at Rayla who offered him a smile of reassurance.

Luckily, after he spoke via ravens with the healers from the other kingdoms he crafted a hollow needle and tube connected to a bag of water with components within which should calm her nausea. Callum wasn’t sure what it all was about by Lycas seemed confident it should work.

The first day yielded little in result and Rayla continued to vomit up whatever in her stomach she attempted to eat though the assistants had to keep her arm straight as she moved.

The second day was better. She was able to drink and eat a little. The third even better and the by the fourth she had devoured breakfast, lunch and dinner and wanted more food. Ravenous had been the word of the day while Callum brought her every little morsel of food he could. Ezran came to visit a while on the second day and they joked and played cards. It was a favorite pastime between the two of them he hadn’t had much to do with. It had always been better with the three of them.

Rayla smiled at Callum. Her husband and all the love she felt for him doubled, tripled every day and she leaned over a kissed him when he seemed distracted. “What are ya thinking about then?” Her eyes were bright and her skin a healthier sheen.

“Too much.” He offered with a smile and kissed her back. “You almost died. And I can’t help but think it was my fault.”

“No. Not yours.”

“I thought about it.” He confessed softly. “To sacrifice it to save you. I thought maybe elves and humans were never supposed to have children and this was a sign.” He looked down at his hands in shame.

“I know. I was so miserable I even thought about it for a moment. A heartbeat. There’s always another way and we found it again. We are really good at it. Just look at us. An elf and human. With a bairn that could have pinkoes and horns or even a tail for all I know.”

“A tail?” He arched an eyebrow at her.

“Well. Maybe not a tail.” She laughed.

Footsteps and a throat being cleared brought their dual attention to Lycas with a smile on his face. “I am going to release you. But if you should feel even the slightest bit like you did before I want you to come here right away. Don’t wait. Until then you must rest and recuperate. I have given strict orders to the King about your well being and he knows about your bedrest.”

Callum grinned triumphantly, “See. Rest.”

She punched him in the shoulder, “Fine. Get this thing out of my arm. I want to go back to my own bed to ‘rest’.” She spat the word out as if it were a dirty thing.

“I love you.” He whispered in her ear as Lycas left after he pulled the hollow tube from her arm and covered it with a bandage.

“You too, my dumb human. Let’s go.”

XxOxX

As requested here’s a part two. I will do four parts. Each covers a trimester and then birth with some newborn stuff. I’m not sure if this lived up to the hype but I just followed my muse. There will be another chapter in a few days so just keep an eye out. :) Second trimester comes a lot more fluff. It’s more fun without all the fatigue and nausea. Trust me. 

[yodawgiherd]

Cat Maid Appreciation Day

Rating: E

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Now I know that I said that the new manga chapters usually make me write smut, but here I decided to move ahead of the curve. After all, it’s not like the suffering will stop anytime soon. Plus it fits to the plot sooo....yea....

Enjoy!

Now there were some perfectly normal explanations for the situation Eren just found himself in. First, he could be sleeping, so he pinched his arm to make sure. It stung, and no waking up followed, so that opinion was swiftly off the table. Second, he could be in the wrong house, but a quick check of his surroundings confirmed that he was either really home, or that someone had the exact same taste in furniture as he and Mikasa had. Discarding those two, the last thing he could think of was that the person waiting for him wasn’t his fiancé, but someone else entirely. Yet the figure looked exactly the same, with the Asian features, scar on her cheek, even the tattoo on the wrist was in place. Well, it seemed like that Eren was forced to accept the reality after all. This was his house, he wasn’t dreaming, and the person watching him with a slightly amused expression was no one else but Mikasa.

This realization however begged the question of what the hell was happening, because Eren didn’t remember recently saving the lives of fifty children or a litter of puppies to deserve what he saw. For reasons unknown, Mikasa seemed to go all out tonight, dressing in a way that made his pulse race. Maid dress hugged her curves, the classic black and white, with a very modest cleavage exposing next to no skin. Her long legs were covered by white stockings and following the line Eren could see that she picked black high heels to complete her set. Upon closer inspection he noticed a few more details, previously overlooked. Mikasa’s hair has grown, and she had it tied into two braids, one falling left and one right. Between them, sitting snuggly, were nothing else but those cat ears he loved so much. Sucking in a breath, Eren’s scanned lower, looking for other little things he missed, loving the outfit already. Her neck was decorated by the collar, thick black leather with a silver circle in front, standing out against the white skin. Together, the cat-maid she created was the perfect combination of hot and cute, and Eren was silently thanking his lucky stars for being blessed with someone like this.

“You okay, master?”, she asked, cocking her head to the side. It was an understandable concern, considering that he just spent the last ten minutes by simply staring at her.

“I’m great.”, he croaked, clearing his throat afterwards. “Miki, rest assured that I appreciate this, I really fucking do, and I love what you’ve done, but please, can you tell me why? All this…”, he gestured towards her, and the table behind her, all lit up with candles, “it just seems like so much.”

“You’ve been always there for me.”, she said, directing her gaze to the floor and blushing slightly, “When I’m tired or sick, or anything, you always take such a good care of me. I can’t even count the number of times my muscles ached, or I had cramps, and you just dropped everything to give me a massage to make me feel better. So now that you’ve been so tired lately, I thought that I might return the favor.”

“Well, if that’s how you feel,”, it was hard to keep the excitement from his voice, but Eren managed. Somehow. “I’m totally on board.”

“Great.”, Mikasa looked back up, smiling slightly. She took a step back, towards the table. “Shall we?”, she asked, and not waiting for an answer turned on her heel and walked to the light. Following, Eren noticed one more thing he failed to see before. There was the tail peeking from underneath her skirt, swaying with the movements of her hips.

Sitting down, he looked at the table, frowning slightly. There was plenty of food, but only one plate, as if he was expected to eat alone.

“You won’t join me?”, he asked Mikasa, who was busying herself by opening a bottle of wine in the kitchen.

“It wouldn’t be appropriate for a maid to dine with her master.”, she said, coming closer and leaning over him to fill his glass. The instinct to catch her and pull her on his lap was strong, but he forced his hands down. It was not the time for that. Yet. If she wanted to serve him like this, it was common courtesy to let her. To get his mind off her, as if that was even possible, he focused on the food, stacking his plate. True to her word, Mikasa didn’t join him, but stood at attention at the side, seemingly ready to attend his needs. The food was good, great even, however Eren did miss the playful banter they usually shared while eating, although he couldn’t deny that it was relaxing, just sitting back and letting someone else take care of everything. Finished, Eren stood up, stretching his hands over his head, feeling pleasantly tired by work, but with Mikasa like this, sleeping was rather far down on his to-do list.

“Does master wish to retire?”, she asked, ever so vigilant.

“That depends,”, Eren turned towards her, closing the distance in two steps. Reaching out, he swiped a thumb over her cheek. “Do you want to go to bed,”, leaning forward, he let his lips brush the shell of her ear, “or do you want to play?”

Oh, she hoped very much that he’s going to say exactly those words. He didn’t miss the way she shivered, or the singular word that left her lips.

“Play.”

Shit Miki, that’s all you had to say. Giving in to his needs, momentarily, Eren pressed his lips against hers, running his hands up her stocking covered thighs to cup her ass, squeezing her firm flesh. That move made her gasp, allowing him to slip his tongue inside her mouth, deepening the kiss.

“I’m going to make some changes to your costume, is that okay?”, he whispered when the control over his actions returned to him, the first taste satisfying the most pressing need.

“I’m yours tonight master.”, Mikasa’s whisper was heated, letting Eren know that he wasn’t the only one with head in the clouds, “Do whatever you want with me.”

Intent on making full use of that statement, Eren’s mind raced wild with possibilities. With an evil grin, he slipped out of her arms and upstairs, searching for a few objects he needed to complete the perverted picture his mind already painted for him. Mikasa hasn’t moved the whole time while he was gone, waiting obediently exactly as he left her. Dumping the stuff on the couch for now, Eren approached his maid, running his fingers over the fabric of the dress.

“This needs to go.”

She nodded, turning around to let him access the zipper at the back. With practiced move, he pulled it down, taking a step back afterwards to admire the way she shook her hips, making it slide down her legs and on the floor. As gentleman, he offered her a hand which she graciously took, stepping out of the crumpled cloth. With that out of the way, Eren could finally see the origins of the cat tail. To test him even further, Mikasa picked the cat underwear to dress in tonight, the paw shaped cleavage on her chest and the tailed panties, one of his favorites. To see her in, not wear himself, of course.

“Still too much?”, she teased, giving him a full turn to appreciate her efforts from all angles. It was his turn to nod, so she unclipped her bra, slowly, throwing it away, and when Eren still didn’t seem satisfied Mikasa pulled down her panties too, baring herself to him. She lost her tail, but Eren seemed happy nonetheless, signaling that he had something in stock for her. Considering that she hit him with the whole cat maid thing just about half an hour back, the fact that he managed to cook something up already showed just how good Eren was at thinking on his feet. After a moment of appreciating her naked body, because he always needed to do that, he set off towards the couch, with Mikasa quickly following, heels clicking against the floor.

“Now then.”, watching Eren rummage through the things he brought ignited a fire in the pit of her stomach, and Mikasa’s hands curled into fists at her sides to prevent her fingers from touching herself. “You have the ears and the collar, but the loss of your tail cannot be tolerated.”, he straightened, holding a very familiar thing, “Luckily I came prepared.”

All it took him was a quick tap at the cushion for her to bend over for him, leaning on it while he lubed up his fingers in preparation. Mikasa had to bite her bottom lip to stifle her moan when he pressed one inside, the familiar stretch being so welcome. Three years back, if someone told her that she will love having her ass played with, she would most likely punch the person in the face, yet here she was. Face down, bottom up, wanton sounds spilling from her throat as he stretched her in preparation for the tail plug. It slid in rather easy, filling her, the sensation very pleasant. But when she tried straightening, thinking that this part was done, Eren kept her down with a hand at the back of her neck.

“I don’t want to neglect any part of you kitty.”, he murmured into her hair, kissing the spot behind her ear, “So give me a moment.”

Curious, she stayed down, impatient to see what will come next. Something pressed against her mouth, cold and metallic, with an “Open.” command from Eren. Mikasa obeyed, letting him push it in, tracing the toy with her tongue after. Two weighted balls, connected by a string, judging from her exploration.

“You may be wondering why I put those in your mouth.”, Eren said from behind her, hands massaging her butt, “I want you to warm them up before I insert them where they truly belong.”

With her ass already occupied, it was easy to understand what he meant.

“Oh man, its so hard to measure time, right kitty?”

Normally, Mikasa would point out that there was perfectly functioning clock on the wall, but her mouth was rather busy at the moment. Not to worry, Eren already had a plan.

“I think that if you hold it for ten slaps, it’s going to be ready.”, he decided, bringing his palm down on her ass. Hard. The impact stung, but the effect it had on the plug was what really sold the idea, making Mikasa moan helplessly around the metal. He grinned.

“One.”

Bastard took his time, so when he finally finished, at the tenth, Mikasa’s rear was all nice and red, with her panting into the couch. After retrieving the balls from her mouth, now pleasantly warmed up, Eren carefully pressed them against her aching entrance, pushing in one, and then the second, very amused when she made those needy sounds again. Only now, with both of her holes full, stretched by toys, he allowed her to straighten. Needles to say that any movement was sending waves of pleasure from her core.

“Now what about these puppies.”, master’s hands were on her chest now, squeezing the pliant flesh, playing with the hardened nipples. Mikasa knew that it was only a rhetorical question, so she arched her back instead of answering, pressing her body closer to his touch, only for it to disappear as Eren returned to his bundle of wonders. The toy of his choice proved to be…. earrings?

On closer inspection, Mikasa concluded that those were no jewelry. Different from the clamps they used in the past, those were separate, one for each nipple, not ending with a chain but rather with a weight at the end, small shiny piece of metal. When Eren attached it, it pulled, the bite a bit harder than their usual jaws, nothing that she couldn’t handle though. Following the left with right, she was soon decorated like a Christmas tree, breathing heavily. All those toys and attention Eren brought her came together to a single fact. Mikasa was soaking wet right now.

