#(well technically the arch gift shop)

[soaking-wet-cat-punk]

Back again with my Percy Jackson elevator pitches

Ok so I have been to the saint louis arch. I’ve gone up inside it’s rickety little metal side in a rickety little metal elevator and stood at the top, with about thirty other people in a claustrophobic room that smelled horrible.

The thing about the St. Louis arch is: it takes a long time for the elevator to get all the way up. Like an atrocious amount of time, and it’s almost pitch black, and it’s a kgksjmbvlahgillion degrees.

Imagine you’re Grover or Annabeth. When the explosion happened, they would have been still in the elevator (which is more like a glorified hamster ball, really). The lights would have shut off, he machines stopped, and both of them would have KNOWN that Percy was in danger. But they were trapped and unable to do anything and so they would have had to just wait as the arch shook with explosions and people screamed and then

And then

It all went still

And the elevator started to move again

And annabeth and Grover are hanging on to each other sobbing because THEY DONT KNOW WHETHER OR NOT THEY JUST HEARD THEIR BEST FRIEND DIE

[eudaimonia83]

It’s @elucienweekofficial 2023!

In honor of Day 1: Mates, here’s chapter one of an ongoing fic.

Title: The Gift

Word Count: 6,555

Theme: Angst. New powers. Old problems. NSFW. Mentions sexual/physical assault and torture.

CHAPTER ONE — ELAIN

Elain Archeron hurried through the milling crowds of the Palace of Bone and Salt.

She came here often enough, so some of the merchants raised a friendly hand as she passed. She tried to acknowledge them, but the heaviness of her thoughts was enough to turn her gaze downward. No flour or sugar or caraway seeds today. No beaming at the bright lilies or scenting the tang of citrus. Today she had other business.

And it wasn’t as if, Elain reflected as she slid between a serving girl carrying a bucket of milk and a green-winged fae brandishing a coiled horn at a merchant and shrieking her objection to the price, I didn’t TRY to find another way.

She had scoured the personal libraries in the River House and even asked Azriel to fly her to the House of Wind, under the pretense of visiting Nesta, to see if the priestesses would allow her access to that massive subterranean vault. Azriel had agreed, reluctantly, but then had disappeared on a weeks-long mission to cauldron-knew-where, and she had been left to either climb the ten thousand steps — which she knew would be futile — or to stew in her own helplessness.

And now, circumstances had forced her to seek other means.

Elain knew that most seers’ visions were unpredictable. The very first sentence of most passages she had managed to find about them had always cautioned anxiously against putting too much faith in messages from other times, like the seers themselves were to blame for the ambiguity of their scryings. She had become angrier and angrier as she had read the chapters, as if the ancient authors had placed her directly under their dry-whispered, ink-and-paper scrutiny. Their warnings hissed in the back of her brain. Inconstant. Unreliable. Impossible. Or, as one slightly more sympathetic writer had put it, well-intentioned but unsupported.

Patronizing bastards.

As if the past wasn’t horribly misunderstood; as if the future wasn’t mutable and unbound. As if seeing glimpses were like looking through a window, when in fact, it was more like being thrust into a book mid-story. Truth was in it, but it wasn’t the entire tale…and it shifted, changed, altered even as the reader became aware of what was happening.

And that shifting of the visions was only the newest problem, Elain thought ruefully. Why she was here, searching for a corner of Velaris she’d only just heard of.

The Palace of Bone and Salt yielded to modest shops and businesses as the streets ran down to the Sidra, along a generous bank leading to the bridge, where many of the citizens of Velaris liked to stroll and chat or meet for business. But Elain, consulting a scrap of paper with directions, turned abruptly before the cobbled sidewalk reared up into the impressive arches of the bridge, and ducked underneath the handrail of the walkway. If anyone saw her, they gave no sign. It was remarkable how quickly she became alone. How fast the bustle died in the background. How many people had ever tried to leave the stone path and wander through the coiling grasses?

Under the bridge, the lights of the thoroughfare were obscured; she could see only dimly in front of her, and slowed her pace to avoid falling. Once she was clear of the massive shadow of the bridge, the path faded to packed mud, well-worn but narrow enough for only one foot in front of another. The slap and hiss of water against stone faded behind her, into the distant reaches of the structure. She might technically still be in Velaris, but the grand beauty of the city streets was a distant echo.

The thing was, Elain mused as she walked into a small ravine, the riverbank yawning away from her up a small but steep hill, it really was quite beautiful, if unkempt. The fading light cast longer shadows over hillocks of grass, which was brown due to the winter, but would be riotously green in the spring; black rocks poked their heads out of the tangles and created little wild sheltered gardens, where even though the temperatures would sink to bitter lows, the winds and ice would not collect. Hellebore grew there in clumps, bravely pink and green against the brown; clusters of snowdrops peeked from underneath holly bushes, their white flowers sparkling against the dramatic red berries and glossy malachite leaves — a proper pastiche of the approaching solstice. Even in her worry, Elain felt a peace looking at it; and it was wild, a beauty she could not recreate in a vase in the hallways of the River House. Once, perhaps that would have irked her. Now, she slowed to look at it, and carried on with renewed purpose. If the Night Court had living things that could survive its brutal winters, then maybe — just maybe — she, as tame and domestic as she was, could as well.

It was a good twenty minutes before she emerged from the wild loveliness of the hills onto a shabby pier. The drabness struck her immediately, sucking away her joy and replacing it with squirming trepidation. Most structures in Velaris were stone owing to the chill and the river swells, but this…this was wooden.

And it was as ingenious as it was tenuous, Elain had to admit, even as her palms grew cold with sweat, nervousness ribboning up the back of her neck. This place would never flood in the spring snowmelt, even if rough water made the going difficult. The dock did not have many posts; no, it mostly drifted atop the water like a massive snake skeleton, ropes and pins attaching it to moorings sticking out of the bank. The current was not swift here. It was almost a swamp, choked with weeds and grasses that stirred restlessly in its darkened depths. And because of the stillness of the water, it was possible to tie boats stem and stern together, making pathways that would rise and fall with the tide. They took the place of market stalls and shops; a rickety facsimile of the sprawling squares in the city proper, heaving and shifting with the swell. In the daylight, it would be precarious footing at best; in the starlit, sparkling night, it would be utterly treacherous. Elain knew people must live here but…it seemed so destitute. How many of Velaris’ citizens called this chilly corner of the Sidra home?

It was the Riverside District, though Nuala had said that the people who lived and worked here referred to it as the Palace of Ships and Shadows. She had said it was in jest, but Elain could see nothing but ships and shadows, so it seemed only appropriate.

And the light was fading, the shadows lengthening. If she was going to carry on, it had to be now. Feyre and Rhys wouldn’t miss her for at least another hour or two. Perhaps not even then. She had lately abandoned going to the dinner table, preferring instead to have her meals in her room, or down in the parlor kitchens with Nuala and Cerridwen.

She pushed on. Her steps were light but careful, hand gripping the rope knotted at waist level for stabilization.

It was Nuala who had told her about this place; Nuala, the wraith who was bolder than anyone gave her credit for, who had frequented a greater variety of shadowy and sinister places than even Azriel. Cerridwen had shaken her head in dismay, whispering that this wasn’t prudent, sister, wasn’t smart. But she had pushed, eager for any crumbs of information, and eventually Nuala had yielded. And here she was, searching for…a boat.

A houseboat. One among hundreds, it would seem. To find a fae by the name of Bronwyn.

Nuala had said her houseboat would be visible. “She decorates it. With fabrics. It seems to belong somewhere else.”

I know how that is, Elain mused. She struggled to find her footing along the loose boards, sliding along, gripping the rope that served as a handhold. Her shoes caught a puddle and water seeped in along the soles. The boats bobbed together, a many-headed creature watching her with distaste…or faint amusement, she wasn’t sure which. She was concentrating so hard on not slipping that she ran headlong into the male before she noticed he was even there, then drew herself up hastily.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered.

He didn’t move. He was perched with enviable steadiness against a pylon, which served as a crossroads and an anchor of the dock, made of refuse and derelict boat parts. She slid along the boardwalk further, made to pass him, but he froze her when he spoke, his eyes shrouded by a hat pulled low over his face and tied under his chin to keep his ears warm.

“You’re High Fae,” he said, his voice low. He sounded like the boats around them…creaky, hoarse.

Elain couldn’t keep the scowl from her face. She had resisted being High Fae ever since the cauldron spit her out, a mutilated version of herself. She wouldn’t say that; not even to a stranger, and especially not here.

“Who are you?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t shake. Nesta, she prayed, make me sound like Nesta. Arch, cool, defiant. Murderous.

“Never you mind,” he said, and she heard the edge creep into his tone. “What you doing here this late? Time for you to be at home, little bird.”

She felt a twist of anger in her gut, but stamped it down. “I’m looking for someone named Bronwyn,” she said, and hated herself for how she shook. Her knuckles were white on the rope handle. Stupid. So stupid. “Do you know her?”

“Bronwyn?” Now his eyes gleamed with a curious light. “Aye, we all knows Bronwyn. And what do you want the witch for?”

Witch.

Something about hearing it, in this grimy spot on the edge of the beautiful city her capricious sister ruled, made her hair stand on end.

“Eh?” He sneered. “You sick, pretty one? Got a bellyfull and need a remedy? A death wish? Or maybe you’re bout to bring down your high fae friends to burn us out of house and home?”

Elain willed herself to stand straight. She had come here looking for answers, and she wasn’t going home without them. “Let me pass.”

He smiled then. “Suit yourself,” he said, leaning back lazily against the pylon, leaving a six-inch gap between his feet and the eddying river water.

Elain was aghast, and knew her horror must show all over her face.

What would Nesta do?

Disembowel him and throw him to the bank for the crows, most likely. But Elain had no weapons and no skill with fighting.

Unless you counted…

She breathed in, her gorge rising as she remembered the crunch of the knife sliding between neck bones, how instantly the body had gone limp…

She moved forward. And so did the male.

He swung out his foot into her path, hooking it behind her heel laughably easily. She shrieked and grabbed for the rope with both hands, but the boards rocked back and forth into the dark water and her balance was poor. The edges sank under the surface, and Elain went with them, sinking up to her waist. She let out a single sob, a squeeze of despair in her chest, her arms straining at the rope, helpless.

Helpless. Again. And all it had taken was a sneering oaf to get her there.

Tears stung her eyes as the male laughed.

And then, just as she was sure she was sliding into the Sidra never to be seen again, her feet touched something solid.

The water here was only waist deep.

Elain could barely contain her rage as she stood in the chill water, shivering, and groped at the boards for a handhold. She was so intent in dragging herself out that she didn’t see the male curse as the boards shifted, then flipped. He crashed into the water with a shout and came up spitting.

“Mad bitch,” he shouted, swimming for her with sure strokes.

She kicked frantically and scrambled up onto a dry board, shivering and dripping. She slid backwards until she could grab the pylon where he had been standing and tugged herself up, her legs spread wide under her sodden skirts, struggling for balance.

To her surprise, a cool female voice burst out from behind her. “What is this?”

The male went very still in the water all of a sudden.

“Eowan, up to your neck in the Sidra seems a fitting end to the day for you,” the cool voice continued. He let out a strangled grunt, his arms moving in circles to keep himself afloat. Elain squinted in the low light. Hadn’t the water been shallow under her feet only a moment before?

Elain turned to look at the face of the female, which was cast bluish-gray in the dusk.

“I’m Bronwyn. I heard you ask for me.”

She was long-limbed, almost insect-like, with thin arms reaching nearly to her knees and stick-like fingers. There were glassy-looking wings sprouting from her back at a wide angle — thin wings, buzzing when she shifted. Her face was slender, angular. She moved precisely, stepping like a mantis looking for prey. She was lesser fae, then. Elain wasn’t sure what she had expected.

Bronwyn gave her an appraising stare. “What are you looking at?”

Elain flushed, realizing she’d been openly staring. “Nothing.”

The female’s chin jutted forward in an oddly threatening gesture. “Why did you want to see me? We get few High Fae in the canals.”

Elain’s entire body shuddered violently, and suddenly Bronwyn seemed to notice. “Come. State your business so you won’t freeze to death. Your kind don’t belong here with the skimmers.”

Elain didn’t know where to begin. How to begin. “I…”

“If you’re pregnant and need an end to it, I don’t do those drams anymore, but Sophie has some…”

Elain shook her head violently, and Bronwyn’s sentence cut off at the hilt. “Hmmm,” she said, and her eyes narrowed. Elain suddenly had the curious sensation that she was being…watched. Observed, but from the inside. Like a window had opened next to her heart, for another to look through. She wondered dizzily what the female saw. “No, you’re here for…information.”

Between the goosebumps and the water beading on her skin, Elain couldn’t tell which feeling was more unsettling.

Bronwyn tilted her head again and then hopped expertly down the dock, motioning Elain to follow. Which she did, peeling her sodden skirts from her legs. She glanced back once, to see what had happened to Eowan, but he was gone, the canal smooth and glassy in his absence. A skimmer, she thought, clenching her teeth against their chatter, then stumbled off after Bronwyn’s retreating figure.

It was further than she expected to the houseboat, winding along the wobbly boards. And it was indeed draped in fluttering cotton and silk scarves, as Nuala had said, most of them tattered and faded. Elain didn’t know how in the name of the Mother she’d find her way back to the River House. But she was here now. And Bronwyn was even more fascinating in her home than outside of it. Her skin was a luminous green, her eyes so dark they were pools, her body and proportions more at home in the glow of hovering fae lights that drifted lazily through the air, meandering through the fluttering edges of the scarves.

“Sophie?” Bronwyn called out, and more shadows moved behind the scarves. “Would you fill the kettle? I need tea for my guest.”

Elain caught a glimpse of huge eyes in a thin worn face, shiny black, buttons stitched against burlap, before Sophie retreated. Bronwyn moved slowly in her tiny kitchen, opening drawers and assembling tea leaves that she dumped directly into the kettle that Sophie handed her. Elain guiltily moved to help, and Bronwyn waved her away impatiently, but not before she could see the sparseness of the pantry. She has nothing to eat.

“I’m all right,” Elain said hastily.

Bronwyn pinned her with gleaming eyes. “Are you not familiar with customs in the Night Court?”

Elain hesitated. She had now lived in Velaris for almost two years, but…did she know the Night Court? Or anything beyond what her sister had told her? Uncomfortable, Elain wondered briefly just how much Feyre knew herself.

Bronwyn’s voice was sharp, and the kettle began to hiss in the background as the steam struggled inside it. “We are a cold people, without much to spare, and we live in tight groups, following the sun and the water and the warmth for sustenance; but if a guest comes to our hearth, they are owed hospitality, and in turn it is their obligation to accept. An offering is a sacred trust.” The kettle shrieked, and she poured the tea with a flourish, through a strainer, from high above the cup, her long arms oddly graceful. She turned, hand extended with the cracked mug.

Elain must have looked abashed as she took it, bc Bronwyn barked a sudden, high pitched laugh. “Don’t be embarrassed, faeling. The High Fae may rule us from their glittering city of dreams —“ her lip curled in a sneer “— but they’ve never understood us. You’re not the first and won’t be the last.”

The tea tasted of smoke, smooth and only slightly bitter, with a sweet bite of mint, almost hot and cold at the same time. Elain had never had anything like it.

“And you have questions,” Bronwyn said, handing her a threadbare blanket to wrap around her shoulders in the chill. Elain felt that odd sensation of an inner window again; she was used to Rhys’ invasion into her mind with his sharp claws, which was painful and terrifying, even as gentle as he could be in their use. This was not the same. It was as if Bronwyn could…sense her feelings somehow. Perhaps not her thoughts, or her memories. Not like the daemati could. But her reactions, the panicked race and uneasy slow of her heartbeat, the wracked shiver of her muscles and the creeping cold along her skin…that, Elain had a feeling, the female knew without even having to expend energy or interest.

She took a deep breath and willed herself to speak steadily. “I want to know about Seers. Nothing is written, but I need to know. About their power.”

“Why?”

“I am one, in case you can’t guess,” Elain’s impatience sharpened her tone. “But…now I’m wondering if there’s maybe more to it…”

Bronwyn squinted. “That isn’t a question.”

Elain twisted her fingers in her lap. “But…my friend told me you studied lore, from the olden times…”

“Here is how this works, little faeling,” Bronwyn interrupted, and smiled, revealing a mouthful of pointed teeth. “You do not get all of my centuries of knowledge without restriction or pause. No. The game is simple and we play in turns. You ask a question, and I might answer; and then I ask you one of my own.”

She leaned forward, hunger eclipsing the smile on her face. Elain paled.

Think, she told herself sternly. As Feyre would. What do you need to know; and what is the quickest way to get it? Her sister would not be helpless. She had faced the Bone Carver and come away whole in heart and mind.

“My dreams have…changed lately,” she began. “They used to be fanciful, my mind granting me my wishes. Calming. But now…they’ve become clearer. Sharper.”

Bronwyn leaned forward in her chair, her large green ears cocked forward.

Elain went on. “I see people I know. Things and places I recognize…and ones I don’t. And as soon as I realize that I’m dreaming, they change. They look more like paintings. People behave differently. As though someone knows that I know something is different, and is trying to lull me back to calm.”

She breathed in deeply, trying to slow her speeding heart. “So my question is: are they real? Have they happened?”

Bronwyn’s huge depthless eyes gave nothing back to her. The female asked, “And these dreams are not the True Sight?”

Elain was suddenly angry. If this woman could see into her, she’d realize that Elain didn’t know, that she’d come here to ask just that.

“They’re not like my visions,” she said, hoping her frustration didn’t bleed through in her voice. “They’re dreams. Or at least they start that way. But…I can’t tell…they seem…”

The visions had been overwhelming, disturbing, immersive. Ever since the Cauldron had touched her with terrible tendril fingers, and given her the power with a murmur of beautiful. They’d come on her at any time, screaming into her consciousness, showing her a vivid but incomprehensible scene and then receding like a wave on a beach. Elain hated her visions. They were strange. Alien. Made her feel more unusual and wrong inside her new fae body than she already felt. And now were they invading her dreams? The one place where she’d been safe and able to wish for her old life without recriminations — this is how it is now, get used to it, you can’t go back — or pitying platitudes — I know, it feels strange, you’ll adjust eventually.

Bronwyn leaned back in her chair. “I’d have to know what happened in the dreams.”

Elain felt her temper rear again. “That’s not a question,” she retorted.

Bronwyn laughed. “Ah, so the rose does have thorns. Very well: what happened in your dream?”

Elain opened her mouth, and suddenly a voice sounded in her ears, as clear as if it had been spoken.

Kiss me. Again.

No. Not that part. That she would not share, not with this female who was kind and terrifying and strange by turns.

But her mind clutched longingly at the images. Her bed, rumpled and tangled, drenched in afternoon glow, spindrift weighing down the rays of sunlight. She could see herself, sweat gleaming on her neck and chest, straddling him and pushing him down backwards toward the embrace of the sheets. His red hair spreading out, vined around her hands, a tangle of flame with the bronze-gold of her own sleek curls as she leaned forward over him. His smooth skin, creased with scars, and firm muscle under her lips as she trailed her tongue up his throat, then threw her own head back. The heat of his mouth against her neck. He flipped her onto her back, the weight of him welcome against her hips; she wound her legs tightly around him, taking him deeper and deeper, the brimming pressure spreading inside her from core to crown until she thought she would explode or combust, and her vision sparkled with stars. Kiss me. Again. It was a plea from his lips, and mother save her, but she did, drinking his breath until he pulled away and his tongue was warm and wet and writhing against her in…other places. His name burst inside her mouth then, sweet and tart as an Autumn apple, mixing unevenly with other words — yes and oh and please and mother of mercy — and, as an arch clawed its way up her spine, other, filthier sounds she’d never made before in her life…

Bronwyn grinned, sly and knowing, and Elain’s face burned as she realized her scent must have changed. “One of those dreams, eh? Well, girl, we all have those.”

“No,” Elain muttered, her expression mulish. She was tired of being dismissed, and anyway she knew that one wasn’t real. She hadn’t even seen Lucien in weeks, let alone tumbled him in her own bed, mad with need. No matter that he was in her dreams almost every night. It was just the bond, that ghostly connection between the two of them, that forced her to dream such lecherous things. To not know if she wanted such things. To ache for such things.

“Well? What other dreams, then?” Bronwyn sounded bored now, and Elain hated how chagrined she felt at that. She composed herself and called up the sinister sister dream.

