#{Glitter glue comes out right?: Musing} | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writingmysanity · 2 years ago

Text

Okay

A/N: Firstly, thank you @sherwood-forests for reading over this piece! You are gods sent. secondly, @thehistoriangirl here is your background xD

TW: illness mentioned, pregnancy

Word count: 2767

“The results are in,” the doctor’s voice chimes from the door, alerting you of her presence. Twisting your body slowly, you frown at the look on her face, hands resting in your lap. You feel as if the air around you still as she confirms what you’ve dreaded.

Your footsteps echo around you, skittering along the expanse of the abandoned hall. Where bodies had been hurriedly pressing passed you to get where they were going just minutes ago, there is no one. Left alone with your thoughts your arms wrap around your middle, as if the glue that can hold you together.

Glittering chandeliers sway above, music making the crystals hanging from their ornate arms shake, miniature rays of light bouncing around you, lighting up the room spectacularly. Glancing around, you can't help but stare- ornate bodies twirling around the floor, jewels refracting the light from the crystals above. Wait staff swirl by, one bowing to you slightly, offering a flute of champagne. You take it gently, offering a smile in thanks.

They smile back before disappearing into the crowds.

Turning quickly, you muffle your yelp as you very nearly knock right into another chest, very nearly knocking his own flute from his hands. He seems just as surprised as you, but recovers quickly, offering you a weak, but kind smile.

“My apologies,” you strain to hear him, his accent softening his words. You just nod quickly. “I should have been paying closer attention.” opening your mouth to refute his claim that he was the one in the wrong, he merely lifts his other hand, cane coming with it for a moment, the motion clear.

Instead, you offer him your name. At this, he smiles, crooked and unguarded, nose crinkling at the motion. Setting his flute to the side, he offers you his hand.

“Viktor.”

Dim lights flicker above your head, casting random shadows over the sporadic placements of potted plants along the lines, the only living things keeping you company on your way. Cursing yourself, you look around, glancing at the numbers on the doors.

Are you even going the right way? Huffing, you shake the thoughts away, fighting the emotions welling up. Biting your lip so that it can't tremble, you push on, counting the doors like you had that night.

298. Second hallway, fifth door to your left.

One…

Two…

Five…

Circled by empty flutes, you lean against the table, flush against its flat top, cheek squished to it with a giggle, eyes half lidded. Viktor looms over you, amusement as clear on his face as the flush, his cheeks warm. You like the pink, you find. Grinning up at him, you sit up some, allowing him a view down the front of your dress, unobstructed.

He startles to a stop, eyes falling down the expanse of your skin, tongue darting out to wet his lips before forcing his eyes back to yours, trying his best to be a gentleman- you are not making it an easy task. Humming, you tap his hand lightly with your finger, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Want to run?” you grin, lips curling mischievously, matching the glint in his eye.

“And where will we go?” he muses, tilting his head to regard you better. You shrug.

“I don't care, as long as it's you.” you had only just met, but you know you were telling the truth- a byproduct of your drinking- it made you honest. You realized, you would probably follow him wherever he asked, as long as his fingers kept trailing your skin, and his eyes stayed on you.

“My…” he hesitates, swallowing before continuing, pursing his lips before a rough release of air unpuckers them. “My apartment is not far” he manages, watching you keenly, as if waiting for you to retract your offer, teasing him relentlessly about having been caught- this was a joke. When you only smile, your fingers finding his with a nod, he relaxes.

“Okay.”

Skittering to a stop, you eye the number on the door before you.

298.

Unsure of what to do, you stare at the door for a moment. You can still feel it, the chill of the door on your back as he presses you into it, his feverish lips on yours as he struggles to unlock the door without breaking the kiss. His groan when you arch your body into his.

Shaking your head, trying to knock the memory away, you lift your hand slowly. You're not even sure when you knocked- you didn't feel the wood against your hand- but the sound reverberated around you loudly, making you wince.

Once the echoes subside, you are surrounded once more with silence. You sit in it for 30 seconds more, bouncing anxiously on the balls of your feet, hugging yourself. Eventually, the silence becomes unnerving- obviously he is either not home or asleep- you were foolish for coming. You chastised yourself as you turned.

He's a big important scientist, obviously he has more important things.

Your own thoughts make you freeze, midway down the hall as you soften. But he still deserves to know. You are about to start back towards your own room again when the lock slides, the sound slamming against the walls, startling you. Stopping, staring at his lithe body hunched over his cane as it leans out of his door, you can't find it in you to move. His eyes sweep around before landing on you, brows furrowed in confusion. He is just as beautiful as he was that night, but he looks paler, the bags under his eyes purplish, as if he has had trouble sleeping, his hair tousled.

When you don't move, he steps out, calling your name gently, the sound breaking you from your thoughts. “What is wrong?” The concern in his voice breaks your resolve, lip trembling- all of your practiced words dying in your throat.

I’m sorry

You don't have to be involved.

He is still waiting, taking several paced steps towards you, patient. You can't help it, the way it blurts out, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them.

“I'm pregnant,” he freezes, eyes widening almost comically, his hand left lingering in the air where he had been reaching for you, about to offer comfort. “It’s yours,” you choke on the words, clawing back the sob threatening to spill from your chest. He doesn't move, staring down at you in shock.

“It… can be no one else?” His voice is soft, but distant, giving you no indication of how he is feeling. You shake your head, swallowing.

“No,” he just nods. When he doesn't move, doesn't say anything else, you continue. You're shocked you are still standing from the way your legs tremble, threatening to give way at the slightest provocation.

“I… just wanted you to know,” you begin. “I have zero expectations of you, Viktor.” Your voice is quiet, rushed. “You don't have to be a part of any of this- I just felt you had the right to know.” you backup a step, watching him closely. His eyes are stuck on you, grabbing his cane hard enough you're sure he will break it, but he doesn't move towards you.

Taking that as your answer, you turn on your heel and head back to your own apartment. Your walk turns to a jog, then to a sprint when you hear him choke on your name, the tears that had been threatening to fall finally spring forth clouding your way back.

Once back behind closed doors, the rest of the dam breaks. Back pressed to the door, you sob, shoulders shaking as your chin hits your chest, everything hitting you at once. Sliding slowly down the door, you bury your face in your knees, hands gripping at your hair as you wail into the fabric of your stockings. You don't pay attention to the way your tears mix with your makeup and stains them beyond repair. You cry until you cant anymore, the sounds reducing themselves to a whimper, curled up on your side head tucked to your knees as you cradle your stomach.

Still trembling, you stroke your stomach, a watery smile slides across your face, hiccuping.

“I'll never leave you, little one.” you promise. “Even if it's just you and me, you will never be alone.”

Laying there, collecting yourself, you sniffle, tears coming and going- but you are too exhausted to try and move, the only indication of the time being the way the light filtering in from your windows shifts as the day moves along. Light turns to shadows before the patter of rain echoes out in the silent apartment. Wiping at your eyes a final time, you push up slowly, wincing at how your body aches from lying on the floor for several hours, stomach aching even more, the snarl of it the only noise in the room. Huffing a laugh, you shake your head.

“I suppose I will have to be better about self care,” you mutter, about to step towards the kitchen when a knock sounds at the door, nearly jumping out of your skin at the abruptness after spending so long only listening to your thoughts. You hesitate, unsure if you are wanting to open it- you've very few friends given your job. Being Counselor Mel’s assistant leaves little time for a social life.

Electing to ignore it, you turn back towards the kitchen until you hear your name followed by a gentle thud.

“Please,” Viktor’s voice bleeds through the door once more, tight- thick. “Please… open the door.” hesitating, you turn towards the door slowly, the sound of the latch sliding louder than you expected- but somehow only slightly louder than the thunder of the blood rushing against your ear drums. You only creak the door open slightly at first, eyeing him through the crack.

His forehead is pressed against the door, hand resting in a fist above his head. Feeling the movement of the door, he peeks out at you, golden irises brilliant with the circling of the darkened bags resting under his eyes. The mouth that had given you so much pleasure- from the way it felt on your skin to the way his nose crinkled when he smiled- is a hard line as he worries at his lip. He looks paler than before, the bags worse, as if it's been days instead of hours. His normally neat hair tugged and pulled at, sticky spikes dampened by the rain, baby hairs sticking to his forehead, along with all of his clothes. You realize suddenly that he is drenched, his whole body trembling, the word escaping his lips making you shiver at the depth of emotion behind it, eyes watering. Please.

In spite of yourself, you open the door more, hand reaching out to steady him as his bad leg gives out slightly, leaning his weight on you for a moment before he is able to regain his composure, following you inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. Silence envelopes you both, all traces of hunger gone as you move to get him a towel, handing it out to him awkwardly. His movements are slow, calculated… frigid as he begins to dry himself off the best he can, ruffling his hair with a whisper.

“Thank you,” you just nod, not trusting your voice. Slowly, he stops, settled on the edge of your couch as he looks up at you, eyes wide. He's scared, you realize, before kneeling before him slowly, but maintain your distance, guarding your heart.

“What…” you pause, licking your lips. You flinch when his hand comes to gently trace along your cheek, the puffy, raw skin sensitive to his chill. You're sure you're a sight to see, red and raw from crying, makeup smeared across your face- you're sure your hair is a mess, as well. “What are you doing here, Viktor?” it comes out with more venom than you mean for, startling him, but he doesn't shrink away- just looks down at his other hand slowly, still curled into a ball. Shifting, you stare at it too, gawking when he unfurls his fingers to reveal a ring. It's pretty, silver with a brilliant green stone you don't recognize.

“It…” taking a deep breath, he turns to look at you, meeting your eyes and he rolls the ring across his finger tips before lifting it to you slightly. “It was my mother’s” you freeze, staring at the ring in his hand, breathing shallowly. He takes it as an opportunity to continue. “I… I would have come to you quicker, but I couldn't find it quickly enough.” frustration bleeds into his tone, earning your gaze back. As soon as it hits you, you’re shaking your head.

“No… no!” pushing yourself back, pacing in front of the couch, running your fingers through your tangled hair. “You… Marriage… you don't want to marry me, Vik,” you pause to look at him, desperation evident in your face. “I refuse to marry simply because I am pregnant.” his face twists, hand twitching around the ring. “We don't have to be married for you to be involved” you try to reason, waiting, begging for him to say something. When you stop talking, he takes it as his turn. Looking down at the ring, he frowns, a tired sigh pushing past his lips, your name coming out quietly.

“I am sick,” he confesses, so soft you almost don't hear it, but it makes you freeze in your tracks, staring at him from across the room. “I do not… I do not have much time- according to the doctors.” now he looks at you- anger, anxiety, fear all simmering there, his brilliant golden eyes boring into you, burning you like sunburn. “I know that… marrying a cripple from the undercity is most probably not your idea of an ideal union..” At that, you break out of your stupor, marching up to him, fingers wrapping around his chin as you tug it up, forcing him to look up at you, anger simmering in your eyes- an anger he doesnt recognize nor understand.

“Merely a cripple from the undercity, are you?” he winces at your tone, clipped, rough. “You are many things, Viktor- crippled? Sure. but you are also stunning, brilliant, a complete gentleman. I refuse to allow you to speak lowly of yourself, not in my presence.” eyes tacked to yours, he doesn't try to move, any motion of his head restricted by your hand. Instead, he reaches up, fingers wrapping around your wrist, squeezing gently, tears welling up, his lip quivering just slightly.

“Please,” he pleads again. “Let me care for you, for you both the only way I can. I am not strong, I am not… built for a family- my life revolves around my work.” shaking your head, you pull back, sighing.

“And how will this be caring for us, Vik?” he sighs, laying his head against your stomach, nosing there gently, your hands resting hesitantly on the back of his head, stroking down slowly trying to calm him. Shuddering at the contact, his hand comes up to rest over yours as the other wraps around your middle, holding you there.

“When I am… gone…” he settles, mumbling against your stomach. “You will be provided for, still. Jayce has assured me of that. Allow me to do what I can to make sure you and my child are cared for after I am no longer here to see to it myself.” The silence stretches around you both, just resting there as he holds you. It's dizzying, dealing with the whirlwind of what your day has become- the idea that you will have a baby with this gentle man, kind and smart… and you're not even sure how long you will be able to keep him in your child's life.

“Are you sure?” you ask slowly, unsure. “I don't want you to feel you have to.” he just nods against your stomach, the motion lifting your shirt just slightly, just enough for his fingers to brush the skin there.

“Yes,” his voice is quiet, but absolute. Slowly, he looks up at you, gentle eyes molten over your skin, pressing a gentle kiss to your sternum, fingers running over your stomach where it will inevitably swell in months to come. Swallowing, you squeeze his hand gently where it rests on his neck, eyes pinched closed to keep another round of tears from springing up, warmth blooming in your chest, your voice thick as you nod.

“Okay.”

----

Arcane taglist:

@grumpyoutlaw @thehistoriangirl @rainbowpitofdoom @wizarrdofooze @uniquedeerwitch @ace-of-zaun @aerynwrites @queenxxxsupreme @beeblybub @ears-queers-gears-n-fears @just-an-adventurer

If you would like to be added to the tag list, please send me a message or ask or something.

#poor sweet viktor #arcane viktor #arcane viktor x reader #viktor #viktor arcane #viktor arcane x reader #viktor league of legends #viktor the machine herald #viktor x you #viktor x reader #the machine herald #the machine herald x reader #the machine herald x you

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rarephloxes · 3 years ago

Text

elucienweek, flower prompt.

sorry girls!!! I’m late!! Hope it still counts though :)))))))

for @elucienweek <3

rating: G

wc: ≈3.3k

warnings: none!! they just go on a date!!! and bring each other flowers!!

psa: my first language is Portuguese! And this is also the first thing I’ve even written and posted! Ever! So, I’m nervous!! Lol! Enjoy!! Also: outfits link at the bottom!!

~*~

Elain flitted through her bedroom excitedly, her nerves jittery and drowned in thoughts of the day she was about to have.

“But what do you think I should wear?” Elain asked her sister, Feyre, who was just a laughing face in the screen of her phone.

“Put me on FaceTime,” Elain’s phone speaker told her “I’ll help you pick.”

“Can you add Nesta to the call, please?” Elain asked, eyeing the clothes hanging in her wardrobe confusedly, brows wrinkled.

With a sigh, she sat down at her vanity, the gleaming glass of her perfumes and pretty makeup containers beckoning her.

Feyre’s laughing face, a picture taken by Rhys, her sister’s husband, winked out to be quickly replace by Feyre's and Nesta’s profile pictures.

(Elain knew she ought to be used to the fact that her sister was wed, for she had gone to her wedding wearing a beautiful pink dress matching the few other bridesmaids. She had even danced with Rhysand’s broody brother, Azriel, and overall had a great deal of time, but it was still weird thinking of her baby sister as a wedded woman. Who also was, uselessly, trying to pretend not to be pregnant).

“Good morning,” Nesta greeted them, a little bleary eyed “What’s this about?”

“Did you just wake up?” Asked Feyre with a knowing smile on her lips. Elain knew that if said smile was directed to herself, she’d blush. “It’s nearly 3PM,”

“Oh, well,” responded Nesta with a carefully crafted absent-minded smile “You know how Cassian can be... energetic,”

“Nesta!” Elain, despite her best wishes and her sister’s rather tame answer, blushed while applying her mascara “Can we please focus on the matter at hand? I really need some help,”

“And what, exactly, is this matter?” Nesta inquired.

“It’s Elain’s third date with Mr. Mystery Man,” Feyre slightly static voice answered. Elain’s phone had never been quite the same after she accidentally potted and watered it with one of her apartment plants.

“Oh! I didn’t know you and MMM had gotten to the third date phase!” Nesta replied with a note of enthusiasm, the buzz of a coffeemaker as her background noise “A rather early time of day for a third date, though, isn’t it?”

Elain bristled slightly, but Feyre answered first “It’s a picnic date, Nesta. It wouldn’t be the same if was later. And besides, it’ll be just the right time for they to see the sunset,” Feyre frowned “Did you really just wake up?”

“I was taking a nap,” Nesta supplied with her mouth hidden by a mug covered in book details, a library’s name scripted around it “What can I say? Cass really wore me out,”

“Girls, please, please, can we stay on topic?” Elain pleaded a little, “I really do need help.”

“Oh, those are lovely lashes, Elain” Feyre praised from where Elain’s phone was propped in her vanity. Elain, now applying her blush until she looked somewhat sunburned, questioned “Do you like it? I glue them underneath my lash line, see? It looks nice, doesn’t it?”

Perhaps sensing the bit of anxiety on her middle sister’s face, Nesta said “It looks beautiful, Elain. MMM will not even know what hit him”.

Smiling at her sister’s compliment, Elain stood up and angled her phone to the side, widening the camera range to the view of her bed and bathroom door.

“So,” Elain started, slightly out of frame as she scoured her clothes for something fitting, “I thought maybe a dress? No pants or shorts because I bought a charcuterie board and really am planning to eat the cake Lu... I mean, Mr. Mystery Man-” Elain stopped herself with a laugh, what a silly nickname, dear Gods. Of course, Feyre would come up with something like that “- is going to bring, so nothing constricting in the belly area,”

“Ooh! I know! What about the white dress? With the blue flower print?” Feyre suggested.

“White? Feyre, a white dress for a picnic? I’m aware you live in a palace and has the wealthiest man in the land of the free to pay for your every wish, but please remember some of us have to do laundry” Nesta said, a laugh woven in her teasing.

Before Feyre could answer, Elain interrupted the seemingly lighthearted argument lest she lost her sisters to an everlasting word brawl “It’s cute, Feyre, you’re right. But, Nesta has a point. I don’t want any grass stains on it.”

“Besides, I thought I could wear my strawberry dress,” Elain said, placing a pink dress in front of her robe clad form.

“Oh, that’s cute,” said Nesta.

“Yeah, really pretty,” agreed Feyre.

“Then why do you both sound so unsure?”

“It’s just that it is a little plain,” Feyre explained carefully.

“It’s a 500-dollar dress,” Elain defended “And it has strawberries in it!”

“Yes, of course,” Nesta complied, “But maybe something with sleeves less... puffy? Or without a childish print?”

Feeling a little defeated, Elain nodded.

Afterward, the pile of clothes on her bed rapidly grew and with it Elain’s anxiety.

“Gods, nothing looks good,” Elain said, hating the whiny tone of her voice.

“Wait, wait!” Nesta startled “What of that sage green dress?”

The little dying light in Elain’s chest glittered.

“The one from Reformation?” Elain asked hangers chiming while she reached for the dress.

“Isn’t it a bit too fancy?” Feyre replied, uncertain.

“He is really well dressed,” mused Elain, looking at herself in the mirror, sage dress draped over her front “So you think this matches well with my white Fendi boots?”

“Won’t the boots be uncomfortable for a sitting on the ground date?” Nesta countered, voice muffled by the running water she was using to rinse her mug, coffee long gone by then.

“Well, I guess,” Elain acceded just as another dress caught her eye, “YES! I think I found the one!”

“Let us see it then!” Feyre asked around a mouthful of something.

“Wait, let me put it one first” said Elain before skittering out of view.

“What are you eating?” asked the corner of Nesta’s face.

“Rhys is doing business with these Belgium people. Very fancy. Particularly important Belgium people,” Feyre’s eyes and forehead answered, “They brought a lot of chocolate,”

“Quite the stereotype,” A pause “Save me some?”

“Sorry, I’m finished with them already.”

“Ok! Grand reveal time!”

Nesta’s side eye and frown disappeared once Elain popped into frame, a soft off-white midi dress with a high neckline and short sleeves now around her body, accentuating the dip of her waist.

“Ooh, I love the slit!”

“Yes! And it’s such a nice print too! The red details go really well with your nails! Where did you go to get that set?”

Elain squealed, jumping a bit with the balls of her feet, her skirts flaring “I get my nails done with my neighbor’s girlfriend. She’s quite good, isn’t she?” Elain approached her phone, showing her nails to the screen. “Oh, and look at the back,” Elain twirlied, skirts swishing around her calves.

More excited cheers ringed around Elain.

“Your tits look amazing! What about the shoes?”

Elain barely had the time to blush.

” Oh, it’d look lovely with the converse I painted for you!” Feyre pointed out.

Elain had to turn away to hide her frown “I’d thought to wear slip on heels?”

“Way better!” recognized Nesta almost too quickly “Or maybe the pretty red ones with the ties at the ankles? Low heeled?”

“The red ones are pretty! Yes! But the slip-ons are easier,” Elain said, showing the options to her camera “Nude or green?”

“Definitely green,” said Feyre as Nesta said “Go with the nude one.”

“Do you think I could pull off wearing one color on each foot?” Elain giggled, putting her lip gloss and money purse in her bag, leaving the colorful shoes on top of her vanity chair.

“Nah, Nesta’s right, go with the nude one,” Feyre said, mouth foaming with toothpaste.

“What was that?” Nesta mocked in a singsong voice “Can you repeat it, please, I couldn’t hear around your toothbrush. Or the sound of your betrayal. I always save you a bonbon or two.”

“No, you don’t,”

“Well, I always mean to!”

Feyre spit off frame and flipped Nesta the bird.

All three of them laughed, Elain hurrying around her room to seem like she was ready to leave.

“Thank you so much for tuning in for this episode of Sisterly Love,” Elain joked with a big, unnerving smile, a weird laugh she hoped the poor functioning camera of her phone would hide “I’ll see you girls on next week’s episode- “

“Wait! No!” Interrupted Nesta with a serious face, “I see you worrying about, pretending you’re late,”

Feyre, who was smiling at someone else off camera, joined in as if she’d just caught on “Yeah! Stop... doing that,”

“Tell us about MMM!” Nesta demanded, “You can’t expect us to let you go on a date with a creep!”

“How do you know I’m pretending?” Elain huffed, her eyes diminished into slits, hands at her waist.

“As if you’d be in the risk getting to your date late. You like him too much,”

Nodding to her sister’s point, Elain dropped her facade.

“But he’s not a creep,” Elain said as she plopped down on her cushioned vanity chair, using the mirror to double check her makeup.

“Then what is Mister Mystery Man like?”

Elain had no control over the grin that illuminated her face “He’s... charming. Kind. Tall. And a swimmer too- “

“A swimmer! Nice broad shoulders then, huh?”