“All done.”, Eren had a faint smile on his face, “Now I think it’s time to relax.”

With confused expression, Mikasa watched him sit down on the couch, picking up the remote and turning the Tv on.

“Come stand next to me kitty, I might need you.”

She followed, in slow shuffling steps, trying her best not to rattle the toys too much.

“Eyes down, back straight, “, he ordered, “hands behind your back.”

Seeing her obey, he reached out and caressed her beaten ass, lightly, before picking up the controller and turning his console on. Eyes narrowing, Mikasa finally understood. He was planning on ignoring her, letting her drip next to him, while he would play those games of his. Well, if that’s what he wanted, there’s nothing she would do, this was Eren’s evening. Just as she was coming to terms with it, the plug turned on inside her, vibrating against the muscles, making her bite back a curse. Bastard.

On his end, Eren was immensely pleased with himself. Taking the ideas he came up with and turning them against him was usually Mikasa’s playing field, but now he’s done exactly the same to her, arguably even smarter. Making him go down to his hands and knees in front of her and resting her feet on his back was a fun game, although he had to admit that being the top in this kind of play was rather amusing too. His focus on the screen was pretended, as Eren kept throwing sidelong glances at his maid, watching her squirm and writhe on the spot, the plug making her go crazy. Now now, he couldn’t allow such movements, the memory of her cane on his ass was far too fresh for that. Reaching out, he grabbed the crop, swatting it against her butt.

“I told you to keep your back straight kitty.”, another hit, “So check you posture, will you?”

Gritting her teeth, most likely holding a string of curses in, Mikasa obeyed, straightening her back to the best of her ability. Satisfied, Eren put the crop back on the couch, once again focusing on the game. From time to time he was forced to pick it up, when she sagged, overcome, to remind her to keep her back straight, hitting her not very strongly, but smart. A small sting right above her wet mound, or directing it against the nipples, next to the clamp, that got the job done. Yet there are feats that are simply impossible and playing well while your naked fiancé is sweating just a few feet away from you was one of those. He got beat, rather soundly, and the sounds of his defeat seemed to coax a reaction out of her. She smirked. A tiny thing he would surely miss if he wasn’t paying such a close attention to her face, but those movements of her body, the way she bit her bottom lip, or how her eyes fluttered shut, fighting against the pleasure, that was way more interesting than the game. And now she had the gall to laugh at him. Oh, you little…

“Something funny?”, he asked, meeting her amused eyes with an inquisitive look of his own.

Mikasa shook her head.

“No master.”

“No? I could swear that I heard you laughing kitty.”

“Must have been the wind.”

Her features didn’t even twitch, as she was lying right into his face. He surely couldn’t leave it like that.

“Come here kitty.”

She shuffled her way between his legs, looking down at him.

“Yes master?”

“I think you are lying kitty.”

Mikasa just shrugged, not even bothering to deny it.

“Kneel.”

When she did, he turned the plug inside her off. No distractions.

“Now listen,”, Eren leaned forward, fisting her hair, “I want you to get me off with your mouth now. And I’d advise you to do your best, because your performance will directly affect how hard I punish you after for lying.”

Challenge accepted, Mikasa reached out to undo his zipper, finding him exactly as hard as she expected him to be. Not much of a surprise, really, considering what she wore for the night. So, he wanted her to bring her a-game, huh? Time to blow his mind then. Angling him to the side, she trailed a string of kisses from the base to the tip, pressing one right at the head before swirling her tongue around. Seemingly obvious to her care, Eren turned the game back on, watching the screen. She wasn’t angry at that, she did the exact same thing to him, but the implication that he can still play while she’s blowing him was a direct insult to her ego, one that she wouldn’t stand for. Doubling her efforts, she sucked around him, not missing the way the Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

Admittedly, Eren fought valiantly, but Mikasa had years of training in this, and he had no chance of ever coming on top. Even with the flicking vision, he kept the game up while she worked, hollowing her cheeks around his length. But then Mikasa deepthroated him, and his eyes rolled up, the controller falling from Eren’s numb fingers and clattering on the floor with neither of them paying attention. Her head continued bobbing up and down at a steady rhythm, working all around him with her tongue, while Eren gave up, melting into the couch and closing his eyes, fully intent on enjoying her show, one hand going to the thick of her hair, fingers moving over the cat ears. The way her throat pulsed around him, how the tip of her tongue circled the head, how her hand worked the rest of his length while the other fondled his balls lightly, all that were the results of everything they did together, and it was downright heavenly.

“Kitty, I’m…”, Eren pulled on her braid gently, signaling how close he was, more of a courtesy than an actual warning. He knew that she wouldn’t pull back. After all, they worked on that together too, ever since college.

“You don’t have to do this.”, he said, watching her rise from her knees and spit to the sink, wiping the corner of her mouth with her sleeve.

“It’s fine,”, she shook her head, “I’ll get used to it.” She smiled at him encouragingly. “You never complain when you go down on me.”

“I like how you taste.”

She blushed a bit on upon hearing that.

“I just want you to know that you don’t have to force yourself, you know, if you dislike it.”, Eren caressed her cheek, “Won’t make me stop loving you.”

“You could eat more fresh fruit,”, Mikasa suggested, “I heard that pineapple helps.”

“So now I must change my diet because of you?”, he grinned, “Never knew that being in a relationship could be so taxing.”

“You don’t have to do anything.”, she pointed out, squeezing past him and out of the bathroom “But if you want me to do this more often, you know what to do.”

Ever since that day, Eren became one of the biggest fruit consumers on the campus. For his health, of course, what other reason could there be?

Pineapple and such were still very prominent in Eren’s diet, so it was no surprise when Mikasa swallowed around him again, forcing the orgasm to wreck through his body, letting him come inside her mouth with a deep growl. Not that she would admit it, but she grew rather fond of the taste over the years. The gentle massage of his jewels combined with the stimulation of her mouth didn’t stop, releasing him only after she was sure that he had nothing more to give.

“How did I do?”

Still twitching slightly, Eren snorted, slowly getting his breathing back under control. For this performance, he would very well forgive Mikasa if she burned down the whole house, but the master couldn’t appear so soft.

“Acceptable.”, he breathed out, however judging from the expression on her face he wasn’t fooling anybody. “Let’s get up to the bedroom, so I can punish you.”

Refraining from commenting, she stood up, pressing her lips together to stop another sound coaxed by that plug. But after making two steps towards the bedroom, Eren turned it on again, making her trip and almost fall, mostly thanks to those stupid high heels.

“Something wrong?”, he asked so sweetly that the words were almost dripping with honey. Straightening, Mikasa resumed her walk, with Eren just a step behind, both to catch her if she stumbled again and to admire her from behind as closely as possible. Reaching the bedroom, she stood in the middle, refusing to face him while biting the inside of her cheek, not willing to give him the satisfaction of hearing her. He came close, pressing his chest against her back, hands roaming over her front with interest.

“You’re so wet.”, he commented, tracing her dripping slit with a fingertip, but ignoring the way she tried rocking against him, denying her more contact. Instead, he moved his hands upwards, cupping both of her breasts while pressing his lips to the patch of skin on her neck not covered by the leather collar. Mikasa was slowly growing desperate, aroused beyond imagination, but all he did was drop his palms back down, fingering the edge of her white stockings, the only clothing on her body apart from the shoes. Oh, and the ears, can’t forget those.

“Maybe you should do something about it then.”, she gritted through clenched teeth, rubbing her butt on his front.

“See, I would do that,”, he pulled back, frustrating her even more, “but I have to punish you first, don’t I. Rules are rules. Now, get on the bed.”

She fell down, pressing her face into the mattress. This teasing was slowly becoming unbearable, and Eren seemed far from done. Retrieving something, he approached her fallen form, and she could feel his hand creeping up her ankle, closing over it. The hug of his fingers was soon replaced by a binding, and right after Eren moved over, tying her other leg the same way.

“Hands.”, he ordered, pulling them down between her legs and tying her wrists to the same length of metal as her legs. Finally looking down, she could see that both of her legs and arms were now secured to a singular spreader bar, limiting her movements. “Now then,”, a hand caressed her cheeks, “Let’s begin.”

The flogger came unexpected, falling on her rear in steady rhythm, the sting making her hiss a few times. But it was not enough, not for how turned on she felt right now, and Eren must have noticed it too, because the instrument soon disappeared, and a new player entered the field. The cane made a solid sound when it connected with her ass, the pain much more noticeable.

“You like that?”, Eren growled, hitting her again. Mikasa squirmed, the cuffs rattling against the spreader bar, crying out as he went on, planting another hard hit on her. “I”, hit, “asked”, hit, “you”, hit, “a question”, hit, “kitty.” Another one, just for good measure.

“Yes!”, she sobbed out, her skin on fire, both from the pain but mostly from the pleasure, as every hit shifted the toys, both radiating friction to tease her, although not enough to push her over the edge. “Eren please.”, she pleaded, hoping that he will finally get to it, but he didn’t seem done. Not just yet.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You!”

“My name. Say my name.”

Honest to god, Mikasa couldn’t be more turned on right now. She was burning, inside out, consumed by the flames that spread from her core all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes. She had no idea what she was saying anymore, screaming whatever filth came into her mind, only wanting to finally fucking come.

“Eren! Eren! Please! I’m your servant, your slave, your whore, anything!”, she pulled hard on the restraints, cuffs creaking, “Please, anything!”

“Okay, easy baby, easy.”, his mouth was at her ear again, whispering, while fingers appeared at her entrance, tugging the balls free. Mikasa almost lost it when the first one came out, and then the second, the sudden emptiness making her sob while her inner muscles clenched around nothing.

“Please…”

Eren had no reason to tease her anymore. He kneeled behind her, ready and waiting for him, all spread open and pink, glistening with her arousal. Setting his tip against her, he pushed in, one decisive movement, burying himself to the hilt inside her stretched opening. Her walls squeezed him, so eagerly, muscles fluttering around his length, it almost made him lose it. Grabbing her hips for leverage, Eren started fucking into her, slow and steady at first, circling his hips a bit to let her feel all of him, everywhere.

“More…”, Mikasa’s demands were loud, unashamed, as her mind was so clouded with desire that the very concept of anything beyond sex escaped her right now, “Harder… I need… more!”

If she wanted him to fuck her harder, he would be the last person on the earth to say no. Putting one foot on the bed, Eren sped up, thrusting deeper and with more force, until he was slamming inside with groans marking each move. The slaps of skin on skin were loud, but Mikasa was louder, moaning shamelessly every time he hit all those deep spots inside, rubbing against her in just the right way. It was more than enough. The way Eren moved inside her, combining with the vibrating plug and the bite originating from her nipples, the sensation was perfect. Finally, fucking finally the fire concentrated, making Mikasa’s muscles tighten, more and more, until she snapped, being pushed over by a deep hit of his head. She came, screaming, trashing in her cuffs, her inner walls working around him in a way nothing else could even come close to. Eren only managed to hold on because she made him come before, doing such an impeccable job with her mouth, but it was still very close. He claimed his finish after she calmed, her orgasm done, a two more thrusts were all it took for him to spill inside her scorching hot tightness.

“Fuck Miki, you make me go insane.”, he whispered against the sweaty skin of her back where he collapsed, feeling the laughter in the gentle shake of her body rather than hearing it.

After a few more minutes of collecting his strength, he pulled out, reaching down to brush a few strands of hair from her face.

“Want out?”, he asked, but to his surprise Mikasa shook her head.

“Again.”, was all she said, smiling stupidly.

“Really?”

A nod.

“Look at you,”, Eren shook his head in disbelief, “I’d never guess that you would be such a freak.”

She snorted.

“Less teasing, more fucking.”

Grabbing the spreader bar, Eren turned her around, making her flop on her back bonelessly, blinking up at him. It was lucky that she made those braids, because otherwise Eren was sure that her hair would be all over her face right now.

“You sure about this?”, he said, because she seemed rather exhausted, the way she lay on her back, legs and hands in the air, connected by the bar, and Eren was more than willing to end the game here. But all she did was raise an eyebrow at him.