“I was in the dark, and that’s all I could tell for a while,” she said, “until I realized I was under water, somehow. And there was something else there. Something huge, and undulating. It didn’t feel alive, but at the same time, it was. Just not the kind of life we’re used to. Older, and stronger, and…and different.”

The inner window pivoted, as though trying to catch something just out of the frame, a sick feeling near to the dream-falling she sometimes woke from, gasping. Elain pushed against it, unwilling to give more glimpses than it had already taken, but then thought, what if this is the price? To let her see me? To know what I see, or what I feel? If she answered, would it not all be worth it?

She relaxed ever so slightly, and the inner window turned. Her heart clenched, seized. She closed her eyes and carried on doggedly, as if talking would erase the nausea. “And all at once it moved, quick and thrashing like a whip, and the wave it created under the water lifted me and threw me over the surface. And when I landed I saw…the water had shifted.”

Now Bronwyn’s face had an arrested look, as Elain opened her eyes and blinked in the faelight. A shadow moved in the kitchen — Sophie, skinny and silent, slipping past on bare feet the color of old leather. Bronwyn ignored her utterly. “The shoreline had moved?”

Elain shook her head. “No, the entire…body of water was in the air, roaring toward the bank. You could see the whole bottom. Fish and stones and weeds and mud, all left behind by the water. It was roaring. It was coming for…for me. And I turned and ran as it hit the bank, and the flood of it caught my knees, and then something grabbed me from behind…and I woke up.”

Bronwyn brought her hand up to her chin, her glassy wings vibrating and giving off a faint buzzing sound. “Did you see anything that told you where you might have been?”

“No,” Elain replied, the anxiety of the dream filling her with shivers to equal those from her sodden clothes. “But do you know if anything like that has happened? Anywhere, ever?” When Bronwyn stayed silent, she pushed on, desperate for answers. “Is this happening because I’m a Seer? Is this…is it True Sight or is it something else? Something new?”

Bronwyn exhaled softly, and leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs at the ankle. She eyed her critically for a moment, and then, voice slightly rusty but calm, spoke. “Things seen in dreams are neither wholly true nor wholly false, and deeply open to misinterpretation. If you have the True Sight, I know you will know this. But what you describe is being in another’s dream. What the poets have called dream-sharing, or dream-walking. Those who have done it say it’s a clarity unlike others, to see into their reflections and deepest desires. But to be inside another’s mind, even if they are dreaming…it is a deep and troublesome responsibility. You can ask your friend the High Lord about that,” she said with a faint grimace.

“But…how did I get into another’s mind?” Elain knew her eyes were going round with shock, too horrified and defensive to wonder how the female knew she was close to Rhysand.

“It is unknown how the shared space is created,” Bronwyn said thoughtfully, studying her up and down. “The only other dreamwalker I knew called it a road of dreams, where she could travel while most only stayed in their houses. Perhaps in your case it is related to the True Sight; that’s a rare ability, after all. Think of what you could find out…”

“But I’m not trying to use it! How does it happen?”

Bronwyn shook her head. “My turn for a question.”

Elain swallowed, and then nodded.

“When this happens,” Bronwyn said, her voice slow and sonorous, “do you just observe or do your actions in the dreams change the outcomes?”

Elain considered. The dream had been a maelstrom of chaos and fear, pushing away and trying to escape. But as her eyes drifted closed and she sank back into the feeling, turning and running from the encroaching wave, she noticed a detail she had overlooked.

The sudden clench in her chest. A tug.

And the hands that circled her waist from behind were slender, pale…female. And strong.

Her eyes shot open. Why did that feel dangerous?

Bronwyn waited expectantly, eyebrow cocked. Elain suddenly didn’t want to tell her anything else. She had been in another’s mind. Whether what she had seen there was dream, vision, or premonition was something to be worried about later.

“I can’t control anything,” Elain said, at long last, the silence twining oppressive around them like a snake.

Bronwyn shrugged in a sinuous roll. “Who says you cannot? Have you ever tried?”

Sophie cut in, her voice dry as wind through reeds. “Bronwyn. Someone approaches.”

Bronwyn nodded, then waved her hand in the air. The fae lights crept closer to her, gathering behind her in a firefly cloud. Elain felt her fear slide under her skin, still clammy from the Sidra. She stood, placing the now-damp blanket on the chair, wavering a little as the houseboat rocked gently. Everything went quiet. Bronwyn remained seated, her eyes following Elain with faint amusement and something else.

She had not mistaken it.

It was hunger.

“…I thank you for your insight,” Elain said, hoping her voice sounded more confident than she felt. “Now I have more to research.” She stuck her hand into her pocket, which had stuck together from the wet, and pulled out a few silver coins, inverting the contents into her hand. She stuck out her fist toward Bronwyn, palm up. Let her see, I’m giving her all my money. Let her see that I have nothing else.

“Oh but you do have something else,” Bronwyn murmured, soft as the wind in the trees. Softer. “So much more, in fact. And so much more that’s interesting. More interesting than coin.”

Sour panic welled into Elain’s tight throat. She shivered hard enough that the silver clinked in her hand. Stay calm, she warned herself. Like Feyre. Like Nesta. She glanced toward the door and saw the scarves flutter. Sophie. She was blocking the exit.

“What is it you want?”

Bronwyn shrugged, and Elain again felt the window inside her pivot. “Same as you, really. Information.” She examined her long fingers with a cool, critical eye. “Information is currency. With it, you become wealthy; and not in goods and services,” with a wave of her hand to the battered surroundings. “With interest. With ability. Which, coincidentally,” she continued, and then fixed her eyes on Elain’s, “you have in spades, little faeling.”

And a searching, sucking sensation grew in Elain’s chest, spread like nausea, like rot. Bronwyn’s voice sounded so close now…right next to her ears…so comforting, so gentle…the faelights were dancing in glittering spirals around her…but next to the void opening inside of her, it was just mad and macabre…

“Who frightens you, faeling? I sense a darkness, a dread power. The High Lord, I assume. But also a light? A bright one, by the looks of it.” She approached, and her extended fingertip brushed a strand of damp hair from Elain’s forehead. “I won’t let them hurt you. Just tell me…let me take those soft little secrets you’ve kept for yourself. The things you saw and never said to anyone. We’ll find all of them, and more besides. And then we’ll do things together. Punish them. As they deserve.”

No no no no no. But Elain could not stop it. The draining inside her chest. She was getting weaker by the moment. Soon she’d fall.

Bronwyn nudged her through the inner window, and her knees collapsed. She missed the chair by an inch and hit the floor with a thump. It knocked the breath from her, but also ever-so-slightly loosened the grip of whatever reached through that window, like a stick caught in a drain. It was enough to free her voice.

“What are you?” she breathed.

Bronwyn smiled, and it was ghoulish now, a floating crescent of teeth, tongue sliding over ragged lips. “They call me a witch, and that’s sufficient for a High Fae to know.”

A word came back to Elain. Flotsam surfacing in an eddy. “…skimmer…” she whispered. Her voice was locking in her throat again.

Bronwyn looked faintly surprised. “You listened. Yes. We’ve always been here, and we’ll be here when all of you are gone.”

Sophie’s voice groaned from the doorway. “Bronwyn. Hurry.”

And now Elain could make out distant sounds. Noises…scuffling, thumping, pattering. As if someone - more than one person - was running…and a distant cry broke from the chaos…

“ELAIN!”

The shout cut through the darkness, the silence, the squeezing empty vacuum in her chest. And in its place came bubbling, liquid terror.

But it was something. It was enough.

Elain shot to her feet as though her muscles had been spring-loaded, knocking against Bronwyn and throwing her to the floor. As the witch fell, the boat rocked precipitously, throwing Elain hip-first against the table. The stab of pain echoed through her.

“ELAIN! ANSWER ME!”

She gripped the table tightly and turned to see where Bronwyn was getting up, her long arms stretched out to balance. With a scream, she turned the table over, landing with a crash atop the witch, and ran.

She was not on solid ground, and her steps were not even, and she collided with the witch’s friend Sophie at the door like a sack of wet flour. The bony skimmer braced herself in the doorway, and Elain struggled past, pushing her arm loose; when the woman grabbed her skirt, she felt it tear, and kicked wildly until her foot bent the woman’s arm the wrong way. A scream split the night, and Elain wriggled out of the houseboat, already moving, leaping awkwardly in her wet clothes from roof to roof of the other boats so they rocked underneath, stumbling toward the drifting boardwalk.

She was not fast enough.

She had made it to the end of the row of houseboats when a hand seized her arm and wrenched, pulling it behind her and spinning her around. It was Bronwyn, her eyes luminous with rage, wings buzzing into a riotous drone behind her back, the faelights following her and gilding her with silver. She struck her with a stinging slap, and tears burst into Elain’s eyes, then gripped her hard around the throat and squeezed. She couldn’t breathe, but the witch’s grip only tightened, the vortex in her chest opening again…

Until it slammed shut with a wheeze and a curse, and Bronwyn stumbled back with a sob of pain. Elain sucked in the deepest breath she could, blessedly cold; she couldn’t see, it was too dark, but in the faelight the witch’s silhouette was…different.

An arrow sprouted from her shoulder. Bronwyn sank to her knees with a roar, twisting in agony, gripping the arrow where its barb lay buried just above her collarbone. Elain saw the pointed tip protruding; it had almost gone clean through her. And that scent…ashen, metal…Faebane.

Noise rushed into Elain’s ears. Someone was shouting, screaming for her to run. Her breath was razors in her throat, in her chest. Who was it? She looked around wildly, but it was dark, too dark. Feyre? Did I call my sister? Rhysand? Nesta? And someone was moving in the darkness, faster than anyone had any business moving on the insecure surface…

A flash of fire lit his face. She shrank back, expecting the next arrow to be for her, and over the shield of her arm, she saw him.

Lucien…?

Her mind could not rightly process it. Lucien was far away, in the human lands, with the firebird queen and the sardonic general. But here he was, swift as the arrows from his bow. She could not keep her eyes on him. He was moving too rapidly, disappearing between piles of refuse, leaping over ropes and moorings. He had climbed the pylon and had an arrow nocked before she was finished marveling at his appearance from nowhere; his feet shifted constantly to keep him upright, and his flame exploded around the arrowhead in a glowing plume. He whirled and faced the canal, where as her eyes adjusted she could now see perhaps a dozen dark shapes moving. Advancing. They were advancing toward Bronwyn, still screaming on her knees, advancing on him, and he…he was staring at her, his gold eye flaring in the firelight, assessing her for damage.

“Lucien,” she croaked. Her voice was nearly gone, but he heard her.

“Get out of here,” he hissed, pointing the arrow toward the dark shapes. “It’s clear back that way along the boardwalk toward the riverbank. When you find the bank, it’s a left turn and back to Velaris. Go as fast as you can. Go. GO.”

She didn’t wait; she turned, pushed herself up from her knees, and ran as fast as she could manage, slipping from pylon to pylon. She heard the hiss and thud as he loosed another arrow. Had he hit his target? She could not afford to look…

A flare of light illuminated the boards in front of her. She had no idea where she was going…only the riverbank. The riverbank. Beyond the water lay safety. But the glow behind her did not die. It grew, along with the heat…and now people were running with her, squeezing out of the windows and doors of their houseboats with cries of “Fire! FIRE!” and crowding along the tops of the boats toward the bank. Her way was blocked. There were too many of them.

Only then, forced to a stop by the fleeing crowd of the Palace of Ships and Shadows, did she turn to look at the chaos behind her.

The dock was burning with a heat that could not be quenched by the canal water, smoke and steam churning in massive coils as it ate through hulls and boards and ropes. Her eyes widened in horror as one of the houseboats, strapped to a drum of some kind of oil, exploded in a massive percussion, the shock wave forcing her over backward. Numbness cloaked her like a blanket. Lucien.

The sudden clench in her chest was a spike of pure agony. She screamed in panic, into the heat of the flames. LUCIEN. Gods, where was he? His fire had ignited it…had he been too close?

Without even really knowing what she was doing, a dry sob in her stinging, swollen throat, Elain leaned backward as people rushed by her toward the shore, fought past them as they scattered toward the riverbank, and headed back toward the leering orange glow at the surface of the oily dark water.

[circusgoth-dotcom]

A Gift From The Heavens

Ship: Jay x Bear x Silent Bob, Bear x The Metatron

Word Count: 1299

Summary: Set around Christmas, Jay wants to buy Bear the perfect gift for his birthday (December 24th) and calls upon The Voice Of God™️ (aka The Metatron) for advice. Shenanigans ensue when Jay takes the angel to the local mall to shop for this gift. CWs for toilet humour, religious themes kind of (comes with the territory), canon-typical suggestiveness, Christmas mentions.

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife

Jay sat in the bathroom of Bear’s apartment, fiddling with a flip phone decorated with angel-themed stickers; apparently, it was the only way for Bear to contact his angel boyfriend, The Metatron, and summon him to Earth. It rarely left Bear’s sight, considering what might happen if it got into the wrong person’s hands, and though Jay felt a little bad about snatching it, he needed The Metatron’s advice.

“It would’ve been way helpful for you to keep his number written down somewhere, Bear,” he muttered to himself as he flipped the phone over in his hands. “What fuckin’ numbers would be associated with an angel?? 666??? No, that’s the devil…”

He opened the phone, his tongue sticking through his teeth as he thought hard, hesitating momentarily before beginning to punch in random numbers. Luckily, it seemed he struck the right combination shortly, for the phone began to glow with heavenly light.

“Yes!”

The Metatron appeared before him in his humanoid form but still displayed his wings, obviously expecting Bear as he knew they liked it when he hugged them and wrapped his wings around them…

“What is it dar… oh. It’s you,” his fond tone immediately became one of unimpressed surprise.

“Metatron, bro!” Jay hopped off the toilet, oblivious to the angel’s slight displeasure. “I’m so glad you weren’t busy, I really need your advice, man.”

The angel arched an eyebrow, folding his arms and his wings. “Whatever for?”

“So you know how Christmas is coming up? And Christmas Eve is Bear’s birthday, yeah?”

“I follow.”

“I have… no fucking clue what to get him! And Silent Bob won’t let me in on his plans, the sneaky bastard…”

“So I’m your last resort?” The Metatron clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes subtly. “Typical… why don’t you just ask him??”

“I tried, man, but his lips are sealed!”

The angel paused, quickly gathering Jay presumed he meant “ask Silent Bob.” He sighed, “No, I mean, why not ask Bear? Surely that is the most efficient course of action you can take.”

“Ohh! Well it’s not really much of a surprise then, is it??”

“Who says it has to be a surprise? In my experience, Bear is… well, I wouldn’t say a very straightforward individual, but he knows what he wants, really, just ask. You don’t need to be wasting my time with trivialities like this.”

Suddenly, a knock came at the door, followed by Bear’s voice. “Jay, are you done in there? I’m gonna have to take like, a mad piss soon, dude.”

“Just a second!” Jay then leaned in closer to the angel, whispering, “Come onn, dude, I don’t wanna disappoint him! Just meet me at the mall at five, alright??”

The Metatron gave him a flabbergasted look. “I am not meeting you at the mall at five.”

“Dude, we saved the world together! Does that mean nothing to you?!”

“Technically, it was Bethany Sloane’s actions that saved the world. You’re just a self-proclaimed prophet who helped her in her journey. Goodbye, Jay.” With that, the angel disappeared. Jay groaned and exited the bathroom.