“Well, yes, I guess” Elain stammered a bit “He works in Communications. His brother’s dogs just had a litter, so now he’s taking care of two puppies. The cutest little things I’ve ever seen to be honest-”

“Ok, ok, but how well does he kiss?”

“You’ve kissed him, right?”

With a quickened heartbeat, Elain confessed “Yes,”

“Then come out with it already! Tell us how it was!”

“It was a sweet kiss. He dropped me off at home and... well, you know how these things go.”

Neither Nesta nor Feyre said anything, urging Elain to keep talking.

And if Elain got a little breathless, none of her sisters mentioned “We were heading home after dinner. He took me to the new Italian restaurant near the Sidra, so it was a short walk until my apartment.”

“He looked so handsome, I thought I’d melt when he held my hand and I’ll admit I was rather tipsy by then, and he was so warm and... Gods, when he leaned down to kiss me, I turned into a puddle- “

“That sounds straight out of that novel you lent me, Nesta,”

“He is quite the charmer, isn’t he?”

“Yes. Yes, he is” said Elain dreamily.

“Elain! Don’t forget to do that thing you do with your lipstick? Makes your lips look so good,” Feyre reminded enthusiastically, dragging Elain out of her stupor.

“Yeah, maybe then your next kissing story won’t be so wholesome,” Nesta added with a leer.

With a happy giggle, Elain carefully traced a discreet line with her lipliner over her cupid’s bow and covered it with lip gloss.

“Yeah! Just like that!”

“Oh, I see the difference now. You look stunning,”

Opening a drawer, Elain asked “Big hoops or small ones?”

“They won’t look good with this dress, though” mused Nesta “Unless you’re wearing the small chunky ones, more oval than circle,”

“You mean these?” Elain showed the jewelry, to the camera.

“Yes, that’s the one. I knew I should’ve gone with you to get the extra earring holes! You look ten times hotter with all these earrings.”

“Yeah, you definitely should’ve” agreed Feyre with a smile “You look stunning, Elain. MMM is a lucky man,”

Not bothering to hide her smile, Elain thanked her sisters, the video call ending quickly after their well wishes and goodbyes.

With a reinvigorated sigh, Elain gathered her basket, carefully picking up the flowers she had wrapped to gift her date and left her apartment in a flurry of petals and jangling keys.

***

Elain waited by the Velaris Park entrance that viewed the Sidra, inhaling the salty breeze that ruffled her hair and skirts, cooling the hotness of the sun on her skin.

Twirling around as if she’d heard her name in the wind, Lucien stepped into her line of vision and Elain was suddenly, viscerally reminded of the Three Musketeers Disney film she knew all the song lyrics by heart, with the outdated montage of Minnie, the pure hearted French princess, meeting Mickey, the earnest musketeer with a desperate need to prove himself, saturated in an array of old sparkly effects and pretty roses that sprouted at will, surrounding the animated mice in a haven of pastel pink fluffy clouds and romantic orchestra, and the terribly cheesy, awfully idealistic and childishly romantic speech about love at first sight.

He walked up to where she was standing, a carefully wrapped beautiful arrangement of multi-colored tulips, lilacs, and white carnations in his hand, and a basket very much like hers tucked in his elbow. He was wearing a cream button down with the top buttons undone, the wisps of red hair and freckles on his collarbone adorned by a discreet necklace glowing in the sun.

Elain’s tote bag slipped off her shoulder in a moment of lightheaded carelessness and Lucien gracefully helped her reassert the bag in her shoulder, his hand lingering if only for a moment.

“Are these for me?” he asked as a greeting, the light of his smile mirrored in his eyes.

“Yes,” she smiled too, something soft slipping into her ribcage and filling her with sunlight at the sight of him “You said these were your favorites in-”

“My mother’s garden,” he said with her, still smiling at her like he could not stop even if he tried “I’ll admit it now that I didn’t share that bit of information necessarily aiming for a gift” he walked the few steps so he could stand at her side “Not that I’m complaining.”

"I'm glad you liked them," Elain said, her sunglasses slipping on the bridge of her nose "I believe I was promised a fine spot for picnics and watching the sunset?" Lucien’s presence melted away Elain’s unsteady nerves, the tension of her body uncoiling with the tender warmth flowing off him.

"The best spot there is," he promised with a wink "Also, these are for you" Lucien mentioned to the graceful bouquet of peonies, buttercups and sunflowers in his hands, the few residual beads of water in the petals scintillating in the sunlight. “I thought it might be presumptuous of me to gift you my favorite flowers, so hence the absence of tulips.”

Elain chuckled, walking by Lucien’s side as he led them to his favorite part of the park “I wouldn’t have minded at all. Tulips are one of my favorites as well,”

“A woman of great taste,” he replied with a little head bow.

Elain, her mouth a little dry, a few strands of her front hair pieces sticking to her brow, wondered why she had ever felt nervous to meet Lucien, with his soft curls smelling of autumn, apples and cinnamon, steady hands, and bright, bright smile. There was nothing unpleasant about his presence, the effortless way he stood and spoke, the grace in his step or the lovely caramel of his eyes.

He guided her to a little alcove of grass, lined by tall stone walls covered in vines. In all her walks through the park, she never noticed it. A beautiful corner hidden from curious eyes, but not blocking the river’s breeze or the sight of its running waters.

“I’ve got a friend in the team of architects that planned this park,” Lucien explained at Elain’s surprised face “Not exactly something one would find in the City Guide,”

“It’s lovely, Lucien. I’ll admit that this could possibly be the best the best sunset viewing spot,”

“Possibly be?” he asked with mock outrage, setting the waterproofed fabric over the grass, soon followed by a dark blue checkered flannel blanket “It is the best one. It’s the reason it’s a secret” he said in a conspirators whisper, comically eyeing their surroundings as if in search of busybodies.

“Well, I can only decide after the day’s event,” Elain sat at the other side of the blanket, carefully arranging her basket’s content over the fabric, swiping their bouquets so they rested near their respective owners.

“Is this a ruse so that I work extra hard to impress you?”

“I don’t know,” she smirked while plating the delicate chocolate strawberries she’d made herself the night before, “Is it working?”

“I’m proud to say I’ve being incessantly trying to remain at my A game since the moment I looked at you the first time.

“That’s good,” if the blush staining her cheeks gave away her smugness, Lucien didn’t acknowledge it.

***  

It was easier than falling asleep, talking to Lucien. Like being carried away by a gentle river current. Like the subtle swing of a hammock by the beach.

He liked bossa nova, and she did too! Her father introduced it to her when she was a little girl, swaying her in his arms. It was Lucien’s mother favorite music genre, he accidentally scratched one of her vinyl records as a kid in his haste to listen to the soft melody, the boyish delight he had at the gleam in his mother’s eyes, rare even then, making his fingers clumsy.

He grew up in New Hampshire, in a big estate house with woods nearby, camping with his siblings every other week, learning how to fish with his hands because he never liked to use hooks, even as a little boy. Elain had never been one for the outdoors, except for the window box, the closest thing to a garden she had ever managed to keep over the years in her family’s one bedroom apartment. But she’d like to see it someday. He would love to show it to her, he promised with his hand hidden under his thighs as if to retract from touching the flush on cheeks.

Elain lived most of her life in apartments, except for the few summers she used to spend at her grandparents’ country house. Her grandmother had the most beautifully cared for garden Elain had ever seen. It even had a maze, towering walls of green she could get lost into while exploring with her sisters. Once her grandparents passed away, her father had to sell the property. She never got the chance visit it again.

The deep orange skylight alerted them of the incoming sunset, the Sidra’s waters a wonderful watercolor of blues, pinks, reds, and oranges, gleaming in between the dark green frames of the vine-covered high fence surrounding them.

By then, the initial space between them had dwindled, the food containers already inside their baskets, only wine glasses a sip away from being finished near their lazied forms. Elain and Lucien were laying side by side, the gentle slope of the ground allowing them to look at the departing sun without strain.

They hadn’t properly touched yet. The easiness of darkness and alcohol in their last date was substituted by the brightness of day and sobriety, their interaction more measured physically. Elain felt the absence of touch as the whispers of a phantom limb.

Consumed by the incandescent light of the sun, an unexpected source of courage, Elain laid her head on Lucien’s shoulder. She hadn’t realized they had been quiet for a while, the sunset filling the space where their words had been.

Before she could speak, Lucien snaked his arm under her neck, twisting his body to hold hers as they watched the dark blue dotted with stars overthrow the magnificent golden orange.

“Is this, ok?”

A nod.

A hug.

A breath on the neck.

A shy kiss on the cheek.

The white-hot warmth of his lips on hers.

The devastating light of her lips on his.

Finally, being home.

Thank you so much for reading it!!!! Please, I'd reeeeealy appreciate your opinions/feedbacks on it :))))

Elain’s dress, shoes

Lucien’s shirt

#elucienweek #elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #dates!#flowers!#i’m so proud of myself for finishing this!!!!!#i’d love to hear your thoughts on it!!!#also: is nesta excited for Elain's date or the coffee she's making? I guess we'll never know!!!!!#my writing #wow i can't believe it #i can tag things as my writing now!!!#acotar #if there’s any error you find #pls lemme know #ana writes

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fruitcoops · 4 years ago

Note

okay so: coops and jily do the couple fear pong challenge (couple vs couple fear pong by cut for reference)?? pleaseee - m

Anon, you definitely read my mind with this. I’ve had this idea in the works for almost a month and I’m so glad you suggested it!! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for alcohol (beer)

“Are you ready to lose?” James asked as he set up a few lines of red Solo cups.

“Try me,” Remus shot back with a grin. Their respective partners shared an exasperated look.

“Hello, hockey fans, and welcome to Fear Pong! I’m your host, Marlene McKinnon.” Marlene set an armful of beer bottles on the ping pong table and began filling each team’s cups halfway.

“I’m Lily Potter, and this is my husband James.” Lily waved to the camera and stole one of Marlene’s bottles to take a sip. “Ugh. It’s like wheat-flavored moonshine.”

“I think she takes it as a challenge to find the worst alcohol,” Remus mused. “I’m Remus Lupin, the best winger on the Lions.”

“Shut it, Loops.”

“Bite me, Pots.”

“And I’m Sirius Black, the team captain,” Sirius said. “As you can see, this is going to get out of hand very fast.”

Marlene leaned on the table, looking between them with a grave expression. “The rules are simple. If you throw the ball and it lands in a cup, you have to do the dare on the coaster or drink the beer. The team who drinks all their cups first, loses. We’ll do the deadliest of games to decide who goes first: rock, paper, scissors. Choose your champions.”

Sirius and James moved to the front of the table. “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”

“Shit,” Sirius muttered as James’ paper defeated his rock.

James grinned as he headed back to his place. “I can already taste victory.” Lily took careful aim, and the ball landed perfectly in the center of their cups. “That’s my wife, everybody!”

Remus rolled his eyes and picked up the coaster. “Leave five hickeys on your teammate. Your opponent chooses where. Aw, man, everyone’s going to see them at practice.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to chicken out and drink?”

His jaw ticked. “Where.”

“One on his cheek, the rest on his neck.”

Sirius leaned down with a heavy sigh and Remus worked a hickey onto his cheek, pulling away with a soft pop and appraising it. “Not bad. Four more?”

“Four more.”

It took less than a minute for the rest of the marks to appear in a light lilac color. Remus licked his lips and picked up the ball. “Those are such weak hickeys!” James protested. “Come on, Loops, you’re better than that.”

“And yet they’re already done.” He picked up the ball and readied it. “Tragic.”

A few droplets of beer splashed out of the cup and Lily lit up when she read the dare. “Switch outfits with your partner. Oh, baby, you’re going to look gorgeous!”

“Do we get a screen or something?” James asked as Lily began unzipping the back of her dress. Two camera crew members came over with a large blanket and they stepped behind it; after a couple minutes of rustling, Lily emerged in her husband’s too-big sweatshirt with the cuffs of his jeans rolled up.

“Do you need a hand with the zipper?” she asked with a light laugh.

“Got it. Oh, wow, I look hot.” James came into view and Sirius held a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. The floral dress fell to his mid-thigh and the low neckline exposed quite a bit of his chest. He swayed back and forth, making the skirt twirl slightly. “Very breathy.”

“Alright, handsome, your turn.” Lily handed him the ball and he shot it—it bounced off the rim and Remus whooped.

“I can already taste victory,” he mimicked in a terrible Boston accent; James threw the backup ball at him and it smacked him in the forehead. “Ow!”

Unfortunately, Sirius’ throw also went wide, ending up down Lily’s baggy shirt. “Hang on, it’s in my cleavage. Nice aim, Cap.” She dug around for a moment as Sirius flushed, then emerged with the ball, giving it an elegant toss.

“Damn it,” Sirius muttered as he took the coaster. “Make out with your teammate for a minute, but one of you can’t move their lips or tongue. Again with the kissing? Really? Can’t we just switch clothes and call it a day?”

“Come on down to the front, pardner.” Marlene said with a false Southern twang, patting the backs of the two folding chairs she had set up. “Get your smooch on.”

“I can’t move my face, right?” Remus asked as he sat down across from Sirius. Marlene shook her head.

“Get it, Cap!” Lily cheered as he reached out to cup Remus’ jaw in his hands.

Sirius had to turn away and laugh for a second, rolling his shoulders out. “Okay, ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. Why do you look like you’re gearing up for a game?” Sirius flicked him on the thigh and Remus pressed his lips together, still smiling slightly.

He started soft, placing slow kisses all over Remus’ mouth. “It says ‘make out’, Cap, come on!” James complained. “If that’s your idea of making out, you need to apologize to your fiancé.”

Remus raised his eyebrows and Sirius huffed a sigh, leaning back in for a proper kiss with a significant increase in tongue. Lily whooped and Remus’ shoulders began to shake with suppressed laughter—Sirius moved his hands to down to steady him as the timer continued counting.

“Ten seconds!” Marlene warned. The final buzzer went off and Sirius pulled away, wiping at his lips.

“That felt so weird,” Remus said as he dried his mouth off with his sleeve and tugged Sirius in by his wrist. “C’mere.”

Sirius bent down for a quick kiss before they walked back to their side. “Alright, our turn.”

“I get to throw it this time.”

“What? Why?”

Remus took the ball out of his hand and kissed his cheek. “I say this with all the love in the world, but you suck at beer pong. So does Pots, if that makes you feel better.” His shot spun around the rim of a cup before falling in with a clatter.

“Take an article of clothing off for every sexual partner you’ve had,” James read. “Aw, come on, I’m only wearing a dress and none of you want to see me naked.”

“You’re not wearing underwear?” Sirius looked mildly alarmed.

“I’ve had more than two partners, dude.”

Lily shrugged. “I’m not about to protest seeing you naked.”

“I would!” Remus and Sirius chorused with equal measures of horror. James rolled his eyes and downed the cup.

“James, you have to throw it,” Marlene interrupted as he handed the ball to Lily. “You need to switch each time.”

“Shit,” Lily muttered, giving it back. “Don’t fuck this up for us, honeybun.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He took careful aim, tossed it, and landed a perfect shot in one of the cups without a coaster. Sirius and Remus groaned as Lily cheered. “Hell yeah!”

Remus drank the beer as Sirius lined up the ball; it sailed through the air and bounced off two cups before sinking into the third. They high-fived with both hands while Lily took the dare out. “Call your parents and tell them you’re pregnant—oh, we can’t do this.”

“Why?” Remus snorted. “You’ve already done it once.”

“I would break my mother’s heart if she found out it was a prank.” James shook his head and passed Lily the cup. “I would get the lecture of a lifetime.”

“Can you imagine pranking poor Effie with fake grandbabies?” Lily asked as she drank.

“The guilt would eat me alive,” Sirius agreed. Lily lined up for another shot. “Miss, miss, miss, miss—fuck.”

“Call a friend and ask for a threesome.” Remus’ eyebrows shot up and he looked at Sirius. “As much as I want to win this game, there’s no way we’re doing that.”

“Hell no, I’m the captain. That’s an abuse of power or something.” Sirius drained the cup and set it aside, moving so Remus could get a better angle for his throw. It landed in one of the cups they had already hit and Lily cursed as she drank again.

“Marley, we need to have a talk about your alcohol.”

“I want you guys to know that I specifically asked for the shittiest beer they had that would get people drunk real quick,” Marlene said off screen. “It comes from a place of love.”

They traded three more shots back and forth, each one bouncing off the table or threatening to take someone’s eye out before James got a lucky shot. “I thought you said he was bad at this!” Sirius protested as he took the dare out.

“I thought he was!” Remus defended. “What do we have to do?”

“Let them paint us with glue and pour glitter on us.”

“Alright, let’s do it.”

“Shirts off, unless you want to ruin them,” Marlene said as she carted two containers of glue and some small buckets of glitter out. Remus and Sirius obliged, then stood on the clear tarp she had laid out. “Pots, Lils, go nuts.”

“This is the best day of my life,” James said gleefully as he took a paintbrush and began drawing a wobbly smiley face on Sirius’ torso.

“It’s so drippy.” Sirius let out a long exhale and bounced on his toes as James added polka dots and squiggles all over the place.

“What are you writing?” Remus asked as Lily began touching up her work. “Are those words?”

“Maybe. Glitter time!” Without further ado, she dug her hand into the bucket and threw a handful at Remus’ chest. It exploded in a small poof and only some of it stuck; he wrinkled his nose.

“It’s in my mouth.”

“Gay rights—oh shit that’s cold!” Sirius yelped, batting James away. “Just do the glitter already!”

“Don’t rush an artist!” Nevertheless, James went over and shook about half the bucket onto Sirius.

He spat out a mouthful of sparkles and glared. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that was necessary.”

“Whatever you want, David Bowie.”

“He looks more like Freddie Mercury to me,” Lily mused as she continued sprinkling glitter over Remus, revealing her name written in careful cursive. “This is going to be such a pain to wash off, you two.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Remus shook his hair out and a small waterfall of glitter fell out onto the tarp.

“Back to your stations, everyone!” Marlene called.

The game only got rowdier after that as each team did everything in their power to prevent dares, ranging from shaking the table to sneezing loudly each time someone squared up for a shot. Remus finally sank one and nearly smacked Sirius in the face with his celebratory fist pump as Lily groaned.

“Let the opponent pour ice water down your pants.” James frowned and looked to the camera crew. “I’m not wearing any pants.”

“You’re wearing underwear,” Marlene pointed out. His eyes went wide as she came out with two bowls of ice water and handed them to Sirius and Remus, whose smiles were downright maniacal.

“I really hope you’re done having kids,” Sirius said as James turned around. “On three. One, two—”

Both of them shouted in shock; Remus burst out laughing as Sirius shook the final few ice cubes into James’ underwear. “That was not three!” Lily tugged at her pantlegs and ice cascaded out, darkening the fabric along the way. “Aw, it looks like I peed myself.”

James braced his hands on the table and leaned forward, taking deep, slow breaths. “I can’t feel my balls,” he managed. “Holy fuck, that’s so weird.”

“It’s like a punch bowl down there.” Lily grimaced and picked up the ping pong ball. “I hope you two are ready for payback.”

Her throw was immaculate, despite both Sirius and Remus blowing on it as it arced over the table. “This is terribly convenient,” Remus said. “Wear a childbirth simulator for fifteen seconds each.”

“Fifteen seconds?” Lily swung around to the camera in disbelief. “I was in labor for four hours!”

“You’re also way stronger than we are,” Remus laughed as Sirius helped Marlene drag a beanbag out onto the glittery tarp.

“Who’s up first?” she asked.

“Sirius,” Lily said without hesitating. “He kicked off my labor, he gets to know what it felt like.”

“Do I get any choice in this?” Sirius asked, though he was already laying down and brushing glitter off his torso to make room for the sensors. Lily took the remote and pressed a few buttons. “Should I apologize now or—shit! Shit, shit, mon dieu, c’est horrible, s’il vous plait, owwwww.”

His hand collided with Remus’ and he grabbed it, squeezing it tight as James watched, wide-eyed, from the sidelines. “Baby, you’re going to break my hand,” Remus wheezed.

Marlene’s timer went off and Sirius scrambled to tear the sticky pads off, practically throwing himself off the beanbag. “That was hell. Lily, don’t ever feel like you need to have children again.”

Remus swallowed thickly as he took Sirius’ place, settling back into the cushions. “Hold my hand?”

“Please don’t break my fingers.”

Remus’ knee jerked up on reflex as soon as Lily turned it on and he yelled, eyes flaring wide with surprise. “Motherfucker! Ohhhh my god this is what death feels like. This is what death feels like, I hate I hate it Sirius Black do not let go of my hand.”

“Four hours,” Lily said mildly as he gritted his teeth and Sirius winced at his grip.

The cheerful jingling of the timer made Remus nearly sob with relief; he peeled the sensors off his skin and immediately went over to hug Lily. “You are the most incredible person I know. Please never make us do that again.”

“You chose to do it, Glitter Boy,” she laughed, giving him a playful shove after returning the hug. “Fire away, Cap.”

James had to drink, then Remus, then Lily, and after her shot went wide, Sirius landed a miracle throw. “Let the opposing team shave your head,” James read. He looked up at them and narrowed his eyes. “Touch my hair and I’ll end you.”

“We only have two left,” Lily warned as he took the cup and drank it. “And only one has a dare.”

“I’m not going to sacrifice my hair to win bragging rights.”

His next shot was a laser throw that nearly knocked over the cup it landed in. Sirius’ shoulders slumped when he took the coaster. “Let the opponent smash a pie in your face.”

“Could be worse.” Remus shrugged. “I’m glad I didn’t wear my nice pants today.”

“These chairs are going to live in my nightmares,” he said as they returned to the tarp. Lily and James carefully took the whipped-cream pies from the camera crew.

“Woah, what’s that?!” Lily shouted all of a sudden. Remus startled, turning to look at her, only to get a full pie slammed directly into his face. James didn’t hesitate—he really put his hips into it, and some whipped cream splattered back onto the table.

“Moisturizing is very important,” he said, rubbing the pie in slow circles around Sirius’ face until almost all of it was coating his skin. “Sugar scrubs are all the rage.”

“Do I look exfoliated, sweetheart?” Sirius asked, turning in Remus’ general direction.

“If I could see anything right now, I would say no.” Remus wiped his eyes off and flicked the cream at Lily, who quickly stepped backwards. Sirius leaned over and licked Remus’ cheek, laughing, until Remus grabbed Lily’s mostly-empty pie tin and shoved it in his face.