“What did I say?”

Following her wish, Eren pushed back in, watching the way Mikasa clenched her teeth, enjoying the moment.

“How’s your ass?”, he panted out, knowing very well that he didn’t hold back in his punishment. Forming words was hard, especially when he was buried inside her to the hilt, the tightness very pleasurable around his sensitive member.

“It’s okay.”, she squirmed on the sheets underneath him, “Sore, but okay.”

“What about your nipples?”

“Oh..”, looking down, she realized that the weights were still there, the bite of the clamps barely noticeable over the sting of the cane on her body. “Can you take them off?”

“With pleasure.”

The release was always the best, and Mikasa threw her head back, hair whipping the pillow, face contorting in ecstasy, especially strong when the feeling of freedom was soon accompanied by the warmth of his mouth closing around one of her peaks while his fingers played with the other, switching after a while. In the same time, Eren’s hips began the familiar dance, pushing and pulling, and it didn’t take him long to get her off, much gentler now, her body still weak from the thundering first finish, a long gasp announcing his success. Eren pulled back, satisfied with his performance, watching her chest raise and fall with her breathing. Just as he reached out to the cuffs however, wanting to free her, she spoke again.

“N-No.. I need… Ass…”

“Wait,” a breathless laugh left his lips. How big was this girl’s sex drive? “seriously?”

“Just do it.”

Pulling the tail plug out, she felt empty for a second, but it didn’t last long as he pressed his member in instead, passing the loosened ring of muscle. She was insatiable, but after what she did for him, Eren would go to hell and back for her, so continuing his movements was the least he could do. Feeling that she might need a little push to finish again, so soon after the last one, he reached down to thumb her swollen clit, a gesture she appreciated with a hum deep in her throat. For a third time that night, her muscles coiled before relaxing, body shaking lightly with her finish, letting out a long-satisfied moan. There, that was just enough, and the feeling of Eren emptying himself inside her again was just the icing on the cake.

“You good now?”, he managed to ask, when his brain came back from whatever outer space her body send him to.

She was so tired that speaking was beyond her, so she decided for a nod.

“That’s good to hear.”, Eren’s fingers went up, freeing her wrists and then her ankles from the cuffs, throwing the spreader bar away from her, “Because I can’t go again, not now.”

With a hand that felt heavy like iron, she plucked the cat ears from her head, undid her collar, loosening the braids after, while Eren tugged her shoes off before rolling the stockings down her legs, making her completely and fully nude for the first time that evening. To no one’s surprise, she fell asleep on top of him at the tub, so he was left undisturbed to play with her hair and marvel just long it was. Just a bit more, and she would most likely overtake him, what a tragedy. Not that he would ever talk into what haircut she wore, but as of late, he was discovering fondness for her face framed by the shiny cascade of black silk.

“I love you kitty.”, he whispered, overcome by how at peace she looked, lost in her dreams, and even while unconscious, Eren could swear that the corners of her mouth twitched upwards.

Just a tiny bit.

[mara-twins]

3 Years - Part 2

Written by: @weird-sensation

=============================================================

Halfway through the park, you all stopped at the food stands they had laid out, and got yourselves some lunch. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until you took the first bite, forgetting you didn’t have breakfast this morning. Sat at two large picnic tables, you all enjoyed your food, laughing about the day you’ve had so far. As per usual JB is shoving big bites into his mouth, making him look like a chipmunk. Looking past Jinyoung, you see his bloated cheeks and couldn’t help but laugh.

“You know, some days I wonder how you don’t choke on all the food you eat.”

Turning to look at you, still chewing what was left in his mouth,

“I don’t know, I just don’t.”

A few minutes later, Yugyeom and Bambam went back to one of the stands and got seconds for themselves. When they returned to the table, Jinyoung had suggested everyone get up and leave. Only being a couple tables away, there was a clear view of their slightly panicked state, and all of you busted out laughing. Youngjae’s booming laugh and Jackson’s high-pitched yell-laugh could be heard from a mile away, so the two boys spotted the 6 of you and threw a fake hissy-fit. Soon enough, everyone had finished, and were now just resting, waiting for their food to properly digest before we decided to continue going on any more rides. These are the times you enjoyed the most. All of them happy, laughing, joking around with one another, just living a normal day where they aren't being surrounded by a bunch of people asking for autographs or pictures.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

 The rest of the day went by in a flash, and all you could remember was the pain in your stomach from not resting long enough before getting on the next coaster. Luckily your food stayed down, and you were able to have fun. The 8 of you were walking back to the car, only getting slightly lost, not remembering where exactly you parked.

“I think we parked on the left side.”

You announce, looking at JB for confirmation, seeing as he was the one who parked it in the first place,

“That’s right. We parked next to a light post with flags on it.”

Turning your heads to the left, you can make out a light post with colorful flags waving in the late afternoon breeze. Piling back into the car, and not too long later, a few of the guys had fallen asleep. Yugyeom was cramped up against a window in the back row, with Bambam laying on his shoulder. They looked so cute when their mouths were shut. Next to Bambam was Jackson, and he was on his phone with his head resting on the other window. In the middle row was Youngjae, Mark and you. You wanted to give the two boys the outer seats, in case they wanted to take a nap too, but once Youngjae had sat in his seat, Mark rushed to take the center, leaving you with the window. In your head, you thought he was being nice, giving you the option to comfortably take a quick nap on the ride back, but in actuality, it was because Mark wanted you to sit next to him, but not next to Youngjae. Finally, in the two front seats were JB and Jinyoung. They were sort of watching over the other kids the entire time, turning around every once and awhile to make sure everyone was okay. They could be such parents sometimes.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

 Arriving back to the dorm, was the moment your heart started pounding even louder. You were SO excited to give them their presents. Turning around, you shake Bambam’s leg, letting him know that it was time to wake up. Slowly he regains his consciousness and he pats Yugyeom’s chest, waking the other boy up from his dream. The youngest boys were now awake, and climbed out of the back seat. Youngjae was the last one in the car, and you noticed it as you were walking away. Shaking your head, and letting out a small giggle, you go back to the car,

“Cupcake, time to wake up.”

He grumbles a little, but turns his head to look at you,

“Thank you.”

You return a smile, outstretching your hand to grab his. Fingers clasped together, you both re-join the others as you were all making your way back up to their dorm.

“He isn’t a child, you don’t need to hold his hand.”

Mark spoke as you all were almost to their front door,

“I know he isn’t a child, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hold his hand. Is it a law I can’t hold one of my best friends hand?”

You use your free hand and grab one of Mark’s.

“There, you can stop being jealous.”

You clearly meant it as a joke, but he jerked his hand out of yours,

“I’m not jealous. Hold his hand, I don’t care.”

Youngjae looked at you and had a puzzled look on his face, but all you could do was shrug your shoulders, because you didn’t know why he was cranky either.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

 Jinyoung had opened the door and waited for everyone to enter, before he shut it behind the last person,

“Who wants to watch a movie or something?”

Jackson asked, already flopping down onto the couch and grabbing the remote. The guys made a collective sound of agreement, but went off to go change first.

“Well, it’ll take Bambam a year to remove his makeup, so while he’s doing that, I’m going to go pop by my room.”

You didn’t know what excuse to use, so you didn’t give one yet.

“What for?”

Jackson asked again.

‘Ugh, it would be Jackson to be a little nosy’,

“Hm? Oh, the lady at the front desk wanted to check with me on how I was enjoying the room, and if I needed anything. Uh, this morning I had missed her, so I just wanted to go back and let her know how everything is.”

‘Gosh, that was a terrible lie, literally no one is stupid enough to believe the words that just spewed out of my mouth’,

"You’re going to walk all the way back to the hotel, just to let a clerk know you’re enjoying the room, and then walk all the way back here just to walk all the way back there AGAIN when you leave for the night?”

‘Oh my goodness, shut up Jackson!’

“Duh… I’m being nice. If Bambam hadn’t needed an hour to change this morning, I would have been able to tell her.”

“Why are you blaming me!? Sorry for trying to look presentable to the people.”

“Bam, no one was even looking at you today.”

JB said as he emerged from the kitchen with a bottle of water in hand,

“You don’t know that.”

“So you’re saying since we didn’t take as long as you to get ready, we didn’t look as good as you? Are you saying we didn’t look good? Are you calling me ugly? Oh my gosh Bambam how mean! Be right back!”

You shout as you practically sprint for the door, hands slipping off the handle a bit from how sweaty they were.

‘That was, by far, the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Come on, you’re a great liar, “No we don’t have any more in stock.” “Your baby IS the cutest I’ve ever seen.” “Of course I’ll get my manager because OF COURSE I wasn’t trained for this position when I was hired, but you’re right, I DON’T know what I’m doing.”’

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

 Speed walking back to the hotel and grabbing the bags that were hidden inside the closet, you rush right back out.

‘I hope they don’t question why I said all that stupid stuff back there.’

You thought, as you wait for a cross-walk sign to turn green. In record time, you made it back to their door, but place the bags onto the floor to take a quick breather,

‘I should lay off the extra cheese for a bit.’

After you took a moment to catch your breath and picked up the bags, you just barely managed to get the door open with your hands being so full. It needed to be pushed open, so you turned around and used your back to open it enough for you to walk through. Luckily, they had an entrance where you couldn’t really see, unless you were standing right next to it, which gave you a few extra seconds to close the door and get your shoes off, before they saw the bags. Slipping off your boots, and sliding your feet into the slippers they had always left there for you, you stick your head out from around the corner to see everyone sitting on the couch.

“Hey look, the weirdo is back.”

Bambam said, as he pointed to you,

“What was that all about?”

You sheepishly smile,

“Oh ha-ha, ignore that.”

Taking a quick scan of the living room, you count all seven boys sitting there, attention now turned to you and away from whatever the TV was playing,

“You wanna pause that for a second?”

You ask, nodding towards the noise that was coming from the TV. Jinyoung hit the pause button, disregarding the movie that they were watching. Taking a deep breath, you step in front of the seven of them,

“Okay. Now, I’m going to say some things, and it is sort of embarrassing to say to all of your faces, so please don’t interrupt me.”

They slowly nodded their head, puzzled by what was going on,

“I think she was referring to you Jackson.”

Youngjae quipped, already starting to laugh, and he was about to retort, when you cut him off,

“I wasn’t picking out Jackson, I meant it for all of you.”

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

 Taking in one more deep breath, you begin what you had planned to say to them.

“Okay, so, I don’t know if any of you remember, but today marks the 3rd year of our friendship…”

As you were leading into your next sentence, you could see the realization sink into their faces, they hadn’t remembered, but that was fine, most people don’t.

“3 years ago today, the seven of you had walked into the restaurant where I had been working, and the entire time I was your waitress, I was so incredibly nervous. I had never met you guys, but your music meant so much to me, so to have you all sitting at my table, was nerve-wracking. I didn’t want to embarrass myself, or say something stupid, so whenever I left to go take care of something else, I’d go over what I just said to you in my head, making sure everything was normal. I didn’t think we’d become friends after that, I didn’t even think I’d ever have to opportunity to see you guys in person again, I thought I had used up my one chance right there. Weirdly enough, you found something cool about me, that you wanted to hang out when I wasn’t taking orders from you.”

A few slight chuckles emitted from some of them, while the others had a fond smile on their face,

“Little did I know, that going into work that day, would lead me to gain seven amazing friends. The first couple of times, I wont lie, I thought I’d only be friends with some of you. Mark, JB, and Jinyoung, you guys seemed standoffish when we’d talk, so I assumed you three didn’t like me. A few hangouts later, Mark got more comfortable, but the two of you still seemed iffy about me. I understood completely, you guys are idols, so it’d hard to know if people have the right intentions when they’re around you.”

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

 Everyone else still had smiles plastered on their faces, but the smiles on JB and Jinyoung had faded a bit, which led you to believe they were remembering the days you were talking about. JB opened his mouth but closed it a second later, realizing what you had said before you began your speech, that you didn’t want to be interrupted.