“He’s gotta fuckin’ come…!” He grumbled to himself as he swapped places with Bear.

~~~

At five that evening, the usual posse arrived at their local mall; Jay, Silent Bob, Bear, and The Metatron, now hiding his wings. Jay sent Bear off with Silent Bob to the food court, then quickly began leading The Metatron around the numerous stores.

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. I’m the voice of God, for Christ’s sake…” The angel muttered. “I suppose this is the price I pay for falling in love with a human.”

Jay suddenly turned to him, fists raised. “Upset him and I’ll kick your fuckin’ ass.”

He raised his hands defensively. “I’m not complaining about loving Bear, I’m merely complaining about your mulishness! You really believe I would ever speak ill of him, I mean, I’m here, aren’t I, helping your indecisive arse?”

“I’m just sayin’!” Jay shoved his hands back into his pockets before doing a double take as they passed a lingerie store. “Do you think they’d like anything from there??”

The Metatron followed his gaze. “All you humans think about is sex appeal.” He then sighed and began approaching the store. “Doesn’t hurt to look around.”

After much putting down of Jay’s suggestions of new undergarments for their partner, the odd pair left the lingerie store in search of something less suggestive. They browsed Spencer’s, a used video game store, and even a personal care shop. Once Metatron had to physically drag Jay away from the mall’s arcade.

“Honestly, you’re worse than a child!” The angel scolded as Jay struggled for a moment in his grasp before The Metatron let go.

“You could’ve given me five more minutes, I was about to beat some jockstrap’s high score!”

“We don’t have five more minutes, the mall closes at nine and we still have to collect Bear and Silent Bob from wherever they may’ve wandered off to before we leave.”

Jay was about to retort when his jaw dropped as something in a nearby store caught his eye. “I know what Bear wants.”

“Eh…?” Once again, the angel followed Jay’s wandering gaze and settled upon a window display mannequin wearing a hot pink Juicy Couture tracksuit. “Oh, yes, I have heard him gushing about those velour tracksuits… but how are you of all people going to afford it??”

“I’ll just turn on the ol’ Jay charm.” Jay grinned and winked before waltzing into the store, leaving the angel half-stunned.

“Oh I can’t bare to watch,” he finally murmured, burying his face in his hands as he waited by the store’s entrance. A few minutes passed before he felt a tap on his arm and cautiously peeked through his fingers. Jay triumphantly held up a nondescript bag, presumably containing a tracksuit in Bear’s size. The Metatron blinked in surprise but made no expression beyond that as his hands fell away from his face. “Consider yourself blessed, Jay.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as they wandered off to track down Bear and Silent Bob, eventually finding them making out near the bathrooms.

“Come on, you two,” The Metatron announced as they pulled apart. Silent Bob looked less than pleased at the interruption, but Bear shrugged at him with a smitten smile and hooked his arm with The Metatron’s.

“So, did you find what you were looking for?” Bear asked as the quartet made their way out of the mall and back into the treacherous winter of New Jersey.

“Yep! I think you’re really gonna like it!” Jay spoke proudly while The Metatron shot him a warning glance.

“Oh! It’s for me?”

“Totally--”

“Jay, why don’t you tell Bear about your little arcade adventure?” The Metatron spoke in a slightly raised tone, hoping if it didn’t remind him that he wanted the present to be a surprise, it would at least distract him from saying too much for the moment. Luckily, the angel’s plan worked, as Jay immediately began a tangent about him being a “stuffy old man” who needed to “loosen up,” and how he was surprised that Bear hadn’t achieved that already. Mentally, The Metatron gave a breath of relief. Jay ragging on him was much better than allowing him to undo all of the hard work they had just put in. When they returned to Bear’s apartment, Bear asked him to stay.

“I mean, you already made the trip, and it’s clear God can get along just fine without you for a few hours…” He enticed, wrapping his tiny, cold hands in The Metatron’s much larger and much warmer ones.

“Well… alright. But only because you’re asking so sweetly.” The angel hummed, kissing Bear on the forehead and making him smile.

[the-ravening]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you @zsparz and @six-demon-bag for tagging me! ❤️

1. How many works do you have on ao3? Only 12, because I am a baby writer.

2. What's your total ao3 word count? 86k

3. What fandoms do you write for? Winterbaron, or more accurately, Zemo/everyone

4. Top five fics by kudos: Let's do a top 3, since top 5 would just be like half my fics.

Something Sweet to Eat (142 kudos) Extremely underage Halloween fic, bunny boy Zemo shows up trick or treating at Bucky's house Adopt, Don’t Shop (123 kudos) Omegaverse, bratty teen Zemo is for sale at an Omega kennel and Alpha Bucky goes shopping Gift-Wrapped (113 kudos) This was the first fic I ever posted (just a few years ago) and I'm still pretty proud of it. Just a silly Winterbaron rimming PWP, but it's hot

5. Do you respond to comments? I try to, I always mean to, but I think I'm a bit behind right now. I know there are some amazing comments on Home to Me from last year that I still haven't replied to and I feel bad about it all the time.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Probably Under Lock and Key (what a mess we’ve made), the Heinrich/Helmut Zemo dadcest fic I wrote for @ex0rin where I followed her hurt/no comfort philosophy of leaving him on the floor crying.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I don't know if I really do happy endings? I have PWPs where the happy ending is they both come, if that counts. 😅 Let's say... Ink Kissed (with violent precision) where tattoo artist Bucky gives his client Zemo a dick tattoo, and Zemo ends up quite happy with the tattoo as well as the rest of the service.

8. Do you get hate on fics? I've only gotten one or two of the world's mildest hate comments. I guess my ships are sufficiently niche that no one cares about them.

9. Do you write smut? Yeah! Do I write anything other than smut? No.

10. Craziest crossover: I've only written one crossover, A Suitable Course of Treatment, Bucky Barnes/Laszlo Kreizler from The Alienist, which isn't crazy at all because as we all know, Laszlo has Zemo's face. (If it counts, I once started a Dir en grey x Sailormoon fic where the band members magically turned into Sailor Scouts, but I did not ever get far on it.)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes, the aforementioned Adopt, Don’t Shop was co-written with @violenciorp and @tales-from-a-maphia-don, because Vio lovingly bullied us into it, despite me and Mel ostensibly not being into Omegaverse.

14. All time favorite ship? I've jumped ship a lot over the years, but it's gotta be Winterbaron, since this is the ship that finally got me writing and posting and getting really involved in a fandom.

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? The first serious attempt I made at writing in this fandom was this teen Zemo necrophilia thing, and I wrote the necro part but none of the plotty stuff leading up to it. I still dream of finishing it, in an abstract way where I have no motivation to ever work on it.

16. What are your writing strengths? I think I'm pretty good at rhythm and flow and making my prose sound musical? That's something I focus a lot on and I tend to read aloud while editing to make sure it sounds good to my ear.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Probably plot and dialogue, and figuring out how to include technical details of things I know nothing about. But most of all procrastination, my arch-nemesis.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language? I personally avoid it, because I find it annoying to have to look up the translations in the middle of reading. I prefer to just say they're speaking in whatever language but write the dialogue in English.

19. First fandom you wrote in? J-rock RPF in the early 2000s, but I mostly just did a bit of RP and never got far with any fics I started.

20. Favorite fic you've written? Sometimes it feels like every new thing I post is my new favourite, haha. But I thiiiink my fave has been Something Sweet to Eat since I wrote it (the Halloween fic mentioned earlier), because it's probably the most self-indulgent thing I've written to date. I am truly the main audience for that fic and I'm very happy with it.

No pressure tagging: @violenciorp, @tales-from-a-maphia-don, @thepiper0fhameln, @ex0rin, @unlikelymilliner, @evenmyhivemindisempty, and anyone else who sees this and wants to join in!

[sesamestreep]

okay sorry one last one: 50, dealer's choice

50. rudely barging in on a white veil occasion (from this list) you say dealer’s choice, I say DREW CREW! 🔎✨ set several years in the future so all these characters can legally drink and technically not be child brides, basically 🥂💍

After breaking several traffic laws to get there in record time, Nick and Ace barge in to the fitting area of Delia’s Bridal Shop in Augusta to find burn marks on the plush beige carpet as well as the remnants of several broken champagne glasses scattered on the floor. Nancy is standing center stage, as it were, grasping George by the arms but they both turn in surprise when the boys enter.

“Nancy, don’t!” Nick calls, first to act as always.

“Whatever you’re feeling right now,” Ace tries to say while still catching his breath after the sprint from the parking lot, “it’s not you. It’s the—!”

“Earrings,” Nancy replies flatly. “The ones Ryan gave me to wear, from the Hudson estate.”

“Yeah,” Nick says, cautiously, throwing a baffled look in Ace’s direction. “It turns out they belonged to one of the Women in White, and she—”

“Went crazy at her own wedding and killed a bunch of the guests,” George finishes for him, with a grim smile. “So, now they’re infused with her rage.”

“Yeah,” Ace responds, feeling his heart rate hesitantly returning to normal, “and it looks like Temperance held onto them and they got passed down through the Hudsons because…”

“She’s a nightmare person from Hell,” Bess says, nodding from an overstuffed chaise nearby, somehow managing to look both exhausted and blasé at the same time.

“Wait,” Nick says, gesturing at Nancy and George, “if you’re not in the midst of some bridal meltdown, how did you know about the earrings? And what’s with this mess?”

George gives Nancy an arch look. “Someone decided it might be nice to let the salesgirl try on her spooky family heirloom jewelry because she’s just sooo friendly and accommodating.”

At Nick and Ace’s mutual confused looks, Bess gestures to the corner, where a disheveled salesgirl is tied up in dressing room curtains and snoring gently as she presumably sleeps off the side effects of the curse, then holds up what Ace recognizes as her kit of spell components that she keeps in her purse.

“Magical first aid kit,” she announces proudly before taking a swig out of the last intact champagne flute, “never leave home without it!”

“How was I supposed to know the earrings were cursed?” Nancy asks, helplessly.

“Well, they are from the Hudsons,” Nick offers, getting a universal murmur of agreement from everyone else.

“Yeah, no more gifts or relics from that side of the family, please,” Ace says, moving to put his arm around her shoulders soothingly.

“Nothing older than twenty years, I promise,” she replies, leaning into his side. “Though, Bess did break the curse on the earrings, so…”

“Nancy!” Bess yells.

“Absolutely not,” Nick puts in.

“Not happening,” Ace objects.

“Ryan is rich. He can buy you new earrings,” George says, shaking her head and going to stand with Nick.

“Fine,” Nancy grumbles. “I guess we don’t need the risk of any extra bad luck for our wedding anyway.”

“Extra bad luck?” Ace asks. “Without the earrings, what do we have to worry about?”

Nancy bites her lip and looks uncomfortably at George and Bess. “Well, I know it’s old-fashioned, but it is considered bad luck to see the bride in her dress before the ceremony and…you’re, well…”

When she gestures down at her body, Ace notices her dress for the first time. It’s…big, with a lot of layers of tulle and…a lot more rhinestones around the neckline than he could have anticipated. The minute he spots the enormous bows down the back, he catches up and slaps a hand over his eyes.

“Oh, no! I’m sorry, I didn’t even think! I was so worried about the cursed earrings that I…”

“Goddammit,” George says.

Ace looks over at her, in case something else has suddenly gone wrong, only to find Nick trying desperately not to laugh while she glares at Nancy.

“Pay up, baby!” Nancy says, with a triumphant grin.

“What,” Ace says, not even bothering to make it a question.

“George bet me 20 bucks that I wouldn’t put this dress on and be able to convince you I was going to buy it,” Nancy says, patting his chest with her palm. “I was just going to text you a photo but you made it a lot easier by showing up. You should’ve seen your face.”

“That’s so mean,” Ace says, even as relief floods through him.

“As if I’d ever choose this dress of all things.”

“I’m still coming down from a panicked adrenaline high and I feel that I should be graded on a curve as a result.”

“Does that mean I don’t have to give Nancy twenty dollars?” George asks, as she fishes a bill out of her bra.

“Hell no,” Nancy replies, snatching it out of her hands. “Weddings are expensive.”

Ace nods at the damage around them. “Yeah, and I have a feeling these guys aren’t going to give us a discount.”

“Maybe there’s a matching wedding dress in the Hudson House of Horrors you could borrow,” Nick suggests.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Nancy says, darkly, curling even further into Ace’s side.

[erodasfishtacos]

Adjustments

When Y/N is getting tired of staying at home with the baby while Harry tours.

word count: 5k

contains: sexual content, language, a dash of angst

It was still early but Harry didn’t mind. When he was on tour he craved sleep like no other. To be in his bed, spooned around his love, and no alarm set.

However, the deep desire for sleep is just a faraway thought now because he’d rather be sleep deprived and wake up to his curly-haired baby any given day.

He looks to you. Mouth slightly open, face stress-free, and peaceful. Harry hated coming home from tour to see the bags of exhaustion under your eyes from taking care of the baby all by yourself.

He constantly had to swallow back guilt. He tried to do everything to make it up when he was home.

Harry didn’t find touring as exciting and fun as he use to. He sometimes counts down the tour dates until he’s home.

Sometime he can’t wait for the concert to wrap up so he can sneak in a quick FaceTime before you lot head off to bed.

Sasha was two, her birthday near days away, and Y/N had been running around like a mad-woman trying to make sure her party would be perfect.

Y\N sometimes held herself to the exceptions of other celebrities wives. Ballon arches, custom cookies, and beautiful decorations.

However, unlike other celebrities, you did this all yourself. No event planner, nobody except Anne and Gemma.

Harry wants you to sleep as much as possible and allow you the luxury he gets on tour. Sleeping in until noon sometimes in the empty, cold hotel room with nothing else to do.

He can hear Sasha babbling incessantly from her little bed. The little yellow railings preventing her from falling out or escaping.

Harry heaves himself off the bed, tugging on some sweatpants that had been thrown off hurriedly when you’d told him you’d been wet for him since he walked in the door last night.

“Hi, hi little love,” Harry murmurs as he opens the door to her bedroom. The yellow flowers hand-painted from the wall setting the theme for the room.

Sasha was a good baby and an ever better toddler. However, almost as a little teenager, she sure did have her mood swings. They weren’t quite out of the terrible twos stage yet.

She wanted her mom as she stood there.

“No, mummy,” Sasha whines, tugging on Harry’s cross necklace with force after he scooped her up.

“Hey, we don’t do that. Remember we treat people with kindness.”

After a promise of chocolate chips in her pancakes, she agrees to help Harry cook you breakfast. 

It was messy and his bare chest was covered in flour. Not quite sure how the little girl had gotten it into her curls but they were managing.

Harry loved watching Sasha play with the cooking utensil. Smacking whisk around, looking quizzically at a spatula. 

It made Harry want to buy her a little play kitchen. He was surprised they didn’t already have one. He thinks they might have on in their New York City apartment that they haven’t traveled to recently.

He makes a point while Sasha is chewing at the pancakes to search to find one. He finds a same-day pickup at a local toy store and orders it.

That’s one thing he loved about making so much money. He could spoil you and the baby, his family with everything and anything they want or need.

Y/N always struggled with accepting gifts from Harry but as they years went on and they got married and combined bank accounts. (well she brought a hefty three thousand to the marriage, he graciously gave her full-access to his money). 

A few weeks after your wedding, when you went to an ATM to get twenty pounds out for a cash-only restaurant and when the receipt said you two had six-hundred thousand and some change in just one of your CHECKING account - well you nearly almost fainted.

You had been worried about the three pound service fee before seeing that.

Harry could sometimes get ahead of himself. He’s had disposable money since he was sixteen. Y/N would sometimes hum, asking if he really needs a fifteen-thousand dollar wool Gucci coat.

Y/N would make it a point that she doesn’t want Sasha to grow to be materialistic and spoiled. So Harry was scolded every once in a while when he gave into Sasha’s puppy dog eyes.

Maybe not the best decision but he planned to set it up when you were out for lunch this afternoon with a friend. Hopefully, you wouldn’t notice? If he strategically put it in the playroom.

“Mmm, what’s all this?” You murmur, tying your silk robe at the front. Just enough cleavage showing that Harry feels a twitch in his joggers. Sue him, basically everything his wife did turned him on.

“Pancakes, mummy!” Sasha giggles, syrup coating her cheeks and fingers. “Kissy?” Her dad had taught her that.

“Yes baby,” you agree, leaning in to press a kiss to her soft curls, avoiding her sticky mess. 

“Kissy?” 

You look up to your pouting husband with identical absurdly wild curls from bed. 

“Spoiled, you lot,” you tell him before padding over to him and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

Forever the horny teenager, his large hands finds your bum and pull you closer - deepening the kiss.

“Miss you s’much on tour, all I think about,” he whispers into your mouth. “Your tits, your cun-“

“Harry!” You laugh, smacking at his chest, “Can’t talk like that in front of the baby!”

“She didn’t hear,” he grumbles, giving your arse one last squeeze, “Tonight.”

“Tonight,” you agree back, ignoring the pinch of arousal. 

—-

Sasha was putting up a fight when she realized that you were leaving without her. Grabbing at your leg as you tugged on a Gucci sneaker.

“I’ll be back soon, Sash,” you assure her but to no avail.

Her cheeks ruddy red and splotched. Tears staining them as she wails dramatically at the top of her little lungs. 

“I don’t know if I should go,” You sigh as Harry wrestles her tiny body off of you so you don’t trip.

“No baby, you need a break. She can’t hold you hostage,” Harry laughs as Sasha wriggles a little in his arms.

“Call me if you need me to come home.”

“I’ll be fine, now go, have a mimosa for me,” Harry smiles down at his daughter who is staring at you like you’ve just killed her beloved pet.

You can’t help but giggle at the glare, “so scary, missy. I’ll see you soon, I love you.”

Sasha buries her nose into Harry’s neck. Her sobs more sad than angry at this point. Which makes your heartbreak a little.

—-

Sasha was getting impatient with her father. As he attempted to figure out how to screw on the oven door to the overcomplicated design.

She occasionally ran off with a piece he needed so it took much longer than he’d thought. But this thing was sophisticated, you pour water into a little tub and it runs through the faucet like a real sink.

Sasha gave her father a wide smile when he had finally told her it was all done. He helped fill the little shopping cart with plastic fruit and veggies.

She was babbling to herself happily, occasionally making sure her dad was still in the room with her.

Harry had grabbed his journal off the kitchen table and was scribbling down mismatched lyrics about how much love he was filled with.

His last two albums were nearly just songs about you. The next one was definitely going to include tracks about his baby.

When he hears the alarm sound and get shut off, he knows your home and he feels a little twinge of anxiety in his stomach.

Distraction? That should work right?

“Hi baby,” Harry greets, planting a kiss on your lips before squatting to untie your sneakers for you.

“Well hello there!” You look around surprised to not see your daughter toddling to you as well. “Is bug sleeping?”

Harry shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck, “Um, no. Just playing in the playroom right now.”

“Was she good?” You asks, noticing he’s changed clothes. He loved to laze around in joggers if he could. “Did you go out?”

“Just for coffee,” he covers, technically - he did grab a coffee for himself at a drive-thru. “How was lunch?”

“Good, mimosas were shit so I only had one. Missed you guys too much. So glad your home,” you sigh into his chest, basking in his tight arms around you.

“Only 73 more concerts to go,” Harry replies.

He can feel your shoulders tense at his lame attempt of a joke. It wasn’t funny to you, not in the slightest. 

“Just 73, huh?” You shoot back, untangling yourself from his grip. “Just another eight months away from your wife and baby.”

“Love...” Harry begins, swallowing hard. He was just as emotional as you when it came to it. 

You shake your head, swiping at the stray tear, “Just forget it,” you huff before trekking off to see your daughter.

Harry is cautiously trailing behind you with a bowling ball of nerves in his belly. 

When you walk into the playroom and see the new kitchen set - you stand nearly frozen in the doorway.

“Mummy! Mumma look at what daddy got me!” She chirps, standing to come to you. You easily lift her up and accept the plastic apple she hands to you proudly. 

You feel a tightness in your throat, “it’s so nice, baby.”

“Nice,” she repeats, “come play, mumma.”

“I just got home, give me a few minutes and I’ll be back in,” you promise with a kiss before placing her back down.

She seems satisfied with your answer and scurries back to where she had placed her babydoll on the countertop - feeding it.

“Can we please talk in the kitchen?” You asks, trying your best to keep your voice level in front of your daughter.

Harry dejectedly nods and follows you into the kitchen, dragging his boot-clad feet a little. 

“Look, I know your mad, lovie. But I just got the idea and didn’t think too much about it. Know y’don’t want to spoil her but-“

“Do you not listen?” You ask harshly.

He looks at you dumbfounded. Unsure of the question. It sounded like it was a trick question.

“You’re unbelievable!” You whisper-shout so Sasha doesn’t hear.

Harry feels himself getting defensive, “You’re tha’ mad about a bloody toy?  I’m her father allowed to buy her things too!”

“No, Harry. It’s not about that. It seems like your so busy with your job that you just tune me out on our calls.”

Harry’s brow furrows. That wasn’t true in the slightest. It was the highlight of his day to hear your voice and how it went at home.

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Harry snaps, his voice a little louder. 

“Go into the storage room off the side of the garage.”

He gives you a confused look but obliges, after trailing through your maze of a house. He reaches the large extra room.

When he opens the door, his heart sinks. He immediately knows why you’re so upset with him.

A beautiful, hand-painted kitchen set is sat with a large pink bow in the room. The hutch saying in cursive, “Sasha’s Kitchen.”

It was her favorite colors - blue and yellow- with painted images of all her favorite characters like Peppa Pig and Blue from Blue’s Clues.

He remembers how excited you were on the phone that night - when you revealed her third birthday present and how perfect the artist had made it.