“I deserved that,” he said, voice muffled by aluminum and filling.

The video cut for a moment, and when it returned, the four of them were pie-free and back at the table. The game had clearly continued off-camera, because each team only had one cup left. Their cheeks were significantly more flushed than before.

“Just out of curiosity,” Marlene cut in as Sirius picked up the ball. “On a scale of 1-10, how drunk do you think you are right now?”

Lily made a face. “Maybe, like, a four?”

“Three,” James said.

“Yeah, three.” Sirius hiccupped at the end of his sentence, clearly startling himself. “…three and a half.”

“I’ll have to agree with the collective,” Remus said. “Not anywhere close to drunk drunk, because it’s shitty beer, but pleasantly buzzed. Take the average of everyone else and that’s…about three and a third? The math is skewed if Sirius goes with three and a half instead. I dunno.”

There was a beat of quiet before James shook his head. “Only you would do tipsy math to calculate how drunk you are instead of guesstimating like the rest of us. Fuckin’ nerd.”

“Fuck off, you can’t even do addition.”

Sirius threw the ping pong ball before the argument could get any more heated and it bounced off the table, hitting James right on the cheek. “Oops.”

“Hey!” It was James’ turn to throw next, and he deliberately aimed for Sirius’ face—Sirius ducked and it flew past him, hitting something off screen with a clatter. “Sorry!”

“Ha! That’s what you get.”

Remus rolled his eyes and took the ball; it went into James and Lily’s final cup despite their defense tactics. “Ah, shit,” Lily muttered as she picked up the coaster. “Pour beer into your partner’s mouth using only your feet. J, do you trust me with this?”

“I love you, but no.”

“That’s fair. To the tarp!”

Remus and Sirius watched with far too much glee as Lily laid down and Marlene put a fresh beer cup between the soles of James’ feet. “Ready?” he asked her. She nodded and opened her mouth as he began slowly tilting it.

“Chug! Chug! Chug!” Remus and Sirius chanted from the sidelines. About halfway through, the cheap plastic cup folded and rolled out of James’ grip, bouncing off Lily’s nose and falling to the floor.

She sat up quickly, checking her hair as the last of the liquid formed a puddle on the tarp. “Is it in my hair?”

All three men squinted at her. “Nope,” James said after a moment. “All good. Did we complete the dare?”

Marlene made an ‘ehh’ noise as she tossed them a towel to mop up the spill. “You didn’t finish the cup…”

“The coaster said nothing about finishing!” Sirius protested. “They did what they were asked.”

“Babe, we want them to lose,” Remus muttered.

Sirius winced. “Right. My bad.”

Both Remus and Lily heaved a sigh as they went back to their positions. It was Lily’s throw next—neither of them tried to prevent the inevitable and the resignation on their faces when the ball landed with a gentle plop aged them by ten years. Remus slid the coaster out. “Huh. Not bad. Let the opponent give you both three-minute makeovers.”

“Dibs on Remus,” Lily said immediately. He looked rather flattered by that and Sirius groaned.

“Pots, I don’t trust you with makeup.”

“Smart boy. Get over here and let me make you handsome.” James grinned and took the container of makeup supplies from Marlene, patting the two chairs at the front. “Lils, I don’t know what half this stuff is.”

“That just makes it more fun!” she said cheerfully as Remus sat down and she rummaged through the various bottles and brushes. “If we only have three minutes, I think we should do something simple and pretty. The glitter is really going to make it better.”

“Three minutes is so much time!” James laughed. Both Marlene and Lily gave him incredulous looks. “No?”

“Honey, it takes me twenty minutes to do a full face of makeup in the morning.”

“Jesus.”

“Time starts…now!” Marlene tapped her phone and Lily uncapped a dark pencil; Remus leaned away from her as she neared his face with it.

“What is that?”

“Eyeliner.”

“Please don’t blind me.”

Lily scoffed. “Have a little faith, Loops.”

James on the other hand, grabbed some mascara and began shakily applying it to Sirius’ lashes. “This is surprisingly difficult. How do I know if it’s working?”

“Usually you can see the color transfer over.”

“My eyelashes are already black,” Sirius said, wincing as James jabbed the side of his nose. “Watch it.”

“They’re also really long,” Lily said as she continued drawing a steady line along Remus’ lids. “Mascara might not do very much for the lucky bastard.”

“It’s not my fault I have long eyelashes!” Sirius protested as James moved on to the second eye.

“Do you have any idea how many women would kill do have those?”

“Ten seconds!” Marlene called. Lily swore under her breath and began putting the finishing touches on the second eye. “And…done!”

“I don’t know about you guys, but I feel hot as hell,” Remus laughed, batting his eyes at the camera. Marlene handed him a mirror and his eyebrows rose. “Thank you, Lily, I look so fancy.”

“My eyes are sticking together.” Sirius grimaced and blinked a few times so the clumpy mascara would settle. He looked over at Remus and went still.

“What?”

“You—hmm.” He paused for a second. “You look really nice. Very punk rock.”

Remus smiled. “Thanks. Some of your glitter stuck to the mascara, so you’re very sparkly right now.”

“Re, you have light eyes, which helped a bit,” Lily explained as she tossed the eyeliner and mascara into the makeup container. “Contrasting colors always pop better, and everyone looks sexy in eyeliner.”

“I wore it for Halloween last year and it was awesome,” James said, heading back to the table.

“Final throws!” Marlene called. All four of them looked over in surprise. “Did you all forget the point of the game? Loser is whoever drinks their cup first.”

Remus turned Sirius by his shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. “Please, please don’t miss this throw.”

“As if I’m letting James fucking Potter beat us in beer pong,” Sirius scoffed, kissing his forehead before lining up for the shot; it bounced off the rim and dropped right in. The room exploded into noise as Marlene blew the victory airhorn and Remus and Sirius began jumping up and down, yelling incoherently. James and Lily both groaned as he drank their last cup.

“Do we get a prize?” Remus asked.

“Bragging rights,” Marlene said as she took their empty cups. “I might have some Lions merch—”

Four hasty ‘no thank you’s answered and she laughed, shaking her head.

“Alright, sign us off!”

“Thanks for watching, Lions! I’m Sirius Black—”

“I’m Remus Lupin.”

“I’m Lily Potter.”

“And I’m James Potter.”

Marlene popped into view one more time. “Quick disclaimer: we do have a designated driver waiting today. Remember to like and subscribe for more Lion Pride content!”

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angryinternetduck · 3 years ago

Text

When All Feels Lost Chapter Three: We'll Be Alright Nerves, fancy boas, a phoenix rising from the ashes. A princess is left on a cliffhanger, Harry's a dramatic Renoir painting, and you dive in headfirst. It won't be an easy ride, but you'll be alright. Warnings: Explicit language and more of the heavy topics from last chapter. about 8,000 words << prev chapter | series masterlist | general masterlist | ask ~*~ “You look nervous,” Harry murmurs into your ear as he appears next to you. His hand hovers at your waist, charm turned up high as he gives smiles and waves to the people walking into the theater.

You shrug, keeping your own smile on your face as you say, “Looks can be deceiving.”

“You’re gonna be great,” Harry tells you anyway.

“Sure hope so.”

Around you, the theater looks nothing less than glorious. All the lights are on, a warm golden against the deep burgundy of the walls and carpet. Diamonds glitter, shoes shine, dress hems flirt with the floor.

There’s a low hum of chatter from the masses of people filtering through the lobby and making their way to their seats. Lights in the chandelier hanging miles above you twinkle and clink as they shift in the soft breeze floating through the open doors.

Despite what you told Harry, he’s right; you’re nervous as hell.

Which makes sense. It’s opening night. Of course you’re nervous.

Your first scene is a few scenes into the second act, meaning you have plenty of time to help Harry greet everyone up front before heading backstage to get ready. It’s quite different than all of your previous opening night experiences, but it’s no less nerve-wracking. In fact, it’s significantly more nerve-wracking because of how much is riding on its failure.

A small man wearing a beret and large glasses catches your attention, and you nudge Harry so he sees him too. Harry nods, confirming your suspicions: that’s the critic from The New Yorker.

Harry wiggles his eyebrows at you.

Laughing slightly, you walk over to the critic and start to fiddle with your purse. He looks up, thick eyebrows furrowing at the sight of you. “Hello,” he says curtly, and you smile at him. “Hi,” you reply. “You’re here for Fatigue?”

“Yes.”

“A critic?” you go on.

“Yes.”

You clear your throat, slipping your hand into your purse. Lowering the small bag to waist height and glancing around to ensure no one’s looking your way, you murmur, “I’m a co-producer of this fantastic play...” You shift your fingers to show him a few hundred dollar bills. “And I’m sure your review will be nothing less than spectacular, correct?”

The critic scoffs, eyes widening, and he whips off his glasses in rage. “You dare attempt bribe me?” he hisses. “You think I, a critic of high moral and dignity, can be swayed by a few measly dollar bills?”

You struggle to hide your grin.

“I can assure you, madam,” the critic continues, “this review will be short and honest.”

“Oh, no,” you say.

The critic scowls at you, barks a crisp, “Goodbye,” and storms out of the theater.

Turning around, you meet Harry’s gaze and snap your fingers in a sarcastic oh, drats sort of fashion. Harry grins, and this time you don’t hide your own smile as you mirror his expression and walk back to him.

“Too easy,” you tell him.

Harry smiles. “And now we wait for, uh - Joe,” he says, reading an email on his phone.

“Joe,” you echo.

“Dziemianowicz.”

You blink. "What’d you just call me?”

Harry snickers and tilts his phone so you can see the name on the screen. Sure enough, it says Joe Dziemianowicz. “‘The esteemed critic from the New York Times,’” you read. “I’m sure he’ll love this.”

Harry shakes his head. “I certainly hope he doesn’t.”

“Right,” you say. “How do you know he won’t react like, uh - like The New Yorker guy?”

“Because I’m such a charmer,” Harry replies with a sweet smile.

You raise a brow. “And I’m not?”

“You are,” Harry says, shrugging. “When you want to be.”

“You flatter me,” you deadpan.

Harry grins. “I do try my hardest.” He points out a guy with a notebook under his arm, then tells you, “I’ll catch up with you later, yeah? Make sure D’Angelo’s not fainted yet.” He walks off, and you watch him for a second.

The plan is to get as many awful reviews as possible. Most of them should just come naturally - no one could watch the play and give it any positive comments at all - but you’re guaranteeing two of them to be absolutely horrific with bribes.

The critic you just attempted to bribe from The New Yorker should give some sort of irate nonsense about the dishonorable intentions of the producers of the surely terrible Fatigue. As for the fellow Harry’s heading for, his review will be more detailed in its critique. Harry’s goal is to actually bribe this Joe Dziemianowicz successfully - but for a bad review.

As Harry begins his explanation to Mr. Dziemianowicz, you slip through the crowds until you reach backstage, where D’Angelo is, in fact, on the brink of losing consciousness. He’s taking small sips of water from a glass in which you can see small pink feathers floating. They’re probably from the large pink boa he’s wearing over his suit, which is a slightly jarring green color covered in tiny pink butterflies.

“Angel,” you greet him, giving him a hug.

“Oh, Magenta,” D’Angelo replies woefully. “It’s a disaster. A complete and utter disaster.”

You sigh. “It hasn’t even started.”

“Oh, but when it does, it shall go down in flames.”

“And from the ashes shall rise a phoenix.”

D’Angelo gives you a faint smile. “I do adore you, darling.”

“And I you,” you say with a grin. “Come on, Angel, we have a play to put on.” You gently lead him through the dressing tables, where everyone’s getting ready. Someone glues orange lashes on while another person zips their dress; an actor expertly quiffs his hair in the corner with a loud can of hairspray.

“Your optimism… is inspiring,” D’Angelo murmurs, absentmindedly fixing someone’s collar as he passes. “That’s the goal,” you tell him, taking his glass of water from him when he holds it out to free both his hands. He takes a makeup brush and palette out of a girl’s hand and begins to brush some product on her face. She looks slightly startled, but doesn’t say anything.

“Where’s your Harry?” he asks as he works. “Charming the audience, I presume?”

You start to reply, stop, and then decide on, “Um… probably.”

“He certainly has a way about him, doesn’t he,” D’Angelo muses.

You clear your throat and look down, smiling involuntarily. “Yeah.”

D’Angelo sighs. “You must remember to keep your head up.”

Impulsively, you snap your chin up straight, then realize he’s talking to the girl whose makeup he’s doing. “And keep your voice up as well,” D’Angelo continues. “Project, my dear. You have a very pretty voice.”

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Also,” D’Angelo adds, handing her makeup products back, “your blouse is inside out.”

Flushing through her makeup, the girl looks down at her blouse, which is, in fact, inside out. The tag waves at you from her neckline. She looks a bit horrified, and she hurries away to correct it as D’Angelo ambles on.

“Have you talked it out yet?” he asks. “With Harry?”

You frown. “Huh?”

“Oh, you know,” D’Angelo hums, giving you a lazy smile. “The ‘what are we’ talk.”

You’re too surprised to even reply, but D’Angelo takes your surprise for denial. “Oh, don’t play coy, Magenta. To steal the wise words of Miss Swift” - he clears his throat - “you could see it with the lights out.”

“Sometimes,” you tell him, “you’re just a bit too dramatic.”

He catches your eye. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

You hold his gaze. “You are.”

“Your acting talent is astounding,” D’Angelo murmurs, looking away.

“I think I preferred your hopeless talk of your failing play.”

His brows jump. “My failing play,” he echoes incredulously.

“Our failing play,” you amend.

“Go find Harry, darling,” D’Angelo tells you with a smile, “and stop bothering me.”

You grin. “If you insist. Break a leg, Angel.”

“I’ll break yours if you keep talking,” he says. “Run along, now.”

***

The theater, sweeping out below you in a magnificent blend of golds and reds, is truly breathtaking. You’re in the balcony seats reserved for you and Harry now, watching the chatter and buzz of the people below.

You nudge him and echo his words from earlier. “You look nervous.”

“I am,” he mutters.

“Don’t be.”

He laughs wryly, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands. “Gee, that fixes everything.” You sigh and sit back in the chair, looking down at the stage. “It’ll work. There’s no way it won’t.”

“I know,” Harry says softly, looking up.

There’s a beat of silence. You’re not sure what to say. Then the lights begin to dim, and Harry leans back again. In the darkness, you feel his hand find yours. He squeezes your hand, then lets go.

The conversation fades, and Charlie Manswell, playing Leopold Gray the retired FBI agent, walks out onto stage. He looks even more nervous than Harry does; you can see his hands shaking from all the way up here.

The play drags on. Neither you nor Harry says a word at all. Tension settles, heavy and dense, thickening in the air between you and Harry. An hour in, a group of people walk out. Low murmurs sound throughout the theater, and then it goes quiet once more.

You and Harry exchange a glance.

A few minutes before intermission, you go down to start getting ready for your part. Backstage, D’Angelo has calmed down significantly. He looks to be in a bit of a daze, holding his half-empty glass of water in both hands.

“Ah, Magenta,” he greets you when you say hi. “Just in time. Your costume’s over with Madeline… Stay away from the makeup, darling, Madeline will do it for you.” A smile teases the corners of his lips. “No more catastrophes, thank you…”

“I’ll try my best,” you reply, walking over to get changed. Your nerves intensify as you get dressed and made up. A swarm of butterflies turns your stomach over, adrenaline spikes through your veins, sweat gathers in your palms.

Standing in the wings just out of sight, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. The lights dim, the curtain lifts, and you open your eyes. Your gaze darts over the crowd, struggling to see anything through the bright lights.

It takes a second to process, but a grin’s breaking out across your face almost before you can fully form the thought: the theater’s practically empty. People must have walked out during the intermission, you realize with a quiet, giddy laugh.

Charlie, standing on stage, must have noticed too; his voice wavers just slightly through his first few lines. You feel a twinge of sympathy for him. Despite everything, you do feel terribly for all the actors who really are taking this seriously. They’ll still get their cut, though, if not a great review in the newspapers.

When you see your cue, you walk out and begin to act.

Ridiculously, it feels good to be on stage again. Even if it’s doomed to fail, if it’s a joke, if your already nonexistent reputation will almost certainly take a nosedive after this play even if it’s the best performance of your life.

The second half of the play goes much faster than the first. You’re taking bows before you realize, and you smile happily not because of rambunctious applause, but because of the few scattered claps you receive from the nearly empty audience.

Harry’s giving you a standing ovation from his box.

Backstage is quiet after the curtain falls. D’Angelo, surprisingly, is the most cheerful, popping around and giving everyone enthusiastic feedback. He’s exchanged his glass of water for a flute of champagne, which he sips at elegantly in between words.

“Wonderful job, darling, positively splendid,” he says to you, patting your cheek. To Harry, he adds, “And wonderful play, Mr. Styles. The reviews shall be the first of their kind.” A grin begins to spread across your face, and D’Angelo winks at you before whisking off to console someone crying by the mirrors.

“The first of their kind,” Harry echoes under his breath.

You laugh and reply, “He got that right.”

“Let’s get food,” Harry suggests. “I’m starved.”

Nodding, you tell him, “I’ll meet you at the diner,” and grab your stuff to change out of your costume. He walks off, saying goodbyes as he leaves. After changing into something more comfortable, you do the same, hugging D’Angelo goodbye and talking with a few people on your way out.

A Fleetwood Mac song is playing on the jukebox when you walk into the diner. Harry’s chewing french fries, staring out the window. He looks pensive, and you tell him that as you slide into the booth.

“I am,” he admits quietly. Then he tacks on, “Worried” like it hurts to say. “I’m worried.”

You bite your lip, watching him for a second. His eyes are downcast. “Your ringer’s on, right?” you ask, nodding at his cell phone. Harry nods, picking it up. “She’ll call,” he murmurs, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself.

“She will,” you assure him. It’s the company manager you’re talking about, who will hopefully decide that between the attendance - or lack thereof - and horrific reviews, she can’t keep your play open any longer.

“Ninety percent of the theater walked out,” you go on. “There’s no way they won’t close us.” Harry shrugs, leaning back and clearing his throat. “Er… yeah. Yeah.” He nods, an air of finality around him as if he’s done talking about it.

Tapping your fingers against the table, you hesitate for a second before speaking again. “Not to… pry or anything, but what happened with you and her?” you ask. “Gwen? The company manager?”

Harry’s brows jump. “What makes you ask that?”

A tad embarrassed, you shake your head. “Oh, it’s… nothing. Just with… Aurora… and what you said about, uh - Tanner Smith liking your old… girlfriend… presumably…” You laugh, a bit awkwardly. “But you don’t have to answer that. Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Harry says. He shrugs, looking at his glass of water. “Yeah, we had a thing. It was a while ago. We, erm… We were pretty close.” A small smile curves his lips as he traces shapes in the condensation on the glass, and your gaze shifts to the window.

“We worked on a project, a big play we wrote together… Smith helped with that. She’s gorgeous, Gwen…” He pauses again. You regret asking. Finally, he clears his throat and goes on, “Er, but yeah, he took a liking to her. That’s really the only reason he still invests in anything, I think. He keeps hoping she’ll come back.”

He looks up, giving a wry laugh. “She won’t. Aurora scared her off. I brought her to the hospital and she kind of… It was too much. She was a little bit… she wasn’t very…” He clears his throat. “Nice with her. With - er, with Aurora…” His smile fades into something a little bit more genuine, and he meets your eye. “Not nearly as nice as you are with her.”

You frown.

Another bit of a pause, and he looks back at his glass. “But, erm… yeah, Gwen wasn’t a huge fan of the whole… taking-care-of-a-sick-child-in-the-hospital thing. She said all this stuff about commitment and not even wanting -” His jaw clenches, and he makes faint air quotes with his fingers as he mutters, “‘Normal kids’, much less a kid that…” He fades off. “I dunno. Wasn’t great. So.” He looks up and shrugs. “That’s that.”

“Wow,” you breathe. “I’m - I’m sorry. That’s awful.”

“Don’t be,” Harry sighs. “It’s over now.” He gives you a half-smile, popping a fry into his mouth. “I’ve gone and ruined the mood, haven’t I?” You shake your head and reply, “I asked.” You half-smile back at him. “If anything, it’s my fault.”

“If you insist,” Harry says. “Come on, tell me something good.”

You raise a brow. “Like what?”

He smiles big, nudging your foot gently under the table. “We’re going to Rio.”

You smile big too, because he’s not even kidding. You booked the tickets with him a few days ago. The plan is to get out of the country for a while until everything settles down. You’ll avoid a few calls, lay low, then come back to thousands of dollars and all your problems solved.

“I can’t wait to go to the beach,” you murmur, leaning back against the booth.

Harry hums in agreement. “You’ll love the view,” he says.

“You’ve been?” you ask.

Harry shakes his head, a stupid smile on his face. “Nah. But the view of me in my little yellow swim shorts can make up for any underwhelming scenery.” You scoff a laugh and echo, “Little yellow swim shorts?”

“They’re fantastic, darling,” Harry assures you with a big grin. “We’ll have to go shopping so we can match.” You nod, giggling despite yourself. “Forget the beach, I can’t wait for that.” Harry nods sagely. “It’ll be great.”

You crack jokes with him about his swim attire the whole way home.

The phone doesn’t ring once.

***

The second night is not nearly as exciting as the first. The lobby is empty. A few people filter in, but there were significantly more tickets bought than the number of attendees. As far as you know, there aren’t any more ticket sales, either.

You’re somehow even more uneasy than you were last night. Harry is, too. Nobody says anything. It’s just a bunch of nervous looks and heavy silence. Backstage is quiet, too. D’Angelo is the only one saying anything at all. His voice is lower, though, and even his orange boa seems to be a bit lifeless.

The play seems to take hours. People walk out. It’s getting a bit depressing - you realize that’s your goal, for the theater to be totally empty, but it’s really quite difficult to act to a nonexistent audience.

Backstage is quiet after the play, too. You get changed and walk out to meet Harry, brows jumping when you see him talking to a woman you don’t recognize. She’s tall and thin and blonde, sunglasses perched on top of her head. Her clothing is casual, just a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.

“Hello,” you say hesitantly as you walk up to them.