“I’m not sure how you felt about me the first few months, but what ever it was, I’m glad that we’re friends now. I’m glad that I can hang out with all of you, instead of just half of you, and have the other half hate me. Your friendships have meant the absolute world to me these last three years, and I know that no matter what I do or say it will never fully express how appreciative I am of you seven. You are all so wonderful, so amazing, so kind and thoughtful, and so so so full of love. I love and adore each and every one of you for being my friend for three whole years, and I hope we can continue being friends for many more. It doesn’t come close to how thankful I am to you guys, but I hope it shows even the slightest bit of adoration.”

Turning towards the door, you grab the seven bags and hand them to the corresponding person.

“I’d like for you to open the card first, it explains a lot more than I could say in front of you all.”

They hadn’t even opened their cards yet, but you can see the looks on their faces, already wanting to get up and hug you.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

 Each of them carefully opened the envelope that held their card, and they all began to read it. You tried to express as much as you could in each letter, and tried to keep them roughly the same length, so they could all open their gifts around the same time. After they all finished, they tried getting up to hug you, but you shook your head,

“Mh mh, open your gifts first, then we can hug.”

You spoke as you sat down on the floor, watching them tear through the wrapping paper like kids on Christmas morning, leaving a pile of shreds on the floor. Seeing the thoughtful gifts you had gotten them, is when it started. Well, when Jackson started it. He sniffed so loudly, trying not to cry all over what you bought him, so he decided now was the perfect time to put it back in the box and go squish you in a hug until you couldn’t breathe. One after the other, they all got up and gave you a body crushing hug, thanking you for what you said to them inside the card and out, and for the wonderful presents you got them. They also apologized for forgetting what today was, but you reassured them that it wasn’t a problem at all. Mark was the last one to hug you, he was so incased in his gift, that he couldn’t even get himself to get up. If you were being honest with yourself, his did take the longest to get. A lot of time and effort was put into his gift. Multiple e-mails and phone-calls between you and a bunch of people were exchanged in order for you to find and get his present, and on some level, you think he knew, because of how long he hugged you for.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

 After that whole emotional ride, you all sat down and watched a few movies, and ordered in. They kept saying how bad they felt that they didn’t get you anything, but you kept reassuring them that it was fine and that you didn’t want anything from them, and that if they didn’t shut up you would kick them in the leg until they did. They promised you to take you out to dinner the next night, just as a small thank you, and when your fourth year came around, they’d buy you a gift as meaningful as the ones you got them. The amount of times you turned down their plan to get you a gift was more than you can count.

“Guys, seriously, I don’t want anything. Plus, if you all got me a gift, that’s seven gifts, I only got one for the each of you, which means I’d have to go and buy each of you six more each and I’m too broke for that.”

After an hour of commotion, they dropped the topic, once you brought up calling their mothers and complaining to them how annoying their sons are being.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

 It was now around midnight when you decided to head on back to your room, the sudden need to sleep washing over you. Youngjae had offered to walk you back to your hotel, but Mark told him that he would do it, and for the younger boy to go get some rest. Putting on your boots, the 6 of them walked up to you to give you one last hug, and to mumble yet another thank you. They were all such precious little kids, and you couldn’t help the overwhelming ‘Proud mother’ feeling you had, so when each of them pulled away from their hug, you kissed their foreheads and patted their hair a bit,

“So cute”

you whispered each time. When it was Youngjae’s turn, he kissed your forehead in return and patted your hair just like you did to him,

“So cute.”

Before you could say anything, Mark was ushering you out of the front door and down the hallway. You were just exiting the main door, when he cleared his throat,

“Can I ask you something?”

You turn your head to look at him,

‘What kind of dumb question is that, of course he can.’

“Of course you can, you know that.”

It took a minute for him to speak again, and when he did, you let out a fit of giggles,

“Do you have a thing for Youngjae? Like, more than a friend?”

After you stopped laughing at his ridiculous question, you answered him truthfully,

“No. He’s a great friend, but that’s all he is to me, a friend.”

He let out a small sigh, nodding his head,

“Good, that’s good.”

Your brows furrowed, not knowing what brought the question on,

“Why is that good?”

“Oh. Uh, I just don’t see you and him together like that, you know. I don’t think you’re his type.”

He looks over at you to see squinted eyes looking right at him,

“I’m not his type? Am I that bad?”

“No no no, you aren’t bad at all, I just meant that I don’t you two would be a good couple.”

“What possessed you to ask me if I liked him?”

Tucking your hands into your jacket pockets, you look over to the street, now starting to think if there was something wrong with you, and that’s why he was relieved that you didn’t like Youngjae, because he didn’t think you were good enough for his friend,

“Well, you always hang around him. Always calling him cute and stuff, you know, things girls normally do when they're flirting with their crush. So I figured you liked him.”

You shook your head, he was so far off,

“Understandable, but no. I only see him as a close friend. I just always gravitated to him more, we just get along really well, that’s all.”

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

 A few minutes of silence pass, when you spoke up,

“Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t think your Youngjae’s type either.”

You started laughing and soon he joined in too,

“Yeah, I don’t think we’d make a good couple. Wait…then what is MY type if I’m not good enough for the sunshine of our group?”

The two of you continued to laugh, and as it was dying down, you replied,

“Well, she has to be loyal. You’re away a lot, so she needs to only have eyes for you, even though you’re thousands of miles away. She needs to know how to fully trust you, because idol life is stressful enough as is, no one wants their partner to always accuse them of cheating.”

As you're speaking, he nods his head along with each word, looking up at you every couple of seconds, to let you know he’s listening.

“She needs to be a good cook. You may not necessarily be looking for her to cook, but you need her to, trust me.”

“Why is that?”

“You love to eat! When you come home from a long day of practice, or you’ve gotten back from a tour, you’ll want nice homecooked meals. You can’t have delicious home cooked food, if the girl burns water.”

Again, the both of you laugh,

“I also see her being talkative. I know you’re the type of person who sometimes just wants to sit there, but you also want to have company. So, she’ll come home, and tell you about her day, even if she’s complaining about a co-worker, you’ll still look forward to that because you’ll enjoy that she’ll talk, and you can just listen.”

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

 By now, you were more than half way to your hotel when he stops you before you cross the street in front of you,

“Do you really think those things that will be in a girl that I like?”

You nodded your head, a small smile growing on your face,

“I do. You’re a great guy, so when I think about what type of girl you’ll date, I think those are some of the things I see about her.”

“There are more?”

“A few, yes, but I won’t go further into detail.”

It was his turn to nod, linking your hands together as you crossed,

“You know, I see her being friends with the guys, I wouldn’t want to have to split our time because they don’t like each other. I also think she’ll be really cute, so much so, that every time I see her, I’ll want to just squish her face and let her know.”

Turning to look at him, you ask him if he had thought much about what type of girl he’d be with.

“Sometimes, yeah. When I’m just scrolling through my phone, I’ll think about how I’ll meet her, or how I’d ask her out. Then I think, if I really liked her, I’d probably wait awhile to tell her because I’d be nervous…”

A few more moments of silence passed, and you finally arrived at the front doors,

“Mark, can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course.”

“I was the girl I was describing.”

“You were the girl I was describing too.”

[zrtranscripts]

Radio Abel, Season Six

Part 6 of 6 

Parts 5 and 6 take place after S6M24, "Mother's Little Helper"

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hello, citizens. If you've just tuned in, we're getting ready for our first -

ZOE CRICK: Slightly delayed.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - our first slightly delayed edition of Recipes on the Run, the cooking show for the post-apocalyptic world.

ZOE CRICK: We've been collecting recipes from our listeners and from our favorite Abel residents. Well, the ones who don't give everyone food poisoning when it's their turn to make the goulash. I'm looking at you, Maxine Myers.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We won't be telling you to julienne the asparagus or add in a drop or two of truffle oil because we know you've got as much chance of finding a bottle of truffle oil these days as you've got of bumping into Britney Spears, and she went zom so long ago they think she might have been patient zero for the entire continental United States.

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] No, we'll be looking at the everyday, mundane ingredients every cook needs.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, not actually those, because you can't find them on the shelves anymore. All the normal stuff's been taken. Packets of nuts, Campbell's cream of mushroom soup. Those are as rare as hen's teeth these days.

ZOE CRICK: I heard the last tin of baked beans in the entire country got eaten last Wednesday somewhere in Warwickshire. Whoever you were, I hope you enjoyed them.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So today we've got a recipe for you using an ingredient you can still find on the shelves, a lot.

ZOE CRICK: Yes. We'll be giving your our recipe for tinned swede with bacon-flavored instant baby formula sauce. Stay tuned!

ZOE CRICK: Okay, the first step is to take the package of bacon-flavored instant baby formula, and then wonder why the hell anyone would want bacon-flavored instant baby formula. Seriously! The apocalypse didn't happen a day too soon if you ask me.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Next, you need to get the swedes open. It's a little-known fact that tinned swedes are the national dish of -

[door opens]

AMELIA SPENS: Morning, everyone.

ZOE CRICK: Amelia? We're right in the middle of a broadcast.

AMELIA SPENS: Yes, yes, I do follow the schedule of Fort Canton broadcasts, thank you. And I could hardly fail to notice that you kicked me out of bed so early this morning.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Um...

AMELIA SPENS: You can lose that tone, Philip, unless you also want to lose your weekly ration of... whatever it is that you like. I'll find something.

ZOE CRICK: Amelia, what are you doing here?

AMELIA SPENS: Don't mind me. Just carry on with whatever you were doing.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Okay. Yeah. So tinned swedes and...

ZOE CRICK: Baby formula?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah. I, um... [sighs] It's no good. I can't do it while she's staring at me like that.

AMELIA SPENS: If it helps, I'm staring at you, but I'm thinking about other things.

ZOE CRICK: What might help is if you explain exactly what you're doing in our radio shack. If it's not too much trouble.

AMELIA SPENS: Isn't it about time you played a song? No, no, don't worry. I'll just put one on for you. Here we go.

ZOE CRICK: Right. Listeners, apparently Amelia's here because she has an announcement to make. Apparently, Amelia doesn't believe in warning people first.

AMELIA SPENS: You generally seem to like it when I surprise you, darling.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Please stop.

ZOE CRICK: Yes, please do. You're upsetting Phil, and I like him more than I like you.

AMELIA SPENS: [laughs] Yes, imagine if you started to like me. Doesn't bear thinking about. Anyway, top tip for listeners: over the years, I've found it's much better not to announce your arrival, if possible. It's less likely people will try to stop you doing what you want.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We still could.

AMELIA SPENS: People find it a lot harder to say no to someone's face. It's a terribly British thing. They find it embarrassing.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] Fine. You can make your announcement.

AMELIA SPENS: There you are, you see? You know you shouldn't let me have my way, but you are because it would be too embarrassing to confront me with quite how brazen I've been. It's very interesting, anthropologically speaking. Perhaps we could have someone start a show on this sort of thing. I tell you what, let's add a moment of suspense. Play a song.

ZOE CRICK: Right. And now you're going to tell us why you're here, or I'm going to take you by the scruff of the neck and physically throw you out.

AMELIA SPENS: I thought you didn't want us to do this in front of Phil. Have it your way. The truth is, I'm on a bit of a recruitment drive.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: What for? Your crack team of... of... of really irritating... people?

AMELIA SPENS: No. For Fort Canton. I'm trying to sort out some of the problems I've inherited. Under the previous mismanagement – honestly, it really was quite egregious - the population rather fell away, so I'm looking to expand.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Right. [sighs] And I suppose coming on our show does actually make sense.

AMELIA SPENS: I'm certainly not doing it for my health.

ZOE CRICK: And who exactly are you hoping to recruit?

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, you know. A few good people from around the country. I say good. That may not be the right word. Ambitious? Hard-working?

ZOE CRICK: Conniving? Back-stabbing?

AMELIA SPENS: I don't like to pre-judge. I've always been a woman who takes people as they come. Luckily for you.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: And maybe after this next song, you can tell us why anyone would want to work with the most untrustworthy woman in the country.

ZOE CRICK: Funnily enough, that song always makes me think of you, Amelia.

AMELIA SPENS: I'm not entirely sure you mean that as a compliment.