Harry had been listening -truthfully- but he was also nearly asleep after two encores of Kiwi onstage and a meet and greet backstage.

He felt like shit now. Disappointed in himself for ruining this surprise he knows you were looking forward to giving her in a mere few days.

But the excitement of another kitchen set surely would be lackluster now. 

“Baby, m’so sorry,” Harry says quietly, with guilt bubbling in his throat. “I was listening. I just...I forgot.”

“Nothing we can do about it now it,” you bite out. Disappointed at the ruin surprised making you prickle with anger towards your forgetful husband.

Harry begins to apologize once again but you don’t let him, “I need to put her down for a nap.”

— 

You drift off as well in your bed- taking advantage of Sasha being asleep in the next room over.

Harry doesn’t quite know how to fix this situation. He’s much too embarrassed to call his mum or sister who would just give him another earful.

He felt like being on tour has been mucking everything up. He loved his job, most days. But days like today - he wishes to never see a recording studio or microphone again.

Harry’s pondering all this when he hears a cry from the baby’s room. 

Sasha is stood, bleary-eyes with a sad frown as her father enters. 

“Sweet pea, what’s the sad face for?” He hums as he tucks her into the curve of his slim hip. Bringing her down onto the main level so you aren’t awoken.

“Daddy, kitchen?” She sniffles, pointing towards her playroom.

He shakes his head. Deciding the least he can do is bathe her so you wouldn’t need to later. She still had remnants of fruit pouch in her cheeks.

“No, darling. S’bath time. Then you can play,” he boots her nose. Snatching some clean baby clothes from where they’re folded and waited to be put away on the coffee table.

“No no no,” she whimpers angrily, shaking her head and smacking her arm against her father’s tattooed chest.

“Sasha Anne, no hitting, absolutely not,” Harry uses his firm father’s voice that he didn’t have to pull out very often.

“No bath, daddy, no!” She wails with all the dramatics of an A-List actor. 

“Hey, mumma’s sleeping. We cannot yell,” her father hushes her as he trails into the bathroom.

“Mean daddy!” She exclaims as he wrestles her into the tub. Splashing the water and wriggling away everytime he tries to cup water over her head to rid her of the shampoo.

“I know, I know, so mean,” he acknowledges sympathetically. A headache arising in the front of his skull from his baby’s high pitch noises and shouts.

After another fight into clothes, she’s still not happy when she’s sat in front of her kitchen. She throws the plastic toys around and whining anytime Harry moves an inch.

He’s feeling a little overwhelmed if he’s honest. With his worry about your precious argument and the unusual tactics of your toddler - he was stressed out. 

“Binky,” Sasha looks expectantly at her father.

Oh, good idea. She loves that.

Harry can’t find any lying around like usual so he digs through the drawers around the living room until he finds one.

After cleaning it off, he hands it to her and she pops it in her mouth happily. Her attention now direction back towards her new toy.

He let out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t quite sure how you did this alone so much of the time.

—

 When you finally wake from a fitful nap, you hear noise from the playroom. You’re still extremely frustrated with your husband but it’s less intense. Until...

Until you walk in and Sasha turns around, smiling around a binky you surely thought you’d thrown away.

Sasha was getting too old for a pacifier - even though she was just using it when she was really upset or at night.

You’d been binky-free for three weeks. And all the crying and tears from your daughter where now meaningless.

“Where did she get that pacifier?” You grit out.

You had told him multiple times you were weaning her off of it.

“She was fussy. I gave it to her, tha’ alright?” He asks cluelessly.

“Harry! I’ve told you so so many times that I’d been weaning her off of it. She just stopped crying about it a week ago!”

“I told you about this - just like the kitchen. God, you get so goddamn wrapped up in your career that you forget important things like this!”

“Baby...” Harry whimpers, hands up in surrender. “I keep, I keep messing up. I’m - I don’t know where my mind is.”

“I’ll tell you were your mind is, Harry. In the countries your traveling to, the concerts your performing at. You promised me...you fucking promised when we started trying for a baby this stuff wouldn’t happen!!”

Harry’s face crumples, “yo-you’re my everything, lovie. You and bug. None of this means anything without you. I’ll quit music, never write another lyric or sing another note if that’s what you want from me.”

He meant that fully heartedly too.

When he wrote If I Could Fly and write the lyrics, “I’ll give up everything, just ask me to.”

The fans, the producers, you - don’t truly know how much he was being truthful in the lyrics.

“I would never ask you to do that. I want you to do what you love but I want you to follow through for your family!”

At your raised tons, Sasha begins to whine, looking with wide, concerned eyes.

“Mummy?”

With that, you scoop her up. “M’going to your mums. I’ll be back later.”

Harry watches anxiously as you pack Sasha’s bag. He feels useless as he hands your her fruit pouches and crackers from the pantry.

As you snatch the car keys from the entry tables, Harry asks in a near whisper, “What’s going on? I’m so lost.”

“I’m lost too. I jus-just can’t keep doing this. It’s too hard for you to be away from us like this. I feel like a single mom sometimes.”

With that, you’re out the door and on your way to your mother-in-laws. 

For the first time ever, Harry had a fleeting thought that you’re going to divorce him. He knows it’s not just about the toy and the pacifier.

He hasn’t been home enough. As much as he tries, the FaceTimes don’t make the distance and time apart any easier. 

You have all the responsibility of this little human and your heart twinges on days you’re missing you husband and you constantly at met with his little replica.

Harry feels like he’s going to have a panic attack. He’s only had a handful in his lifetime but this one was intense.

He grabs his phone and dials the number to his best friend. He really needed a shoulder to cry on right now.

“Hey mate! What’s good, big boy?” The Irish man belts into the phone only to be met with sniffles and tears.

“Niall, I don’t know what to do.”

—

Anne was expecting you. She had set up tea with little cake in the back garden. Sasha was excited to chase the cats around the greenery. Her cute jumpsuit sodden with dirt and grass stains in no time.

“I’m sick of being at home alone all the time with Sasha. I miss Harry too much, she misses him too much,” you croak, attempting to keep your tears at bay.

“I want Harry to continue his career and live his dream. Most people never get the chance he’s gotten. I-I just need him.”

“Oh honey,” she rubs my hand soothingly, “I can only imagine. I know I missed him fiercely to the point it was unbearable when he was sixteen. I still miss him too.”

“I...I’m going to sound like such a bad mother,” you take a deep breathe, “would I be a bad mum if Sash and I joined Harry on tour?”

“Do you think that’d make you a bad mum?” Anne asks softly, a small smile on her face.

“No, I don’t think. I’d be happier because I’d be with Harry and we could actually be a married couple 24/7. She would get to see her dad everyday.”

“I think you’ve found you answer,” Anne chuckles, pouring more hot water into your cups.

“It will be so stressful.”

“More stressful than it is now?” Anne replies.

“Nothing can be more stressful than right now.”

- -

The talk witdh Niall helped only a little bit but enough to not feel like he’s going to vomit every other minute.

He was worried you were going to come in here and ask him for a divorce because he couldn’t follow through on his promises as a husband and a father.

Harry was ready to do whatever it took to prevent that from happening. He’s not above groveling and begging for you to stay.

It is dark when you pull in, toting in a sleeping child in your arms that you pass off to Harry who’s waiting at the front door.

He tucks his baby into her bed, tugging the blankets over her, and staring down at her sweet, cherub face for a little longer than usual before heading into your master.

You’re sat on the corner of the bed, biting your lip, and playing with you flashy large diamond ring as a force of habit.

“Baby...” Harry rasps, not touching you but kneeling down in front of you. 

“I can’t do what we’re doing anymore,” you begin, completely unaware that Harry thinks you’re about to ask for a divorce.

“I don’t think you’re going to agree with what I have to say, but I think it’s the best,” you swallow harshly, hoping he doesn’t shoot down the proposition.

“Please, I’ll do anything, lovie. Don’t leave me, don’t divorce me. I’ll do anything’ you want, sweetheart. Please, I need you. I’m so inlove with you.”

Harry is full on sobbing by this point, hanging his head against your knees as he attempts to catch his breath but finding it hard.

“Harry!” You murmur in confusion “baby, look at me, please?”

It takes him a moment to meet your eyes, your face is soft but wrinkled in concern. 

“What are you talking about? Divorce?” You choke out the words. Never in a million years would you willingly agree to part from your husband.

“I know I’ve been fuckin’ up. I can’t bloody figure out how to balance shit. I’ve not followed through and neglected you n’ the baby. I’m a bad husband and a bad dad.”

“Hey,” you said with force, bringing your hand under his chin so he has to keep eye contact. “Do not ever say something like that again. You are the best husband and father. You provide for us. You love us more than I’ve thought possible. You’re perfect for Sasha and I.”

“You said you couldn’t do this anymore,” Harry chokes out, letting his ringed hands rest on the tops of your thighs. His diamond wedding rand flashing in the light.

“Oh, H. I’m sorry - I didn’t mean with you.” You chuckle lightly, “how could you ever possibly think I’d leave you, pet?”

He shakes his head, “it’s because y’too good for me. Don’t deserve you.”

“Hush,” you hums, running a hand through his curls. “I know how to fix this.”

“How? I’ll do anything f’you,” Harry would agree to jump off The Empire State Building for you without a second thought.

“The baba and I are going to join you on tour. I know we agreed it’s be too much but I can’t imagine it can be any harder than this.”

Harry’s face lights up like a Christmas tree.

“That’s if you’ll have us,” you whisper coyly, excited by his reaction.

“Yeah, baby. It means I get to fuck you every night,” Harry growls pushing you back and up into the bed before crawling on top of you.

“A teenage boy, I swear,” you giggle, flushed just thinking about how much more time you’ll have together. 

“S’it so bad I want t’fuck my wife? That I’m so bloody gone for you that I’d do anything f’you?” He presses against your lips before demanding entrance.

“You can have me in your bed every night,” you agree, letting his tongue twist with yours with fever and urgency. 

“Mmm, only groupie I’ll ever need.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, allowing him to slip your shirt over your head and attach his lips to your collarbone.

“Can’t wait to fuck you in every country - like we did when you toured with me before the bab.”

When he tosses your bra across the room, you gasp at his mouth finding your nipple instantly. Nipping and suckling at the sensitive nerves with intent.

His hand doesn’t waste anytime, skillfully unbuttoning your jeans and zip with one hand before cramming his large palm inside to cup you in his hand.

“Only pussy I want, fuckin’ made for me,” he groans at the warm wetness he feel through the thin underwear. The tips of his fingers stroke over your clit with confident movements.

“Stop teasing!” You whine, wriggling out of your jeans and panties in one go. Harry is still completely dressed above you - which shouldn’t be sexy but it is.

“Don’t know how I thought you’d ever leave me. Y’fucking obsessed with my cock,” he laughs - sure of himself now.

“If you don’t touch me, I swear-“

“I’ve got you lovie, best wife ever, y’know? Just wanna please you,” he promises the damp skin on your neck, landing nips and bites that will surely leave a mark. 

“Then please me,” you demand, your tone a higher pitch than usual for your arousal.

You’re rolling your hips upwards to meet his jean-clad center. The friction feels delicious against your sensitive nerves.

Harry takes hold of your hip with one hand to halt your grinding, his other hand finding your heat and without hesitation - slides two thick fingers into you.

“H, yeah,” y/n moans, rolling her hips down to meet his hand. Her arousal coating his knuckles and he can’t describe how sexy that is.

He curls his fingers towards the top of you tight wall, finding the little spongey spot that has you bucking your hips and whimpering.

“Oh, did I find the spot, love?” Harry teases like he doesn’t know. He’s been an expert in pleasuring you for the past eight years. 

“Yes baby, m’gonna come,” you nearly slur with pleasure. The cold metal of his rings brushing against your heated folds in relief.

“Only gonna let you come - if you promise me you’ll come again f’me.”

“I will, H. I wil-“

“Ssh, s’okay. Give it to me, my love,” Harry croons sweetly, leaning to suck a nipple as he speeds up his minstrations. 

Your chest is rising and falling at a fast pace, your hips meeting his curled fingers on every thrust as he pushes you over the edge, “fu-fuck,” you moan, trying your best to keep your voice down.

“Tha’s it. M’wife looks so fuckin’ gorgeous when she’s coming on my fingers. Need you on my cock,” Harry grunts, removing his fingers and working to get his clothes off as fast as possible.

He’s positioning himself at your entrance with intent, wasting no time pushing in. No matter how many times you took him - it was always a stretch but it was immensely pleasurable.

“Love you, love our family. Can’t wait f’you two to join me on tour,” Harry pants, attempting to keep his thrust slow and meaningful but he was so turned on he was already becoming sloppy.

“S’going to be so nice. Spend everyday with my husband,” you hum, wrapping your legs around his waist and resting your feet on his bum. You can feel the muscle flexing from his thrusts.

“Yeah, never get tired of hearin’ that word.”

“Husband?” You giggle, “we’ve been married for five years.”

“Still can’t believe you agreed to,” Harry murmurs, his lips pressed against your temple as he becomes more determined. His thumb finding your clit and giving it hard, tight rubs.

Harry could have anyone he wanted. Millions of people lusted after him. It was hard to believe sometimes that he only wanted you. But in moments like this, you never questioned it.

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell him, biting his full bottom lip.

He growls, “hush up. Let me fuck you, yeah?” 

With that, the only thing that leaves your mouth is whines and gasps as he hits your spot on every fluid thrust with a determined thumb on your nerves.

“Cl-close,” Y/N shutters, legs quivering with sensitivity and arousal.

“Baby, baby wait f’me, m’close,” he begs against your skin, licking and kissing wherever he can reach. He speeds up his movements and you fell him tensing up, his mouth dripping open in an o shape and his eyes squeezing shut - his telltale sign.

You allow yourself to let go at that point and ride out the waves of intense climax with him as he weakly thrust a few more times until he lays his weight on top of you.

“The bubby is going to love South America,” Harry smiles into your mouth. His large palms massaging at your shaky, wet thighs.

“I think she’s going to love being with her daddy more,” Y/N replies, a hand coming to cup his jaw in a slow, languid twist. 

—

Thanks so much for checking it out :) PLEASE SEND ME REQUESTS!

[oftenderweapons]

Hi!! I need to not forget to leave this idea with a trusted author so I’ve chosen to slide into ur asks w this very nsfw thing: Joon using a dick pump and vixen using a pussy pump. Simultaneously. Then having sex. That is all! I just wanted to share this with someone that could find use of it 😭

Hello, it's officially Joonsday and we're big time celebrating (sorry for the ugly banner I'm on a road trip with the fam) lessgooooooo

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (Vixen)

Wordcount: 3.5k words

Genre: smut? Pwp? Established relationship? Yes.

Warning: 18+ y'all better be adults if you're going to read this.

Trigger warnings: clearly, swearing, dick pump, pussy pump, vibrating cockring (it's becoming quite the thing for these two???) cumplay (he cums on her chest), creampie, unprotected sex (use CONDOMS PLEASE), DDLG (daddy) kink, making out, touch deprivation (? Kinda?), experimenting, mentions of oral, mentions of exhibitionism/voyeurism.

Here's my masterlist and enjoy 💜✨

Beta read by the one and only super patient golden-hearted wife, @joheunsaram

******

It was past nine pm when Namjoon entered the apartment, his eyes immediately focusing on your frame curled up on the sofa, under your chunky knit blanket. He needed to get you a pet.

You loved Moni, but he couldn't have him at his place that often since he was more of his family's dog than his.

He should get you something fluffy. Something that matched your personality. Like a toy poodle. Or a corgi.

No, a corgi wasn't fluffy enough…

He was sure he would find something suitable in a shelter. Maybe a cat? Something to keep you company.

Tutting, he shook his head as his mind wandered, trying to distract him from the panic he had been going through only a couple minutes ago. He reminded himself his current anxiety was due to surprising you with an unexpected gift, so he realised that launching himself into planning another surprise — a permanent one — was maybe not the smartest move.

Kneeling beside you, he touched his lips to your temple. “Hello, Vixen,” he spoke gently, his private voice making your eyes open, your arm reaching out of the blanket to hold him to yourself.

“Hi, baby. Did you eat? Tell me they fed you.”

He smiled. “Yeah. I grabbed dinner with Yoongi in the studio.”

You nodded and nuzzled up closer, kissing his neck sensually. “Wake me up?”

He chuckled. “Needy, baby?”

You nodded and frowned. “I'm getting my period in two days. You know I get needy.”

His knowing smile shifted to a loving one. “I know.” He looked at your face for a couple seconds, just taking in every detail. The fullness of your lips and the slight blush on your cheeks, the way you looked puffy after sleep, so soft and delicate and all his.

Oh so his.

Not falling into your temptation was almost a crime. Especially as you stretched your neck, lips lingering just one millimeter away from his.

“Ask, love.” His voice was gravelly against your face.

You looked away and relaxed your shoulders, not realising you had arched up towards him. In return he chuckled and ran the tip of his nose against your cheek. “You don’t like asking, mh?” His lips were velvety against your cheekbone. “Poor little fox.” You turned just in time for his mouth to meet yours, letting him have your sweetest whimper as his hand cupped the back of your neck, holding you. “I have a question for you, babylove.”

You stopped and backed an inch, looking him in the eye. “What kind of question?”

He sat up straight. “It makes me a bit nervous because this is not how we do it normally and… I feel like I went someplace uncharted without you and I’m a bit disoriented.”

You sat up too, feeling the nerves in his tone as he started talking faster, stuttering over his words a little.

“I… We usually shop together but I wanted to try this and I thought… I mean, we don’t have to do this and we can do this alone, or together, or… Or not do this at all or you can use this while I’m away and you need—”

“Joon,” you interrupted him, a hand on his shoulder as you tried to calm him down. “Hold on a second, darling.”

He shut his mouth and took a deep breath through his nose.

“You were shopping, correct?” you asked, trying to find reason in madness. He nodded. “What did you get? Toys, I assume?”

“Yes,” he replied calmly.

“Okay. Show me and then we can talk this out if you’d like.” You knew Namjoon’s brain tended to go a thousand miles a second, so you tried to limit the damage.

He stood and came back with a large box and scissors, opening the package. “It’s kinda scary at the beginning but… I think the final result is not that bad.”

“If that’s a furry mask I’m gonna scream and not in a good way,” you joked, trying to ease away the tension.

“Come on, we discussed that already. Hard no. No shaming, though.”

“No shaming,” you repeated, watching him open the lid and take another box out. “Oh my god.”

He looked at you, trying to interpret your reaction. “Good? Bad? Maybe?”

“Why would you make it… bigger? How do you even think I can handle bigger?” You stared at the… the thing and tried to wrap your brain around that.

“It’s not about getting bigger, it’s about lasting more.”

“We have cockrings for that!” you exclaimed, almost outraged. If anything perplexed and worried. Was he trying to break you? Send you to the ER? Because you much preferred saving yourself the embarrassment. “You’re gonna break me.”

He nodded and put the box away. “Okay, sorry.” He wasn’t even disappointed. After all he did know you were a tight fit on him and no matter how much he would stretch you, there were high chances of you getting hurt, and he obviously didn’t want that.

“No, no hold on,” you said as you realised your first reaction had been fear. “We can do that. Just not… Let’s say we can use that but the final goal is not penetration.”

Namjoon nodded. “That’s what I was thinking too. Plus, we could use that ring for buffering.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “And that should make you feel like… Like I’m sucking all of you, right?”

Namjoon halted for a second. “I don’t know, but that wouldn’t be the point.” He still remembered that one time you had almost had a breakdown because you couldn’t take more than a couple inches of him in your mouth. Since then, he had set the lowest bar in your sex life: not making you cry because you couldn’t deepthroat him. Somehow he was still traumatised by the memory. “It’s just a matter of giving you multiples, Vixen. Just that, Or fucking you feral, however you prefer to put it.”

You nodded.

“Plus it’s more of a… joined fantasy, actually,” he confessed, blushing and looking down.

So there were more surprises in that box. “Define?”

He took one more box out of the larger one. “It looks scarier than it is. It’s also, sort of… convoluted.”

You stared at the second toy, arching an eyebrow at it. “I don’t like things that keep your hands off me.”

“I know,” he reassured you, immediately touching your knee as a way to comfort you. “I know it, babylove. But this doesn’t mean my hands won’t be touching your body.”

Absentmindedly you nodded. “You want to try those now?”

He tipped his head from side to side in a so-and-so motion. “Only if you want to. We can wait till you get more acquainted with the idea.”

You thought about it for a second. “Those… devices technically mean no foreplay.”

“Well, they do the foreplay while we…” He hadn’t thought that far.

“We’ll just make out,” you said, standing up and grabbing your half of the kit. “Let’s take them out and wash them.”

Namjoon grabbed the other half and followed you. In your bathroom, you took out the toys, quickly scanning the instructions while he threw himself at his new object of interest, grabbing the toy soap and lathering everything in foam. “No reading?”

“It’s pretty easy,” he replied, rubbing everything thoroughly before rinsing and drying the tube. “I’ll read while I wait for you.”

He let the toy dry on the ledge and undressed, by now barely shy about walking around naked as he entered the shower and scrubbed himself clean with quick, brief strokes. In a bunch of minutes, you were sitting on the bed, reading the instructions of his device before he rolled down beside you, a towel around his waist. You were lounging in your panties and one of his shirts, his face already skimming the side of your thigh. “Come down here, miss Fox. Studying won’t get you straight As in this one.”

You chuckled and grabbed some lube. “Will you allow me the honour?”

Namjoon licked his lip and undid his towel, arching an eyebrow as he realised he already had a semi.

“Is it for the toy or the ‘fucking the class’s best student’ fantasy?” you teased him, pouring some cold lubricant on him in revenge.

“It’s all about having the sexiest girlfriend in the universe,” he flattered you, his hand squeezing your ass as you straddled him and grabbed the toy.