“Hey, there,” the woman greets you. Bright blue eyes meet yours, and she smiles as she sticks her hand out for you to shake. Her nails are painted a light pink. You match her smile and shake her hand, introducing yourself.

“Nice to meet you,” she says. “I’m Gwen.”

Ah, you think. You steal a glance at Harry, who looks a bit tense.

You clear your throat. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Yeah,” she replies, laughing a little. “I, uh… Yeah. Well, uh, I was just starting to talk to H about Fatigue. And, um… I’m sorry, but I’m not sure you’ll be happy to hear our decision…” You look at Harry again, and he doesn’t meet your eye.

“That doesn’t sound good,” you say, because Harry stays quiet.

“Well, I think you’ve seen the reception,” Gwen says. “And there hasn’t been a single ticket sale since before it opened last night.” She sighs, a sympathetic look on her face as her gaze bounces between you and Harry. “I’m afraid we just can’t afford to keep it open any longer.”

“We understand,” Harry says, finally speaking up. His hand slides into yours, surprising you, and you watch Gwen’s eyes flick down to catch the action. “We’ll go tell everyone,” Harry goes on. “It was nice seeing you, Gwen.”

He leads you away, and you nod goodbye at Gwen a tad awkwardly over your shoulder.

“You okay?” you ask quietly once she’s out of earshot.

You see his jaw flex, but he doesn’t answer for a moment. He pulls his hand away from yours and runs it through his hair, and then, barely loud enough for you to hear, he says, “That was my sweatshirt.”

“Oh,” you say, wincing.

“I can’t believe her,” he mutters. “Christ.”

You pause a second, unsure what to say, then decide, “I’m surprised she didn’t just call.”

Harry just shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just… We’ll have to tell them. They should hear it from us.” You nod and murmur, “D’Angelo will be devastated.” Harry sighs, pushing open the door. “I’m sure he saw it coming.”

Everyone looks up when the two of you walk in.

As soon as D’Angelo sees your expressions, he finishes the last of his champagne in one gulp. He sighs, holding your gaze, and then speaks to Harry. “How’s your lovely Gwen doing, then?” he asks breezily, his easy tone a sharp contrast to his strained body language.

“I’m not sure,” Harry says quietly. “We didn’t talk much.”

D’Angelo hums lowly. “It’s not good news, I presume?”

“No,” you say. “No, it’s… it’s not.”

“Finished, are we?” D’Angelo asks.

Both you and Harry hesitate.

And then Harry answers, “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” you add weakly.

D’Angelo raises his empty champagne flute. “It was a valiant effort.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then everyone looks away and begins packing up their things. Low chatter breaks out, and D’Angelo slowly drifts over to the half-empty bottle of champagne in the corner. He inspects the label, swirls it around, and then takes a drink directly from the bottle.

Harry clears his throat next to you. “I was planning to go to the hospital,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, that’s a - that’s a good idea,” you reply with a nod.

You lock eyes, just for a moment, and then Harry turns away.

“I’ll meet you at the car,” he says, and walks off.

You say your goodbyes and follow Harry out.

***

“You’re… leaving?” Aurora gasps, eyes wide and beginning to glisten.

Harry squeezes her hand and tells her, “Just for a while.”

“A while?” she echoes, a tear rolling down her cheek. “But - but -”

“We’ll be back before you know it, princess,” you murmur from behind Harry.

Harry nods. “You’ll blink and we’ll be back.”

Aurora hiccups a sob, chin wobbling as her gaze darts between you and Harry. “But we’re almost done with - with Trumpet,” she whispers. “You can’t leave me on a - a hill - a hang - a rock -” She breaks off with another sob, pulling away from Harry to wipe at her nose with her little hand.

Your heart cracks in two. “A cliffhanger,” you whisper.

“You can’t leave me!” Aurora cries.

“We’re not, baby,” Harry insists, voice cracking. “I promise, we’ll be back.”

Aurora sniffles, crossing her arms over her chest and stubbornly looking at the other end of the room, away from either of you. “Just go,” she whimpers. Harry reaches out, and she jerks away, closing her eyes as tears fall faster.

“We’ll be back,” Harry promises again, voice barely audible.

“Go away!” Aurora sobs, and she burrows under the blankets.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, looking hopeless, and you place your hands on his shoulders. “Come on,” you say softly. “She’ll come around. We’ll call her. FaceTime.” Harry closes his eyes, just for a second, and then stands up.

“We’ll… we’ll be right back,” he murmurs.

No response.

“I love you, okay?” he tries. “And I promise… I promise we’ll be… right back…”

Still nothing.

Harry wipes his face and clears his throat. “Bye, Aurora,” he whispers.

Aurora just sniffles again, pulling the blanket further over her head.

Gently, you take Harry’s hand and guide him out.

“It’ll all be worth it,” you tell him, squeezing his hand.

Harry nods and squeezes your hand back, silent.

***

Everything’s packed.

The money has been transferred to several offshore accounts, safe to stay unnoticed until everything’s settled down and you and Harry can start slowly shifting it back into your own accounts.

The plane ride is a bit tense. Harry brought a deck of cards, of course, and you trade magic tricks and play games of Go Fish and Gin Rummy. He chews gum and you giggle watching him attempt to blow bubbles.

It’s hot in Rio. Harry holds your hand as you navigate the airport and the buses to your hotel. It’s a relief to finally arrive, to collapse onto the big fluffy bed and sprawl out in the glorious air conditioning.

The first night, the two of you order room service and eat dinner while watching TV.

And the phone. You watch the phone, too.

Every so often, your gazes will both drift to the phone at the same time, and you’ll catch his eye and give a half-smile. You’re waiting for a call from an investor, of course, demanding where their money is and why the hell they haven’t been able to reach you.

In reality, there’s no way they’ll think of you. The play has probably already been forgotten. Individually, each person gave such a small amount that they probably forgot about it days after they signed the papers. To think that they’d not only remember your play but that they’d be angry that you lost their money is ridiculous.

There’s no way.

It’s silly to think about, really, and whenever you find yourself worrying, you take a breath and think about how mind-boggling your situation is. You’re in a hotel room in Rio de Janeiro that’s almost as big as your entire apartment.

The hotel room you’re in is large. It’s a suite. The bathroom’s ginormous, the closet’s practically just as big, and the desk is a rich, dark oak color fit with huge drawers and a bright lamp. There are two small couches situated in front of the windows, right in front of the door to the little balcony just outside.

Huge windows look out over the glittering city, and far in the distance, you can see the Christ the Redeemer statue. Twinkling lights wink at you, brightly colored in the pitch-black night. Trees sway in the light breeze, and the softest sound of music can be heard even as far from the city as you are.

In a suite as big as this, there are two beds. Harry falls asleep in the same bed you do anyway, on the opposite side. You don’t think about it until the next morning when you realize both of you somehow gravitated to the middle, and you’re curled into his side with your head on his chest.

The sound of birds wakes you up. You’re struck with the oddest of feelings; everything is just so surreal you’re not even sure where to begin. It’s so much more pleasant than it should be to just lay there, reveling in how content you are nestled up to this guy you used to despise with all your being.

Then, suddenly, your heart begins to ache, because you realize you haven’t gotten around to letting him know just how much your feelings towards him have changed. Nothing’s happened since that kiss, and it hurts.

It hurts just to think about it, and being right next to him like this isn’t helping. You roll out of bed, wash your face with cold water, push all of those thoughts out of your mind. It’s not worth the stress.

Harry stirs as you brew a cup of coffee, sitting up and running a hand through his hair with his eyes still half shut. “Smells good,” he mumbles, voice heavy with sleep. “Coffee,” you tell him, lifting your now full cup. “Want some?”

He nods, stretching up towards the ceiling before flopping back down. “Mhmm.”

You start another cup, then turn around and lean on the dresser, watching him while you take a hesitant sip of your scalding coffee. You can see his chest rising and falling gently, and his swallows peek out of his white t-shirt. He’s on his back, head to the side, morning sunlight reflecting through the trees by the window and splashing over his face like he’s in some dramatic Renoir painting.

The coffee maker sputters to a stop. You blink, feeling like an absolute creep for just staring at him like this, and hurriedly turn around to grab the cup. Harry sits up as you walk over, and after handing him his cup, you sit on the edge of the bed, crossing your legs and cradling your warm coffee in both hands.

He takes a sip, and his eyes flutter shut blissfully. “Bloody hell,” he sighs.

“Jesus,” you laugh. “It’s not that good.”

He pouts at you. “It’s fucking incredible.”

“Guess it’s those Brazilian nuts.”

Harry grins. “Damn right,” he says.

He holds your gaze for just a second, smile still in his eyes, and you have to look away.

Standing up, you clear your throat and turn to look out the window. “We should… go somewhere, or… something,” you say. There’s a beat of silence, and then he laughs, just a little, and you’re looking over at him again before you can stop yourself.

“What?” you ask, and you can’t stop yourself from smiling, either.

He giggles at you. “I - we’re in Rio, and you think we wouldn’t go somewhere?”

You scoff, shaking your head as your face heats a bit. “Hey, I don’t know!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he tells you, still smiling, and he stands up and runs his hands through his hair as he stretches again. “We can take a walk,” he suggests. “Get to know the place.” You nod, looking down into your coffee.

“Sounds good,” you say.

***

“It’ll have six bedrooms.”

Harry grins. “Eight bathrooms.”

“Twelve kitchens.”

“Fifteen pools.”

“Twenty - uh… Twenty… fireplaces…?”

Harry laughs, shaking his head, and takes your hand, swinging it up and down. You’re walking along a beach, sand slipping under your flip-flops and sinking under your feet. You’ve just finished breakfast, and you feel perfectly content.

“I’ve always wanted to build my own house,” Harry says.

“Missed opportunity in construction?”

Harry frowns and amends, “Er - well, more design my own house.”

You nudge his hip, smiling. “Think you’d look good in one of those orange hard hats.”

“Thought you’d prefer something else that’s hard…”

You scoff a laugh. “Wow. Coming on strong for ten in the morning.”

“Sorry,” Harry laughs. “Too much?”

“Maybe just wait a few more hours. Let me get something better than coffee in me.”

“Asking me to get you drunk?”

You just shrug, grinning at him.

“I’ll take you up on that,” Harry says.

There’s a beat of silence, and you watch your hand, intertwined with Harry’s, still swaying back and forth. The waves gently crash against the shore, birds chirping away in the distance.

After a second, you clear your throat. “So,” you say, “you kissed me.”

Harry gazes off at the water. “Did I?”

You stop walking. You open your mouth to reply, then close it again.

He looks at you, and there’s a smirk on his lips. “Don’t remember that,” he says.

You’re not sure how to respond. Hurt rushes through you, then anger, confusion, and -

“I think I’ll have to do it again,” he goes on. “See if it rings any bells.”

Relief floods your body. You smile, just slightly. “Right,” you breathe. “Guess you will.”

He kisses you, softly, hand cupping your cheek gently. He touches you gingerly, like you’ll break, like you’ll pull away, like he’s a little scared. So you’re the one to lean into him, you’re the one to slide a hand onto the nape of his neck and pull him closer, grinning against his lips and giggling when he smiles too.

“You’re a bastard for that,” you tell him when you pull away, a bit breathlessly.

“For what?” he asks innocently.

You roll your eyes. “Pretending you didn’t remember.”

“Sorry,” he says, kissing you once more.

He takes your hand, starting to walk again, letting silence linger for just a second. He’s looking at the sand, smile fading away. He looks like he’s in deep thought, and you squeeze his hand. “You okay?”

He looks up at you and smiles just a bit. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. I’m just thinking… You know, erm… I don’t want to pressure you,” he tells you, his voice lowering as he stops again to face you fully. “I, er… I know the original plan was to - you know, go our separate ways after… after all this. And it’s… It’s a lot, I know -” He laughs softly. “Christ, I’m a lot, just with Aurora, and the theater, and…” He fades off, running a hand over his face. “Er… But yeah. I just… I wanna let you know that I’m not… pressuring you to stay, or anything… We can stick to the - the plan.”

“No,” you say immediately, and then feel a bit self-conscious. “I mean… I don’t want to. I really…” You give him a smile. “I really like you. And Aurora. And it’s a lot, yeah, but… I don’t care. I don’t mind. I love all of it. I -” You falter, then, “I mean - I like - I -”

He raises a brow at you.

So you bite your lip, then dive in headfirst. “I love you,” you say.

“Love you too,” he replies with a big smile, and he kisses you.

***

It’s hours later, now, and you’ve wandered into some restaurant by the beach.

The bar is loud, crowded, and thrumming with music in Portuguese. Somebody’s singing from a big stage in the back. Your hand is firmly in Harry’s, walking next to him through the mass of moving bodies. A warm breeze heavy with ocean air flows through huge open windows, colorful lights shining in the dark.

When you finally make it to the counter, Harry gestures vaguely at something on the wall to the bartender, and you point at the drink of the person next to you. You glance at each other, shrug, and watch as the bartender mixes and shakes up a bunch of mysterious liquids.

Your final result is bright blue, like the one the girl next to you just finished. Harry’s is pink and green. With laughs neither of you can hear over the noise, you clink your glasses against each other and take sips.

Harry’s nose wrinkles. “Sour,” you see him say.

Yours is extremely sweet, and you make an eh motion with your hand and hold it out to him. He takes it and gives you his, and you try his as he tries yours. Your nose must wrinkle like his did, because he grins and hands yours back.

You shake your head, though, and look around for someone who has a drink you’d actually like to have. When you spot someone downing a shot glass full of what looks like water but clearly isn’t, you point that out to the bartender along with two fingers.

A few shots later, you’re buzzing, dancing with Harry amid the mass of people on the dance floor. The music’s so loud, electrifying the air around you. It seems like you’re being shifted towards the front of the room, and before you know it, you appear to be on the raised platform all the way at the front.

Bright lights hit your face, making you giggle and squint. People start clapping, Harry spins you around, and everyone cheers. There’s a screen directly in front of you. You walk up to it, practically dragging Harry with you, and realize it’s a song bank - and there are microphones on the table next to it.

“Karaoke!” you shout at Harry.

He grins and starts flicking through the song choices. When you see one you like, you reach out and tap the screen, pointing at it. Harry laughs and nods excitedly, clicking it. Immediately, the music changes.

On cue, you and Harry come in.

“Yoooo, I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want -”

It’s not in Portuguese, but nobody seems to mind, and they give you rambunctious applause regardless. You and Harry can barely get the words out for how much you’re laughing and giggling at each other’s dance moves and crazy singing. He spins you around again, you spin him, both of you trip on the mic wires at least three times. As the song ends, he dips you, kisses your nose, and then stands up so both of you can take big bows.

You’re breathless by that point, and you stumble off the stage with Harry as someone else takes the mic. On some unsaid agreement, you both keep going out of the restaurant and back onto the beach towards your hotel.

With your fingers tangled in his and chests heaving, you walk all the way back to the hotel. It’s pretty close, and when you arrive, the two of you lean against the door and grin at each other, hearts still racing.

Harry kisses you, then, hand sliding against your cheek and lips smiling against yours. The wood of the door is cool against your back, and it’s not because of the hot Brazilian air that you’re warming up again.

He pulls his shoulder off the door, almost pinning you against it as your smiles fade and your kisses become more desperate. You want more, more, more; want him closer, closer - even closer - and with fumbling fingers you shed the clothes that separate you as you lurch towards the bed.

It’s warm, in Brazil, so warm, and you’ve never felt a greater thrill.

***

The next morning, after grins and kisses and coffee, the phone rings.

Harry glances at you, then picks it up.

“Hello?” he says. Then, “Yes, this is he.”

He’s quiet for a while. He fiddles with his lip.

“I know,” he says. “Right. Right, I know. Don’t worry… Yes, expect a call soon. Won’t be from me, no, but… No… Yes, of course, I… Fantastic. Great talking with you. Expect that call! Bye, bye now.”

He hangs up.

“Investor?” you ask.

He nods.

You open your mouth to say something, then stop.

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells you, starting to smile. “They’ll never remember. One call, that’s all. That wasn’t even the guy himself - it was his assistant. We’ll be buried under hundreds of other things to do. I’ve had to remind people, you know, even on plays that do well. They always forget.”

You’re not quite persuaded, but he comes over and squeezes your shoulder and says, “It’ll be alright” so convincingly that you can’t help but believe him. You nod, taking his hand, and let him lead you out to the balcony, where fruit and warm bread are waiting for you.

Over the next few weeks, only a couple of calls come in. Harry handles them, uses that same calming tone, and says basically the same thing each time: expect a phone call, sorry for the delay, don’t worry about it.

You sit back and distract your racing heart with the beautiful sights, sounds, and food.

***

Harry makes some killer pancakes. After living with him for months and months, you’ve had more than your fair share of his fluffy, buttery pancakes. And while you’d be the first to crown him the best pancake maker in New York, his pancake breakfasts have absolutely nothing on the Brazilian breakfasts you’ve had since you’ve gotten to Rio de Janeiro.

Nevertheless, it’s a few weeks later, and you’ve awoken to the scent of bacon.

“What are you doing?” you ask incredulously, following your nose to the small kitchenette in the hotel suite. “Pancakes!” Harry exclaims, flipping around to brandish his teeny frying pan at you.

“Oh, Harry,” you sigh, taking a tiny pancake from the pile anyway.

Harry turns back around to busy himself with his task. “Listen,” he begins seriously. “I’m aware of how good the food here is. We’re had right scrumptious meals here -” You giggle through a bite of pancake and interrupt, “You’re right scrumptious.”

“Shush,” Harry says, but you can see him dimpling from behind him. “What I mean to say is that I was bored, so don’t blame me for the American food.” You frown at his back. “Bored?” you echo.

You’ve hardly been sitting around doing nothing, you think at first, but then as you think about it more, you… kind of have. The two of you were on a good run the first few days, going out every day and finding a new sight to see. Three weeks in, though, it’s a lot more tempting to just stay in bed all day and lounge around in the sunshine.

“Yeah,” Harry replies now as he turns to face you. “I’m getting antsy.”

“Find an anteater.”

He pouts.

You smile apologetically at him and hold up a little pancake. “Delicious.”

“Thanks,” he says.

You bite your lip, leaning back in your chair as your brain slowly wakes up. “How about… a picnic?” you suggest. “We could go down to the beach again and bring a basket - make it all aesthetic and pretty!”

Harry points his spatula at you. “That’s the spirit!”

“You can pack the basket,” you say.

He frowns. “Maybe try a different spirit.”

“How about - I don’t pack it, and you pack it!”

“That’s… the same spirit.”

“I’ve never believed in ghosts anyway,” you tell him, and you stand up, sliding your plate into the sink. “Have fun!” you say, patting him on the chest as you pass him “And pack some fruits, Styles. Let’s stay healthy.”

“Let’s,” Harry echoes, grumbling, “as in let us. Let us pack the basket.”

“You’re such a gentleman,” you call.

He is, really, he is a gentleman, because he packs it despite your later offers to help and then presents you with a ginormous sun hat when you appear fully changed. You put it on, and when its brim droops over your forehead, you say, “Hey, it flops, just like all of your plays!”

“Oh, fuck off,” Harry scoffs, but he’s laughing so he can’t be too insulted.

It’s gorgeous by the water, unsurprisingly, and you feed each other strawberries and sip sparkling water while you chatter away about nothing. You drift closer and closer until you’ve forgotten all about the view of the sunset for strawberry sweet kisses, and you both decide to call it a day and head back for the hotel.

You see him fiddling with his phone as you step out of the bathroom, changed after your shower, and your smile dims a little as you realize what he’s thinking. “We should try again,” you tell him, and he looks up, looking conflicted.

You’re talking about Aurora, about calling her, because she hasn’t picked up the last twenty times you’ve tried. Harry’s talked to her nurses, who say she’s doing relatively well health-wise but not great with everything else. She misses them, the nurses say, but she’s still angry.

“Come on,” you say, plopping down next to him on the bed and gently sliding his phone out of his hands. You move slowly, giving him the opportunity to stop you, and then hand it to him before pressing the call button.

He gives you a smile. “Hundredth time’s the charm.”

And lo and behold - he’s right.

“You gotta come back,” Aurora says as soon as she picks up. “I had a dream about the little swan last night, Harry, you gotta come back! I need to know what happens!” Harry breathes an incredulous laugh and clears his throat.

“I - er, yeah, Ror, of course,” he says. “Soon.”

You pop into the camera view for a second, wiggling your fingers, and Aurora gives a shy smile. “Hi,” she says, sounding a little guilty. “Sorry for not… picking up.” Harry glances at you, and you reply, “Don’t worry about it, princess.”

“We’re still sorry,” Harry adds.

Aurora pouts, looking down, and mumbles, “Should be.”

“Just a few more weeks, Ror,” Harry tells her, his voice weak.

She huffs a little bit and then glances up again. She moves around a little bit, peering into the camera like she’s trying to look behind you. “Where are you guys, anyway?” Harry smiles and exclaims, “Brazil!”

Aurora still looks confused. “Well, where’s that?”

“Remember when we went to Disney World for your birthday?” Harry asks, and when Aurora nods, he goes on, “Right, well, it’s like if you went there, then kept going for a few hours until you heard Portuguese.”

Aurora blinks, then chirps, “Okay!”

“How’re you, princess?” Harry asks. “Any drama we should be aware of?”

“Oh, so much,” Aurora gushes. She starts her story, and as the air warms with her voice, Harry’s hand slides into yours and you begin to relax. Through the end of the phone call, you and Harry can barely keep the smiles off your face.

***

You stay in Brazil for a long time. After it’s been two weeks without a single call from any of the investors, you decide to pack it up. Back home, it’s totally quiet, like nothing ever happened. It’s still scary, though, and the plane ride back is mostly quiet. You’re cautious driving through town, peeking into the theater, greeting people as you walk into Harry’s apartment.

It only takes a look to agree on where to go first after dropping everything off in the apartment, and you’re at the hospital in no time with a huge bag of souvenirs. You’re both greeted with huge smiles and hugs all the way to Aurora’s room.

Aurora’s asleep when you walk in, and Harry gives you a bit of a nervous look before approaching and kneeling down beside her to gently place a kiss on her forehead. She wakes up slowly, blinking blearily before processing Harry in front of her and gasping and throwing her arms around his neck.

“Harry!” she squeals, hugging him tightly. With wide eyes, she looks up, then exclaims your name and you walk over to give her a hug of your own. “You’re back!” she says happily, glancing between the two of you excitedly.