ZOE CRICK: Good.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Do you two actually even like each other at all?

[speaking simultaneously]

ZOE CRICK: No.

AMELIA SPENS: Don't be ridiculous.

[speaking in turn]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Right. Uh, so what are the selling points of the New Canton -

AMELIA SPENS: Fort Canton.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It'll always be New Canton to me.

AMELIA SPENS: But that's precisely the problem. Too many people in Fort Canton and elsewhere have been living in the past. The old world is gone for good. People need to wave it goodbye and move on. And that's what I plan to be doing, and what I'm looking for people to help me achieve. To build a brighter tomorrow on the ruins of yesterday.

ZOE CRICK: You make it sound so noble, which is ironic since you're the most cynical woman in England.

AMELIA SPENS: Whereas you're always such an idealist, of course.

ZOE CRICK: I always forget how loathsome you are

AMELIA SPENS: I always forget how judgemental you are. You're a terrible hypocrite!

ZOE CRICK: And you're a monster.

AMELIA SPENS: I've got half an hour to spare right now.

ZOE CRICK: Me, too. Phil, can you mind the fort?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: What? You're not going to - you just called her a monster!

ZOE CRICK: Needs must. Back soon. Bye!

[door opens and shuts]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Zo! [sighs] Right. Um. They've gone. They've gone to... mm. Right. Um, uh, here's a little number to get them in the mood! Not that they seem to need it. At all!

BERNARD PRIOR: This is Bernard Prior on Fort Canton Today, keeping it really, really real! Even more real than – oh, I can't get away with that. This is Bernard Prior on Fort Canton Today, with news, views, and how do you do's? Oh, maybe that's too silly? This is Bernie P. on Fort Canton Today, in your ears despite my years! No, that's too weird. This is Bernard Prior on Fort Canton Today with... oh, you know, the usual stuff.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hello, citizens. This is Radio New Hope, bringing you all the news from all around the country.

ZOE CRICK: First up, there's been some exciting developments in Kidderminster.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Have there?

ZOE CRICK: No, not really. I just like saying Kidderminster. Although apparently, they have opened a zombie petting zoo there.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: They haven't.

ZOE CRICK: No, they have. The zombies are declawed and defanged, obviously. And chained up. I think they might also have had their salivary glands and voiceboxes removed.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: But why?

ZOE CRICK: So kids can see them up close and realize they aren't that frightening.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: But... they are frightening! Kids ought to be frightened of them! Teaching your kids that zombies are harmless is a terrible idea.

ZOE CRICK: Well, that's Kidderminster for you. We'll be back with the latest from London right after this.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: There's been an announcement on Rofflenet from the London council of boroughs. Uh, after weeks of bitter conflict, the Democratic Republic of the Isle of Dogs has agreed to become a London borough. However, it continues to refuse to sign up to the Camden Human Rights Accords and will continue using flogging and the stocks as its primary methods of social control. And in other national news, the Lake District has announced it's opening itself up to tourism again!

ZOE CRICK: Good luck with that one, guys. I hear you've got a thousand zombies per square mile up there.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, but there's a cure now. People actually could go. Tourism could be a thing again.

ZOE CRICK: Yeah. I suppose they could go without dying. On the other hand, is Scafell Pike quite as scenic when it's covered peak to foot in shambling decayed corpses?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Good point. In other news, Cornwall's barred all visitors whose names begin with W, and experts predict that Liverpool should stop burning sometime in the middle of next year.

ZOE CRICK: We'll be back with something a little more heartwarming right after this.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: This is a story about kittens, isn't it?

ZOE CRICK: It's not a story about kittens.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Is it a story about cats?

ZOE CRICK: Nope, definitely not.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: And by cats, I mean all cats. Lions. Tigers. Cheetahs. The works. Oh, and meerkats, as well.

ZOE CRICK: Meerkats aren't even cats.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So this is a story about meerkats.

ZOE CRICK: It's not about meerkats, either.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: But it's definitely about animals, and not human beings, isn't it? Because you never describe a story about human beings as heartwarming.

ZOE CRICK: It may be a story about baby bats.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Baby bats?

ZOE CRICK: Yes.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Do bats even have babies?

ZOE CRICK: Yes, obviously. What do you think they do, reproduce by cloning themselves in little bat labs?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I thought they laid eggs.

ZOE CRICK: They're mammals.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Really? I thought they were lizards.

ZOE CRICK: Lizards? At least if you'd said birds, it would make some sort of sense. I've... [sighs] Forgotten what I was going to say now.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You can't remember the heartwarming story about bats?

ZOE CRICK: You distracted me. Play a song, and maybe it'll come back to me.

ZOE CRICK: What's your least favorite word?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I thought you were going to tell us a story about bats.

ZOE CRICK: I've forgotten it. It was something to do with people feeding tiny bats from tiny bottles and then wrapping them up in tiny blankets.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I think that might just have been a dream you had.

ZOE CRICK: Anyway, what's your least favorite word?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Embourgeoisement.

ZOE CRICK: I've literally no idea what you just said.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Embourgeoisement. It's the process by which working class people join the middle class and assume its values. My sociology professor used to say it all the time.

ZOE CRICK: Of course she did. And of course you had a sociology professor.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I don't know why, but it used to really irritate me. She always used to say it in this incredibly smug way, like she personally invented it. And she used to do it in this stupid fake French accent. Got on my nerves so much, I had to stop going to the lectures eventually.

ZOE CRICK: Please tell me you failed the end of year exam because of how much the word embourgeoisement irritated you.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I did, actually. Had to retake it the next year when I had a different lecturer. He used to talk about the Thatcherite hegemonic project a lot, which was only about 29% as irritating. Anyway, what's your least favorite word?

ZOE CRICK: Oh, I was going to say gusset, but I can't say it now. It'll make me sound like a pleb.

BERNARD PRIOR: Welcome to Fort Canton Today! And now on the program, my occasional cohost and full-time glorious leader, Amelia Spens, is here to discuss issues of the day.

AMELIA SPENS: Hello Bernard, listeners. Lovely to be here. Thanks for having me on the airwaves.

BERNARD PRIOR: Oh, don't mention it. You did invite yourself, after all.

AMELIA SPENS: True. Now, I am delighted to let you know that we have a new trade pact with the Hugger-Muggers, The Wombles, and Archway 12, which means a new supply of tinned food, including spam, kidney beans, and dolphin-friendly tuna. All reasonably priced, but we do expect to sell out today, so run along, chop chop.

BERNARD PRIOR: Oh, that is jolly. It's nice to have some good news for once. And I do love a tuna sandwich. Fresh wholemeal, slice of cucumber, sprinkle of salt. The perfect teatime treat.

AMELIA SPENS: I'll have one sent over. Now -

BERNARD PRIOR: I was just wondering, though. Any news on a trade deal with Chalk Valley?

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, good grief. Every time. I promised you a tuna sandwich!

BERNARD PRIOR: It's hardly the same. One set of papers. One person. After all I've done? You promised you'd look into it.

AMELIA SPENS: And I have, but it's complicated! They don't issue travel papers without coercion. Word is they are just as worried about people leaving as they are about people getting in. [sighs] I can do it, but I'd need intel on Chalk Valley's leader, Big Nigel.

BERNARD PRIOR: Surely you have some. It's you.

AMELIA SPENS: Bernard -

BERNARD PRIOR: I know that face. You do!

AMELIA SPENS: Maybe I do, but I need to use it for the correct -

BERNARD PRIOR: Millie, I sheltered you from the jigsaw mob.

AMELIA SPENS: I don't think that was as serious as people made out.

BERNARD PRIOR: Oh, come on. What would Elle Woods do?

AMELIA SPENS: Play a tune. I need to think.

BERNARD PRIOR: Well? Don't keep old Bernard on tenterhooks. Have a heart, Miss Spens.

AMELIA SPENS: Okay, fine. I have a little information that Big Nigel was part of the Psychoanalysts Enclave's LARPing group.

BERNARD PRIOR: [sighs] Um... wait. What?

BERNARD PRIOR: LARPing, eh? Is that compromising?

AMELIA SPENS: Not on its own, but as you know, Chalk Valley has a strict isolationist policy.

BERNARD PRIOR: Oh, I do know.

AMELIA SPENS: The Psychoanalysts LARP takes place outside the Chalk Valley boundaries. If he's still playing -

BERNARD PRIOR: He's sneaking out! Just like all the citizens of Chalk Valley are banned from doing.

AMELIA SPENS: Quite.

BERNARD PRIOR: Ahoy-hoy to thee, fair listeners. How utterly magnificent it is to have you here. The weather is quite pleasing, isn't it? And I have a tuna sandwich, which is delicious. You would think, sweet listeners, would you not, that old Bernie would be in heaven. What with my sandwich, the perfect amount of fine sea salt, delicious Jaffa Cakes for afters, and of course, all the tea I could drink. But the fact is, as many a man before me has discovered, such riches are not but ash without someone delightful to share them with.

BERNARD PRIOR: One question, Millie. What on earth is LARPing?

AMELIA SPENS: It's essentially running around in a wood pretending to be an elf.

BERNARD PRIOR: Gosh, how rum. Do people do that on purpose?

AMELIA SPENS: Of course. It's not the kind of thing that happens accidentally. Full elf costumes, usually, too.

BERNARD PRIOR: Well really, I'm quite taken aback. Truly there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in my political philosophy radio show.

AMELIA SPENS: It's an entertainment show, but yes. Quite.

AMELIA SPENS: So here we have it, B. A draft agreement that states that in return for not dropping leaflets all over Chalk Valley telling residents about Big Nigel's breaking of state lines, Chalk Valley will begin the process of allowing some free movement between itself and the Common Alliance of Independent Territories. That's what we're calling it now.

BERNARD PRIOR: Not the Free State Coalition? I liked that. Rather punchy.

AMELIA SPENS: No, no. Too punchy. Sigrid didn't like us calling ourselves free states. Implies things about the other side of the wall she didn't appreciate.

BERNARD PRIOR: Like them not being free at all?

AMELIA SPENS: Quite.

BERNARD PRIOR: So what? What can she do about it?

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, Bernie. Sigrid has a lot of weapons. Do you want a drone whizzing in here and flying up your trouser leg?

BERNARD PRIOR: She's capable of that?

AMELIA SPENS: She's capable of anything, B. Anything.

ZOE CRICK: So it's a lovely bright sunny morning. The birds are singing, the clouds are as fluffy as cotton wool, and Phil bloody Cheeseman is nowhere to be seen. Yes, before you ask, I've tried his room. Either he's not there or he's not answering the door. You know what I think? I think he went on an unauthorized date last night. I had a special schedule all lined up for him, hand-picked by me.

I'd even warned them about his excessive love of prog rock. I put a lot of work into it, and admittedly, the first four didn't go brilliantly, but I was refining my parameters. Anyway, we'll see how well the date he picked himself went, won't we? Hopefully after this song when he drags his ass in here.

ZOE CRICK: Nope. Still no sign of him. [sighs] I'm beginning to think the date actually went well, which is good. I mean, it's definitely good. But also, who is this person? And where did he find her? I've literally made a list of every single eligible person of any relevant sexual or romantic orientation in Abel and the seven surrounding statelets. Okay, that's not true. But it's not not true.

How could Phil possibly have found someone to date without my input? He's barely capable of deciding which socks to wear in the morning without asking me. I'm not even joking! He comes in here barefoot with three or four pairs and asks me to choose. Anyway, Cheeseman, this one's for you! Wherever the hell you are.

ZOE CRICK: Well, this is getting ridiculous. I suppose I'll just have to do Recipes on the Run on my own. At least we've had a really good one sent in by a reader involving quail's eggs and - [door opens] Phil. And what kind of time do you call this?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Sorry, Zoe. Sorry, citizens. Sorry, world!

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] Date went well, then?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh my God! Zo! It's amazing!

ZOE CRICK: Oh, amazing, was it? This mystery date with this mystery woman?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah. Um... I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it, only uh, I wasn't sure how it was going to go and I didn't want to jinx it.

ZOE CRICK: You thought telling me about it might jinx it? Hm, charming.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No, not all that. Only you've got to admit, every date you've arranged for me so far has been a total disaster.