“You know you’re crazy for this, right?”

He nodded. “That makes two of us since you’re playing along.”

“Suck your dick,” you replied, saccharine sweet as you placed his cock into the plastic tube of the penis pump.

“Not when you’re so much better at that,” he cooed back, hissing a little once you pressed the base against his pelvis excessively hard — call it revenge. You studied the mechanism for starting to increase the pressure inside the cylinder. “Okay, fuck, it’s hot. I love the lube. Slippery.”

You appreciated the feedback. “Tighter?”

“Nah, hold on. We can tighten it later.” He bit his lip. “It’s very good. But… A bit cold.”

You stretched to his face and pushed his hair back. “I’ll warm it up next time. Sorry baby.” You kissed his lips, pampering him a little. He had looked so stressed earlier. And so eager too. He had to be both worried and excited about this. “My big bear,” you murmured, watching him melt for you. After all he was nothing but a tough looking boy with a gooey heart. “You were so nervous about this, huh?”

He nodded and caught your hand, holding it in his. “I love you,” he said with his million dollar smile, his eyes dreamy, his dimple shining on his face.

“I love you too, Joonie bear,” you murmured at him, your affection causing him to slip into the most peaceful of states. Yes, he felt like his dick was being squeezed and sucked, but he mostly felt entirely enamoured with you.

“Please, can you wear the toy too?”

You smiled and nodded. “Would you like to help?”

He stretched to kiss you again. He wanted more kisses. It had been so long since the two of you just made out and he missed that sometimes, just the intimacy of laying side by side, making out without things necessarily heating up. Of course he also loved when you got on top of him mid-session and ground on his thigh until you crumbled against his shoulder.

He loved even more when your hand would graze his lower belly before tracing his erection through his trousers, cupping him and squeezing him until he needed your hand on his length.

But the idea of laying side by side and focusing solely on your face was something too inviting for that night.

He sat up, a bit uncomfortable at the thing between his legs. “This makes it kinda hard to move,” he realised before finding your pvc cup. “Get comfy, my love,” he murmured before kissing your knee, crawling lower. Your legs stayed closed as you placed your feet on his thighs before getting rid of your shirt, letting him stare at the hardened peaks of your breasts. “You're so fucking gorgeous,” he murmured, his hands tracing the outside of your thighs, his frame shifting and stretching until he could reach for your chest, his thumbs feeling your pebbled nipples.

That was before you put the sole of your foot around his neck, pushing him back a little.

He was mesmerised by the gesture, feeling his brain short circuit as arousal hit him.

Now that he was far enough, you lifted your legs and quickly got rid of your panties, Namjoon barely resisting the need to press his whole face against your folds.

“Feisty,” he murmured, placing the toy on you, checking for your reaction. “Does it fit right?”

You nodded. “I'm tiny, it takes a bit more than it should but that's okay as long as it doesn't come off.”

He started pumping some pressure, still looking at your face to spot any discomfort.

“I think that's tight enough for now.”

He nodded and laid down beside you. “You wanna watch porn?”

You thought about it for a second. “Nah.” You rolled to the side, only to feel the toy limit your comfort.

“Maybe a pillow will help?” he mused, passing it to you.

“It feels strange. Static. Dry… Aseptic.”

He nodded. “Not a great feeling.” He also placed a pillow between his knees before cupping the back of your head and scooting closer to you. “Hi,” he whispered, breaking into a large smile.

“Hi,” you whispered back, joining your lips.

You didn't know how long you kissed, only that his hands were everywhere, rubbing your back, on your ass, pulling you closer, then pushing you back a little as he tried to massage your breasts, next tightening the pressure on your pussy pump.

“This good?” he asked, his lips already kissing the sweet spot below your ear. It made you purr and try to throw your leg over his, realising a minute too late that you couldn’t grind on him.

You made a disappointed little sound, Namjoon’s hands cupping your face and smoothening the frown on your brow with his thumbs. “It’s okay, little fox. Focus on me, babylove.”

With the most vulnerable expression, you brushed your lips to his as the tip of your nose played with his, his face glowing with a sudden bright smile before he drew a line of tiny smooches from your forehead to your chin. “I know, baby.”

“I don’t like this,” you whined, hiding your face into his neck. “I can’t feel you.”

He held you closer. “Would you like to take it off?” His hands were skimming every inch of your naked skin, soothing you.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” you mewled weakly, feeling ashamed of the statement.

“You’re not disappointing me, ____. We’re doing this to know if we like it, my angel.” He caressed your hair.

“I can do this, I just need to get used to the lack of touching.”

“I know it’s a delicate topic for you. You can take it off and grind on me if you want,” he reassured you.

You found his pump mechanism and asked, “Do you want it tighter?”

He hummed and nodded.

You didn’t last much longer after that, mostly because Namjoon knew he was tiptoeing around a soft limit of yours and he could feel you were already vulnerable. He knew a couple tears would come after your orgasm, your body too emotionally challenged for you not to release all the tension in crying.

“Let’s take this off,” he whispered into your ear, the pressure on him too tight, almost unbearable after fifteen minutes with the pump on, three of which on the highest setting. He would make a mess of you. He knew it already. “I'm gonna cum a lot,” he said with a half-embarrassed chuckle.

“Is that an issue?” you mused, blocking his hand as he tried to remove your pump. “I… I want you to cum on me.” It was easier to say after all this time. He was almost used to it. The following request however was unusual. “On my chest.”

He nodded. “Are you sure?”

“I want you to distract me. I want to keep the toy, just distract me from it.” You bat your lashes at him. “Please.”

In his mind, he had opposed your idea for maybe half a second. “Okay. But I want you to use your safeword if need be.”

After he ascertained you remembered it, he waited for your approval on him straddling your waist, your hands immediately touching him, starting from the base and pulling to the tip, a thick blob of precum helping you as both your palms started massaging him.

“You’re so damn good at this,” he praised you. “You’re such a good girl to me.”

You glowed at the compliment, starting to stroke him more powerfully. “Thank you, daddy.”

“You’re welcome, little one,” he replied sweetly before a grunt left his lips, his body waving a little before he propped himself up with one hand. “If you keep it up, I’ll be covering your tits in cum in seconds, Vixen.”

“Isn’t that our goal?” you asked with faux naivety, noticing the way he was starting to swell.

While you angled his cock downwards, to your stomach, he placed a hand under your jaw. He wouldn’t want your face to get accidentally dirty. That was the last conscious act he did before he felt his balls tighten a bit more than earlier, a strong spurt of his semen landing on your neck, the second one between your breasts, and then a third on your left breast, your nipple peaked and glazed in his cum as he slowly came down from an unstoppable high.

“Thank you, daddy,” you said again, truly thankful for the vision of him braced over you, completely ecstatic, head thrown back as he roared in pleasure, his throat beautifully exposed.

Too bad you couldn’t put your mouth on it.

It took him a full minute to come back to reality, and when he did, he inevitably noticed that he was still hard and you were still unbelievably horny right below him.

“Joon?” you called.

“Yes, Vixen?”

“Do you think you can slip your cock inside me and make me cum with a vibrator on my clit?” Your request was posed curtly, efficiently, almost as if you were asking him how a telescope works.

He rose from his half slumber at that. “Sure about the vibrator?”

You nodded. “The mild one, you know. The one from your ring.”

He thought about it for a millisecond before kissing your forehead. “You’re a blessing”. He thought it even more as a cascade of chuckles left your mouth. He took off your pump, a tiny bit distracted by the need to suck on your wet nipple, to draw a hickey where your neck had been stained by his orgasm. Next he slipped in, slowly, whimpering at the way your cunt was soaked and puffy and full. “You feel so fucking incredible?”

“Different from usual?” you wondered, a tiny gasp leaving your mouth as he settled.

“Just very sensitive. Like round three at six in the morning,” he explained, you humming in understanding.

“It feels a bit like that actually, now that I think of it.” You laid back while he pressed the tip of the vibrator to your chest, collecting some slickness before bringing the toy to your clit and switching it on.

Your reaction was immediate. “I am sensitive,” you exclaimed before squealing, your inner walls contracting and Namjoon shifting a little. It was the combo of fullness and clitoral stimulation that made you come apart in three minutes. And then again, five minutes later.

Namjoon was shocked. After the second orgasm, he just pulled out and wore the ring, fucking you in earnest. Your usually difficult third high rolled around like nothing, Namjoon reaching his climax together with you.

He thought he was done but apparently not yet, his back on the mattress while you ground on him, taking a pause from the vibrations before placing them on the highest setting and riding him, sliding back and forth. You knew he preferred it when you bounced, but his hands led you on a rolling motion until you collapsed forward, too exhausted to cry out, just shivering in his arms, trembling as your muscles succumbed in fatigue.

“Goodness,” you exhaled once all toys were out of the picture, your body laying on top of Namjoon’s while you slipped his cock back inside you, enjoying the easy connection coming from the gesture.

“What a night,” he agreed. You were both sticky and needed a shower, but first he needed to make sure you were okay emotionally. And cockwarming was specifically what you both needed. “How are you?”

“Tired,” you replied straight away. “Very fucking in love with you.”

“Language,” he reminded you before holding you closer. The shivering wasn’t stopping.

“Let’s take a bath, mh? You’re shivering. You need to relax.” He rubbed your back energetically before massaging your thighs. “You did amazing, babylove.” He cuddled you some more, staying quiet for a minute before asking, “Do you still not like the toys?”

You shrugged. “Can we talk about that later? I’m not ready yet,” you replied, still too biased about the experience to give judgement.

He nodded. “Sure thing, little fox. Come on, to the bathroom.”

“To the bathroom,” you agreed with a yawn.

Namjoon smiled. He loved aftercare baths. But he loved you more.

[gins-potter]

Of Crushes and Coffee

(Coffeeshop AU / Hinny / Non-magical AU / Modern AU / Written for the @harryandginuary Gift Exchange / Cross-posted to Ao3 and FF.net)

Ginny’s so absorbed in the football match playing out on her phone that the hustle and bustle of the coffee shop around her is little more than a distant hum.  So much so that she almost doesn’t notice at first when someone stops by her table and deposits a fresh mug of coffee on the table in front of her.  The hand responsible hovers for a moment, before nudging it closer like they’re waiting for it to be acknowledged.  Ginny glances at it and notices that the coffee is adorned with a familiar foam heart.

“I didn’t order that,” she mumbles, rewinding a section of the video to watch over again, frown furrowing her brow.

“Is that how the kids say thank you these days?”

The slow amused voice of her flatmate - not to mention her brother’s best friend - has Ginny sighing and pausing the video with her thumb, before glancing up at him.

“You’re barely a year older than me,” she reminds Harry, pushing the mug back towards him.  “And seriously, I didn’t order this.”

He just gestures for her to take it, and slides into the seat opposite, smiling a bit.  “I know, but it looked like you needed it.  On me.”

Ginny tries to pretend like her heart doesn’t swoop at both the sight of the dimples brought forth by his smile, and the kindness of the gesture and busies herself reaching for the mug.  Her tongue protests vehemently as it comes into contact with the still steaming liquid but she forces herself to swallow anyway.  Harry’s smile deepens as he leans back in his chair and watches her every movement, like he knows exactly what just happened, but Ginny jumps in before he can tease her about it.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“I’m on my break, and besides…” Harry trails off and gestures lazily at the other tables.

Surprised, Ginny turns to see that the place has all but cleared out in the last few minutes that she’s been distracted by her phone.  Besides the two of them, there’s only her brother left, where he’s leaning against the counter and flirting with Hermione, who, uncharacteristic for her, is blushing and playing with a stray curl that’s escaped her bun.

“So Ron sent you over here to check on me?  Or has he completely forgotten he was the one who dragged me here in the first place?”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest and Ginny tries her best not to notice the way it makes his tattoos flex and move.  He’s spent enough time at her house, a great deal of it playing shirts and skins football matches in the yard with her brothers, that she knows each of them intimately.  An artistic rendering of a stag’s head on his left forearm, a swirling, raging lightning storm on the other shoulder, raining down on a single lily blossom, an entwined silver wolf and black dog on his ribs, snapping and snarling at each other playfully.

“First of all,” Harry says, snapping her out of her thoughts.  “I don’t need Ron to tell me when you need a pick-me-up.”

Ginny feels herself blush at the implication that not only had he noticed her bad mood but also that he’d come over to cheer her up of his own volition.

“Second of all,” he continues obliviously.  “You needed to be dragged out, Gin.  You’ve been hiding in the flat for a week now.”

Her giddiness fading a bit, Ginny scowls at her coffee.

“It’s only a loss.”

“Two in a row.  And that’s rich of the uni footy legend who sulks for a month every time he misses a goal to say.”

“Hey, that’s Mister uni-footy-legend-who-sulks-for-a-month-every-time-he-misses-a-goal to you.”

Ginny rolls her eyes but despite herself, feels a smile tug at her mouth.  Harry’s eyes, which had been scanning her face, drop to her lips for a split second before flicking away.  Thrown by the movement, Ginny feels her face heat further, and she resists the urge to curse her fair skin soundly for no doubt giving her feelings away.  She turns her head, hiding her face in her shoulder, eyes catching on her brother and his girlfriend.

“Why is Ron harassing Hermione with a football jersey?”

Harry allows the blatant subject change graciously, and follows her gaze over to where Ron is indeed enthusiastically brandishing a jersey in the university’s red and gold at Hermione, who’s looking distinctly unsure about it all.

“Ah,” Harry says, nodding in understanding.  “Well, Ron wants Hermione to come to our next match wearing a ‘Weasley’ jersey.”

“Wow,” Ginny says, watching as Hermione takes the jersey and holds it up against her chest.  “Isn’t that kind of…”

“Cheesy?”

Ginny snorts, something that would make her mother cluck her tongue in disapproval if she was here, and says, “Well yeah.  But I was going to say couple-y.”

“I know, it didn’t take long for that to happen, did it?”  Despite the sarcasm in his voice, there’s a faint smile on his face as he watches that tells Ginny he’s happy, truly happy for them.

“Speaking of couples,” Ginny says, before she can stop herself.  “Romilda Vane’s planning on asking you out.”

She watches carefully as his eyes slide back to her, and she hates the triumphant stab in her chest when his expression remains blank, clearly having no idea who she’s talking about.

Finally an eyebrow arches from behind his glasses as he asks, “Who?”

“Romilda on my football team.  Studying psychology, thick dark hair, more confidence than you can poke a stick at.”

Harry looks torn between laughing at her description and grimacing as memories of the girl surface.  “Oh,” he says finally.  “Her.”

“Yeah.”  Ginny grins openly at his discomfort and he rolls his eyes at her.  “You’re a lucky guy.  But if she’s not to your fancy, Lavender Brown likes to tell me every chance she gets how she’s single and looking for a fit footy lad.  I think she’s hoping I’ll pass it on to you.”

“That explains why she tried to corner me at the twin’s party last month.”  A noise of vague protest emerges from Ginny’s throat before she has a chance to stop it, and Harry cocks his head and regards her curiously as he continues, “She seemed very put out when I declined to join her in the broom cupboard.”

“Oh.”  Ginny hides her smile in her coffee as she takes another sip.  “Well, if not them, you should ask someone out.  It’s been ages since you dated anyone and you’re turning into quite the sad little git.”

Harry pulls a face before squinting at her across the table.  “Have you been talking to Hermione?  Anyway, I don’t want to date Lavender or Romilda.  Maybe,” he continues, face growing thoughtful.  “I just need someone to come to a game wearing my jersey and they’ll back off.”

His gaze sharpens on her, something familiar and mischievous in his eyes, and she barks out a startled laugh.

“Absolutely not.”

“Awww, come on, Gin.  You said yourself that it’s a very couple-y thing to do.”

Ginny scoffs and blusters for a moment before finally getting out, “Because it is.  But we- ” She gestures between them.  “-are not a couple.”

Harry doesn’t answer immediately, but he doesn’t look away either.  There’s still a slight smile on his face, but the amusement has faded, replaced with something deep and intense that has Ginny’s heart thudding in her chest.  Something heavy hangs in the air between them as they gaze at each other, and Harry’s mouth opens, to say what Ginny isn’t sure, because in that moment they’re interrupted by a clatter and a laugh.

Ginny’s arm jerks, jostling her coffee and spilling dark liquid all over the table, while Harry leans back in his chair, ruffling his hair subconsciously.  They both glance over to see Ron swinging Hermione, now wearing the jersey thrown over her work shirt, around the counter, tucking her under his arm.

“Hey, Harry, mind if I head out early?” she asks through a laugh as Ron grins and presses a kiss to her temple.  “There’s only an hour late and it’s pretty dead.”

Harry nods, smiling wryly and tossing her a salute, while Ginny ducks her head and busies herself by mopping up the spilt coffee with a serviette.

“No worries.”

“I’ll see you at training tomorrow, mate?”

“You got it.”

“See you, guys.”

“Bye Ginny.”

They go, giggling and chattering with their heads close, and Harry glances back at Ginny.  But whatever easiness that had been between them has vanished and whatever he’d been about to say has been lost to the moment.

“You hungry?” Harry asks, standing from the table and scratching the back of his neck.  “I think I’ve got a few buns left.  Or maybe a pasty.”

She tries to tell him she’s fine, but he’s already stepping away, distracted by the couple who’s wandering in through the door.  Ginny sighs and reaches for her phone, figuring she can either torture herself thinking about the opportunity she just missed, or torture herself rewatching the football match she lost the weekend before.  Neither are particularly desirable, but at least she has a chance to redeem her footy skills in the next few days.

With the person technically responsible for her own presence in the coffee shop gone, Ginny is surprised that she doesn’t feel like slinking back to her flat and crawling back into bed.  Instead she finds herself barely moving for the next hour, alternating between rewinding the clip of herself missing a goal in the second half, and watching Harry over the rim of her mug as he keeps himself busy by wiping down the already spotless counters.

Her feelings for Harry have been growing for almost the entire year that they’ve lived together; transforming from a largely innocent and ignorable crush into something deeper and more intense than she’s ever felt for any of her past boyfriends.  So she doesn’t know why she thought that tonight was going to be the night she and Harry finally talked about this thing between them, whatever it is.  Something that she knows he must feel as well.  The thing that makes her heart flutter every time he hands her a coffee decorated with a heart.  The thing that has her blood running hot when she runs into him coming out of the shower in their flat, chest wet, and only a towel slung around his waist.  The thing where he’s the only one who can make her feel better on her worst days.

So Ginny sits and she waits and she thinks maybe it’s time for her to make her own opportunities.

They’re near silent as Harry closes up, the shop dark and quiet as he locks the front door, Ginny shivering beside him in the night’s breeze.

“I might drop by the pub, some of the guys were talking about getting a drink tonight.  Do you want me to drop you home first-?”

Ginny isn’t sure what makes her say it, but she doesn’t want him to go off to the pub, where some girl will doubtlessly walk up to him with a smile, putting a hand on his arm while tossing her hair.  She doesn’t want that to happen without her finally saying how she feels first, so she opens her mouth, and what comes out is, “So are you going to get me a ‘Potter’ jersey or what?”

Harry’s eyes go wide behind his glasses.  “Gin?” he says uncertainly, not sure if she’s being serious, or if this is just more of their usual banter falling somewhere between flirtatious and teasing.  If she’s just agreeing to the idea he’d jokingly proposed to her before.

“To be clear, I don’t do the whole pretend girlfriend thing.  Not with a guy I actually like.  So tonight can count as our first date, you did buy me coffee after all.  But I’m telling you now, Potter, I expect a little more effort next time.”

Harry must be able to tell how absolutely terrified she is under all her brazenness, because some of his surprise melts away, and satisfaction curves his mouth into a grin.

“Is that right?”

Ginny swallows, her mouth dry and her heart hopeful.  “That’s right.  Emboldened, she takes a step closer, catching either side of Harry's open jacket in her hands and pulling him close.

Eyes bright, Harry cups her face, fingers achingly gently against her skin.  “Noted,” he says quietly, and they’re both smiling as he ducks his head and brings his mouth down to hers.

[mysticmegaraofficial]

A Sham Psychic || Ben & Meg

TIMING: Present. LOCATION: Coffee Plus PARTIES: @professorbcampbell & @mysticmegaraofficial SUMMARY: A ‘psychic’, a cultist, and a spirit walk into a bar.. CONTENT: Body Horror Mentions, Grief Mentions

Looking around the tables of Coffee Plus, Ben settled in his usual corner of the shop with a book and a tall iced coffee. The weather had been unseasonably warm lately, which had put an unfortunate damper on his prospects. Not many people were interested in sitting in a Coffee Shop in the middle of summer. But, he’d keep an eye out anyways. Shifting in the seat that was just a bit too small for his wide frame, Ben looked around at the other patrons with an appraising eye. A woman sipping coffee as she read the newspaper, a young man who looked quite fidgety as he waited for his espresso, and-- Ben’s eyebrows creased together as he took in the woman who was… doing fortune telling? In the corner of Coffee Plus of all places? Whatever she was saying clearly had some kind of an affect on the person she was talking to. Ben watched her, analyzing the way she spoke, the way her eyes moved. A hack. A sham. Incredible, even in White Crest, there were people trying to play the part of the psychic.

Ben watched and waited until the client had slid a crumpled twenty across the table and walked away, visibly shaken. Interesting, interesting. Smiling to himself, Ben took his coffee cup and strolled across the shop towards the woman. “Hello there. Are you doing… fortune tellings?”