“We sure are,” you tell her.

Harry nods. “We missed you, princess.”

“Missed you too,” Aurora replies.

You clear your throat and bring the small present from behind your back. “We have something for you,” you tell her, handing the little white bag to you. Aurora laughs delightedly, clapping her hands and crinkling the tissue paper inside before pulling out the gift.

“Oh…” she breathes. “Pascal!”

It’s not exactly Pascal, Rapunzel’s pet in Tangled, but it’s a little stuffed toy of a chameleon you found with Harry in some gift shop in Brazil and you figured Aurora would like him. “Told you I’d bring you a Pascal one of these days,” you say with a wink.

“I, of course,” Harry begins with a dramatic sigh, “am completely against this gift.”

Aurora breaks out in giggles.

“... So I had to get you something else,” Harry finishes. He hands her his own gift, a sparkly pink bag with two things inside. Aurora is enthralled with the delicate tiara, and Harry makes a whole production of crowning her princess of all of New York.

The second gift is a small snow globe, but glitter rains down on a beautiful beach scene rather than snow when Aurora flips it upside down, eyes wide with wonder. “I love it,” she says, voice a little quiet in awe.

“We won’t have to leave again,” Harry promises softly.

Aurora looks up, lowering the globe to her lap. “Please don’t,” she says.

Harry smiles a little, then squeezes her hand and stands up, sliding The Trumpet of the Swan off its spot on the table. “Hope you didn’t read any without us,” he sighs, settling down in his spot on the sofa.

Happily, you curl up next to him, just as pleased as Aurora to be continuing the story.

***

Back at the apartment the next day to finalize some paperwork, your phone begins to ring. It’s an unknown number. Glancing at Harry nervously, you pick it up and wander over to the window as the voice on the other end begins to talk.

Your heart drops as you realize what’s happening. It’s someone from another company, asking you to audition for a play they’re starting to work on. Apparently, someone had seen your performance in Fatigue and thought you were wonderful. They couldn’t believe you were working with such a shit producer, they said, and would you like to join their company?

“Yes!” you say immediately, a little too excitedly. “I mean - yes. Please. Thank you.”

They give you the details, and with a still racing heart, you turn around and see Harry, working on some papers at his desk, looking very confused. Your eyes widen. “Oh my God,” you say, realizing what you’d just done.

“You alright, love?” he asks, sounding a bit amused.

You clear your throat. “Um, I just agreed to audition for another play?”

His brows jump, and he comes around his desk to wrap you in a hug. “Bloody hell!” he laughs. “Congratulations! That’s great - did they say when auditions are? Is it close by? What theater?”

You sputter a laugh, surprised at his reaction, and start, “Well, I… I mean… Are you okay with this? Did you want me to stick with you?” Harry scoffs, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. You’re too good for me. My producing days are over.”

“Really?” you ask, startled.

He leans against the desk, shrugging slightly. “Well… yeah. I mean, my record hardly suggests greatness, you know? I’ll find something else.” He grins, wiggling his brows, and adds, “Maybe I’ll go into writing. I certainly know what to avoid.”

“That would be great!” you exclaim. “Harry Styles, writer-producer extraordinaire!”

“Damn right,” Harry tells you, and he kisses you. You lean into him, hand sliding into his hair, and he whispers, “This desk hasn’t been broken in yet.” You snicker, about to reply, when your hand grazes a stack of papers and you sigh, pulling away. Harry whines, puckering his lips and smooching at you.

“We have paperwork to do,” you tell him.

He pouts. “You’re no fun.”

“After,” you say, giving him one last kiss.

“Maybe we can multitask,” Harry muses, turning around anyway and starting to shuffle some papers. “It takes you about a million years to finish a document when I’m not distracting you,” you reply, stealing a pen from his cup.

“Reckon I just need practice,” he says as you collapse on the sofa. You sigh, smiling despite yourself as you click your pen, shuffle some papers, and get to work. “Sure, Styles,” you say.

***

Two nights later, you’re sitting on the floor in the hallway of the hospital.

Beside you, the vending machine hums lowly. It harmonizes with the fluorescent lights buzzing on the ceiling, which are so bright they make your head hurt even when you close your eyes. Every few minutes, the lights flicker just slightly. Just enough for you to notice.

Harry dusts his hands off, reaching up to toss his candy wrapper into the trashcan. Like yours, his legs are stretched out in front of him. His hands are folded in his lap, head rested against the wall behind him.

He nudges your toe with his foot, shifting to look at you. He looks tired. When you meet his eyes, he starts to smile, lips curving slowly until he’s full on grinning, dimpling at you and laughing just a little.

“What?” you ask, unable to stop yourself from laughing just a little too.

He shrugs. “Dunno.”

You hold up the wrapper from the candy bar you just ate, peering at it, and tell him, “I wonder if it’s possible to get a sugar rush at one in the morning.” Harry takes it from you and pushes it into the trashcan.

“If you eat the entire vending machine,” he says, “probably.”

“I’m tired,” you whisper.

“What happened to the sugar rush?”

You take his hand, a bit delirious, and flip it palm up in your lap. “You’re gonna have a long life,” you say softly, tracing a random line on his skin. You start at his wrist, and follow a few lines up to one of his rings. “And be very stylish,” you continue, spinning a ring around.

“Why, thank you,” Harry says.

You smile at him. “You’re welcome.”

Harry touches the bottom of your chin with his finger, gently pushing up, and press his lips to yours. You relax at his touch, eyelids fluttering shut as his hand slides to hold your cheek, supporting you, grounding you, giving you butterflies.

Aurora’s sleeping in her room. Harry finished reading The Trumpet of the Swan just before she fell asleep. Earlier, while she went through tests and played, you and Harry filled out the proper forms for the procedure she’d need in a few months. It won’t be an easy ride, but she’ll be alright. And sitting on the floor, head rested on Harry’s shoulder and hand entwined with his, you get the feeling you just might be alright, too.

~*~ and there she is!!! all done!!! i'm gonna admit this chapter took SO LONG - i'm pretty sure i finished the first two chapters in like less than a month and this one took me. five months. BUT i got it done and i hit my word goal and i'm super proud of myself! honestly i'm just glad i got it out lmao. but i do hope someone out there enjoyed it, and if u did, a reblog and some feedback would be absolutely splendid <3

thank you for reading!!!!

masterlist | ask

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #🧇

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littlexstarlightx · 1 year ago

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Melissa's Studio Flat First floor (top ) Second floor /Loft (bottom)

#{to much fizzyfaz: ooc}#{glitter glue comes out right?: musing}

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buglife · 4 years ago

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22 for Quirrel and Monomon (Monomom) has mother/son relationship.

22. “Boom! That’s a victory in my book!”

(No beta reader and I apologize for any errors! I will put this on A03 later most likely.)

Monomon hrmed to herself as she tapped her mask with the end of a quill. She has been working on the same chemical formula for the past few hours. Lurien had swore up and down that if only she could come up with some sort of...mild...explosive, that it could theoretically be used as a source of power. He had explained that using such a compound could potentially power a machine through sheer physics alone and keep going without the need of further input, at least until the compound ran out. Something about gears and pistons and other things...she didn’t quite catch it all through his ramblings. He had most likely stayed up for days again and is most likely now forcibly put to bed by his butler. Lurien may be hilarious when sleep deprived but she didn’t want her friend to up and die from lack of said sleep.

Still it was very interesting and even if the idea didn’t work, it was always nice to have a new type of explosive around. You know. For reasons. Not just for the good of the kingdom after all.

Before she could continue her musings or her notes, she was interrupted by the sound of sniffling and the tapping of tiny feet passing her door. This part of the archives was her private home, which meant that the only source of the noise would be her adopted son, now home from school. It was highly unusual that he just didn’t barge on in to yell about some new fact he learned or to show off his marks like most days. He is quite the excitable little pip and always happy to ask questions his teachers couldn’t answer.

She put down her quill in instant concern and floated over her seat, leaving her work behind on her desk. She opened the door to her study and poked out her head, listening.

Yep, she still heard the sniffling, but down the hall and behind the door covered in crayon drawings and book posters. The door was also closed as well, another unusual thing. She held up a tentacle curled up the tip to knock softly once she approached, and waited for the answer.

“Sniff...come in.” The voice behind the door was so sad, it made her pseudo-heart clench as she cracked open the door.

“Quirrel, are you okay?” She regretted the question as soon as she asked it once she saw her adopted son. Little Quirrel looked absolutely miserable, tiny antenna drooping as he rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t old enough for a mask yet, so she could see that he must have been crying for a while. He was half curled up. Most likely he was fully balled up in distress before she knocked, which gave her a spark of pride that he trusted her to open up a little. A far cry from when she found him only a few years ago, all alone.

Monomon drifted over to gently sit on the bed with her little pillbug, wrapping a comforting tentacle around his small body. She used another to pat his head gently between the antenna, something that he always liked. She kept her outer self gentle as she wiped away tears and dried his face. Inside however, she was calculating how much acid she will need per volume to remove all traces of those responsible for making her dear little pip cry. Surely the kingdom won’t miss a few bugs here and there, right?

It’s so very hard to see such a tiny little child upset. What made it worse is that she doesn’t know exactly how old he is. The doctors estimated around six or seven now last time she took him in for a check up. Still, too small to be this sad, in her humble opinion.

“What happened, my little scholar?” She had let him calm down a little before she decided it was okay to start looking for answers. She’ll give him all the time he needed to speak.

He hugged one of her tentacles and buried his face into the soft material. He didn’t speak for a moment, grounding himself before he managed to choke out a short sentence.

“They ruined it.”

“Ruined, what, my dear?” She continued her cuddling and felt him relax a little.

“My project.” He freed one of his arms long enough to point to a smooshed box on the floor of the room.

She was big enough that all she really needed to do was to crane her head and look without having to stop snuggling her child. She couldn’t help but wince a little at the sight. She knew what that was. In the smashed up box was an equally smashed up mess that was once an intricately put together model of the White Palace. The numerous Popsicle sticks so lovingly glitter glued together was snapped to pieces. The fiends even crumbled up the little paper windows he so carefully cut out and glued into place. She had watched him labor over this project for a solid week, and if she remembered right, he was supposed to turn it in today with the rest of his class. She had to think a minute as her own teaching plans muddled into the ones Quirrel talked about having in school. Sometimes it was hard to keep track of it all.

“They meh—m--mashed it up cause they said I’m-m-m a show off and nobody likes show offs and that’s why no-nobody likes me in school and I make everyone else look bad to-to the teacher.” He was in tears again and she for a moment wondered just how much could be left in such a small little body.

“Listen to me, my little scholar.” She once again took on tear wiping duty, taking a second tentacle to tickle under his chin the way she knows he likes. “What those people are, are bullies. Nothing they say is the truth.”

“But...but they”

“They said the things they knew would make you feel sad.” She interrupted before he could begin one of his negative spiraling thoughts. “It’s what they want to do, to make you upset.”

“But...why?” Quirrel is such an innocent soul. Despite his past, he still can’t understand why someone would be willfully cruel unless he somehow caused it.

“For many reasons. Most likely for this one, they were jealous. They didn’t like that you made something they felt wasn’t as good as theirs so they wanted to punish you for it.” The look in her young sons’ eyes told her to continue with a little more elaboration. “Again, it wasn’t your fault. You did nothing wrong. You just wanted to make us all proud, and I will always be proud of you.”

He shuffled his feet a little, still unsure on how to take the praise, but she could tell it made him very happy.

“Even if it got all smashed up?”

“Even if it got all smashed up.” She tweaked his cheek pad lovingly. She suddenly had an idea. A no good, terrible idea. An idea that could help out both her little Quirrel and herself.

“Now, I want you to tell me or your teacher right away if this happens again. But, I think I have an idea to make them leave you alone, for a while at least.”

Quirrel looked up with his big wide eyes. “How?

She grinned back at him. “How about we conduct a little experiment?”

---

“Hey! Nerd!”

Quirrel paused, holding his box snugly to his chest. He slowly turned around to find his tormentors right behind him. These were three larger students that smashed his project the other day. He could tell they were angry. Even though he didn’t turn in his project yesterday, it seemed like they still got low marks...and now they were going to take it out on him. Of course, they cornered him in the alley, away from prying adult eyes. They always bullied him away from any sort of help.

“Whatcha got here, shrimp? Did you make your project again? Trying to show us up?” The largest bug demanded, deliberately bumping into the pillbug and making him stumble.

“I think he did.” The second and third bug closed in. “It must make him happy to make us look bad.”

“No! I don’t!” Quirrel protested. He stood up as straight as he could and puffed up a little, just like mama told him to.

“Don’t talk back to us, speck!” The largest bug grabbed the box and tossed it to the ground. “Come on boys, seems little Quirrly needs another lesson on what we do to know-it-alls around here!”

As soon as the big bugs stepped around the box, Quirrel retreated to a safe distance. The bullies were so focused on the box that they didn’t notice Monomon drift around the building to stand with her son, looping a tentacle around his shoulders.

“Watch,” She whispered.

Quirrel did watch, paying attention as all three bullies raised their legs at the same time and brought their feet down as hard as they could on the box.

There was a second where nothing happened, and then came a popping BOOM as the package exploded. Bright pink glitter and glue flung itself out of the box with the force of the explosion and utterly covered the bullies with a liberal coating of sparkles. Squealing in panic and fear, Quirrel watched as the three stumbled over themselves, tripping and rolling as they tried to escape. They finally flung themselves down the alley as fast as they could, still sliding around on loose glitter and glue as the fled out into the crowded streets.

It only took a moment to hear a roar of laughter echo off into the distance, most likely chasing the three bullies no matter where they tried to run.

Quirrel fell down, laughing so hard he couldn’t keep standing. Monomon looked down at her son with pride, trying to also keep her laughing in.

“Boom! That’s a victory in my book! Let’s see them mess with you again, eh?”

Quirrel nodded as he tried to hold in his giggles. He found himself being picked up and brushed off by his mother, setting him up on her shoulder.

“Come now, let's have a talk with your teacher, shall we?”

Quirrel nodded, and both mother and son left the ally, leaving their ingenious trap behind them.

#hollow knight #fanfiction #prompts #fics #quirrel #monomon #monomom #lurien #monomon adopted a tiny feral quirrel and went 'this is mine now'#he was playing in her trash #protect the baby at all costs #i may write more about this if people want it #never piss off someone who can make your body disappear without a trace #baby quirrel #i call baby isopods pips #cause it's cute #plz excuse my writing im out of practice #why-are-we-dead #terra lumina canon

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snowinabottlearchived · 4 years ago

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a day later ( because yesterday i was with my parents and we did nothing but eat , drink and celebrate ) , i am finally putting up a post i wanted to write ever since . 2020 is coming to an end and for the first time in weeks i have the chance to properly sit down and thank everyone who accompanied me through this year and made it bearable . i could probably write an entire essay about how grateful i am for every single of my mutuals who stuck around despite my activity was spotty , who sent me nice messages and asks when times were tough and to all the amazing people who fought so hard themselves and got through . this time i want to make it a little more personal , because through hardship and bad experiences i learned what FRIENDSHIP really means and that even though disappointments happen , there will always be those worth keeping on for . i hope EVERYONE WHO READS THIS knows that i am happy to have you here , to see you on my dash and that this platform still is my main safe space to be creative and escape reality from time to time . you matter . every single one of you . but now , to some more personal lines .

@rgerscap / @serpernt / @hunterheroes bea . you are and have been my best friend ever since i can remember writing over here . i do not even know how long we have been plotting and talking , but from this point on i can not even imagine a life without you . meeting up in february was one of the best things that happened this year , because you are such a beautiful , kind and funny person inside and out . i am beyond grateful to have you at my side , to be able to reach out to you when i feel alone , when i feel troubled , but also when we are just two stupid knobheads . thank you so much for everything you did for me . thank you for existing , for being my friend , for being you . i love you so much . @bluemoontm / @demonify / @impaladrove i dont even know where to start . we two have been through quite some stuff this year , but you were always there . you always helped me , you listened and our constant motivation we tried to give each other was what brought me through 2020 . no matter what or where we start to write , i enjoy our plots and endless ideas so much , that i would not even be here anymore if it wasnt for you . even when everything seemed to fall apart you remained at my side , encouraged me , never doubted me and for that i will be forever thankful . you became one of my closest , best friends which i can , at this point , say without any doubts . i mean . listen . bringing me to make two more blogs ? ? you did the impossible . i just hope covid is over soon and we can do our coffee shop tour , hang out and have wine and italian food . you mean the world to me . thank you for everything slate . @adstellar antonia , meine liebste popocreme . its been a year since we met at my place and surely three since we started talking . we do not only work in the same job , but also helped each other through so many things that i stopped counting . talking to you on discord or the phoney phone , writing our babies on tumblr or just planning another holiday together . you mean so much to me and i am beyond grateful to have you in my life . you are an amazing person , so please never ever change . @villeneuvetm / @margirfolk scotchy ! ! of course you belong on this list of special people , simply because you are . i know that sometimes you feel left out or overlooked , but you are a wonderful , talented writer and such a joy to talk to ooc as well . weve been talking for quite some time now and been mutuals since forever , which i am very grateful for . your constant interest in amelia , your will to plot with me and throw your amazing muses my way just makes me so happy so please know that i will always and forever write all the things with you . thank you for being my friend ! ! @absolveres cyn my favorite co pilot and fellow flame thrower enthusiast . youve been dealing with my slow potato ass for ages now and i have no words to say how thankful i am you did not just yeeted me out of the plane right into the next best river . you are such a generous , talented and caring person that i will always and forever wait for you and replies - ic and ooc . talking to you about personal stuff , about our beloved disaster game or plotting endless things for our two lost causes is everything and something i will love forever . i hope you are reading this despite your little break , because you are missed deeply . i am sending you all the love . @lastfulcrum you thought . i just went through my blog and - believe it or not - our first threads are three damn years old . lucy , when you reached out a few days ago , i was so shocked that i had no words to express how happy i am that you are back from your hiatus . i always loved writing with you , talking ooc , plotting and do like 34234324 aus , simply because you are such a good writer and great person . i hope you are aware that you glued yourself to me and my blog with invisible glitter glue and are trapped forever . again . i am so , so glad you are back . @takemetochrch oh , of course you wont be left out here . i think i dont have to say how much i adore you and jack ? ? i am so grateful we started writing and so happy to have you in my tumblr life . our dynamics - no matter if its jack and amelia , or jack and castiel - warm my heart and lighten up my dash so much , that i am excited about every reply and every edit that comes my way . thank you for writing all of this with me , for being so loving and invested . it means the world to me . you are amazing ! ! and then there are some amazing , outstanding people on my dash i wanted to mention as well . simply because they have been good friends , mutuals , inspiring souls i enjoy seeing every time their names pop up . i love you all to bits . thank you for following me , writing with me , being so wonderful . i am sending you all the cookies , snowflakes and positive thoughts for holidays and the next year to come . please stay safe . @soulstcne , @fcxedbecty , @conniidel , @itshellscrown , @myersbprd , @seidmadr , @wxrldkiller , @alongingwithin , @outlawiism , @venuscommissions , @sicarea , @batisms , @failedhero , @waywardfeathered , @willchosen , @horrorempathy , @crimsonshe , @atomiism , @icameasiam , @sunsymbols , @experimcnts , @optmstc , @timidstrcngth , @pepperpxtts , @lunelios , @thunderbringer , @risaen , @unsnare , @viividpurity and everyone else who sees this . merry christmas , happy holidays . thank you for existing .

#╰ ☆ shut up and dance with me ╱ mun speaking #long post tw #this took me like an hour #and endless scrolling #BUT I LOVE YOU ALL

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prettybuckybaby · 3 years ago

Text

don't be afraid; i am the satellite and you are the sky; chapter one

Leia can't sleep because of monsters. Peter helps scare them away

part eight of single parent peter parker

masterlist

read on ao3 here

Peter is sat at the kitchen table in their apartment in Queens, chemistry textbooks thrown across the surface, frantically scribbling down notes when Leia stumbles into the room.

“Daddy?” She whispers, tugging on his pyjama pants and climbing into his lap. Peter startles, sighing when he notices the redness of her eyes.

“It’s nearly midnight, princess,” He replies quietly, glancing at the time on his phone before wrapping his arms around her. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Monsters, Daddy,” Peter coos softly when tears start falling down her cheeks. He stands up slowly, rocking her gently until the tears dry up. “Scary,”

“You know,” He starts when she calms down, just letting out little sniffles into Peter’s neck. “When I was smaller, just a little bit bigger than you, Uncle Ben used to make a monster spray to scare the monsters away. Do you think making one would help?”

“Monsta spray?” She lifts her head, looking up confused.

“Hmm,” He hums. “You mix all the ingredients together, and then you spray it in all the places monsters like to hide. You know, under the bed, in the cupboards, behind the curtains. It scares them away,”

“And the monsters leave?” Leia asks, looking hopeful. She sniffs once more, wiping her nose on her sleeve. Peter pulls a face.

“They should do. Do you want to make some? We might have to go shopping, though,” He muses softly.

“Now?”

“Yeah,” Peter laughs. “Night-time adventure, yeah? We used to have lots of them when you were tiny. We’d go out in the dark and go shopping in our pyjamas and we’d just walk around until you fell asleep.”

“We went out in our pyjamas?” Peter laughs at the confusion on her face. “But Aunt May says pyjamas are only for wearing in the house,”

“Well. What Aunt May doesn’t know won’t hurt her, hey?” Peter smiles down as the confusion grows on Leia’s face. He laughs. “Go grab your coat, baby. We’ll go and get everything we need.”

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

Leia giggles when they enter the store at half past twelve. Peter has a large smile on his face when he crouches down to be eye level with her.

“Okay, Leia. First thing we need is a bottle. With a spray nozzle on it. Where do you think they will be?” Leia takes his hand and pulls, running her way up and down the aisles, dragging Peter behind her. She skids to a stop when she’s in front of the plastic bottles. She looks up at Peter. “Take your pick, sweetheart,” He smiles when Leia bites her lip, looking at all the bottles the store has to offer. She eventually picks up a light blue one, holding it up to Peter.

“This one?”