ZOE CRICK: Just because they didn't turn into long-term relationships doesn't mean they were a disaster.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: One of them walked out after five minutes because I told her I didn't think Pierce Brosnan was that bad as James Bond.

ZOE CRICK: Hmm. To be fair, that is one of your silliest opinions.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Anyway, I just thought I'd try branching out on my own for a bit. And Layla, this one's just for you.

ZOE CRICK: So I suppose you're going to refuse to tell me about it, and I'll have to go around asking everyone in Abel Township until I finally find someone who happened to see you while you were out to tell me all the gory details. Not that that's what I've done for your previous dates, obviously.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Sorry, Zo. Not this one.

ZOE CRICK: I suppose if this one went well, you want to avoid upsetting her by blabbing on air.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No, that's not it. I asked Layla, and she said she didn't mind me telling you. She said she'd listened to the show, and she knows what you're like, and she knows you'll get it out of me anyway.

ZOE CRICK: Hm. She said that, did she?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah. She also said she knows you're my best friend, so of course you're going to want to know.

ZOE CRICK: Oh.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I'm still not going to tell you, though. Sorry, but I'm not.

ZOE CRICK: Why?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Because it's... it was our first date and it was really special and I like that it was just us.

ZOE CRICK: First date. Implying there'd be more?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We're seeing each other again on Thursday.

ZOE CRICK: That's... that's really good. I'm glad you met someone nice.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah. Me, too.

ZOE CRICK: Although I'm going to take the mickey out of you about it relentlessly for the next month. Possibly three.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah. I know.

BERNARD PRIOR: Listeners, this is quite an exciting moment for the show! I am patched live to the negotiations between Chalk Valley's Big Nigel and Ms. Amelia Spens of Fort Canton and the CAIT. Let's listen live.

AMELIA SPENS: Yes, but if you could just stop just for a moment. I mean, come down from the tree. And if I could speak to you, the real you, not Cowslip Blossom the elf. [foliage rustles] Well. That costume doesn't leave much to the imagination.

BERNARD PRIOR: It seems things are going slower than I imagined. Let's have some music.

BERNARD PRIOR: Really? No success?

AMELIA SPENS: Sadly, none. Of course, this program only reaches Chalk Valley through covert channels, but he'd intercepted the broadcasts that mentioned his LARPING. However, instead of suppressing them as I'd imagined, he told the people of Chalk Valley that LARPing was essential training and that his participation in such endeavors with the dastardly forces and powers outside the valley was, in fact, an act of extreme bravery. I will say, there is something brave about impersonating Cowslip Blossom the elf. Seriously, that costume was eye-watering.

BERNARD PRIOR: Whose eyes? [laughs] Yours or his?

AMELIA SPENS: Both.

BERNARD PRIOR: Oh. Listeners, some appropriate music for this solemn occasion.

BERNARD PRIOR: Margot, oh Margot. If only we could find a way to be together, rather than so cruelly adrift in the post-apocalypse. Zombie hordes have a lot to answer for. Dear sweet unattainable Margot.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hello, citizens. We've got our regular guest back today, Jody Marsh, former Commander in Chief of Abel Township. Hello, Jody.

JODY MARSH: Hi.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Jody's back with us to discuss the current nationwide water crisis, and what you as individuals can do about it.

ZOE CRICK: Boring.

JODY MARSH: I know water's not exactly thrilling, but we do sorta need it to live.

ZOE CRICK: Yeah, blah blah. Basis of all life on earth, overconsumption, and draught, blah blah. But wouldn't you rather talk about Phil's new girlfriend?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No, because she's an actual grown-up with grown-up responsibilities. So Jody, about this water shortage -

JODY MARSH: Hang on, you've got a girlfriend?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Do you have to sound that surprised about it? Anyway, water shortages -

JODY MARSH: Forget about the water! Tell me about this woman. Who is she? What's she like? What's her job? Where does she live? If you know her shoe size, you can tell me that, too.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Give me strength.

ZOE CRICK: I think that might be their song.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No, it isn't.

ZOE CRICK: Really? You were humming it all day yesterday with a silly grin on your face.

JODY MARSH: Don't tell me you're in love! Oh, Phil!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We've only been on five dates.

ZOE CRICK: That wasn't actually an answer. Also, the fact you're still calling them dates is adorable. Oh, and talking of... didn't I see you out on a date yesterday, Jody?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, thank God.

JODY MARSH: Maybe. But I think it's time we got back to the important water shortages currently affecting the country.

ZOE CRICK: Nope. What's sauce for the goose, etc. So you and Tom De Luca, eh?

JODY MARSH: Honestly, there's nothing to tell.

ZOE CRICK: No, of course. Nothing except all the gory details. That's a very handsome man you've got yourself. I want dates, frequency, and durations. Marks for artistic merit would also be appreciated.

JODY MARSH: There's none of that, Zo. I'm asexual.

ZOE CRICK: Really? How did I never know that?

JODY MARSH: It never came up. It's not like Abel has a regular Pride march where you'd see me up there waving the ace flag.

ZOE CRICK: I can see why someone might not be into sex.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Really? You wouldn't think so, from the amount you talk about it.

ZOE CRICK: Oi. To be fair, it is one of my favorite hobbies. But it's also faintly ridiculous and frequently squelchy. I can see why someone might not like it.

JODY MARSH: It's not that I don't like it. I used to do it and it was totally fine!

ZOE CRICK: If it's only fine, you're not doing it right.

JODY MARSH: Believe me, I tried all the variations. One-night stands, people I loved. Men, a couple of women. It was always perfectly okay. Kind of like eating lettuce. Nothing wrong with it, but no one sits there going, God, I'm really craving some lettuce right now. It's just the bit of the salad you eat because it always gets served along with the actual nice bits. That's how I felt about sex in a relationship. If they wanted sex and it made them happy, then it was no skin off my nose.

ZOE CRICK: That's... that's not how you should be feeling about it. You should never feel like you've got to do it because the other person wants it but you don't. Never. Ever.

JODY MARSH: Don't worry. No one put any pressure on me. I just thought that's what you did. But I worked it out eventually. Took me ages, because I used to assume everyone felt about sex the way I did.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Really? But people are always going on about how amazing it is.

JODY MARSH: Exactly. It was so over the top, I thought they must be lying. But now I've found someone who... likes me the way I am! And it's great. Tom, he's a... he's a great guy.

ZOE CRICK: This one's for you, Tom. For treating our Jody the way she deserves.

ZOE CRICK: Oh my God, that's given me an idea.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, there we go.

ZOE CRICK: No, listen. It's sensible, for once. Abel Pride.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Blimey! That actually is a good idea!

ZOE CRICK: Right?

JODY MARSH: It's bloody brilliant! When we win, when we beat Sigrid, that's what we're going to do. We're going to hold a massive great Pride right here in Abel.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You can march with Amelia, Zo.

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] Can you just imagine? Amelia waving a rainbow flag and chanting, "We're here, we're queer, get used to it."

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I'd pay good money to see that.

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] She'll probably pay someone else to march for her. Anyway, you and Layla can come to support us.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, that'd be good. It's definitely time you met. I think you two would get on like a house on fire.

JODY MARSH: Maxine and Paula and Sam can bring Sara. They can dress her up in a little rainbow dress!

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] And we'll raise a glass to Jack and Eugene.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: There you have it, citizens. Abel Pride, and everyone's invited. Keep listening to find out more.

[kaitemariz]

#BaKaiteList: Hong Kong Day 1 and 2

Lots of Firsts in my 2nd time in Hong Kong

Finally blogging about my (somehow) recent trip to Hong Kong! Let me warn you as early as now that this is going to be one helluva long blog post. To those of you who’ve already visited my blog before, then you know that I always write long posts because I always got lots to say. And to those of you who are visiting my blog for the first time…now you know! HAHA! The K.I.S.S (Keep It Simple, Stupid!) principle isn’t very effective to me.

I’ll be doing a series of blog posts for our Hong Kong trip. First is this one, Hong Kong Day 1 and Day 2. Second will be specifically about our budget, itinerary, expenses, and all other details that I think would be helpful when you’re planning your HK trip. I think this is the blog post that would be highly interesting to you since I’ve been receiving a lot of messages already asking me how I booked our hotel, the commute, food, etc.. Third is about Hong Kong Day 3, 4 & 5. Lastly, a blog post dedicated to all my DISNEYLAND photos! I swear this is what I’m really excited about. LOL

It’s only my 2nd time to leave the country. My first was back in 2012 wherein I also went to Hong Kong. I was with my family back then (but went home solo, ahead of everyone) but now I went with my love, his cousin – Ate Karen, and his cousin’s boyfriend – Kuya Mark. It’s by far the fanciest double-date I’ve ever experienced. HAHA!

Fun fact: It was my love’s first time to leave the country! Was he nervous? Well, I could tell that he was but he was really good at hiding it. (LOL Hi, Love!).

I experienced a lot of firsts in my second time out of the country. First in my list is financing my entire trip expenses – from plane tickets to pocket money. I’ve always had my parents pay for everything all my life so you have no idea how fulfilling this trip for me is. 

The main reason why Barry and I decided to go on an out-of-country trip was to celebrate our 3rd anniversary. We chose Hong Kong because since it was Barry’s first time flying out, we wanted to go somewhere one of us has already been to and where at least one of us personally know a resident or a local. I’ve already been to HK and my Tito Bobet has been working there for – if I’m not mistaken – a decade now (he’s one of the first dancers in HK Disneyland!! Cool, right?) so obviously, HK is the only option! LOL

Plus, I really think that it’s the perfect and most convenient “practice destination” for Filipinos who are flying out for the first time. No change in time zone, the weather and neighborhood are pretty much the same, so on and so forth. 

Barry and I arrived first in Hong Kong. Our flight was at 7 in the morning while Ate Karen and Kuya Mark’s flight was in the afternoon so we just met with them at the hotel. We stayed there for a total of 5 days and 4 nights. For our itinerary, it was entirely a DIY made by yours truly. I made sure that our itinerary isn’t that full because I don’t want us to be running like headless chickens because we have a train or a bus to catch. I wanted us to have ample time to enjoy every tourist spot in our list.

First that Barry and I made sure to settle was our hotel room. We booked our rooms through www.Booking.com. We didn’t know how to reach our hotel for confirmation so we just put our full trust on Kuya Mark since he vouched that the website’s legit. LOL!

Luckily, it really was. Another website added on my travel-trusties list!

(for full itinerary details, please wait for my Hong Kong blog post Part II)

We stayed in Silka West Kowloon Hotel. It is located in Anchor St., Tai Kok Tsui, Hong Kong. About 10mins away (by walk) from the night market and about 3mins away (by walk) from the Olympian MTR station, Olympian City Malls, and the HSBC Centre. The neighborhood was fine. It felt like we were only in Binondo and it was like we’re living like a local. Just a block from our hotel, there’s a Shell gas station, 7-11, Mcdonald’s, and lots of really good local restaurants.

Our agenda for the first day was just settle in in our hotel and familiarize ourselves with the neighborhood and most importantly the transportation. And of course, gain all the energy and tons of good vibes that we will be needing for the entire trip. HAHA!!

We also went to check the night market on our first day. It was quite a long walk and we only had a map (yes, a traditional a.k.a printed map that we got from the airport) to help us since most locals aren’t so good at communicating in English. Unfortunately, stalls were closed that night I think because they’re preparing for the peak of the ghost month which is the next day, Sept. 5th. There were incense and fruits on every corner and on every stall in the night market.

The night market with stalls on the street is located in the same area as the one shown in the photo above but in a different street, it’s in the Tung Choi Street. It’s a looooong stretch of stalls. It was super duper tiring to go shopping in that kilometer of stalls. I swear I could hear my feet cursing me when we went there. LOL! The one in the photo above, it’s the part of the night market that I like. We had to keep coming back here almost every night because Ate Karen and I can’t help ourselves with all the makeup and skin care products! My personal favorite is the Sasa store! So many super affordable products. I think I hoarded a lot of face mask sheets. LOL! The stores here are open until 11pm. The “Sneaker Street” is also located here. Just be careful when buying shoes though. There are a lot of replicas which really look a lot like the original shoes.