“Are you sure?” Jolie’s quiet voice was hard to hear, her shaking hands clasped around her to-go coffee cup. Meg felt sorry for her. Losing a partner so soon after marriage must be one of the hardest things someone could go through. Pierce’s spirit stood over her, disfigured and sad, but mostly full of concern for his wife.

Meg hadn’t planned on doing any readings in Coffee Plus this afternoon. She had just settled down at a corner table when tear stricken Jolie and her ghost husband approached her. Jolie was, apparently, a fan. Please, she said, I’m so lost. Admittedly, Meg usually charged for impromptu readings since she wasn’t keen on using her downtime to do her job. That said, she didn’t charge Jolie anything. This woman wasn’t an excited fan eager to meet a celebrity, this was someone in a lot of pain. Besides, Meg always had a soft spot for crying women anyway.

“I’m sure,” Pierce said. “I just want Jo to be happy. I don’t… I want her to process her grief, and move on. And to look back on our memories together with fondness.”

An emotionally mature ghost was a godsend for Meg. She reached across the table and gripped Jolie’s hand. “I’m sure,” she said, softening her voice. This wasn’t on television, so it didn’t need a big finish. “I see happiness in your future. You’re going to succeed in writing. Publish the novel you’re writing. And even if you don’t form a better relationship with your mother, you will still be happy.” Pierce had very helpfully provided those details for her.

“But --”

Meg smiled at her. “I know it must be difficult for you -- I mean, picturing a life without the one you love? But I can sense Pierce. He longs for you to go through the tunnel of grief and come out the other side. It won’t be okay today or tomorrow and the sadness you feel may never go away completely, but the pit of grief and sadness will shrink so you don’t fall in every time.”

“You’re sure?” Jolie asked. “Do you really see success and happiness?”

Meg nodded. “I do. I promise.”

In the end, Jolie walked away sniffling. She seemed calmer though, not quite at peace and not quite okay, but satisfied with what Meg gave her. Pierce gave her a nod, and followed after her, and both disappeared through the exit of the coffee shop. Meg relaxed a little, and considered grabbing her book from her purse when someone else approached her.

She glanced at the man, taking a sip of her coffee. “Psychic readings,” she corrected. “Fortune telling is a different sort of art. But no -- well, yes. Technically. This was an…” Meg paused, tapping her cheek as she tried to think of the right description. “Fantastic coincidence, me and that woman both being here at the same time.” Meg smiled at him.

“Anyway, were you just curious, or were you looking for a reading?” Meg gestured to the empty chair across from her that Jolie vacated. “I wouldn’t mind company either way.”

Ben hadn’t paid much attention to the woman who had left, but he caught a glimpse of her wiping her eyes as she left the shop. Clearly, whatever this hack had said must have struck a nerve in her. A very emotional one. But how? There was always a trick with these things. Ben had seen a great many things, met a great many creatures that could masquerade as almost human. He was familiar with the werewolves that howled in the night and the vampires who leeched life from the residents of town. But he knew there were no such things as psychics or mind readers. Otherwise, his family would have been found out long ago. Arching a brow in the appearance of interest, Ben asked, “Psychic readings? What exactly does that sort of thing entail?”

A fantastic coincidence. What that meant, Ben had no idea in the slightest. “You know, you’ve piqued my curiosity. If you don’t mind, I’d love to have one done.” And see if I can uncover this sham.

Meg examined him, making sure to keep her face friendly and open as he took the spot across from her. A part of her wanted to make the man cough up cash payment for a reading, but she technically offered and it wouldn’t be fair to charge him anything when her previous guest hadn’t been charged a dime. “I’m so thrilled I’ve managed to pique your interest, ” Meg said. “A psychic reading is … Well, in layman’s terms an attempt to discern information about your past and how it’ll affect your future with my gift -- my heightened perspective of being able to look through the fabric of time and space.”

She reached to take a sip of her iced coffee right when she felt the presence enter the coffee shop. Her stomach sank, brief flashes of the last time an unexpected spirit came into this establishment. Not a great memory for her or anyone else who had been here that day. It wasn’t a poltergeist, though. Meg watched as the girl dressed in fashion Meg herself wore in high school phased through the wall, floating over to their table to examine them, taking her place behind the man. Was this his ghost? Or was she just being a spirit medium magnet again?

“Of course,” Meg continued, “I do have to give you a warning.”

The spirit made eye contact with her, and Meg raised her eyebrows slightly.

“Hello,” the girl said. “You… can see me?”

Meg gave the slightest incline of her head. An unfamiliar expression flashed across the girl’s face.

“... This is Benjamin Campbell. Everyone calls him Ben.”

Meg continued speaking to Ben.  “I do real psychic readings - I’m not going to tell you what I think you want to hear. I’m going to tell the truth. And you may not like it.” She was taking a risk with her next question. The ghost may be lying, or producing old information hoping she would fail. Meg was fine with taking risks. “Will that be alright, Mister Campbell? Or do I have permission to call you Ben?”

Ben made himself comfortable in the seat across from the woman, his expresison politely neutral and open as he listened to her prattle on about how she could look through the veil of time and space. As if she could do such a thing. Zombies, vampires, demons, gremlins, and horrifying creatures that could steal the faces of his colleagues? Of course they existed. Psychics? People claiming to peel back the void? Utter garbage. There were no such people, or else His Lord would have warned him. Hrvsht’ooooor had offered all kinds of advice to the Campbells over the years, whispering the ways to avoid detection, describing the sort of creatures who were unfit to be sacrificed to him. Like the walking garbage disposal that Ben had an unwilling alliance with. Psychics did not exist, plain and simple.

Taking a sip from his coffee, Ben watched with mild interest as the woman seemed to stare not at him, but past him. She really was keeping up with this whole act of seeing past the unseen, wasn’t she? Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her words, Ben smiled instead. “I think I can handle the truth.” He said with a shrug. When he said his name, Ben raised an eyebrow. “You may call me Ben. I hope you don’t think that’s enough to impress me though.” He said, turning the plastic cup of his ice coffee to show the hastily scrawled “Ben” on the side. “And my family is quite well known around town.”

Meg grinned as he turned the coffee cup towards her. Really, she should have caught that, even without the spirit lingering over his shoulder. “You’ll have to forgive me when I say my goal isn’t to impress you,” Meg said with a flippant wave of her hand. “Too many psychics like myself spend far too much time trying to impress people with their gifts -- trying to make people believe them. People will believe whatever they want, regardless of what I say or do. So I just give the truth, and let people take what they will from that.” Still she clapped her hands together. “Fantastic. There are many people who can’t handle the truth. You may call me Meg, by the way.”

“I remember his mother,” the girl said suddenly, and Meg fell silent to listen to the secrets she whispered. His mother. His job. Meg smiled.

“Your mother worked in the front office at the high school.  Before my time, of course, but she always had cookies on the table for the kids. Nice lady, everyone loved her.” Meg sipped her coffee. “And you -- work at the college now, right? I suppose I should have said Professor Campbell. Forgive me.”

The woman brushed away the obvious dig with a nonchalant wave of her hand, making Ben’s grin only grow wider. Not in mirth, but in irritation. She was really going to keep up this charade? These sort of scams were just that-- scams. There were tricks, there were ploys, there was subterfuge abound. But he had to admit that her dedication to the act was something else. “Meg. Charming to meet you.” He said with a nod, before taking a sip from his coffee. He watched her expression intently. She wasn’t looking off into space like she had been before, but he could see the slight way her pupils dilated as though she’d been struck with something--

At the mention of his mother, Ben offered a nod. “Yes, my mother did. She also enters the annual bake off every year and, again, we’re quite well known in town. If you know me, you know my mother.” He said with a blasé expression on his face.

Oooh, he didn’t believe a single word she was saying. Amusement grew in Meg, a little more than it should. She was, in fact, a fake psychic with some otherworldly capabilities, so it wasn’t exactly offensive when people could see the actual truth. More often than not, their disbelief was rooted in the special kind of place lots of White Crest citizens resided. “It’s a pleasure,” she confirmed. She leaned back in her chair, nodding along at the information he willingly gave to her. “No wonder all the kids loved her then. You must have great taste in baked goods.”

“He doesn’t believe you,” the girl said, frowning. The spirit seemed far more upset by this than Meg was. Meg was already calculating exactly who Ben was -- rather, making generalizations about his character from his attitude, body language, and the information she had, and was ready to continue on with her reading when the spirit offered her something more.

“You loved to learn -- I mean, you’d have to, if you’re a Professor. But only in the subjects you find interesting. You’re not a Professor of Physics, hm? I see your past -- you making your physics lab partner do all the work for your project. Stellar grade, that A+. A shame Wyatt had to share it with you - naughty.” Meg said teasingly. It was all in good fun, of course. Meg herself had definitely bribed her sister into doing some work for her when they were younger, just like Meg had posed as Willow on request to break up with her boyfriend because she was too scared to do it. Children were funny.

Crossing one leg over the other, Ben leaned back in the chair, his considerable bulk pressing against the back of the thin chair as he regarded the woman. Meg. Her name seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place it. And he certainly didn’t recognize her. She’d confirmed that she was younger than him-- his mother had retired a year after he’d graduated high school, having no other reason to remain in the school district now that her sons were no longer a part of the system. Which meant she was a local. She wasn’t just some drifter who had set up shop in White Crest, drawn by the peculiarities of the town. “My mother’s spoiled me on them, that’s for certain.” He said coolly.

Ben kept his eye trained on Meg’s face as she next spoke. There was something off about this whole thing. She didn’t know this information off the top of her head. It was almost like she was being fed it, like someone was telling her. Ben’s forehead wrinkled in a frown at the woman’s next assertion. What? Physics? He’d taken that class over two decades ago, he couldn’t be bothered to remember every peer he extorted. Of course, he had a feeling it was true, but she didn’t need to know that. “I can’t say I remember that. You’ll have to excuse me, but high school was over twenty years ago for me. I have no idea who Wyatt is.”

“Mother’s do tend to do that,” Meg agreed, her easy smile still on her face. I can’t say I remember that. Possibly the truth, especially if high school was twenty years in the past for him. Meg quietly cheered to herself. She was younger than him. High School was what? Fifteen years for her. She knew that eye cream she bought did wonders for her. Before she could continue on, the spirit spoke again, her flash of anger causing the lights to flicker ever so slightly. Meg crossed her legs, leaning forward on her elbows as the spirits whispers floated to her ears.

“Wyatt Miller, he was one of your teammates from when you played Football. I think he was the one who… What was it? Fumbled the ball during the state championship?” Meg’s smile widened. She was actually enjoying this reading quite a bit. Benjamin didn’t seem like he was exactly pleasant, and she found just a tiny bit of joy knowing she was right about everything she was saying. “You threw your helmet at him. Chucked it even, you were so angry… It was scary.” Meg echoed the spirit, head tilting to the side. “Are you an angry person, Benjamin? When things don’t go your way? You should watch your temper. You never know when it could get you into trouble.”

Ben was about to respond when he noticed the way the lights in the coffee shop began to flicker. What was that? A trick of the light or just some theatrics? This woman must have a friend on the inside, someone who was manipulating the lights in the back of the store to make it seem as though she had some kind of “power.” How else would they be doing that. And, as the woman spoke up once more, Ben knew that she had to have an informant. Someone from his high school days. Someone with a keen memory, or maybe just a vendetta against him.

Ben kept his expression pleasantly amused as his mind raced. Who was she? And more importantly, who was her informant? Who was telling her these things about him? Because, if they had as long a memory as it seemed, they would need to be dealt with swiftly. He couldn’t have his high school antics coming back to haunt him, not when he was so focused on his goal. If this wasn’t a public place, if this woman wasn’t… visible. Oh, he would love to watch her bleed for Hrvsht’ooooor. Not die, that was an honor she wasn’t worthy of. But bleed and beg and suffer for Him? Ben would love to see that. Instead, he stood up with a shake of his head, chuckling. “High school emotions run high. Teenage emotions. Everyone gets a little out of hand at that age.” He said with a rueful expression on his face. “I shudder to think what life would be like if we were to judge everyone on their highschool personas.” He said before casting a shrug in her direction. “Tell your friend, or whoever told you about me, that I’d love to meet them. It’d be nice to catch up on old times.”

He seemed amused, which kept the light airy talk between them. Ben clearly didn’t believe her, and it was almost funny watching him wash everything off as typical high school antics. “That’s true, I suppose. Too much testosterone and puberty,” Meg said. But she couldn’t help the cheeky grin that came across her face as she finally leaned back in her chair, reaching down to pull out the book she was reading. “You’re ending the reading early,” she told him. “Why? Are you afraid I’ll find a secret you don’t want anyone to find out about? Are you hiding something you don’t want me to see?” The question was innocent enough and left unanswered. Meg laughed under her breath, shaking her head as she opened her book to continue where she left off the previous night.

“He’s not my friend,” the spirit said suddenly, and Meg looked up, brows furrowed. She had forgotten the girl was there. The girl wasn’t looking at her anymore though, she was looking in the direction Ben had walked off towards. After a moment, the spirit turned and walked away from the table. She didn’t seem interested in Meg at all. She was going to call out to her, but the second she caught sight of her back, Meg’s voice caught in her throat.

The girl’s spine and back of her rib cage were pried open, sticking out every which way. Translucent organs stuck out, unseen from the front. Meg was never a great at anatomy, but she was pretty sure the only thing missing were the girl’s lungs. Meg’s eyes narrowed, and she couldn’t help but glance off in the direction Benjamin went.

A coincidence, surely. Right?

[hmspxgue]

Rain or shine

*** this is not my gif, please please please let me know if this is yours and you want me to give you credit, or if you’d like for me to remove it!

Requested: no

Pairing: jj x reader

Blurb/fluff

Summary : a loud thunderstorm in the obx has you anxious and frightened. JJ comes over to help you, as he knows about your fear of loud thunderstorms.

Warnings: mentions of anxiety

Y/F/N - your first name

Y/E/C - your eye colour

a/n: This is my first time writing and publishing i hope you all like it! There’s currently a thunderstorm where I am which is what inspired me to write this. I’m not at all trying to glamorize anxiety in any way, just writing based off of my personal life and my imagination. Please let me know if you have any likes, dislikes or suggestions!

*edited*

You sat at home curled up in your twin sized bed wearing some cozy shorts and a big fluffy sweater (JJ’s to be exact). You had a book in your hands and your phone at your side playing loud music through your headphones you stole from the gift shop to drown out the noise of the loud thunder outside your window.

When it rained in the Outer Banks, it rained extremely hard. Thunder and lightning kind of hard. It was unusual for there to only be a light rainstorm. Storms usually hit harder on The Cut, where you lived, unlike on Figure 8 where they had generators. Figure 8 always looked as if storms never hit that part of Kildare. It was pretty scary but nothing unusual. After all, you lived on an island.

 Most of the residents in the obx were used to thunder and lightning storms and weren’t too fazed by them. You on the other hand, did not like those storms at all. It drove your anxiety through the roof. Your boyfriend, JJ, knew that.

Lightning struck the power lines so you had no electricity and no service. To top it off, your family couldn’t afford a generator. You had tried everything to keep you distracted and focused on something other than what was happening outside of your window. Playing loud music in your headphones, watching a downloaded movie on your phone, reading, playing your ukulele, colouring, but nothing worked.

 You were home alone so you had no one to talk to to keep you preoccupied. You had no idea where your friends, the pogues were. With no way of contacting them you were hopeless. They were probably all at the chateau. Pope, Kie, you and JJ rarely went home. 

Last night was the last time you saw them. You decided to stay the night at home and meet up with them in the morning but those plans quickly changed. You and the others would normally crash at John B’s but you decided not to last night, not knowing there would be an unexpected storm the next day. Technically you could’ve gone over to the chateau to see them because you live only two streets away but the last thing you wanted to do was go outside.

You swayed and quivered in your bed hoping that the storm would pass faster than possible. You shrieked every time you heard thunder and saw lightning.     

You had started to gain an appetite. You plucked up the courage and practically sprinted your way out of bed to go to your kitchen to get some crackers.

You ran back towards your room, and were shocked to see a soaked JJ sitting down on your bed. The sudden sight of someone now in your bedroom while you were home alone made you jump quite aggressively. 

He sat himself up onto your bed. 

“Hi princess, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to scare you” he said softly with a worrisome expression.

“That’s okay.” You sighed in relief. 

“What are you doing here? There’s a thunderstorm you’re crazy to have even gone out the chateau! How did you get here?” 

“Don’t worry (Y/F/N), I got here just fine. I drove here as fast as I could with the bike. I got worried, I know you don’t like storms so I wanted to make sure you were alright” he said calmly, then paused.  “Are you?”

“Yeah I’m fine, It’s not the worst I’ve been.” you shakily lied. “Just a storm”

JJ could see that you weren’t. You weren’t exactly the best liar. He could tell so easily when you did lie. A look of concern still laid painted across his gorgeous face.

He didn’t ask anymore questions, he didn’t want to cause you anymore stress. Instead, he reached his arms out wanting to hold you so tightly in his embrace.

“Come here”

You placed your bowl of crackers onto your nightstand and sprung onto your bed and into your boyfriend's arms. 

He held you so carefully, as if you’re a fragile piece of glass about to shatter. A loud crash of thunder sent a hard tremble through your body. A small whimper escaped your mouth as you grasped onto the back of JJ’s t-shirt.

“Shh baby I’m right here it’s almost over” JJ cooed softly making an effort to comfort you.

“I hate this so much” you sobbed.

“I know baby it’s okay” he reassured.

You slightly nodded into his chest as small tears started to flood the corner of your eyes. 

He placed his finger under your chin to make you look up at him. He must’ve heard your sniffle.

He wiped away the tears which had fallen from your eyes down to your cheeks and placed a light kiss on your forehead.

Your loving boyfriend pulled the both of you from a sitting position on the side of your bed, to a laid down position. 

He adjusted the both of you to which you were laying face down into his chest.

“How about a nap huh? He suggested. “Maybe you can sleep through the storm.”

Again, you nodded against his chest, unable to let words slip from your trembling lips.

JJ started to smoothly trace random, comforting patterns with his steady fingers onto the soft skin on your arms, moving down to your back.

The rattling in your body started to go away as you focused only on your lover's fingers against your skin, keeping your attention away from mother nature’s chaos. 

You felt your eyes flutter shut as he moved his hand from your back to your hair. He gently massaged and scratched at your scalp which made you fall into a peaceful, well deserved, distracting rest.

You were awakened by the bright sunlight beaming into your room, then the quiet sound of JJ munching on the crackers which you had brought in earlier.

He felt you move a bit and looked down to see your beautiful (Y/E/C) peeking out of your eyelids. 

“I’m so sorry angel did I wake you up?” he spoke softly with a mouthful of crackers..

“S’okay, I don’t think you did.” you mumbled while rubbing your eyes. “ ‘Sun’s bright”

He nodded.

“Want a cracker?” He grinned, holding one out.

“Sure” you smiled, taking the salty treat in your fingers and putting it into your mouth.

He gave your upper arm a tender squeeze and kissed the top of your head, then pointed to your curtainless window.

“Look, a rainbow” he hummed.

Your eyes followed the end of his finger. A bright, seven coloured arch appeared so vividly in the sky. What a nice thing to wake up to.

You smiled and giggled a bit at his sudden excitement for the colourful arch. You relaxed even more into his frame, looking up and admiring the gorgeous, flawless features on his face.

You could never figure out how you got so lucky to be coupled with this beautiful boy.

“Thank you so much for coming over, I feel ten times better.” you asserted. 

He planted a short, heartfelt kiss on your lips.

“Of course baby” he replied “𝘐'𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦”

[cosmic-affinities]

His Best Shot (Of Espresso)

Read it on AO3 Here

Summary: Taking the morning shift was the best decision Katsuki ever made, he could survive the early hours and bitchy customers if it meant Izuku went to him for his morning coffee. Now all he has to do is keep him coming back.

The obligatory coffee shop AU combined with the also obligatory college/university AU! A gift for the lovely QueenBoudicatheGreat ( @lesbian-deku) for the BKDK New Year’s Exchange!

Notes: I had so much fun writing this! It was my first venture into the coffee shop trope so I hope I did it justice! A big thanks to @ElleBakugou on Twitter for being my beta, along with @we_stanjirou (SapphicFlower on AO3!)

(Queen, I hope you don't mind that I waited so long to post! It's still technically the first for me and I was trying to make it perfect!)

It was a weird circumstance. Usually, the customer felt more out of place when getting coffee. But whoever this person was they definitely knew the place.

The man with the green hair walked in with a bright smile, much too happy for someone walking into a college coffee shop at seven am. He quickly waved at the two people making coffee as he made his way to the counter.

“Good morning!”

Katsuki had to force down an eye roll, he hadn’t even looked up yet and this customer was already way too excited.

“Yeah, what can I get started for you?”