“Sure thing, tesoro.” He grins, taking the bottle and placing it in the basket he has picked up. “Next! We need to find something strawberry scented,”

“Why strawberry, Daddy?” Leia frowns as she takes Peter’s hand again and starts pulling him through the aisles. Peter hums, trying to make up an excuse. Really, he picks strawberry because he knows it’s Leia’s favourite smell, mostly because they both use strawberry shampoo.

“Uncle Ben told me once that monsters don’t like the smell of strawberries. Real strawberries will make you all sticky though and I think you’re too tired to have a bath before you sleep now,” Peter grins as he sees Leia try and hide a yawn. “So, we’ll just have to get a special strawberry oil.” He steers them towards where he knows the bath products are. When he sees the essential oils on the top shelf, he picks Leia up and points up to the glass bottles. “Pick one of those up, Princess,”

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

They spend another half hour going around the shop picking out ingredients for the monster spray. Peter has to bribe Leia away from the glitter, insisting that glitter will shine and encourage more monsters to hide in her bedroom. She frowns and pouts, tries to change his mind, but gives up easily when Peter offers to buy her a new teddy to be her bodyguard.

By the time they get to the checkout, the basket in Peter’s hands is full and Leia is dragging her feet across the floor. Peter tries to stifle a yawn as he puts the basket on the counter.

“Hey, Parker,” Peter’s head snaps up when he hears his name, confusion that was on his face clearing.

“Oh, hey, Clark,” He smiles tiredly, slipping the backpack off his shoulder and handing it to Leia, before picking her up and settling her on his hip. “I thought you’d quit, dude,”

“I did,” the kid replies, scanning the items slowly and handing each one to Leia to put into the backpack. “Then Chloe lost her job and couldn’t find another, so here I am,”

“That sucks, man,” Peter frowns slightly. “I’m sorry,” Clark waves him away.

“Don’t worry about it, man. Mom’s helping us out for now. Plus, it’s all worth it when I get visits from my favourite people,” He reaches over the counter and taps Leia’s nose. He grins when she giggles and scrunches her nose up. “Mom says you haven’t been round to see Ned for a while,”

“Aunt May’s been working out of state for a while, and then she went on a trip to Italy, so we’ve been staying with family out of town. We’re back now though, so we’ll go round at some point, say hi,” He smiles, rocking slightly.

“Good. She misses you both,” Clark finishes scanning the items, holding out the spray bottle to Leia. “What’s all this stuff for?”

“We’re scaring monsters ‘way!” Leia mumbles from where her head is resting on Peter’s shoulders. Clark nods.

“So, you’re making a monster spray?” Leia smiles sleepily. “Ned used to have monsters under his bed, and we made a monster spray. A week later, they had all disappeared!”

“F’rever?” She looks up hopefully. Peter laughs quietly.

“Ned hasn’t seen any monsters since. And that was years ago,” Leia nods and puts her head back on Peter’s shoulder, closing her eyes. Peter smiles as he takes the bag from where it’s slipping out of her fingers, slinging it across his shoulder.

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

When they get back to the apartment, Leia squirms in Peter’s arms, trying to get down.

“Thought you were asleep, princess,” He says as he puts her down. He closes the door quietly behind him.

“Just did’t wanna walk, Daddy,” Peter laughs and bends down and starts unlacing Leia’s shoes.

“Cheeky,” Leia giggles when Peter tickles one of her feet. “Come on, take your coat off.” Leia shrugs her arms out of her jacket while Peter kicks off his own shoes and holds it out for him to hang up. “Okay, go and wash your hands and then we can get started!” She toddles into the bathroom, using her little step stool to reach the taps and washes her hands. When she walks into the kitchen, Peter has laid a sheet over the table and set all their ingredients on the top. He lifts Leia up to stand on one of the chairs.

“Uncle Ned had monsters?” She asks him while he washes his own hands. Peter hums and reaches for a towel.

“Lots of people have monsters, sweetheart,” He smiles and slips one of May’s aprons over Leia’s head and folding it a few times before tying it, so she doesn’t trip over it. “I used to have monsters. Uncle Ned did. Aunt Emmy probably scared all hers away because she’s very scary,”

“Did Uncle Tony have monsters?” Peter smiles as he gets a measuring jug out of the cupboard. He places it in front of Leia, hands her a bottle of water, and holds his finger about halfway up the jug.

“Pour this into the jug, up to my finger,” She struggles slightly unscrewing the bottle, but manages and begins to pour. “I haven’t spoken to Uncle Tony about monsters before, but that doesn’t mean that he didn’t,” She finishes pouring and hands the bottle back to Peter. He replaces it with another of the bottles that they bought and moves his finger a little bit higher.

“Okay,” She smiles easily. They talk quietly while they continue making the spray, Peter telling her stories of all the monsters he used to have in his room before he and Uncle Ben sprayed them away.

“Right,” He says as he pushes the jug towards the end of the table. Some of the pink liquid spills over the top and onto the floor. Leia giggles. “Oops. Oh, well. Okay, now we need to decorate!” He hands Leia the bottle, along with the foam letters, stickers, and glitter glue. Peter lets Leia do this part on her own, only helping her with the spelling.

By the time she’s finished, Peter decides that the spray has had long enough to sit. He pulls a funnel out of the cupboard and holds it out to Leia.

“This part might get messy, alright?” He asks her, smiling when she nods rapidly. “You’re going to hold this in the bottle, and I’m going to pour, okay?”

“Yeah, Daddy,” She grins. As she’s concentrating, her tongue pokes out of her mouth. Peter smiles fondly as she holds the neck of the bottle tightly with her two hands. He pours the liquid quickly before he takes the jug and the funnel over to the sink. He screws the lid onto the spray bottle quickly and hands it to Leia.

��Come on then, munchkin,” He laughs as he takes the apron off Leia and lifts her down. “Let’s go and spray the monsters away,”

They start in Leia’s room. Leia takes the bottle, spraying under her bed and in the bottom of her wardrobe before getting behind her door. Peter picks her up and places her on his shoulders so she can get the curtains and the top of the wardrobe and her cupboards. Peter lifts her off his shoulders and puts her down on her bed. He goes to take the bottle out of her hands when she makes a wounded noise.

“What’s up, baby? You don’t think we got everywhere?” He frowns.

“We gots t’ do your room, ‘Addy,”

“My room?” He asks, stroking her head. “I don’t have monsters, sweet,”

“Gotta,” She demands, eyebrows furrowing and beginning to frown. “Please, Daddy. Just ‘n case,” Peter smiles as he sighs dramatically.

“I guess,” Leia giggles as Peter lifts her back up. “But after this you’re going straight to sleep, okay?” She nods happily and makes sure to spray every inch of Peter’s bedroom until Peter laughs and forces the bottle out of her hand. He puts it down on his desk.

“I think you got it all. I’ll be super safe,” He smiles, moving Leia from his shoulders to his hip. She yawns and tucks her head into his neck as he walks back into Leia’s room. “Let’s get you to sleep, yeah?”

“’Kay, Daddy,” She doesn’t protest this time when he puts her down on the bed, lets him tuck her in. She reaches behind her head until she grasps Bearbear. Peter tucks him in, too, as well as the new teddy she got tonight.

“D’you think there’s monsters in Uncle Tony’s tower?” She mumbles as her eyes flutter shut.

“I don’t know, Princess,” He smiles as he crouches down by her bed. “We can go and visit after school tomorrow if you want? Get all the monsters out of your room there as well,”

“And your room. And Harls and Uncle Tony,”

“Of course,” Peter laughs softly and kisses her head before he starts running his fingers through her hair gently. “Goodnight, sweetheart,”

“Gots t’ save them from the scary monsters, Papà,” She murmurs, trying to fight her eyes falling shut. “Love you.” She whispers, breathing evening out.

#peter parker #harley keener #single parent peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #parkner

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starlocked01 · 4 years ago

Text

Suspended in a Defenseless Test

AO3 @tsshipmonth2020

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Summary- Patton never had a soul bond. He thought he was okay with God's tumultuous plan for his life- until he met Remus.

Day 7 Intruality- A red thread only you can see connects you to your soulmate

There's a red string that joins you and your true love. You all know this. It's not some fairy tale. No matter the distance, you are connected by an unbreakable soulbond. The non-believers and sinners like to lie and say they have red strings too but I know God only gives them to the faithful, not the homose-

Patton switched off the radio, shutting down the emphatic pastor's voice. He couldn't comprehend how a God that creates invisible soulbonds to lead his children to their complement would punish those who hadn't found him yet. He had plenty of queer friends gush about finding their soulmate because of the red strings. Why would they lie about the fear they felt as children that they would hate the person on the other end, or that the other person would hate them for being queer?

Then again, Patton had no reason to complain. He never had a red string. And according to the lastest radio prophet, that meant he wasn't of the true faith.

There's no way that man knew what he was talking about. Patton had been a priest. He knew the Lord. But did the Lord claim him?

Patton sighed, eyes on the road. Most days he didn't feel broken or incomplete without a string, but Sundays usually did their best to bring him down. God had a plan for his life, apparently it just didn't involve a soulmate. He could be okay with that.

Until he met Remus.

The man was wild and loved to do fun things unplanned, especially if they were gross. He'd show up and drag Patton out to a public park to go on a hike in the pouring rain or bring over buckets of glitter and glue to make slime. He told crass jokes that made Patton blush and always found ways to cheer him up. Even on Sundays.

Patton loved his company and secretly feared the day Remus found his soulmate and left Patton behind.

He pulled the car into the apartment complex where Remus roomed with his brother Roman and Roman’s soulmate. Patton couldn't imagine how awkward that must get, but Remus loved the arrangement. He parked and was gathering his stuff from the back seat when he felt a presence behind him.

Patton blushed, already guessing what Remus was up to and was not surprised when he looked over his shoulder to find Remus mimicking anal behind him. Remus grinned at having been caught and wrapped Patton into a tight hug around the waist.

"Remus…" Patton gave his friend a withering half-smile.

"It's been too long, Daddy. I missed you!" Remus let Patton twist around to hug him back. Patton let his head rest on Remus' shoulder a moment before pulling back with a nearly genuine smile on his face.

"The correct term is 'Father' and you know I'm not ordained anymore, Rem," Patton reached behind his back and grabbed a bag that he held up to Remus, "how have you been? I brought you this."

It wasn't possible for Remus' eyes to gleam any brighter. He took a hand off of Patton's waist to take the gift but instead of opening it right away, he took a step back and gently grabbed Patton's hand.

"Hey, can we take a walk? RoLo kicked me out for the afternoon because they're being all squishy couple-y today. And I need to tell you something."

Patton couldn't stop the flash of fear in his eyes. So today was the day. His closest friend had found his soulmate and whatever kind of dynamic they had would have to change.

Remus saw the fear and winced, "no no it's not bad, Pattycake, come on let’s walk. I won't be able to explain it standing still." Remus bounced on his toes and swung Patton's hand back and forth almost as if to prove his point. Patton gulped and nodded, closing the car door and locking it behind him before letting Remus lead him off down the road.

They walked in uncharacteristic silence for a few minutes, still hand in hand. It felt like the Mariana Trench had opened between them, horrible dark secrets waiting to come to light.

That was pattonly ridiculous to think but nonetheless Patton could not stop worrying. Remus squeezed his hand tighter and led him down a path off the main road.

"Oh, I know where we're going."

"You remember? After two years I didn't think you would," Remus smiled warmly, leading him to a clearing by a large pond surrounded by trees.

"How could I forget that day?" Patton chuckled and shook his head, "I still don't know how you caught a goldfish with a condom."

"I am a man of many talents, few of them useful, " Remus led Patton to the edge of the pond where a blanket and picnic basket were set up.

Patton gasped, "Remus, what is this?"

Remus gestured for Patton to sit down, "Patton, I have a confession to make. Do you still take those?"

Patton chuckled, sat down on the blanket, and pulled Remus down with him.

"Okay, but only for you, kiddo."

"Did you seriously call all the parishioners that? Is that why they kicked you out?" Remus' grin faltered quickly as the joke was met with sad eyes filled with regret. "Damn it. Damn me, right? I'm sorry Patton. But I do have a bit of a confession to make," Remus took a deep breath and looked in Patton's expectant eyes, "I really… really want to make us official."

Patton blinked in surprise, "but, surely I'm not your soulmate. Aren't you waiting for them?"

Remus deflated but tried to keep the energy up, "I know I'm not your soulmate, Pat, but hear me out. I understand if you don't want to because I'm not your soulmate but what I had in mind was a bit different. I want you to be my queerplatonic partner, not a romantic partner."

"Queerplatonic? I've never heard of that before," Patton mused over the word. He'd always assumed romance and love with a soulmate was the most important kind of relationship the Lord had given humans, but the most important man in his life wanted something different. And specifically not a romantic relationship.

"Okay, confession number two. I don't have a soulmate. In fact, I'm aromantic. I've never had a red string and frankly at this point I never want one. But I still want to be your partner, just not in a romantic way. You mean the world to me, Patton. I know coming to terms with queer stuff hasn't been easy for you but, well, what do you say?" Remus looked hopefully at Patton who stared straight ahead at the water rippling in the light breeze.

"What… what does aromantic actually mean then? I suppose I was wrong to assume it meant 'without love'..." Patton's voice hitched. He looked over to Remus and smiled to reassure him.

"Not experiencing romantic attraction to others, like not wanting to date them or do romantic-y bull shit with them," Remus looked away, heart crumbling as his best friend continued to avoid the big question.

"Oh. Wow…" Patton took a deep breath, "Remus, I have my own confession to make," Remus looked back to Patton, intrigued, "I don't have a soulmate either. And though I've heard of the aromantic community before, I never realized that being aromantic did not mean being resigned to never loving someone else in a deep and fulfilling way. Queer platonic partners, is that similar to dating but without the romance?" Remus nodded silently, hope reblossoming in his chest, "I think I could like that. You are so important to me, Remus. I was terrified you were going to tell me you found your soulmate and had to leave me behind."

"I could never leave you behind, pops!" Remus cried, "just imagine the catholic guilt I'd have for abandoning you!"

Patton giggled and grabbed Remus' hand, "so, I guess… yes! I want to be your partner, Remus."

Remus grinned broadly and tackle hugged Patton. They both rolled off the blanket and ended up laying in the grass and laughing with joy.

Remus sat up suddenly, "did you hear that?"

"What?"

"I'm gonna catch that frog!"

"What??" Patton watched as Remus jumped up and dove straight into the pond, holding a hand up to shield his face as mud splashed everywhere around him.

Remus resurfaced, pulling himself out of the mud with his elbows because his hands were full with a giant bullfrog who looked perturbed at having been pulled from his spot.

Patton squealed with joy, "oh, let's name him Lilypad!"

Remus chuckled, "that sounds like Little Pat, I like it!" He set the frog down in the grass, futility wiping mud from his face and slicking his hair back out of his face while Patton tried to restrain himself from immediately poking the poor animal.

Remus laid spread out on the grass, drying in the sun while Patton grabbed a stick and blades of grass to play with Lillypadton (he liked the flow of that name better). They talked for hours and shared the snacks Remus had set up before Patton arrived. Remus opened the gift Patton had brought and was ecstatic, playing with the neon green tangle toy and admiring the hand-decorated picture frame.

Something welled up deep in Patton's heart, looking at his brand new partner. They weren't soulmates but he was confident the Lord wanted them to find each other and be together this way.

After a while, Patton stood and picked Lilypadton up, returning the frog to the edge of the pond while Remus gathered up the picnic in the blanket like a giant sack that he threw over his shoulder. Patton took his other hand with a smile and they walked back to the apartment.

Remus dropped the blanket by the front door and they could hear the tv playing in the living room.

"Roro, we're back! Y'all better be decent," Remus yelled from the kitchen as he washed the worst of the dried mud from his arms.

"Yeesh! Yes, you can come in," Roman shouted back from the living room. Patton peeked his head around the corner to see Roman and Logan cuddled on the couch watching Netflix. It looked dark and potentially gory so Patton slipped right back into the kitchen with Remus.

"Hey, Pat, I'm gonna go shower off. I've got mud up my ass and it's getting kinda nasty. Make yourself at home," Remus smiled and kissed his forehead. Patton blushed and nodded.

As Remus headed off to get cleaned up, Patton sat himself down in the kitchen, preferring to leave the others alone with their movie.

"Hello, Father," Patton looked up from his phone to Logan who was standing awkwardly next to him.

"You can just call me 'Patton', Lo. I actually prefer it…"

"My apologies. How are you?" Logan asked stiffly, shifting from foot to foot.

"I'm doing pretty well. Thank you for asking. How are you today?" Patton smiled, trying to put the other man at ease.

Logan adjusted his glasses, "I am doing adequately-"

"Lo, just get the drinks. Pat's fine," Roman called from the couch.

Logan bristled, "I apologize for his lack of manners. Do you want anything to drink?"

"No thanks. And thank you, I'm sorry for intruding on your movie date," Patton sighed.

Logan moved to the kitchen to get the drinks but kept glancing at Patton. Patton did his best to ignore the looks, praying Remus would finish up quickly.

Logan cleared his throat, "Patton, are you and Remus dating? He was acting weirder than usual before you got here today."

Patton blushed at the directness of the question, "not like you and Roman are," Patton wasn't sure how to explain it to the two soulmates- if Remus even wanted to tell them.

Roman had stopped watching the television and had his arms crossed over the back of the couch, "I told you, Lo, Remus doesn't have a soulmate. He was just excited to see Pat, nothing more to it."

"Roman, he had a whole picnic planned. That's hardly something you do for just a friend."

"Guys, I-"

"Patton is my Zucchini and you two are just jealous," Remus announced loudly from the hallway. All three turned to look at him and he grinned, "come on Pat, let's leave the lovebirds alone."

Patton jumped up, eager to get away from Logan and Roman’s questions and confusion. He was also more than a little curious about being called a 'zucchini'. He could hear Logan and Roman whispering as Remus led him off down the hall to the bedroom.

"What the hell is a zucchini?"

"I don't know, Roman. Just let it go. We can ask Remus to explain later."

Patton was grateful as the door shut behind him, cutting off the rest of the conversation. He turned to give Remus a quizzical look to find him wearing the tangle toy in his hair like a crown.

"That's adorable. What's a zucchini?" Patton grinned, genuinely this time.

"Ah, sorry. I probably should have asked you first. It's like an alternative to 'boyfriend' for queerplatonic partners. We can go by something else if you don't like it," Remus grinned, patting the bed next to him to offer Patton the seat.

Patton's eyes were shining as he sat down, "oh my goodness, that's adorable! I love it! So do you want to be called my zucchini too?"

"Ehh, Nah it doesn't sound right for me," Remus frowned, laying back on the bed to stare at the ceiling.

"Well," Patton swung his legs back and forth, "what about my squish?" He poked Remus in the stomach, causing a fit of giggles.

Remus sat back up and grinned at Patton, "that sounds perfect! You'll be my zucchini, I'll be your squish, and everyone else will be confused as hell!"

Patton leaned his head against Remus' shoulder, imagining the looks of confusion when they told others.

"Oh hey, I thought of something!" Remus bounced up from the bed and went straight to the closet, rummaging around for something which he quickly found, "since we don't have soulmates, let's make this official ourselves," he held up a variegated ball of blue and green yarn.

"Okay!" We'll have to untie it before I leave but that's such a sweet idea!" Patton couldn't help but think back to when friends on the playground would do something similar, using red yarn during games of pretend to mark their friends and crushes as "soulmates".

Remus cut a decent length of yarn and gently took Patton's hand in his. He tied one end of the yarn around Patton's wrist and held out his for Patton to do the same. Patton tied the other end of the yarn with a small bow and held Remus' hand in his, smiling at his squish.

Patton felt a mild itchy burning on his wrist and looked back down at the yarn. Remus looked too, pulling his hand away from Patton's. As they watched, the blue-green yarn sparked for a minute before returning to normal.

"Well that was odd," Patton was the first to speak.

Remus looked weirded out and tried to untie the bow but found that no matter how hard he pulled, the knot stayed tied. He grabbed a pair of scissors from his desk and tried to cut the loop around his wrist but the yarn passed right through the blades without being severed.

Patton gasped and pulled the thread between them taut before taking another step back. The thread lengthened, magically longer than it had been cut. When he stepped closer it shrunk shorter, much like how other's had described their red threads acting.

"Does this mean-?" Patton asked quietly.

Remus grabbed Patton's hand and dragged him out to the living room, walking right between the couch and the television much to Roman’s displeasure.

Remus held up their bound together wrists, "can you guys see this?"

"You're holding hands and blocking the tv. Yes, we can see that," Roman grumbled at them.

"Is there something we should be seeing?" Logan asked with an edge of curiosity in his voice.

Patton held up the string, "you guys can't see the string?"

Roman and Logan shared a look and Roman answered, "I thought you didn't have a soul thread, Remus. We can't see any string. What's going on?"

Remus turned to Patton with a large happy smile, "we created our own soul bond!"

Logan sat forward immediately, "tell me exactly what happened. Don't leave out any details."

Roman sighed and paused the movie, a smile on his face seeing his brother happy. He had no clue what was going on but he could be happy for the pair and could forgive them for the intrusion.

Patton picked up Remus in a hug and twirled him around, tears of joy spilling down his cheek. They both sat down next to Logan and started explaining the thread and the sparks and the scissors. This led to Logan asking several questions about the nature of their relationship, with Roman interjecting with questions of his own.

When Patton left that evening to drive home, the string magically stretched with him over the miles. He thanked God for Remus and for blessing their unconventional relationship with confirmation they were meant to be together in the way that made sense to them.

#tsshipmonth2020 #Soulmate September 2020 #soulmate au #red thread #qpr #queerplatonic intruality #intruality #logince #religious themes #cussing

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sol-luminosus · 4 years ago

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Same verse as that of ‘Creep’. Happening first chronologically before they ended up on the hallway. Only that this is a Hananene version.

A look into Amane’s own point of view of love.

Title: Lego House

Fandom: Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun

Pairing: Hananene

Genre: Romance/Angst

Rating: T

Chapters: 1 (One-shot)

Summary: And out of all these things I’ve done, I will love you better now.

Yugi Amane was captivated.

It coiled and coiled and turned in the very expanse of his chest, gripping his heart so hard and so intently that he was positive his chest would burst into a thousand pieces at any given minute.

Nene was gazing at him questioningly, tilting her head of glittering silver locks so a few strands would cascade and slightly obscure her face as it waterfalled and framed the edge of her cheek.