As for the stalls in the Tung Choi street, it’s very much similar to our very own Divisoria. I didn’t bother buying clothes there because we got better shops here in Manila and it’s also the same price, some are even much expensive.  If you’re planning to go shopping in the stalls in the night market, I got a lot of tips for you. Let’s go on the positive first.

NIGHT MARKET TIPS!!

1.       Make sure you’re wearing super comfy shoes. I was wearing my go-to sandals and I thought they’re gonna break right then and there.

2.       Put your haggling skills to test! If you don’t know how to haggle, then you better bring with you your master-haggler friend. I thought my haggling skills are already major but my competitive boyfriend just can’t help putting up a good fight. He was able to buy a 150 HKD bag for only 20 HKD!! Ugh.

3.       Always have a change with you. You can’t haggle and say “no more money” or “not enough money” or “out of budget” and hand the seller a 500 HKD bill, right?

4.       Every seller is your Pengyou (Pangyaw)! Every seller is your friend! I noticed their bright smiles and positive reactions to tourists calling them Pengyou. Besides, it’s a plus if a foreigner knows a word or two in your language, right?

5.       To my Filipino readers, listen to this. They know the word “Ate”, “Kuya”, and most importantly, “MAHAL” and “MAGKANO”! So you know what to do? Hehe don’t fail your haggling ancestors!

Now let’s go to the cons side. You better keep these in mind.

1.       As much as possible, don’t ask for the price of the product if you’re not so decided to buy it. Of course we would want to know the price first before buying, right? But the sellers easily get pissed off. I got told “Always ask, always ask! Don’t buy!” and got the hand gesture of being told to go away. Yeah, kinda rude.

2.       A number of sellers were – sorry for this – rude. Some are really really rude. In my experience, I was checking on these cute purses and the lady seller were saying something in Chinese and was putting the purses inside the plastic bags I was carrying. When I told her that I wasn’t going to buy a lot, just one, she didn’t take this lightly and got a little mad and told me to go ahead and buy somewhere else.

3.       Here’s my scariest experience in the night market. Barry and I were looking at a really nice toy (Barry’s a huge toy aficionado. He got a huge toy collection). When we found it too pricey (we forgot how much it costs exactly), we just smiled and politely said “Okay, thank you.” (this is what we usually say if we’re not going to buy) and walked away but the lady got so furious! She followed us and grabbed me on my right arm, saying something in Chinese and dragging me back to her stall. All I could understand is “How much?! How much?!” I think she was asking me how much would I like to haggle for the toy. But since I was already scared of her, I repeatedly said no and this got her more furious. She held on my arm much tighter. For a moment, I felt weak because I was shocked. My arm was really red for a while but I got no bruise. So to those of you who’re planning to go shopping in the night market, please be really really cautious.  

4.       This isn’t my personal experience but it’s something that Ate Karen witnessed when we were shopping in the night market. Another tourist (she’s not sure of the nationality) was shopping for slip-ons. The lady was trying the slip-ons on display first and asked for a new stock of the pair that she wants to purchase. After checking the new stock handed to her, she gave it back to the seller so the seller could put it back in the box and put it in a plastic bag. Ate Karen saw the seller put the on-display slip-ons in the plastic instead of the new stock while the lady tourist was busy checking out other slip-ons. The poor lady had no idea that the pair of slip-ons handed to her wasn’t new at all. So please be mindful when shopping in the night market.

After all, I guess we always have to be extra cautious when travelling, right? Just always bring with you an open mind when travelling. Keep in mind that their culture could be different from yours so as a tourist, you’ll definitely have to adjust at all cost.

Day 2: DISNEYLAND!!

For our 2nd day, we allotted this entire day just for Disneyland. We booked our tickets through www.Klook.com. I was kinda hesitant to try Klook since I haven’t tried it before and I don’t personally know anyone who has already tried it but since I’ve been seeing a lot of good reviews online, I tried my luck. Plus, Barry’s sister said that Klook’s office is in the same building as their office so that’s added security for me since I know where to protest once I get scammed. HAHAHA!

If you’re planning to go to Hong Kong Disneyland anytime soon, I highly and strongly and seriously recommend that you book your tickets through Klook. We were able to avoid the long ticket ques and went straight to the entrance of the park. We just showed a printed copy of our voucher and into the funland we go!  

You can either print your klook voucher or save it in your mobile phone.

We all felt like we were 10yrs old again. Bestest double date ever!!!

  They say 1 day isn’t enough to tour the entire park but since I got an architect with me, it’s expected that he’s really good at “planning”, so he plotted our entire Disney itinerary on-the-spot. He just has his map and his marker. We were able to try all the major attractions in the park. Can’t wait to post my Disneyland photo diary!!

Magical place with my “magic”. (Only the two of us know the really cheesy reason why he’s my magic. Haha!)

It’s a dream come true! A huge fill to our #BaKaiteList. Can’t find the words to describe how I feel. My tummy’s filled with rainbows and bunnies and butterflies.

Will save up all my Disneyland stories for the last leg of my Hong Kong blog post series! 

We ended our 2nd day by having dinner at a local restaurant just a block away from our hotel. We were all tired and starving, we didn’t bother documenting our dinner. Bad blogger, Kaite! Bad blogger! HAHA!

But thanks to my memory for serving me well and of course to my dear friend, Google, I was able to find out the location of the restaurant.

I was able to remember correctly the name of the resto, it’s Mak’s Kitchen! It wasn’t fancy but it was really nice, clean, and the food was to die for especially their iced milk tea!! For the price? It wasn’t expensive at all! Just 40-50 HKD per meal, the average price per meal in Hong Kong. The serving was huge too, per meal was good for two. Big serving per meal is actually usual in Hong Kong. Just like other local restaurants, the attendant wasn’t really good at speaking in English so you’d have to point the photo of the food you’d like to order but we didn’t have a very hard time since the attendant was nice and the (we think) owner was there to assist. We all highly want to recommend it also because the owner was so nice! He actually gave us free desserts.

It’s located in Li Tak Street, Tai Kok Tsui, Hong Kong.

That’s it for the first leg of the Hong Kong blog post series! I’ll try my very best to finish the part two ASAP for those who are messaging me regarding our trip budget, itinerary, expenses, etc..

Hope you liked Part I! ‘til the next one!

Ciao!

[redqueen-hypothesis]

thaw ➳ helios (mlqc)

➳ PAIRING: reader x helios (mlqc)

➳ WORD COUNT: 2188

➳ GENRE: injured! helios, fluff

➳ SYNOPSIS: helios breaks into and enters your house. you break into and enter the walls he’s put up.

➳ REMARKS: i clearly cannot write for helios, also, i have no idea what i was doing. spoilers for chapter 17+

A crash from your living room startles you awake.

Still half asleep, brain not quite running at a functional speed yet, you lie stock still in bed with the covers drawn up to your neck, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if you’d simply imagined the noise. A few seconds later, however, there’s a sound of something heavy hitting the floor outside your bedroom, a little muffled but still too loud to be anything imaginary, and goosebumps prickle down the back of your neck as you let out a little ‘eep’ of fear.

What’s happening? Had the wind from the window blown something over? Or had a burglar somehow gotten into your house? You swallow, trembling slightly at the thought as your mind runs wild with scenarios from previous crime programmes that you’ve filmed and all the cold murder cases Gavin has told you about. What if you end up a victim just like one of them?

Heart thudding wildly in your chest, part of you wants to just stay buried under the covers like this, the thick blankets at least providing you with some false sense of security, but the sheer need to know just what is happening in your house refuses to leave your mind like some sort of relentless itch. You slip out from under the covers carefully, reaching under your bed to grab the first heavy object your fingers wrap around before inching towards the bedroom door with caution in every step.

Pausing for a moment, you press your ear against the door. Completely silent.

For some reason, that just makes the trepidation all the more potent for you. Unable to take a second longer of this, your fingers wrap around the doorknob and pull delicately.

The door creaks open, alarmingly loud in the dead silence of the night. Concluding that any advantage of surprise you might have had is now flushed down the drain, you decide to throw all caution to the wind and leap out into the darkness of the living room, raising your item above your head menacingly.

“Hands up, intruder!” You yell, with as much aggression as you can muster.

No one responds.

Confused, you glance about the living room. There doesn’t seem to be anyone inside the apartment with you, and what seems to have made the earlier noise is-

“Oh no!” You yelp, dismayed. The gardenia plant Lucien had given you a few weeks ago is lying on the floor, its flowerpot cracked down the middle. The wind must have blown it over somehow, you reason with yourself as you step towards it. The weather forecast last night had predicted a possible storm with strong winds, so it’s no wonder that-

You pause midstep, a frown forming on your face.

You had closed the windows before going to bed last night precisely because you’d read the weather forecast. So if the windows were closed, how did-

You whirl around in horror, raising the object in your hands once more as realisation hits you, but it’s already too late. An arm snakes around your middle and tugs you hard against a solid chest, while a hand clamps hard around your mouth the second you try to scream for help. Flailing, you drop whatever you’d been carrying and struggle in your assailant’s grasp, and the person behind you lets out a sharp hiss of pain when your elbow strikes their side.

“Stop moving, idiot.”

Your gasp of surprise is muffled against the palm of his hand, you know this voice.

“Don’t scream,” the intruder warns lowly as he releases his grip on you. You spin around to get a look at him the second you can move, and the pale moonlight that lends an almost ethereal gleam to his silver hair confirms his identity for you in an instant.

“Helios!” His name leaves your lips in shock. You have to rub your eyes twice to make sure you’re not really dreaming, and even after you do so, you just can’t seem to find the words to ask him what he’s doing here. “You... What are you... Wha-”

“What were you even planning to do with this...” He grunts, glacial blue eyes glancing down disdainfully at the object of your choice for defense - a heavy binder of past proposals that had been rejected by Victor. In spite of the situation, you find your cheeks flushing.

“I was panicking, okay?”

Before you can find the opportunity to explain yourself, however, Helios lets out a sharp groan and sags to his knees before your eyes; you barely manage to catch him before he hits the ground hard. He’s too heavy for you to hold up in spite of your best efforts, so all you manage to do is slow his collapse to the floor. “Helios? Helios!”

“Shut up... you’re loud...” He waves off your frantic concern with one hand, but even in the dim light of the moon you can make out the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead and neck, his jaw taut and a pained glare on his face. “Just let me lie low here for a couple of hours and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Completely ignoring him, you tug at the white winter parka he usually wears to reveal the tattoo inked onto his right arm, yanking it down so that you can inspect him for injuries. Sure enough, the second you do, you catch sight of crimson staining the inside of his parka, the bloody gashes across his biceps. “You’re bleeding!”

“It’s just a scratch, nothing life threatening-” He tries to brush it off, but you’re already up and running into your kitchen to fetch a first aid kit. Helios groans in resignation as he settles against the wall, shaking his head and holding one hand to the wound at his side. “Shouldn’t have come here.”

“You shouldn’t even have gotten hurt in the first place!” You rush back to his side with a white box clasped firmly in your hands, kneeling next to him and inspecting his wound carefully, hands gentle as they probe at his side. “I can’t clean your wound properly like this... take your shirt off.”

“What.”

Too impatient to wait for him, you grab the hem of his skintight shirt and lift a pair of scissors to the material, snipping away before he can stop you. “Why is it that every time you visit, you’re hurt like this? I thought you were supposed to be some highly skilled assassin...” You mutter under your breath. Helios rolls his eyes at your words, but you can see the pain he’s trying to play off behind that indifferent facade.

“You weren’t meant to know that I was here.” He grunts, but otherwise staying still as you cut his shirt in half. This brings up conflicting emotions in you, on one hand, you’re glad that he at least trusts you enough to take care of his injuries, but you’re also upset that he’s hurt like this. “I was just going to steal your first aid supplies and patch myself up, but that stupid plant on the windowsill got in the way.”