As he finally looked up he momentarily paused. Wow whoever the fuck this was, they were cute.

“Hmm, what do you recommend?”

Usually, Katsuki hated that question, but coming from this stranger he couldn’t help what came out of his mouth next.

“This morning shitty hair back there made some almond peppermint iced coffee, I bet I can get him to make another.” He surprised himself, why was he telling a random customer that his idiot best friend makes random shit up and forces him to drink it?

The man, clearly amused, had tilted his head to the side for a moment before speaking up.

“Kirishima? He does seem like someone who would come up with that!”

“Yeah he’s always coming up with some gross ass shit and forces me and dunce face to drink it, today he got lucky.”

“You sure have some funny nicknames for Kirishima and Kaminari. Either way! If you think it won’t be a hassle to make it again, I’d love to try the almond peppermint iced coffee!”

“Pft, they’ve made much more complicated things for way more shitty people, don’t sweat it, nerd.”

The man laughed lightly.

“What makes you think I’m a nerd?”

“You just have that nerd vibe, plus who else willingly takes morning classes in the summer, other than nerds.”

The now deemed ‘nerd’ looked confused for a moment before he realized he had his school books sticking out of his bag.

“I guess that’s fair! At least the summer classes are almost over!”

“Yeah, and I bet you have morning classes in the fall too.” Katsuki countered, with an eyebrow raise.

The man blushed lightly, letting Katsuki know that he was in fact right.

“It’s only one class in the morning! It's 8 am on Friday! Really not that bad!”

Katsuki was going to counter but he realized he had a similar class, so he decided to keep his mouth shut.

“Either way you’re still a nerd but I can’t put that on a cup, so I need a name.”

“Oh! Izuku, Izuku Midoriya.”

“I’ll make sure shitty hair works fast, should be ready soon.”

“Wait! How much is it?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Katsuki shot the man, Izuku now, a wink and quickly turned, immediately regretting it. He never did that, he never winked or gave out drinks for free. Damn it this nerd was going to be the end of him.

Izuku was left blushing at the counter suddenly very grateful for the hell he went through this summer for his morning class.

“Oi! Shitty hair! Make another one of those iced coffees you made this morning for the nerd!”

Kirishima furrowed his brow for a moment before responding.

“Oh! Midoriya! You’re gonna love this!”

Katsuki was determined to redeem himself, he couldn’t leave it at a wink, he was better than that!

“Even your name is nerdy. The first half of it can be read as Deku!”

Izuku blushed at the nickname, why couldn’t the hot guy be an asshole! That would make it so much easier not to like him.

“Well if I’m Deku then you’re- Kacchan!” He looked triumphant, only making him even more adorable.

“What the fuck is a Kacchan?”

“You! You are Kacchan!”

“And you are a fucking nerd, Deku.”

“Don’t think I didn’t spot the All Might pin next to your name tag! You’re secretly a nerd too, Kacchan!”

Katsuki blushed at the call out, what can he say? All Might was the single greatest superhero to ever be written!

“Hey, Midoriya! Here’s that coffee! You gotta tell us if you like it, Kirishima swears it’s his best one yet!”

“For sure Kaminari! I’ll see you guys tomorrow! Bye Kacchan!” Izuku left after raising an eyebrow at Katsuki, almost daring him to counter.

Once the bell on top of the door dinged, signaling that Izuku had left, both Kaminari and Kirishima moved in like sharks on prey.

“So what was that all about, Kacchan?” Kaminari always seemed ready to provoke the beast.

“Don’t fucking call me that dunce face. I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Really? So you just give everyone free drinks and cutesy nicknames? I noticed a distinct lack of insult to Deku, no shitty, no dunce.” Kirishima was right there with him.

“Well maybe if you two shit heads would mind your own business you wouldn't have even heard Deku!”

Kirishima and Kaminari shared a look, even if he wouldn’t admit it Katsuki knew they were onto him.

“Wait, hold the fuck up. How do you guys know the cute nerd anyway? He knew your names and everything. I barely know your fucking names.” Katsuki was quick to change the subject.

“Oh he’s a cute nerd now, is he? That’s Midoriya, he comes in all the time. Almost every morning. He’s one of the only people who pay more than two seconds of attention to us so I guess Kami and I became friends with him.” Kaminari nodded along with Kirishima’s words.

“And why haven’t you mentioned him before? You both go around calling us best friends and yet you don’t tell me these things, that's why I call you my shit heads.”

“Uh, we have mentioned him. Midoriya was the one we were talking about like two weeks ago, he got a few extra tickets to Jirou’s show at that bar on main and gave them to us! He’s the one that introduced me to Shinsou, the drummer, at the concert? How do you not remember this?” Kaminari was sure Katsuki didn’t flat out ignore them every time they talked.

“That was him?! Why haven’t I met him? Ever since you two started getting lovey-dovey with Half and Half and the drummer you have been on my shit to get out there!”

“Hey! We aren’t lovey-dovey!”  “Todoroki and I are just friends!” The pair spoke at the same time, trying to deny Katsuki’s accurate description.

“Yeah, just friends how I want to be Just Friends with Deku! Don’t try and argue with that lovey-dovey shit, I saw the heart you drew on his cup Dunce Face.” Katsuki leveled them with a challenging glare, daring them to contradict him.

“Okay fine! Maybe I drew a heart on his cup, and maybe Kirishima is lying to himself about Todoroki just a little, but what does that have to do with Midoriya?”

“It has everything to do with him! You know what screw it, I’m keeping the morning shift when the fall semester starts. If he comes in here all the time I am going to see him.”

The three abruptly ended their conversation as a customer walked in, letting their customer service personality take over for the rest of the day.

Izuku had to rush to his class, he really spent too much time at Heights Alliance this morning. He couldn’t help it! The hot blonde was super nice to him! He even got away with calling him Kacchan!

Professor Yamada called him out on his daydreaming after class ended, luckily he wasn’t behind in Lit Interpretation class. Less lucky was the comment about young love that followed.

The next morning Katsuki insisted on being at the register, an uncommon occurrence for the brash blonde, he tended to keep himself in the back if he could help it.

Kirishima and Kaminari simply shared a look and resigned themselves to a shift of trying not to burn themselves on steamed milk.

They swore Katsuki was going to break his neck with all of the quick turning he did as soon as the bell rang as a customer walked in. His reprieve finally bounced in, still much too excited for someone entering a coffee shop so early.

Katsuki quickly refocused his gaze on his computer, attempting to appear nonchalant. He felt his restraint breaking as Izuku moved closer to the counter. Finally, he met Izuku’s eyes.

“Back so soon? Miss me that much?” Katsuki had talked himself up all morning, he had to try harder to make this nerd his.

Izuku gained an even blush at the comment, he had in fact missed Katsuki but he knew he didn’t have a shot.

“Ha ha very funny, I'm here almost every day, what makes you think it's not for Kirishima and Kaminari?”

Katsuki arched a sculpted brow, “Because they’ve already been set up with your friends.”

“Hmm, you got me there!” Katsuki already knew that, he made sure to interrogate anyone he could about Izuku.

“Alright then, what will it be today? Shitty Hair made some nasty ass shit this morning so I don’t even have a suggestion.”

“Well then just get me whatever you normally get! You can really tell a lot about a person from the coffee they drink!”

“Well then, tell me what you get from a vanilla iced coffee with a shot of espresso?”

“Hmm an espresso shot, that tells me you’re likely a natural leader, vanilla softens up the bitterness of coffee that says you’re laid back but realistic, and it being iced, well that gives me confident and serious but you know when and how to have fun.”

Katsuki was shocked for a moment, how could he have gotten all of that from his coffee order?!

“I wrote a research paper on how coffee is linked to your personality, from there my addiction only spiraled!” Izuku laughed lightly, pulling Katsuki’s thoughts from the scarily accurate breakdown of his coffee to the quite gorgeous man in front of him.

“So, what's your ‘normal’ coffee order then? What does that say about you?”

Izuku watched as Kirishima came up with his drink, preparing to grab the cup.

“Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it, Kacchan?” Izuku slipped fifteen dollars into the tip jar, trying to make up for the previous day’s free coffee. With a slight wink, Izuku made his way out of Heights Alliance.

As soon as he rounded the corner out of sight of the coffee shop he covered his face with his hands and let out a deep sigh. What was he thinking! He never winked at people! He was no suave in any way! He could only hope that Katsuki didn’t think he was a gross jerk!

Katsuki stood frozen, trying desperately to commit the entire interaction to memory before he could no longer recall the exact color of Izuku’s eye as it winked closed.

“I would just like to say that Midoriya has never winked at me like that which I think means you should totally go for it!”

Katsuki turned towards Kirishima and nodded, still in a slight daze. Kirishima and Kaminari laughed at their best friend’s face, they had never seen him act this way over anyone before.

The next week followed the same, Izuku would come in, Katsuki would take his order (which always changed) and they would attempt to flirt with each other. Katsuki decided that he was going to try something new on Friday.

Izuku came in, evidently a bit more tired than normal, it was finally the end of his summer classes but the exams were not going easy on him. He asked Katsuki to give him the most caffeine in a cup possible.

Katsuki went along with it knowing that it was a one-time thing, noting that he looked like he could fall asleep standing.

Katsuki quickly wrote ‘Deku’ on a cup and paused. He was determined to go through with his plan, without another thought he messily scrawled his phone number directly underneath it.

Katsuki quickly prepared the abomination of espresso shots, strong enough to resuscitate an elephant, and made his way to hand it off to Izuku.

“Alright Deku, here is a large…. Espresso shot? I don’t really know what the fuck to call this other than ‘barely a step up from straight-up heroin’ I’d say be careful but honestly you could probably use it.”

Izuku laughed heartily, Katsuki could admit that he wasn’t all that funny but if the sleep deprivation allowed him to hear that laugh he would let it slide for the day.

Izuku quickly reached out for his coffee, making Katsuki’s nerves heighten, it wouldn’t be long before he noticed the phone number.

Alas, the moment never came, Izuku’s depth perception was ever so slightly off, just enough to make sure his coffee cup slipped right through his fingers. As the paper cup smacked into the floor the top popped off, making a huge mess of very strong coffee.

Izuku was startled from his sleep-addled state, he made quick work of trying to clean up, requesting paper towels and a floor cleaner so he could repair the mess he made, the first step in his clean up was tossing the now empty coffee cup into the garbage.

Katsuki deflated as he saw the tail end of his phone number displayed in the trash can, Izuku didn’t even spare the cup a glance.

“Don’t worry about it nerd. I’ll get it cleaned up and I can get Hair for Brains to make you another one. I know there is no way you have time to clean this all up.”

“No! I can’t just leave you with a big mess! It was my fault I can clean it up!”

“Deku, it’s the last day of summer classes. Go take your final in peace, if you are really worried about it come back tomorrow and let me choose your drink for the day.”

Izuku softened, why, why, WHY, did Katsuki have to be so far out of his league? This was the perfect man!

“Kacchan you are quite literally the best! What time does your shift end?”

“Uhhh three? Why?”

“Perfect, and don’t worry about it! You will see!” Izuku grabbed the new version of his coffee (sans Katsuki’s phone number) and quickly made his way to his final class of the summer.

Katsuki waited anxiously for the end of his shift to come, what the hell had Izuku meant?! If Kirishima and Kaminari were less understanding people, they would have smacked him after he asked for the time seven times within the span of about four minutes.

Luckily for everyone, the pair could relate to Katsuki, the whole ‘a watched pot never boils’ phenomenon at it’s finest.

Around two P.M. there was a big rush of customers, ranging from those on their lunch breaks to those who hadn’t slept in roughly thirty-six hours. Thankfully the closing staff had been clocked in since one. Before they knew it three o’clock rolled around.

As if on command, Izuku walked through the door with a small bag in hand.

“Kacchan! Can I borrow you for a few?”

“Pft, I’m off the clock Deku, you can borrow me for the rest of the day.” Katsuki regretted it immediately after it left his mouth, why the fuck would he say that out loud?

“Even better! C’mon, I have something for you!”

Katsuki followed Izuku out of the coffee shop to a small bench situated under a few trees, trying his hardest to figure out what was about to happen.

“Alright, as a bit of a thank you for this morning I wanted to get you a little something, you are the reason I didn’t fail my history exam! I walked in about thirty seconds before my professor locked the door!”

“For cleaning up some spilled coffee? Deku, that’s what my paycheck is for.”

Izuku leveled him with an unimpressed look, evidently not agreeing with his statement.

“You didn’t have to replace my coffee and clean up after me. I know that isn’t in your job description. Don’t argue with me! Just open the damn gift! Please?”

Katsuki knew it was really no use, he would do anything if it was prompted by those big green eyes pleading with him.

“Alright, fine hand it over.” Izuku became visibly excited as he placed the bag on Katsuki’s lap.

Katsuki quickly made his way to the bottom of the bag and pulled out a small figurine.

“You’re fucking with me, right? There is no way this is the rare bronze age All Might figurine that came out two summers ago in a limited run of 750?”

Izuku was all but bouncing as Katsuki finished his sentence.

“Yes, it is! That summer I bought one for myself immediately and as it turned out my mom bought me the same one to give to me for my birthday! I do not know a single other person that would have recognized it as his bronze age costume, let alone give the details of the release. I have two of them anyway, you seem like the perfect person to give it too! Plus what you did for me today was really nice.”

“I can’t take this from you! All I did was clean up some shitty coffee!”

“And get me a new one, and be nice to me all the time, and generally be a good person. So take the fucking gift before I have to get creative and find a way to make you take it.”

“Fine! I’ll take it! On one condition.”

“Oh, and what might that be?”

“You have to agree to go on a date with me.” Katsuki barely stopped himself from slapping a hand over his mouth. This was not the way he was supposed to ask Izuku out! There’s no way he’s going to say yes to this shitty-

“Okay! Tell me a time and place!”

“Wait really?!”

“Did you not just hear me go on and on about you? Why wouldn’t I say yes?” Izuku spoke as if he was explaining why basic addition made sense.

“You haven’t shown any interest in me! Why would I assume you would say yes?”

“Okay, have you not realized that I have been trying my hardest to flirt with you? I know I’m terrible at it but not this bad!”

Katsuki came to a sudden realization, “You know what. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you said yes! Alright, time and place…”

“Oh good! We’re finally on the same page! I’m fine with going anywhere just as long as we don’t go to Antonio’s, I spend enough of my life there during the dinner rush.”

“Got it no Antonio’s and no coffee, how about dinner at the sushi place up the road? I can pick you up tomorrow night at seven?”

“I’ll call and make a reservation for seven-thirty!”

Katsuki couldn’t help the genuine smile that graced his features, he was happy.

“You know, I tried putting my number on your coffee cup this morning. You just had to go and spill it though.”

“Really?! I’m sorry Kacchan! I would’ve called you if I knew about it!”

“Don’t sweat it, nerd, it all worked out in the end.”

The next night the pair went on their first date, although no one would’ve guessed it was only their first. Neither of them felt an ounce of awkward tension, enjoying the easy flow of conversation as the night progressed.

They learned that they grew up a mere three blocks away from each other, laughing at how they managed to meet long after just missing each other as kids.

They talked about their classes, finding out that they were set to be in a history class together every Friday at 8 A.M. (Izuku didn’t let the chance to call Katsuki a nerd pass.) They had been shocked, they both picked that professor because his ratings were only dampened by those who had no work ethic, knowing they would benefit from the strict regime that any class with Professor Aizawa promised.

The pair ended their night by walking the long way back to campus, hand in hand. Izuku departed with a quick but meaningful kiss, a promise of their future.

They would eventually credit Professors Yamada and Aizawa (or, more accurately Aizawa-Yamada as they came to find out) with their get-together and the strength of their relationship. If it wasn’t for the no sleep Izuku was running on for his class, they may have never gotten together. If their history class had them separated they would no doubt have slowly become too consumed with school and work to have time for one another.

They made sure the older pair knew this at their wedding roughly eight years later.

[eudaimonia83]

This is a segment of the first chapter of my long fic. I’ll start posting complete chapters when I’m at least 50% done with it. But in the meantime, comments welcome, edit suggestions encouraged, style and content critiques appreciated. And if you might have time/interest to beta something in the future, let me know.

Working title: THE GIFT

Summary: After the war with Hybern, there are more questions than answers in Prythian, and every day seems to unearth more. Elain Archeron has more questions than most, and has been struggling with vivid dreams that confuse her in her waking life. And perhaps the best person to help her understand her new country, her new abilities, her new role, is the one she’s been pushing away the longest.

There are many forces at work. New awakenings. Old grievances. The powerful, unwilling to share their bounty. The forgotten, at the borders of society, playing a long game to seize power for themselves. And the land itself, beginning to stir in anger at ancient injustices, trying to take back what was once wild…

Prythian is not as it was. What it will be is undecided. Elain finds herself caught at the crossroads of revolution and magical upheaval.

Trigger warnings: Occasionally explicit/nsfw. Occasionally violent. Mentions sexual/physical/emotional assault and torture. Deeply anti-Rhysand, mildly anti-Feyre. If any of those aren’t your particular brand of vodka, no worries! You should skip it. 🙂

—————————————

Elain knew that most seers’ visions were unpredictable. The very first sentence of most passages she had managed to find about them had always cautioned anxiously against putting too much faith in messages from other times, like the seers themselves were to blame for the ambiguity of their scryings. She had become angrier and angrier as she had read the chapters, as if the ancient authors had placed her directly under their dry-whispered, ink-and-paper scrutiny. Their warnings hissed in the back of her brain. Inconstant. Unreliable. Impossible. Or, as one slightly more sympathetic writer had put it, well-intentioned but unsupported.

Patronizing bastards.

As if the past wasn’t horribly misunderstood; as if the future wasn’t mutable and unbound. As if seeing glimpses were like looking through a window, when in fact, it was more like being thrust into a book mid-story. Truth was in it, but it wasn’t the entire tale…and it shifted, changed, altered even as the reader became aware of what was happening.

And that shifting of the visions was only the newest problem, Elain thought ruefully. Why she was here, searching for a corner of Velaris she’d only just heard of.

The Palace of Bone and Salt yielded to modest shops and businesses as the streets ran down to the Sidra, along a generous bank leading to the bridge, where many of the citizens of Velaris liked to stroll and chat or meet for business. But Elain, consulting a scrap of paper with directions, turned abruptly before the cobbled sidewalk reared up into the impressive arches of the bridge, and ducked underneath the handrail of the walkway. If anyone saw her, they gave no sign. It was remarkable how quickly she became alone. How fast the bustle died in the background. How many people had ever tried to leave the stone path and wander through the coiling grasses?

Under the bridge, the lights of the thoroughfare were obscured; she could see only dimly in front of her, and slowed her pace to avoid falling. Once she was clear of the massive shadow of the bridge, the path faded to packed mud, well-worn but narrow enough for only one foot in front of another. The slap and hiss of water against stone faded behind her, into the distant reaches of the structure. She might technically still be in Velaris, but the grand beauty of the city streets was a distant echo.

The thing was, Elain mused as she walked into a small ravine, the riverbank yawning away from her up a small but steep hill, it really was quite beautiful, if unkempt. The fading light cast longer shadows over hillocks of grass, which was brown due to the winter, but would be riotously green in the spring; black rocks poked their heads out of the tangles and created little wild sheltered gardens, where even though the temperatures would sink to bitter lows, the winds and ice would not collect. Hellebore grew there in clumps, bravely pink and green against the brown; clusters of snowdrops peeked from underneath holly bushes, their white flowers sparkling against the dramatic red berries and glossy malachite leaves — a proper pastiche of the approaching solstice. Even in her worry, Elain felt a peace looking at it; and it was wild, a beauty she could not recreate in a vase in the hallways of the River House. Once, perhaps that would have irked her. Now, she slowed to look at it, and carried on with renewed purpose. If the Night Court had living things that could survive its brutal winters, then maybe — just maybe — she, as tame and domestic as she was, could as well.

————————————

[broadstbroskis]

more than friends | travis konecny

“Stop doing that.” You try and shove blindly at the hand that’s stroking gently down your side. “I’m trying to sleep.”

Travis chuckles, and slowly, you blink your eyes open to see him lying next to you, already dressed in his suit and ready for a team travel day. “I’m trying to say goodbye to you!”

“It’s too early.” You mumble pathetically. His bed is comfy and warm and you really don’t want to leave it yet, but you know you don’t really have a right to stay in it when he leaves- after all, you guys aren’t together, even if sometimes when you start to examine this friends-with-benefits-thing you’ve got going you might think you want more.

You try to shut those thoughts down quickly.

Travis laughs again. “It’s almost 11am!” Which he’s right, really isn’t that early...except for how late the two of you were up last night. 

“Ugh, already?”

Another laugh and then he’s kissing your forehead. “I know. Lock up when you leave okay? I left you a key on the counter.”

“Mm, kay.” You’re already rolling back into the warm pillow, accepting the soft kiss he presses into your forehead and half asleep when he says bye one last time.

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

A few days later, you’re walking to lunch with your best friend, Kelsey, when your phone rings. Choosing to ignore the look your friend is currently shooting you, you slide to answer the call and can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “Hey!”