He’d resisted the urge to tuck the stray pieces at the back of her ear.

Just by a moment’s brave surge of will to control himself.

Amane simply answered her concerned expression and previous barrage of questions about his well-being with a gentle smile, hoping that his beguiling expression would be enough to ease the worries in her mind.

He could tell however, that his strained effort had failed, given by the way her brows had furrowed further in a mixture of what seemed to be annoyance and worry from having something clearly hidden from her.

Indeed, the eyes were windows to the soul.

His in that very moment, must have been filled with desperation and longing. Perhaps at least surely, only those two emotions had leaked out.

She couldn’t have seen it, he was positive.

He’d never let her see it.

The clear and vulnerable emotion of love he’d tried so hard to will down and forever entomb in the very depths of his heart. It screamed so deafeningly, almost numbing his senses at times and making him forget of the actuality of things.

That he was dead and Nene wasn’t.

That his future was long gone with his wishes to remain rooted to where he is now as the only thing he should cling to,

That he had let go of his dreams to fly to the moon a long time ago.

A few decades which oddly, seemed to span for as long as an entire lifetime.

That at the very least, he knew he had the power to alter Nene’s fate.

So that he won’t drag her to the same empty abyss that he had long accepted to be irrevocably submerged in until the day he’d received his judgement.

This journey to redemption was and his alone. It will and would have nothing to do with her.

For a moment, he was sure his heart had swayed. When she’d regarded him with those iron-willed gems for eyes expressing her desire to live her life the way she wanted with a lifespan that could barely be a fistful, Amane just couldn’t seem to peel his eyes away from her. She’d called out to him—reached out with those two hands clasped together as if in a fervent prayer.

The same position as she had back when she’d first summoned him in the bathroom stall.

And all the while, although it was her own wish that should have nothing to do with him, she’d undauntedly declared that she would no matter what, journey to the moon together with him.

He knew he’d seen them before. On that very night however, they’ve shone and glimmered much more blindingly than they’ve ever before. The stars in her eyes had enthralled and bewitched him so that at that moment, he was certain he’d forgotten about anything else for a split second.

That he wasn’t the infamous Honorable No. 7 called Hanako-san.

That he was simply a child burdened with a sacrifice far too heavy for him to carry than what his small shoulders could have handled.

That he was just Yugi Amane, a socially awkward teenager who was in pieces and had eyes which reflected an unsettling amount of wisdom for his age.

And she was just Yashiro Nene, a girl with her head up in the clouds in search for dreams of true love and a promising long life ahead.

But he’d only forgotten for a split second.

How he’d wished, that he could’ve told her with all the honesty and transparency that his resigned heart could offer, that he was content enough with seeing the entire universe in the depths of those two luminous, ruby eyes.

Those very eyes he’d come to love ever since he was just at the tender age of nine all those years ago in that festival.

“Hanako-kun, what’s with you today? You keep spacing out for no reason and there’s clearly something wrong. I’m not going to stop prying unless you tell me—“

The sudden boisterous noise of the bathroom door swinging open and slamming on the wooden wall had both of them jumping out from their positions.

“Oi, Hanako! This is bad. Nii-san is out on a rampage right now because the mokke are running wild in the student council office. He’s talking about ‘exterminating all spirits’. What if he goes after you during his crazy fit?”

The golden specks in Amane’s eyes had turned dark with mischief, hovering over to the loud intruder in the name of Kou with a teasing expression and fingers touching his lips in a bid of mockery.

“Oh, what’s this? You’re suddenly so worried about me? Could it be? Are you in love with me?”

The blonde haired boy had reddened a dusty shade of pink from both shock and embarrassment, before the bellow of his voice had come booming in a strong effort of denial. “I am not, you crazy apparition! Maybe my brother’s already tried smacking you before I came here that’s why there’s suddenly something wrong with your head. In the first place the one I love is sen—“

His sentence had been cut off none too curtly, with an audible slap of skin ringing through the four corners of the room from having a palm slammed flatly over Kou’s mouth, effectively silencing him down. The leader of the School Wonders could barely show any sense of sympathy for the exorcist’s angered protests from the evident pain of having his teeth graze and split the skin of his lips.

“Oh, look at the time. Shouldn’t we hurry over to this mokke massacre you were talking about?” Amane had animatedly declared, glancing over to the wrist of his free arm where a nonexistent watch was strapped.

Kou had struggled to wheel away the hand clasped so tightly over his face. If he’d had the sense to be as livid as his brother would be in situations like these, then he’d be absolutely convinced that Amane had actually tried to suffocate him just to get him to stop talking, with the sheer amount of pressure he’d used reminding him far too irksomely of wood glue.

“What are you saying? We haven’t been here for long. In the first place we should hurry up and think of a strategy firs—“

For the second time on that afternoon, Kou had found himself being stopped midway of his musings, only having to have realized then that Nene had been in the bathroom all along. His eyes had grown wide with startlement, before having the familiar creep of a blush climb its way back up to his face with the difference in shade ten times as strong compared to the previous flush of color he’d donned just minutes earlier.

His dimwitted self which entirely lacks self awareness had almost confessed to her indirectly and in the middle of a bathroom of all places. Nene had only stared at him with an exasperated expression, a combination of what was obviously that of displeasure from the two of them bickering nonsensically and the urgency of the situation which they were very, very clearly stalling at that moment.

“Oh, yeah. You’re right! Let’s get going already.” Kou had laughed nervously to himself, the embarrassment hiking further up in his throat with his voice clearly about two octaves higher than normal before speeding up and out first out of the bathroom.

“What the heck was that about? Is there something wrong with my face?”

“Other than still looking human and not resembling a radish yet, I think you’re perfectly fine.”

Nene had turned to him with a brief look of irritation, before harshly spearing him on the head with the sharp ends of her hair pins.

“Hmph, stupid Hanako-kun acting all weird and suddenly calling me a radish, again.” She’d grumbled in frustration under her breath, with an injured Amane cradling his head in his palm and having his complaints about Yashiro’s ruthlessness ignored to be whisked away by the wind.

In the midst of his half-heartedly hurt reverie, his thoughts had peddled back to Kou’s would-have-been confession, noting how easy it was for him for the words to flow and cascade from his mouth.

And he was certain that had he been not there and the setting at the very least, had been somewhere that wasn’t as peculiar and off-putting as a bathroom, then the blonde boy would have not hesitated. He could picture him perfectly in his head, the words which Amane had kept from spilling running freely with his heart completely exposed and in its rawest for her to have as her own if Nene would willingly accept.

The very thought of her responding and reciprocating his feelings had caused an unutterable amount of fear to brew in Amane’s chest.

For he who was nothing more but a sham that could merely falsify and imitate what little of his memories could correctly recall as ‘life’, Kou was the living, breathing counterpart to his lies—someone who actually had the ability within his reach to promise her happiness.

He knew, and frankly, he didn’t really need to be reminded.

It was never a competition from the beginning.

And Amane was neither a willing contender.

His eyes in the shade of a precious mineral had darted on her back, watching with a somber fondness as the slope of her slight shoulders further sagged from her dipped mood exclusively caused by him just minutes prior.

Amane’s stare had narrowed in a sentiment of strangled affection, one that he was absolutely terrified for anyone or anything to ever decrypt from him.

“Maybe just for a little while. If it means I can keep you, I can stay in love with you for a little while longer.” The words had gone out and died in a whisper, coherent but with every syllable surely indistinct enough for anyone other than himself to understand.

She’d whirled her head around in query, certain that she’d heard him speak but not quite catching his words as she’d been lost in her own embittered sighs and grievances over the grating spectral being.

Amane had simply smiled at her, that same tenderly lonely smile he’d given her earlier that day when they were in the bathroom.

And Nene had only felt the same sting of emotion she’d felt back then as well; puncturing and aching yet beckoning her to him at the same time.

Creep: (Same verse/Tsukanene version)

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frunbuns · 4 years ago

Text

No Use Crying Over Spilled Nail Polish

Allison helps Five. They bond. That’s basically it.

Read on Ao3

Allison sighs. Some of her nail polish has vanished. Vanished might not be the correct word though, because Allison is fairly certain she knows where it's gone. Doesn't make it any less frustrating though.

If Klaus wants to paint his nails he could just come and ask her. She can even paint his nails and he can paint hers. But Klaus always has had sticky fingers. She's not terribly surprised.

"Klaus!"

She marches out of her room, towards Klaus', a scolding on her lips. Except, when she opens the door the room is empty. There's no trace of her nail polish either.

Klaus could be anywhere. The Academy is massive and it'd take her hours to search the whole premise. Just because they weren’t allowed in certain places didn’t mean Klaus wouldn’t go there. In fact, he’d definitely go there if he wasn’t allowed. Five and Klaus seems to love breaking the rules. They’d racked up more punishments to cover all seven of them three times over.

(Allsion has never understood why they do it. Dad’s punishments can be rough and it’s definitely not something you want.)

Even if the Academy is massive, Allison does not give up that easily. She’ll find the nail polish. It’s hers after all. One of the few things that are really her own. Which is why she finds herself stomping up the stairs.

"Klaus?" she calls out, but receives no answer.

Allison huffs to herself, rolling her eyes. She really does not have the patience for this today.

"Klaus?"

She walks down the hallway, quickly peering into each room as she passes. Somehow they're all empty, even though ten people live in the building.

And then she sees a tuft of dark hair.

"Klaus! I swear to—"

Except, it isn't Klaus. It's Five.

"Sorry, I thought you were—"

He’s slumped against the wall, looking half-asleep as his legs slowly shuffle down the hallway. There’s a thin sheen of sweat coating his pale, ashy face. His bangs are slick against his forehead. Five looks, for lack of a better word, sickly. Allison would almost say he looks dead. But that can’t be the case because she wouldn’t be able to see him, and while dad pushed them in their training, he surely wouldn’t kill them. Right? He wouldn’t do that. He needs them.

She recalls that it’s Five’s personal training day. He had been whisked away after breakfast that morning by dad and Pogo. They hadn’t seen him at dinner. Ben and Vanya had eyed his empty chair through the whole meal. It had been impossible to ignore the missing occupant.

(Why Five is friends with Ben and Vanya Allison doesn’t quite understand. Five is arrogant and smart and he never misses an opportunity to rub it in their faces. He thinks he’s better than everyone and talks back to dad. Vanya and Ben are very much not like that at all. They’re quiet and timid. Really, they shouldn’t be friends, yet here they are.)

"Are you...are you okay?" she asks him.

"I-I'm fine—"

He looks anything but fine. In fact, he looks like he's about to fall apart. Right in front of her.

"You're shaking."

Five's legs seem to be trembling with the effort of holding him upright. Even his arms shake as he uses them to support himself against the wall. His jaw remains tightly clenched. Allsion can't recall ever seeing her brother like this before.

Five is never vulnerable. He never lets himself be. Not in front of them at least. He always acts like he’s invincible. Sharp smiles and a smart mouth. Like nothing will get him down. Like nothing will crack him. (And they believe him.)

"What happened? Was it training?" she asks him.

"Passed out," he tries to explain. "All I need is some rest, and maybe some food."

That, at least, explains why he wasn't at dinner.

“Should I get Vanya? Or Ben?” she asks. “You look like you could use some help.”

Predictably, Five shakes his head.

Allison frowns. "Let me help you at least," she says.

She's not sure where her sudden desire to help has come from. Normally everything at the Academy is very 'every man for themself'. They've always had to glue themselves back together alone after training.

That doesn't mean that her and Luther hadn't lent a helping hand every now and then. And she surely hasn't missed how Five tends to reach out to them, in his own, special way, when they've had particularly rough days.

Before Five can protest she grabs his arm and lays it over her shoulder, getting a hold of his torso and slowly walking down the hall. Five leans heavily against her as they shuffle forward, nearly stumbling over his own feet multiple times. She pretends not to hear his quiet whimpering.

The stairs are difficult. Allison curses their father for putting Five’s bedroom so high up as she practically carries his weight up. She doesn’t blame him though, as his whole body trembles violently against hers for each step. He’s taller than her - not by much - but he’s also very skinny and gangly.

“It…” Five gasps softly. “It hurts.”

Allison frowns, swallowing heavily. “We’re almost there,” she tells him, even though they still have a flight of stairs left.

She doesn’t say anything about his tear stained cheeks. Just this once, she tells herself. Just this once she won’t tease and make fun of her siblings. Even though they’re all the same age, Allison can’t help but feel like a big sister. Five might be taller than her, but he’s still Number Five, and she’s Three. And three comes before five.

It feels like an eternity, but they eventually make it to Five’s room. Five flops onto his bed, face first. Allison snorts. She takes off his shoes and pushes him further onto the mattress so he doesn’t fall off.

“You said you needed food, right?” she asks.

For a moment Allison thinks Five might have fallen asleep, but he eventually hums at her.

She looks down at her feet, even though he can’t see her from the way his face is pressed against the covers. “Well, since you missed dinner I’ll go see if mom can make you something.”

She leaves before he can answer her.

- - -

On the way down again Allison hears Klaus chatting happily in a room with an ajar door. She looks in. Klaus is laying on the floor, waving his newly painted toe-nails in the air. On the floor is a tipped-over, green nail polish bottle. Over half the contents has spilled out onto the wooden floor.

Allison wants to scream.

“Klaus!”

Klaus jumps. “Christ on a cracker!”

Allison stomps her foot, her hands curled into fists at her sides. Anger bubbles up in her. “You spilled my nail polish!”

He looks down at the bottle. “Oh...sorry.”

“Are you kidding me?!” she shouts. “Klaus, I swear to god—”

Klaus quickly picks the bottle up, wiping the nail polish off the outside of the bottle with his vest. (Mom surely won’t be happy about that.) He quickly screws the cap on and hands it to Allison, looking mildly apologetic. She takes it from his hand with more force than what was probably necessary and stuffs it in her pocket.

“I hate you,” she says. Klaus stares.

Allison lets out a frustrated noise and stomps out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

- - -

Allison walks into Five's room with a plate in her hands ten minutes later. Five is still laying face-down on his bed. The same way as when she had left. She closes the door behind her with a soft click.

"Five?"

She sighs and sets the plate on his nightstand. She shakes him. He groans quietly and slowly turns his head to look at her through bleary eyes.

"I got you food. You better eat it before the bread goes stale."

"Oh," is all he says.

He slowly sits up. He still looks exhausted, but he seems slightly better than before. She places the plate down next to him on the mattress. He picks up the peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich on it and starts eating it. It's disgusting.

Allison grimaces. "How can you eat that?"

Five shrugs lazily.

"Wha' 'appned dow'shtairs?" he asks through a mouthful. He swallows. "Heard you yelling."

Allison sighs and sits down next to him. "It's just…Klaus. He spilled my nail polish."

"Huh," Five says, though he doesn't sound like he cares all that much. "That sucks."

Allison nods, fiddling with her hands in her lap.

Five probably isn’t the best person to confide in. He’s never been good with emotions. Or talking. (There's a reason he never is put in charge when it comes to interviews after all.) But at least he listens.

“I just—” Allison closes her eyes. “I only have a few, and they’re mine. And Klaus keeps going through my stuff.”

“You know how he is. Klaus is Klaus.”

She sighs. “I know.”

She takes the nail polish bottle out of her pocket and inspects it. It’s still usable at least. There’s still about half of it left. Maybe not quite half, but close enough. She doesn’t even like green that much anyway.

In the aftermath of it all, Allison feels foolish for the way she had reacted. Once the anger had deflated. Maybe she was a bit harsh on Klaus. He didn’t mean to spill it.

she unscrews the cap and, without warning, grabs Five’s free hand.

“What are you—”

He watches her with raised brows as she carefully starts painting his nails with the green polish. He doesn’t protest, or tell her to stop. Instead he fixes her with a curious stare as he finishes his sandwich.

It takes two coats to make it look okay, the polish a little opaque. It has sparkles in it. Little flakes that shimmers and glitters in the light. Allison can see why Klaus likes this one. It’s pretty nice.

“I think blue would suit you better,” Allison muses. “Not that green doesn’t fit you, I just don’t think it’s your colour, you know?”

Five looks like he does, in fact, not know.

She snorts. “Give me your other hand.”

- - -

The next few days Allison discreetly keeps an eye on Five. He looks better after food and some sleep. A little sore maybe, but much better than when she’d found him. She can’t help but wonder if it’s a normal occurrence if he bounces back so fast. Allison had never thought she noticed everything, but she likes to think she’s fairly perceptive.

She’ll catch his eye every now and then, and his lips will twitch into what looks like a smile. She’s never sure though. It’s always gone before she has time to acknowledge it.

In a lot of ways, it’s as if nothing’s changed since their little moment that day. It’s almost like it never even happened. But the evidence is there. In the form of green painted fingernails.

When Allison steps into her room she notices something on her bed. a small bottle of nail polish. She picks it up and turns it around in her hand. It’s blue. A dark, navy shade of blue. There aren’t any sparkles in it, but it’s still pretty. Even if it’s some unrecognizable drug store brand polish that chips after just a little while.

Allison doesn’t need to be a genius to know where the nail polish came from. She smiles to herself, clutching the bottle in her hand. She places it on her desk, next to her other polishes.

The smile doesn’t leave her face for the rest of the day.

A few weeks later Five runs out the door and doesn’t come back.

#the umbrella academy #tua #umbrella academy #tua netflix #number five hargreeves #five hargreeves #number five #allison hargreeves #fics #my fics #mine

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iwrestlenow · 3 years ago

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Many More To Die, Chapter 12

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 12)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: While the assassin makes another attempt on Roman's life, the necromancers find help from an unexpected source--and an all too brief reunion between Logan and Roman has some disturbing results.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: None really, not this time.

Told you this one would come faster. XD It's bigger than most, because the next one is gonna be a whopper--and also, the next installment will be the last! But fear not: I'm already planning a sequel.

...and tbh, I can't stop writing these adorable jerks so you'll get lots more stories outta me. :P

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

1022, A.A.

“Pass the glue?”

Logan blinked, slowly looking up from his jacket to gradually focus on Roman's face. Watching him rise from something that had swallowed his whole attention was hopelessly adorable—a thing he could never tell Logan to his face, but could never hide the smile that crept across his face when he watched Logan surface like a pearl diver.

He saw the moment Logan's face shifted, the moment he finally returned to reality. Scanning the craft supplies scattered on the riverbank around them, he located the glue pot and passed it to Roman with a curious frown.

“What are you gluing?” he asked.

Roman held up the white mask he'd selected to go with his costume for the final night of the Festival that Logan had invited him to.

“Feathers! I want to be one of those things you showed me in the graveyard—the creatures etched on the one tombstone?”

“Angels.” Logan reminded him. “You know their wings go on their back, not their face.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “I know that, Starlight. I can't exactly get a pair of wings for my costume on such short notice, though, so I...Logan?”

Roman set his mask down, scooting closer to the other boy with a cold lick of concern in his belly. Logan was staring at him with an intensity that made him want to squirm, and his face had gone completely ashen.

“What's wrong?” Roman asked, reaching for his hand. “Logan, are you all right?”

Logan blinked, drawing a trembling breath before briskly shaking his head as if to clear it.

“I—yes, I am fine. I just...” He trailed off, and that look was on Roman again.

“Why did you call me Starlight?”

Roman couldn't stop himself from frowning, confused. Gesturing to the jacket in Logan's lap, he shrugged.

“The beads you're sewing onto it—it looks like the night sky. It's—it's just a nickname, like Specs. I won't use it anymore if it bothers you.”

“No,” Logan insisted, “it is perfectly acceptable, it's just...it surprised me, that's all. Starlight is actually the name I use for the Festival. As I told you, we forsake our identities at the celebration, so we all use different names. Mine is—is Starlight.”

Roman watched Logan blink, and would have accused Logan of lying except that Logan never lied. He took things too literally, he was just...not the kind of person who did it. Not with Roman, at least. So if he said he was fine...

So why did he look like his whole world had been shaken?

“...Muse.” Roman spoke before he could think about it.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Muse.” he repeated, feeling confident about the decision. “That'll be my name for the evening. Muse.”

Logan just stared at him for a long moment before huffing, shaking his head as he scooted across the grass until he was leaning against Roman's side, shoulder pressed to Roman's arm.

“You're not required to do it. You're not part of the tribe.” Logan pointed out.

“It's your tribe, though—and I don't want to be disrespectful.” Roman insisted, reaching for the bag of feathers Logan had brought for their costume work. “Besides, I...I like it. I understand it. It's all to make the dead feel less alone, isn't it? I want to help.”

Roman focused very hard on picking the feathers he wanted to glue to his mask...and tried not to pay attention to the way Logan's head tipped to rest against his shoulder and just stayed that way for a very long time.

**********

1033, A.A.

“So that's how you did it—this is a problem.”

Roman blinked, shaking his head. He hadn't lost consciousness, he was certain of it.

...well, relatively certain.

Glancing around, Roman realized he was in his father's bedchamber, held fast by a palace guard on either side. He tried to tug free, but they held him fast, staring straight ahead with glassy, unfocused eyes and blank expressions.

“Don't bother—I've been rotating soldiers through dungeon detail for years. Nearly all of them are mine now.”

Roman's chest seized with cold, cloying horror and disbelief. He could feel warmth in the hands that held him, see their chests rising and falling with breath...

He turned to the man standing before him—salt and pepper hair and overly tanned features, with piercing blue eyes Roman was starting to realize he should have known on sight.

Colonel Mori—if only he'd remembered before this moment...

“The same curse you used on my father, I take it?” he asked, proud of how level his voice came out, clear and firm.

“Something like that.” Mori replied, idly tossing a familiar ring into the air, catching it, and repeating the action with casual thoughtlessness. “It's always been a specialty of mine—generational curses. You only have to curse a single man, and an entire bloodline or brotherhood will fall...would, at least,

if not for you and that idiot progeny of mine.”

Roman wasn't aware that he'd lunged until he had one guard's arm around his throat to hold him back. He'd actually slipped free, and found it hard to breathe until he consciously stopped trying to wrestle free of his captors.

“Logan is not an idiot.” he snarled. “He's stronger than all of us—he's the best man I have ever known.”

And just like that, he was aware of all the memories that infernal talisman had been holding back—the stolen moments, the beauty of learning new things about Logan's people...the purity of that young love that had been stolen from him.