“Don’t talk about Garda like that. Now I’m going to have to repot her... if she isn’t dead.” You scold, pulling the fabric away from his skin. Now that his shirt is off, you try the best you can to ignore the lean, defined muscles of his chest and inspect the injury where most of the blood has come from. A clean cut through skin and flesh at his side, dark red oozing slowly from it. “Oh my god, what happened?”

“None of your business-” He begins, but you uncap your bottle of hydrogen peroxide and pour it liberally on his side before he can stop you. The second the strong disinfectant hits his wound, he lets out a shout of pain, almost curling up on himself. “Ow! Fucking hell, that stings like a bitch, you-”

Your glare is about as terrifying as his. “I said, what happened.”

“... got knifed,” is all he mutters very unwillingly, but you consider that a victory, because he’s speaking to you at the very least. Resolving to be more gentle this time, you soak a cotton pad with disinfectant and proceed to dab carefully at the edges of the wound to clean off the blood and grime, brows furrowed in concentration. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me how you got knifed in the first place?”

“No.”

You let out a sigh, shaking your head at his stony reply as you reach for the box of butterfly bandages in your first aid kit. Luckily for him, the wound doesn’t seem to be too deep after all that cleaning, and you’re not sure if you’ll do him more damage if you attempt sutures on him. “You break into my house in the middle of the night, scare me out of my wits, break my flowerpot, make me treat you... the least you could do is tell me what happened.”

“I didn’t make you treat me.” His blue eyes bore sharply into yours, a slight scowl tugging at his mouth. “Don’t expect any thanks from me, busybody. Keep your nose out of my problems next time before you get dragged into them as well. I’m not going to save you when that happens.”

“You’re as naggy as an old granny.” You hum, completely ignoring him and leaving a pat on top of his silver hair. Now that the most serious wound at his side is done, you move to cleaning the gashes on his arms, which are similarly bloody but not worryingly deep. “If you want to break into my house again, at least bring some nice food with you. I get hungry when I get woken up in the middle night.”

He glares at you. “Are you even listening to me?”

“And that’s the best I can do!” You say loudly over his words, dusting off your hands as you do a once over of his body. With no more visible wounds in sight, you gently put your hands under his arms to help haul him to his feet, even as he protests with all manner of curses and some very unsavoury remarks, before steering him to lie on the couch. “Now, Helios, we need to set some ground rules. As much as this little relationship we have is very fun and interesting-”

“We are not in any relationship!”

“–it is also very illegal! Breaking and entering is a big no-no, and it’s against the law. So, I have come up with a solution!” You turn around and rummage in a nearby cabinet for a moment, before you pull something out from the drawer and hold it up to light.

Helios squints at it, not quite understanding whatever antic you’re pulling this time. Exhaustion is tugging at his eyelids, his will to leave seeping away along with his wakefulness. Must be the blood loss. Or the comfort of your too small couch. Or maybe... just maybe, the familiar ramble of your voice. Either way, it’s not a good thing, he’d meant to make it back to headquarters before the night was over. “That’s... a key. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Exactly!” You beam brightly, opening up his hand and pressing the key into the middle of his palm. The grooves press into his skin, as if he’s holding the key to unlocking himself instead. It feels uncomfortable in his hand, but his fingers close around it on instinct. “It’s the key to my apartment. Next time, you can enter through the door, and not by less law-abiding means.”

He doesn’t tell you that he could unlock your door in a matter of seconds with the right tools. Instead, he only holds the key up, studying it wordlessly until your smile turns a little awkward. “Well, I mean, you don’t have to.” You tack on hurriedly, reaching to pluck the key from his grasp. To your surprise, however, he pulls the key out of your reach before you can so much as touch it, tucking it in the pocket of his pants.

“Your security is shitty anyway.” He says, before turning over so that you can’t see his face. Pouting a little, you stick out your tongue at him behind his back before you rise to your feet, intending to get him a blanket so that he can spend the night. Just as you’re about to step into your bedroom, however, his words stop you in your tracks.

“What do you want?”

You tilt your head back to look at him in confusion. “What do I want...?”

He glances up at you slightly, silver hair falling into icy blue eyes that seem to have just thawed ever so slightly. “For supper, you dolt.”

“Oh.” You say, and then suddenly you’re smiling so hard that your cheeks hurt. “Fried chicken.”

“So basic.” He mutters under his breath, but you only smile and throw a blanket over him.

“Goodnight, Helios.”

When you wake up the next morning, he’s already gone.

[beckinichols]

The Toddler Food Fight

Before becoming a Stay at Home Mommy I was working as an Executive Assistant to the Office Administrator at a Law Firm. Part of my job was planning meetings, parties and events. I loved this aspect of the job because it allowed me to be creative and as a person who has an eye for detail, it was a dream come true. I had no idea that the most frustrating part of this job would be planning and ordering meals for hundreds of attorneys during various events and meetings. With dietary restrictions, pickiness, and overall high maintenance of various individuals planning these meals went from something that was fun to something that became quite tedious over time. I’d wait on pins and needles to hear the feedback after each meal, it went from “nice work that was delicious!” (thanks for the compliment, I worked really hard not cooking) to “that was the WORST meal I’ve ever had” (really, the WORST? My, you’ve lived quite the charmed life… haven’t you EVER eaten at White Castle?) 

Anyway, I quit this job when I became pregnant because I was told to reduce stress in my life.I had no idea that planning meals for hundreds of high maintenance attorneys would prepare me for my future as a Stay at Home Mom! My little Tiny Tyrant is about 1000% times more demanding than the adult tyrants I used to serve and has no problems letting me know exactly how he feels about everything that I feed him… and these are meals that I actually cook so my feelings are kinda hurt…I work hard on these meals, not just ordering them! If you ever would have told me that hands down the most frustrating part of raising a tiny human would be meal time, I would have never believed you. I would have argued it would be sleepless nights, diapers, tantrums… not something as glorious as food! 

Day to day it’s a constant struggle between me & my 30 pound boss. Let’s walk through what I like to call “The Toddler Food Fight” My kiddo wakes up, “Milko Mama” this is his way to telling me he’d like to start his day off with a refreshing sippy cup full of an ice cold childhood classic, whole milk (barf… when you’ve found about a dozen sippy cups hidden throughout your home with milk still in them at various stages of the curdling process “barf” is the only word I can use to describe whole milk) About 30 minutes later, my darling boss turns to me and says “Sak Mama” this is toddlerish for “Mother, it would be most appreciated if you’d make me a nutritious and delicious breakfast” Never one to disappoint the boss, I hustle into the kitchen and prepare him a breakfast complete with cheerios, fruit, applesauce, nutrigrain bars, waffles, yogurt and occasionally eggs. An important part of the Toddler Meal Process is finding the exact right plate and sippy cup. As the saying goes, “Hell hath no fury like a toddler given the wrong plate and cup” Typically for breakfast we settle on a Mickey Mouse shaped plate. After handing him a full plate, usually complete with Mickey Ears filled with snacks and cereals, he takes a minute to examine the plate. I think his internal monologue goes something like this: 

- Mickey Face area filled with main breakfast entree… check

- Left Mickey ear has sufficient amount of cheerios … check

- Right Mickey ear filled with Honey Bunny Graham Crackers… check

- Look at mommy and smile briefly, I’m just going to wait until she turns around… yep there she goes… grabs handful of main entree, puts in mouth�� wait a second… is she trying to pull a fast one on me…. WE HAD THIS YESTERDAY! Spits food out and throws on the flood. I’m going to let her know EXACTLY how I feel about this. *Takes another handful and throws on floor… raises tiny hand “POUCH, Mama… Pouch” 

I should take a second to explain. My child is going through what I am calling the “Astronaut Phase”. His main source of nourishment comes from babyfood/childfood pouches, while the rest of his food floats to the floor effortlessly. I should have purchased stock in these companies before having a child. He eats roughly two with each meal, of various varieties… he does prefer the ones that are endorsed by Sesame Street characters… he trusts Elmo & Big Bird way more than Mommy. I don’t blame him, they have kind eyes and never scold him for trying to play with outlets. 

Anyway, after giving him a pouch he usually eats one or two cheerios. ONE or TWO pieces, he then spends a good five minutes playing with the bunny crackers before pushing the plate away. “Are you done, sweetie?” I ask kindly (the frustration I felt prior has gone away after watching the adorable bunny play he just put on with the crackers) “AHHHHHHHH!” he responds when I try to take the plate away. “Sorry, you aren’t done?” “AHHHHH!” swatting my hands away from the plate, only to push it away further. I assume, this means he wanted to declare he was finished on his own terms. Okay, you’re the boss, applesauce. I unbuckle his booster seat, and grab his plate, taking what remains to the trash… while I mutter under my breath, “You’ve won this food battle, my friend… but Mommy will win the war” As if, I need to promise myself a future victory to make this meal blunder not seem like such a loss. 

The next phase in the “Toddler Food Fight” is snack time. This is the bosses favorite time of day because “Snack” means Goldfish crackers, and Goldfish Crackers are not only delicious but they are orange and fish shaped. So much fun to swim around and play with. SO much more fun to break into tiny pieces and leave ALL OVER the house! I am constantly vacuuming up Goldfish crackers. I’ve seriously considered getting a dog who loves snacking just to pick up after my toddler… but I don’t want to clean up after a dog right now.  I have been wondering if there’s a way to program a Roomba to follow around one person and pick up all of their crumbs. If there isn’t a “Toddler Tracking” setting on Roomba, Shake a Leg, Roomba Creators… You could make a killing among Tot moms! I’d be the first person in line at the Robot Vacuum store. 

Anyway, back to these Goldfish crackers. I’m pretty sure if I stopped buying pouches, my little Astronaut may attempt to solely rely on Goldfish. It’s the ONLY food he ever actually likes 100% of the time, and if I wasn’t convinced he’d turn orange and someone would turn me into child services… I’d consider allowing this diet, it’s the most peaceful, hands down. 

Most meals are nearly identical to the process of breakfast. It’s messy and frustrating and I’ve had several people tell me that it doesn’t get better until they are adults. Super fun times to come, folks! 

Another important thing to note about the Toddler Food Fight is it becomes EVEN MORE frustrating when your kiddo has a terrifying food allergy. My son is allergic to peanuts, and after that initial terrifying reaction and trip to the Emergency Room, I spend hours researching ingredients and manufacturing processes to make sure that there is no chance of a reaction or cross contamination. If you are a food allergy mom, you can relate to the extra level of stress this added to toddler meals. I’m pretty sure after all of the research I’ve done, I would be qualified to be a detective. If they just hired food allergy moms, we’d be able to crack any case. 

Getting a toddler to try a new food is another new adventure. Overtime, I’ve learned that the more exciting I try to make a new food sound, the less he wants to try it. So, I sneak a new food onto his plate, hoping he will absentmindedly grab it, find it delicious and love it. Surprise, new favorite food!!! This has only happened two times… surprisingly, with broccoli and tomatoes. I’ve eaten more broccoli and tomatoes over the past year than I ever have in life, because another piece of the “Toddler Food Fight” puzzle that I’ve learned is if it’s on Mommy’s plate, even if it’s the exact same thing that is on his plate, it’s 100 times more delicious and if I don’t give it to him, he will collapse into a puddle. This fits in well with what I’ve determined the “Toddler Mantra” is – “What’s yours is mine… and What’s Mine is MINE” 

One last battle in the “Toddler Food Fight” is dining out. I could save us all some time and dump Pirates Booty, Goldfish Crackers, Cookies, pieces of whatever $8 meal we’ve ordered for him, along with parts of our meals on the floor. Luckily, he’s one of those strange kids who behaves better in a restaurant than at home… he just has kind of messy manners. 

There is never a dull moment in our dining journey with this tiny tot. I read somewhere that kids can try foods up to 20 times before they decide if they officially like it or not. This blows my mind, but I guess it makes sense since a toddler’s “favorite” food changes every five minutes. The words “that was your favorite food yesterday” leave my mouth at least once a week.  

I’m sure as he grows older, his tastes will become more concrete… and if not, boy, does his future wife have a lot of frustrating hours ahead of her in the kitchen… But no worries, future Mrs. Nichols…. I will always be there to remind him of the day to day battle of the “Toddler Food Fight”.