He thought of Logan now, that lean and handsome face hardened by ten years of imprisonment...and how it opened up to him the night before, how Logan tucked against him in his sleep and clung to every touch like it would be taken away from him, just as he had when they first met...

Mori's hands were suddenly on him, gripping his chin and yanking his hair until Roman was staring directly into his eyes.

“Logan Crofter is a good man—and that is his downfall.” Mori spat as his eyes began to glow with an unholy orange light. “Good men have too many rules and too many weaknesses.”

Roman tried to shake his head, but couldn't fend off the impossible grip of the necromancer before him, the light of his gaze causing a slow, dull throb through his skull.

“Decent men have rules to keep them decent. Evil men like you have rules so they can revel in breaking them.” Roman replied flatly. “Good men don't need rules. They simply choose and act.”

The pain in his head grew, forcing Roman to close his eyes—but the light was still there, behind his lids and in his brain, turning the dull throb into a burn.

“So I'm looking forward, Colonel, to watching you face a good man with no rules—and nothing to lose.”

Mori's laughter was grating in his ears as Roman slowly began to lose the ability to think coherently.

“He has one thing, Your Highness...he has you. And I'm going to make sure he comes to find you so I can get what I want: the soul of another Lazari.”

There was some shuffling, a voice—and Roman's blood ran cold as he hung helpless in the grip of a guard and lost his hold on reality.

“Remy Somnum! Bring me Lord Janus. It's high time I added his life to my collection.”

“Yes, Master.”

********** 1023, A.A.

“You're certain this is where it is?”

Roman nodded as he finally opened the padlock on the door of the long abandoned storeroom, deeep in the bowels of the palace dungeons. “The locator spell Remus gave me works. He knows more about magic than half the court mages, even if he can't use it.”

“Picking locks as well.” Logan observed with a raised eyebrow.

Glancing over his shoulder at Logan, Roman just grinned at his expression.

“Remus didn't teach me that.” he declared, pushing the door open and ushering Logan in ahead of him. “If I'm going to be king one day, I shan't rely on anyone else to rescue me—what if I have to break free of some prison or shackles?”

Logan stepped into the room ahead of him, but immediately stopped and turned to face him, looking at Roman with blue eyes that glittered with something Roman couldn't name, something that made it hard to breathe.

It happened so fast he almost couldn't process it—Logan's hands in his tunic, the sudden feel of warmth crowding his front...

The soft, firm, smacking press of a kiss to his mouth that made his heart, and the rest of the world, stop.

For long moments, they just stared at each other, Logan seemingly reeling as much as Logan was.

“I...I am—I'm—apologies.” Logan stammered, trying to busy himself with straightening his tie instead of holding onto Roman's tunic. “I did not mean...that is to say—I just—your intellectual moments, they just—you're so—and I--”

Roman snatched up Logan's hand, pressing his lips to the back of it. He could feel Logan trembling, and Roman felt his heart tremble in sync with it.

“Me, too, Starlight.”

For a second they just stood there, Logan's hand in his, and Roman's heart...

He had never, not once in his short fourteen years of life, ever felt so tranquil or so powerful, and definitely not both at the same time.

Roman forced himself to be the strong one, releasing Logan's hand so he could shut the door and finally take proper stock of the room.

There was barely any light through the bars on the small window in the door, but Logan moved forward with purpose, locating a torch and lighting it with some spell Roman didn't recognize—one that ignited a dazzling blue-white flame that was far clearer and brighter than the golden flicker of normal torchlight.

The layer of dust covering everything in the room was so thick Roman could feel the urge to cough bubbling in his throat just from breathing the air. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and could have made it easy to mistake the space for a library save for the fact that there were very few books on any of those shelves.

“It's like some kind of storeroom.” Logan observed. “That, or...perhaps a trophy room?”

“I told you,” Roman reminded him, “this palace is full of hidden nooks and crevices—places to hide, or to hide something you don't want anyone else to find. I hardly ever notice this door, but the locator spell sure did.”

“So...who does this belong to?” Logan wondered aloud, venturing over to one of the shelving units that had a few books scattered throughout. “And if these are trophies, what are they trophies of?”

Roman wondered the same thing, so intensely it took him a moment to realize Logan was no longer by his side. Shaking himself, Roman crossed the room carefully, painfully aware of the layer of dust his feet were disturbing as he came to stand beside Logan in front of the shelf. His eyes scanned over the objects and books displayed there until...

“Here!” he suddenly blurted, reaching up to pluck a book off the shelf. “This binding matches the Tomes in the palace library.”

Passing the small, leatherbound volume to Logan, he watched as Logan ran his fingers over the cover with a strangely thoughtful look, head cocked just slightly before he opened the volume.

“Is that it?” he asked hopefully. “The geneaology?”

Logan stared at the first page, shaking his head. “No...I mean, it is one of the Tomes, the one you likely said would have the magical bloodlines of the royal family, but—Roman, this was hidden for a reason. It's one of the Forbidden Tomes.”

“What?! Weren't those lost before the fall of the Animator?”

“Affirmative...this one, however, is quite new. Old still, mind you, but maybe two hundred years old at the most.” Logan looked up at Roman, eyes wide.

“I think this volume is a reconstruction.”

That rattled around in Roman's head, untethered and incomprehensible. “Who would be old enough to be able to rewrite one of the Forbidden Tomes? And how do you know how old this book is?”

Logan just stared at it...then flipped a couple of pages before going weirdly still.

“I can...it's an incorrect description, but I can hear it. The Tomes are written in mystical dialects, languages laden with power. My power.”

He lifted his head, meeting Roman's gaze head on with an intensity that stole Roman's breath.

“The mystical dialect this book was composed in is Mairome—the language of necromancy.”

Roman couldn't get his voice to work for a long moment as Logan turned back to the Tome and began reading, eyes flicking back and forth at a speed that was vaguely dizzying, trying to consume every nuance of the page, drinking it all in.

“What...what does it say?” he finally managed to ask aloud.

Logan didn't answer for a long moment. He shut the book gently, his gaze cast downwards.

“It says,” Logan finally answered, “that King Thomas Roman I is the name of the Animator.”

“...that can't be true. That...that means...”

“It means that the king did not slay the Animator—it means your ancestor assassinated the king. It means the Necromata have a legitimate claim to the throne.”

Roman ran his hands over his face, dizzy with the onslaught of information. “Who knew this that they had to take this book from the palace library and hide it here?”

“I think I know that, too.” Logan croaked, handing the book to Roman. “Start here—you should be able to read it.”

Roman accepted the book and peered at the page. Most of the text was a blurry mess of gently glowing lines and strange symbols, but some of the words were written in clear, plain English in various parts of the page.

When he was done, he passed the book back to Logan, reeling.

“Mori...I know that name.” Roman realized. “What are these?”

“They are the True Names of the monarchy.” Logan replied. “I know the name as well—it is the name of the man who tried to kill me when we first met.”

“...you never told me that.”

“I did not know his place among the palace guard—if he was someone close to you, I feared for your safety if he knew you were aware of his crimes.”

“Corporal Mori...he's a member of the dungeon guard.” Roman murmured. “My brother and I used to sneak into the dungeons to play at adventuring when we were little—he was a new private back then, and cruel to both of us. But...Logan?”

“Yes?”

“The name in there, below Thomas Roman I. Is that the Animator's son?”

Logan swallowed thickly. “It is.”

“But...but his True Name is Crofter...that's your last name.”

“Affirmative. At least...it was. Just as Mori's name was once Thomas Roman Sanders.”

Roman couldn't speak around the sudden tightness in his throat. Instead, Logan spoke for him.

“The Animator...he's not your ancestor, Roman—he's mine.”

Then the door of the storage room opened, slamming against the pile of detritus behind it.

Roman froze. Logan, however, snatched the book and rose.

“I'll lead him away—get back to your rooms at once, and look after Virgil.”

“Logan--”

He was cut off by another abrupt kiss, this one on the cheek.

“We'll get out of this, one way or another. I swear it on the Spider's Thread.”

Then Logan was gone, diving between the legs of the figure in the doorway to lead him away from Roman's location.

********** 1033, A.A.

“Paddock.”

Patton looked up from where he was crouched beside Logan's prone, writhing body. Logan's eyes had rolled back into his head and he was muttering incoherently while he twitched and twisted with an agony Patton could only guess at.

The voice that had spoken aloud belonged to a prison mage he recognized. The man was tall, dark, and tanned. He was handsome, mostly—he always wore dark glasses that hid his eyes, so it was difficult to be sure.

“What're you doing here, Somnum?” Remus asked sharply. He was awfully fast, next to Virgil one minute and the next standing beside Janus in front of Logan's prone form so Patton could only see Master Somnum through the space between their shoulders.

“Remy—the name's Remy, you fuckin' killjoys.” the mage sighed. “Will you just move already? Patton can vouch for me.”

“I can?” He asked uncertainly. Patton's nostrils flared on reflex, trying to scent the air—and immediately felt his magic rise, all animal instinct and threat.

The smell of death, old and ripe, was on the air. Not the smell of corpses or long settled dust, but death, fresh damp grave dirt and sticky in his lungs like worms crawling.

But...

Patton turned to Virgil, crouched beside him, and put a hand on his shoulder. Virgil just looked at him, then at Remus and Remy, and nodded before focusing on his brother again.

Patton stood and came to stand next to Remus. He could feel more than hear the subsonic hiss building in the back of Janus's throat nearby, and found his gaze to reassure him before he faced the prison mage.

“He knows my True Name.” Patton admitted. “Janus can confirm it...but how?”

Remy didn't answer right away. He just stared at Patton, making him feel squirmy stomach and trembly. Breathing felt...not hard, but strange, and he wasn't sure if he liked it--

Reaching up, Remy removed his dark glasses.

“'Cause mine's Graymalkin.” he replied softly.

“What does that mean?” Virgil snapped testily. “Quoting Macbeth at each other won't--”

Patton didn't hear the rest. As far as he knew, Black Dogs and Heralds couldn't fly, but he couldn't feel the floor under his feet anymore...

...oh. Oh, he couldn't feel any of his legs anymore. The world was spinning, too—kind of like playing Statue Maker as a boy, grabbing his friends' hands and spinning, spinning, spinning before he had to stop and strike a pose--

“Patton.”

Patton blinked, and suddenly drew a deep, shuddering breath into his lungs before he started coughing. He—oh, he hadn't been breathing. That wasn't remotely good, willikers!

As he tried to get his breathing normalized, Patton found he was on the floor, being cradled in Janus's arms. His forehead was tucked against the scaled side of his neck, a lovely contrast of cool scales over warm skin and so much softer than anyone would think scales could be. As Patton calmed, he drifted, and gently rubbed his forehead against those scales, sighing at the soothing texture of their satiny surface brushing his skin, the edges gently catching in ways that sent pleasant little buzzes of sensation from his forehead to skitter over his scalp.

Finally, he lifted his head—and found Remy kneeling in front of them, staring at Patton.

His eyes were pure onyx, from sclera to pupil—solid black orbs in his head, barely glinting in the light of the room. They were the eyes of a hijacked body, a resurrection gone wrong. The owner of the body was gone, and another soul had taken its place.

A soul Patton was fairly certain he knew.

“Patton?” Janus's voice, a question.

Slowly, Patton nodded.

Remy sagged visibly in relief. “You remember...Paddy, I'm a Reaper. I can help Logan. Will you let me?”

Feeling more like himself, Patton nodded again. Without thinking, he twisted and tipped his head up to kiss Janus's cheek before he got shakily to his feet.

“Virgil, Remy's gonna help.” he announced, still watching Remy with a secret fear that this would be a dream and that he'd vanish.

“Fuck you. I don't--”

“He's my brother. Please, Virge.”

There was silence for several moments, but then Remy was moving off some indication from Virgil, and Patton twisted to watch Remy drop to his knees at Logan's side. He touched his forehead, taking his hand and watching him closely.

“Motherfucker knows the only real way to kill a Lazari, and he's using the king to do it.” Remy muttered. “Let's see...nerd's Claim is holding, that's good, but his mind won't hold up under the Baccanal...lemme see, gurl...”

Remy shut his eyes, bowing his head. As he did, Patton suddenly felt a gust of warm air touching the back of his neck, making him flinch and whip his head around.

“Easy, Sin-ammon Roll.”

Prince Remus was there, his hand a buzzing gnat in Patton's awareness as it sat on his shoulder. He was watching Patton with a look he couldn't read—his features were like Janus's, well schooled into calm lines, but his eyes were clouded with some very turbulent emotion.

“Is the prison mage really your brother?”

Patton opened his mouth to answer, but no sound was coming out. The words were all there, but they were sort of...clogging in his throat, too many coming too fast, all fighting to escape at the same time. Fortunately, Janus's arms were suddenly there again, wrapped around his waist, cradling Patton back against his chest, warm warm warm and comforting in their familiarity.

“Patton was four years old when his brother died.” Janus stepped in. “Remington Morell was not quite fourteen—essentially executed in the street. Patton told me when they were children...their mother loved the Scottish play. Quoted it all the time--'I come, Graymalkin' when Remy called for her, 'Paddock calls' when Patton would cry.”

“...but the kid died.”

“Yes, but...it's the black eyes. They indicate the presence of a Raptor.”

“Like the dinosaur?” Remus asked.

“Like a body thief—a soul that hijacks a coprse during a botched resurrection.” Janus sighed, rolling his eyes as Patton twisted his head to look up at him.

“Ohhhh, I mean—wow.”

“Lucky for me, children age in Shadow.” Remy's voice piped up. Refocusing on Logan, Patton realized his best friend wasn't writhing and muttering anymore, just...laying there, asleep. Seemingly, anyway.

“What'd you do?” he asked, gently removing himself from the circle of Janus's arms to move towards Remy as he stood.

“Guided Logan to the Loom of Memory.” he replied. “It'll protect him for a while, and let him communicate with Roman if I'm right about how those two are bound—Mori's got the king under the Baccanal.”

“Cursing him with madness?” Patton breathed, his stomach churning with horror as he covered his mouth with both hands. “That's forbidden, Remoo.”

“Yeah, well, the Animator ain't known for playing by the rules, gurl.” Remy replied with a shrug. “So burning away a man's mind, one layer at a time until he's a drooling vegetable? Totally on the table.”

Patton felt something loosen in his chest as he grinned up at the other man. “You really are Remy, aren't you?”

Remy opened his mouth, brow furrowed with confusion—then understanding filled his features and he grinned, laughing. “Ah, geez—Remoo. You started calling me that when you were two 'cause you couldn't say Remington.”

“It's the only thing I remember really well.” Patton admitted, rushing forward to fling his arms around Remy with a choked laugh that quickly melted to tears.

“Mom and Pop kept your Vigil every Festival—but I never stopped.” he giggled wetly. “Every day—I had an altar in my room...”

“I know.” Remy soothed, holding onto Patton tight and reaching up to tousle his curls in a manner that Patton didn't recognize, but still felt weirdly familiar. “I heard you. Why do you think I snuck back when I realized you were in trouble?”

Patton pressed his face into Remy's shoulder. The smell of the mage's trade clung to him, acid and alcohol and herbs, but under that was something that set of primal echoes in Patton's head of family home safe loved, loamy earth and fresh rain.

Remy held on tight, just for a few seconds, but when he pulled back Patton felt steadier than he had in a very long time.

“We need to get the Lazari outta here.” Remy instructed. “It's a long story, but I was sent here to drag Lord Scaly off for execution. Plans changed, now I'm takin' you all somewhere safe.”

“Where's that?” Virgil asked, flinching when Remus swooped in to gather Logan up into his arms before Virgil could.

“Long story, tell you when we get there. Everyone move.”

********** When Logan opened his eyes, he was home.

It was a very familiar part of his home, however—none other than his childhood bed, wrapped in a familiar pair of arms.

Lifting his head, he had to fight not to lose his composure when he saw Roman's face. His head was nestled into Logan's pillow, features slack with repose...

Then tense, a low noise of distress rumbling in his chest, vibrating against Logan and shooting straight to his marrow.

Reaching out, Logan dug his fingers in beneath Roman's ribs. Fortunately it worked: immediately, Roman woke up with a squeal that was wholly undignified, and melted immediately into giggling he promptly cut off.

“Roman, it's okay...shhhh, you are safe. It's Logan, I'm here.”

Roman stared at him with a blank, unfocused look that scared Logan—actual fear he could not deny any longer, cold and cloying and sticking to the inside of his chest. Those green eyes were glassy and unseeing...they did not know him.

Very deliberately, Logan reached for Roman's hand, meshing their fingers together. He held them up in Roman's eyeline.

“Hold on...do not let go.”

That struck a chord, bringing some focus back to Roman's eyes. After a moment that stretched into eternity, Logan felt Roman's fingers tighten around his. Roman stared at their joined hands, mouth working soundlessly...

“I...never have.” Roman finally replied. “I never will.”

Logan's throat closed up, his eyes burning.

“Swear it on the Spider's Thread?” He hated how small his voice sounded, how desperate.

Recognition finally sparked in Roman's eyes.

“...Starlight.”

Logan lost control then, flinging himself into Roman's arms. Roman let himself be bowled over onto his back, let Logan stretch out atop his body, press his face into the curve of Roman's neck, and just held on tight as Logan wept for the first time in ten years. Deep, heaving, wretched sobs that Roman soothed him through, a hand running over his back, Roman's deep and beautiful voice murmuring soothing nonsense directly into his ear.

Time passed. The slow, steady rhythm of Roman's fingers gradually smoothed the jagged edges until he could reach out and touch them without getting cut open again.

“Did you know?” Logan finally asked, lifting his head to meet Roman's gaze.

Roman stared back up at him, uncomprehending as his fingers drifted up to caress Logan's cheek. Logan found himself unable to resist leaning into the tender touch.

“Did I know what?”

“That day by the river—before the Festival. Did you know that you changed my True Name.”

“...not until we found the Tome. I...suspected something happened, but wasn't sure until we read about your grandfather.”

“What about later? When you came to me in my cell and gave me my new Name?”

“I...I'm not sure. I know I wasn't supposed to remember what you were to me, but...”

But he had. Reaching up to catch the hand Roman still had pressed to his cheek, Logan felt like he understood. Not really, but...but that was the point.

Roman never should have remembered enough to care about Logan, yet he'd come to find him, and helped him in his moment of need.

“I think,” Logan began hesitantly, “that it is as Grandpap often says. The stuff of Shadow—the things we are not allowed to know.”

Roman frowned pensively. His brow furrowed with it, and Logan let himself surrender to the temptation of bowing his head and kissing that line away.

“Miracles.” Roman murmured. “Shadow brought to the light.”

Logan made a sound of affirmation, nose brushing along Roman's hairline.

“Or an outsider brought to the Loom of Memory.”

Roman shifted under him, seeking out Logan's gaze with wide, curious green eyes.

“Is that where we are?” he asked, awestruck.

Logan nodded, running his fingers through Roman's hair.

“It is...and time moves differently here.” he explained, mouth hovering over Roman's.

Time Logan was going to take...because if Logan was Lazari, that meant he had power. If he was descended from the Animator, the First and most powerful, he had more power still. If he was bound, soul to soul, to the ruler of all the Kingdoms, Logan had power beyond magic.

He had all the power, maybe more, of his ancestor. Power enough to corrupt.

So he allowed it to corrupt him. He let himself be ruthlessly selfish.

He was not going to allow Roman to be taken from him again.

Never again.

********** He expected to feel a warm, strong pair of arms around him when he rose from a deep and restful slumber...but instead, his groggy mind was rattled by voices.

“So you've just been...what? Fooling him into thinking you were zombified? That's hot, don't get me wrong, but I don't see how he'd buy it.”

“Gurl, greedy men are dumber than a bag of hair—ain't that right, Emi?”

“Eh—yes, sweetheart. Basically, anyway. It takes a great deal of focus and power to control as many dead as Mori currently is.”

“That's why our people don't normally do it—raising a corpse is way different from resurrecting someone to life. Grandpap told Logan off for even suggesting the raising of more than two corpses at the same time. It's doable, but I think five is the limit before you risk madness under the weight of all those deaths.”

“So these are really zombies? Not people he resurrected? Gosh, that's just...scary.”

“Easy, baby brother—none of 'em are coming the fuck near you. That's why I got a heart-healer on my side...they don't tell people that they study necromancy on the side, y'know.”

“Remy, please. We don't...er...well, we don't study all of necromancy. Just necromatic theory—its relation to the mind. The function of the Cleansing, body theft, the psychological toll of magic...that's sort of how Remy and I met. I'm a bit of a bookworm...”

“Shhhh, he's waking up!”

Finally opening his eyes, he moved to sit up, reaching, fumbling until strong fingers caught his.

“It's okay, Loganberry—you're fine.”

“Logan—where is he?”

That was the moment he froze, his question coming out...strange. Deep, but not deep enough, well enunciated but too stiff.

“Logan?”

That was his voice...but it wasn't his voice saying Logan's name.

“...something's wrong.”

He looked around in confusion. Something was wrong with his eyes, the world fuzzy and haloed in blurs of color. He could recognize Remus only from the color of his tunic and the sound of his voice.

“Remus? What's happening?”

“Hold on—Virgil, his glasses.”

He didn't wear glasses, what the--

Then a pair was being set on his face, and the world suddenly came into painful focus. He was laying on a low couch in one of the palace offices. Remy and the heart-healer, Emile Picani, stood off to one side. Virgil and Remus knelt by his side now, with Janus and Patton wrapped around each other by the window.

Trembling, he lifted his hands in front of his face.

Pale. Slim. Long, lean fingers that had run through his hair so greedily, touched him so tenderly, blunt nails scoring skin in the depths of his mind...

“...Roman?”

Lowering Logan's hands—now his hands—Roman looked into his twin brother's eyes, into the face that he shared with him.

Or had at the start of the day.

“Please tell me that my brother did not just swap bodies with the fucking king?” Virgil squeaked, looking visibly ill as he swallowed thickly.

Roman, wearing Logan's skin, nodded slowly.

“I think he did,” Roman replied, “and in doing so...he just gave Mori exactly what he wanted.”

#necromancer au #sanders sides #fanfic #fic #logan sanders #roman sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #ts creativity #ts dark creativity #ts morality #ts deceit #ts anxiety #ts logic #my name is liz and i swear to god i will fic again #this is all the artist's fault i'm just the hapless writer that stumbled across it

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