“Hey-Patty, stop it!” For a second, Travis sounds far away from the phone, but then he’s back. “How are you?”

“I’m good!” You laugh, amused at their antics. “What’s going on there?”

“Just Patty being a dick.” Travis’ voice lifts at the end, like he wants to make sure his best friend can hear him.

“I standby my statement!” You can hear Nolan Patrick call back, so he (unsurprisingly) must not be far. “You just can’t handle the truth!”

“Finish setting up the xbox!” Travis calls back.

“Then stop fucking talking to me!”

You giggle at the two of them and then again as Travis mutters a few choice names at his best friend, before turning back to you. “What are you up to today?”

“Kels and I are doing some holiday stuff. Shopping. Lunch.” You shrug. “Maybe find some Christmas-y stuff to do if we have time.”

“Nice. Where’s lunch at?”

“I’m taking her to that burger place we tried last week.” Truly the best burger you’d ever had. The two of you were still raving about it days afterwards, dying for the chance to go back.

Travis gasps dramatically. “You’re going back without me?”

“We won’t have time to go together until like, January!” You protest, kind of laughing. “Between your schedule and mine!”

“Fine!” He sighs dramatically. “Put it on the calendar then; we’re going back in first thing in January!”

“Deal.” You laugh. “And I’ll eat two burgers for you today!”

“You think you’ll be able to get a second burger down?” You can practically hear his eyebrows raise; the disbelief is so clear.

“Well probably not,” You admit. The burgers are huge. “But it’s the thought that counts, right?’

Travis laughs. “Exactly.” After a moment’s pause, he continues. “Well, I’ll let you go. Have fun with Kels today. We’ll talk after the game tonight.”

“Sounds good,” You smile. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

“That was for Nols.” You tease. “Good luck finding some peace and quiet.” You can hear Nolan’s laughter in the back just barely over Travis’ loud protest. “But for the game too, I guess.” And then you two make your goodbyes.

“Wow,” Kelsey remarks, the instant the call ends.

“What?” You say, looking over at her.

“For a guy you’re “not dating”,” She puts actual air quotes around the words you’ve thrown out about Travis many times now, to show the skepticism she’s expressed just as often about your relationship. “That call sure felt pretty relationship-y.”

“We’re just friends!” You insist.

“Who go out to dinner together?” 

“They have great burgers, you’ll see!”

“Who make plans to go out together?”

“Because we’re both super busy-”

“That what- you won’t be able to see each other?” She arches a brow at you. “You’ll see him in bed when he gets home.”

You blush. “That’s-”

Kelsey actually stops walking to stare at you. “He’s going to call you tonight after his game to talk to you before bed. You know who calls at the end of their work day while they’re away on a business trip? Boyfriends!”

“I don’t think he wants that.” You shrug. “We’re good like this. Friends is good.”

Kelsey groans. “You guys are way more than friends. You’re like already three years into a relationship.”

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

One morning shortly after that incident with Kelsey that you’re refusing to think about, you’re woken up to the smell of fresh coffee. Travis is standing with two full mugs, but standing nonetheless, and even worse, he’s already dressed. “Do you have something against sleeping in on days off?”

He hands you one of the mugs and you inhale the scent before taking a sip. “Let’s go Christmas shopping.”

You look down at the mug in your hand. “So this is a bribe?”

Travis nods. “And there’s more where that came from!” More coffee is very enticing but it’s his next statement that gets you. “We’ll go for breakfast first, too?”

“Done!” You throw the blankets down and stand, mentally assessing the current state of your clean clothes at his place. “Let me go steal a flannel and brush my teeth and I’ll be ready to go.”

And so it’s only two hours later that the two of your are walking through Philly, searching for gifts for his parents. “Well, what do you think they’ll like?”

Travis shrugs. “Dunno.”

You shake your head. “Such a man.”

He stops walking. “That felt like it was supposed to hurt, YN and I’m not sure I like it.”

You stop with him and laugh. “And what if it was? You shouldn’t have left your shopping for two days before Christmas!”

He reaches for your hand, tangling your fingers and tucking both your hands in his pocket for warmth, forcing the two of you to stay close while you walk. “Lucky I’ve got someone to help me find something then, yeah?”

“Yeah yeah,” You laugh again. “Let’s just go in a few places. See if something hits us.”

He kisses your cheek mid-stride. “Thank you.”

A few stores later and you’ve managed to make some good strides finding gifts. Most of his family’s been covered and all that’s left is his mom. You two have already been to four different stores- a clothes store, two home decorating stores, and a cute little tea shop- and he still hasn’t found anything he liked. The next stop had been a jewelry store, and once Travis had made faces at five of your suggestions, you’d moved away from his and the sales woman’s discussion about bracelets to browse on your own.

“This one would look great on you.” Another sales woman approaches the case you’re standing in front of.

“Hmm?” To be honest, you were kind of focused on the sapphire necklace further down the case, but you politely turn your attention to her at her words.

“This one.” She pulls a diamond ring out of the case and holds it out to you. “I think it’d be well suited to you.”

“Um-” You’re in actual shock, can’t bring yourself to say anything. Does she...she actually thinks…

“Go ahead and try it on.” She winks at you. “We’ll see if he catches the hint.”

“Heh.” You say awkwardly, unsure exactly what your face is doing. It doesn’t feel like it’s doing something great, that’s for sure. There’s no fricking way Travis didn’t hear this, not with how this lady is practically shouting it across the store.

Is she even shouting? Or is that just your heartbeat pounding in your ears, making everything seem so much louder?

Either way, it seems like time moves in slow motion as she reaches across the counter for your left hand and slips the ring onto your finger at the exact same moment that Travis slips up next to you with a new bag in hand. “YN, are you read-”

If time had slowed when the sales lady was slipping the ring on you, it stops altogether in the moment after, when Travis realizes exactly what’s on your finger and your eyes meet. His eyes are wide, darkening by the second, but then he locks down all the emotion as he moves his gaze down to the ring and you’re stuck. There’s too much and too little air, it’s too hot and too cold, you’re frozen in place and dying to run. 

“It’s beautiful!” The sales woman gushes, as if she didn’t just cause this huge panic between both of you. “That is a perfect ring for you, don’t you think?”

You rip your gaze over to her in even more of a panic, so you know she’s looking at Travis when she says that, but he’s still looking at the ring when he responds. “Yeah, it is.”

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

“So.” Kelsey bounces on the opposite end of the couch. “Are we going to talk about how you’ve been wallowing on the couch in misery since you came back home from Christmas?”

“No.” You grumble.

“Ok.” She says, patting the ankle closest to her. “Let me rephrase. Let’s talk about how you’ve been wallowing on the couch in misery since you came back home from Christmas.”

If you wanted to get technical, it was before you came back from Christmas- you’ve been pretty miserable since you and Travis parted after the jewelry store incident occurred two days before Christmas. You’d said a very awkward goodbye after leaving the store and neither of you had made contact since.

No phone calls. No texts. No snapchats. Nothing.

You’d made a concerted effort to be happy over Christmas while back with your family but the second you’d come home to Philly again, the facade had dropped. That it had taken her this long before confronting you about this seemed like a holiday miracle in and of itself.

“I guess.” You shrug. “I guess I didn’t think I was this attached.”

Kelsey stares at you flatly. “How could you think that?”

“‘I don’t know! I mean, I knew I liked him. I just didn’t think it’d hurt this much to know he didn’t like me!”

Kelsey has never looked so unimpressed with you. “You’re a dumbass.”

“Hey!” You protest. “I am upset! You should be supporting me.”

She ignores you. “You’re both dumbasses. I’ll support you when you two get your shit together and smarten up.”

You frown. “Can you at least support me by running out and getting wine? We’re out.”

“Fine, but this ends tonight.” She stands, grabbing her jacket off the chair. “Tomorrow you get dressed like a real human and we’re going out in public.”

You make a face but can tell by her tone that she’s serious. But it’s either this or no wine. “Deal.”

She’s only gone a minute or two when there’s a knock at the door again and you huff, throwing your blankets down to go throw the door open for her. “What’d you forget?”

“Uhh.” Travis stands there hesitantly, still holding his fist up, like he’s ready to knock again.

“You’re not Kelsey.” Is the only thing you can think so say.

“Uh no.” He shakes his head. “No, I’m not.” He pauses. “Can, uh, can I come in?” He rubs the back of his head hesitantly.

It’s awkward when you move aside to let him in. He’s so familiar in the space, knowing exactly where to hang his coat and put his keys, but the silence between you two is suffocating. Normally you two are laughing, joking around, even just making light conversation about how your days were if nothing else. But there’s rarely silence and certainly nothing so uncomfortable as this, and suddenly you can’t take it.

“So about-” You start, just as he says. “I wanted-”

It works to cut the tension, at least a bit, as you both laugh a little. “You want first?” He offers and you think for a second, before nodding.

“So that was weird. The other day.” Gentle. Easy. Not a bad place to start, right?

Travis nods slowly. “It was.” And there it is. You brace yourself for what’s next- that you guys are great friends and that it’s time to back off things for a while. “But I think what was weirder was that it didn’t actually seem that weird?” Your jaw drops and Travis breaks into a grin. “Alright good.”

“What?”

He takes a step closer to you. “I’ve been thinking for the last week about how not weird it was to see an engagement ring on you and panicking about how I wasn’t panicking about it until I realized every milestone we’ve hit before that. You have a key to my place. My parents asked about you when they called on Christmas this year. You’re my go to person for everything and I really hope that I’m yours.” For the first time, he looks a little nervous, but he steamrolls on anyway. “And I love you and I want to be with you, and only you, and even though I haven’t actually been with anyone other than you since last year, I figure we should make this official, and someday I’m going to make it really official and put that ring back on your finger, but-”

You cut him off before he can go anymore. “I love you.”

It’s incredible to see his face light up, the smile growing and lighting up the entire thing. “I love you.” He repeats and before you get the chance to say it again, he’s entirely in your space, kissing you.

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Radio Host & Radio Ghost - Nov 14

Alastor meets a ghost possessing a vintage radio.

He’s absolutely delighted.

Valera

Valera hums, rubbing their hands together. What a lovely day to bring demons into their home. Not a single consequence could possibly result from this! With Alastor's okay, they could finally get around to opening a portal for him, whatever water he'd decided was sufficient rippling and turning into an inky void before his eyes. On her side, Valera plops back on the couch and awaits his arrival.

Alastor

And Alastor’s more than ready to jump through the inky void he’s been promised is a portal!

He has not, however, been informed that the portal he just jumped DOWN into is VERTICAL on the other side.

He lands on his back with a blurt of confused mixed frequency crosstalk. What.

Valera

A laugh track plays from across the room, and Valera leans forward to get a good eyeful of the poor, confused fellow. "My dear, if I'd known you were falling all over yourself to get here, I'd have invited you much sooner! Come now, pick up those sorry spirits and have some spirits with me." Funny way to talk about spiked tea, but alright Val.

Alastor

Disoriented by the 90° shift in the angle of gravity, he blinks up at the ceiling for a moment. “What, was the repeated pleading to come see it not obvious enough?”

As his head sorts itself out he abruptly registers the laugh track—SOMEBODY ELSE’S laugh track—and he immediately sits up and looks toward the source of the sound. “Well!!” He’s on his feet in a flash and crossing the room, heading like an arrow toward the authentic, vintage, genuine, incomparable 1931 Philco 90 Baby Grand Cathedral Radio. “Oh my goodness, what a beauty! Look at this! Oh, this is the only cathedral I’ll ever worship at.” He kneels down to get a better look at the front of it. “The wood needs a little love and care—walnut, isn’t it? I don’t know wood but I know my radios, I could swear Philco used walnut—but it’s in fantastic condition!” He presses the side of his head to the front, eyes closed like he’s trying to listen to it. “All nine tubes sound beautiful, just beautiful!” Apparently that’s something you can hear, at least if you’re Alastor.

He sits back and turns to the man sitting next to the radio, beaming. “Listen to me, gushing away without even—Hello! May I compliment you on your lovely home, sir!”

Valera

Whatever Valera was planning to say is forgotten immediately, Alastor's enthusiastic response to her latest acquisition more than entertaining enough to distract her from her train of thought.

The radio flicks on and off like its fluttering its lashes, dial twirling playfully in a reflection of the Ghost Of The Hour's own beaming grin. A waggle of his fingers, and he speaks, voice emanating from the radio and rather garbled as the dial flicks back and forth.

"Compliment taken and appreciated, you beautiful stranger! Aren't *you* all the candy and then some? Lovely to meet a man who knows his stuff, you're right on all counts! Walnut, hand rubbed finish, this is a genuine type two article straight from the production line of late 1931! Updated with AVC and the beautiful addition of type 47 power pentode tubes for the finest and most reasonably priced audio on the market!" A pause to "breathe" as the radio's light flickers, and he shrugs, still beaming. "I'd offer to shake your hand, my good man, but I find I left my tangibility back home. Though I'm happy to try!"

Alastor

His invisible studio audience oohs and aahs appreciatively at each new technical detail. “Reasonably priced, oh, boy—I’d barely paid off a ‘32 when I died! Eighty bucks, if I remember right! Well with the price but good golly if I wouldn’t have loved to enjoy it a little longer.”

He gets to his feet, leaving one hand lingering on top of the radio affectionately. “Oh, I’d give it a shot! Typically, the dead can touch the dead.” He offers his hand. “The name’s Alastor! I’m a radio man myself—on air from ‘24 to ‘33, you might have heard me if you were in range of New Orleans! And what do I call you, my friend?”

Valera

"Oh! A fellow dearly departed? And so close to my own time, give or take a few years! I'd offer my condolences on your departure from the mortal realm, but it seems to me that you're doing rather well for yourself! PLEASURE to meet you, Alastor!" He takes the offered hand in his own, grinning even wider when he realizes he can actually touch the red newcomer. He's got a handshake like he's going to sell you something, firm and eager. "New Orleans, you say? KTRD? Well I never! I do believe I played your station in my old shop! Your broadcast helped me sell quite a few radios back in the day."

A delighted chuckle, and he gives Alastor's hand a last squeeze before dropping it to mess with his suit lapels. "My friends called me Al, but my name is Alexander! I had some other names too I'm sure, but they haven't found their way back yet."

Alastor

He shakes back just as eagerly and his grin stretches wider. “Yessiree, that was me! *Your Pal Al, first voice you hear in the morning and last voice you hear at night!* Why, if I’d known that I was doing free advertising for Philco, I would have written them a letter and asked them to give me a Baby Grand on the house. Still, probably the best eighty bucks I ever spent.”

He takes a step back, giving Alexander a bit of his own space. “I’d catch you up on what you missed, but I’d probably only be able to offer you a couple of years—were you ‘31, or did that just happen to be the model you had nearby when you shuffled off the mortal coil?—and I’ve spent my time since then down in Hell—hope that’s not too off-putting, you know how it is, make a few little mistakes and forget to say your Hail Marys before you kick the bucket and suddenly you find you’re serving an afterlife sentence without possibility of parole! I expect you’ve had a better chance to keep up with the news than I have!”

Valera

"I'd have sent you one myself if I hadn't bought the farm! But your business was appreciated, I'm sure. A radio broadcaster with your chops has quite the eye for quality if I do say so myself, your radio was in the best hands possible!"

"This beauty was a gift from my parents, got it new and died within the month, if memory serves! Damn shame, but it all worked out. I'm sure my mothers would be charmed that I was so attached!"

He waves off the news of Alastor's new home with a scoff. "Oh, pah to that! I was never much for religion before I bit the dust, God always struck me as a terrible sort of man. If you wound up in Hell, it's probably for the better! I'd hate being in close quarters with the kind of parent who thinks tossing his children into fire and brimstone was the best teaching method!"

Alastor

A studio audience laugh at “attached”; attached in more senses than one, apparently. “They must have been women with exquisite taste! Quite a pity about the timing, but at least you’ve had plenty of time to enjoy it! Amazing how well it’s held up, can’t tell you the last time I saw quality like this. Of course,” he arches his eyebrows, “that might just be a side-effect of the neighborhood I’ve been living in, eh? Lucky you latched onto this beauty—otherwise you probably would have ended up living there too, considering your personal leanings. Fair enough if you don’t want to move into that big gated community in the sky, but I wouldn’t recommend the alternative, either.”

He glances over at Valera—wow, look at that, he actually does remember that they’re in the same room. “Speaking of which...” He nods at the spot of the portal he so gracelessly stepped out of earlier. “You probably don’t want to take this with you the next time you spend the night at your fiancé’s. I’ve never heard of a ghost voluntarily walking into Hell so I’m not sure if they’d immediately notice, but I do know that imps conducting business topside are charged with keeping an eye out for rogue spirits that ought to be down below. You take him in, they might not let him back out.”

Valera

Alexander rolls back on his heels, happy to peek around Alastor and back at Valera. Ah, his unexpected rescuer who he's trying very hard not to be wildly rude to by screaming at over the existence of actual aliens! Thumbs up!

As for Valera, she looks at Alastor with raised eyebrows. "Good to know! I hadn't made any plans yet, but it would be a damn shame to get this fellow stuck in a new prison so soon after getting him out of the previous one." A sip at her cup, and she curls her tail politely around her legs. "Either way, I brought you here to help with repairs! Bring your friend over here and lets start getting the cobwebs out of his home, hm?"

Alastor

“Why, of course! Pardon me—“ And up it goes. As he carries the radio over to Valera he’s cradling it half like it’s a heavy sack of groceries and half like it’s a baby. “I didn’t have an opportunity to look around the back, what all needs doing?”

Valera

Valera opens her mouth, and is immediately cut off as Alexander practically flings himself forward to 'sit' on the floor next to the cleaning supplies. "There's almost no damage to the internals, lucky for us! My lovely little number's managed to hold up beautifully despite the.. Unideal conditions. This sweet faced dame here scraped off most of the wax from my previous landlord's attempt at what I assume was an exorcism, but a gentle wash wouldn't hurt! Aside from that, it's largely dusting and polishing! Mindless, really."

He chuckles, the dial on the radio tapping back and forth like a metronome. "Though the lady here took one look at the bottom of the chassis and said she'd rather call an expert, poor thing. From what I saw, it's just a bit of rust and dirty wires, nothing even a child couldn't handle! I'm sure a man like yourself wont even break a sweat!"

Alastor

“So I see.” He leans forward, arching an eyebrow as he inspects the remaining wax. “What kind of ‘unideal conditions’ are we talking about, here? And how *did* this end up here?” He directs that question to Valera. “Of all the places I’d expect to find a ‘31 Philco, you have to go pretty far down on the list before I start listing locations off of planet Earth. And even at that ‘the moon’ and ‘Mars’ would have been my next guesses.” SPEAKING OF WHICH, he leans toward Alexander and gives him an excited look. “Did you know we put ROBOTS on MARS?”

Okay, exciting news shared, back to business. He carefully inspects the bottom of the chassis himself—nothing too bad down there. “I’m as good an expert as you’ll need! I’ve lovingly cleaned off enough fine old radios in my time—although I’m hard-pressed to think of one as fine as THIS!” He looks over the selection of cleaning tools.

Valera

Valera's attempts to speak are once again completely drowned out by Alexander's crackly voice. "Oh she got me on Earth, rest assured! I was in one of my.. grand nephew's attics, I believe? And yes, I DID hear about the robots on Mars! I had nothing to do but listen to the radio while I was up there, and as much as they like to pretend they've murdered the art of broadcasting, there certainly are still plenty of stations out there sharing the news! Nothing compared to your own, of course, but still." A dip of his head towards Alastor, and he scoots closer to watch him work.

The standard tools are available. Wood cleaner, a few soft rags, a small steel wool brush, and rust removing solvents, along with a little pack of cloths for polishing brass. Val side eyes Alexander and deliberately doesn't speak as she picks up a rag to offer to Alastor.

Alastor

He's starting to detect a pattern here. "Say, my phantasmal friend!" He leans over and slings an arm around Alexander's shoulders. "I realize you haven't had much experience with conversation in a while—but let's let our friend Valera get a couple of words in edgewise from time to time, shall we?" He winks, then returns to studying the radio, this time inspecting the innards. He takes the rag and starts brushing out the worst of the dust, just a rough pass to get out the easy stuff. "Ah, of course you would have heard! Naturally. What kind of a state is radio broadcasting in these days, anyway? I've heard some dismal things."

Valera

There's a flash of confusion on Alexander's face as he looks between Alastor and Valera, but he nods without any protest, obligingly leaning in until Alastor releases him from the casual half embrace. "Of course! Terribly rude of me, I'll curb the enthusiasm. My manners could use as much dusting as my radio, it seems!" A light chuckle, and he props his chin on his hands, watching Alastor's movements intently.

"Miserable! It's atrocious the kind of programming they think passes standard these days. Once they broke the stations into specialties, the bar dropped straight past hell! Why, if you have a grave, Alastor, I'm sure you were rolling in it. Half the contents is advertisements, and the other half replays the same songs every few hours with no shame!" He heaves a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. Valera rolls her eyes.

Alastor

“Oh, Hell hasn’t fared much better, I’m afraid—although I’ve helped keep things interesting on the AM band, at least!” A weary sigh. “And to think in the twenties we were butting heads against the regulations that discouraged specialization. Who would have thought the alternative would make so many stations so bland?” His tone darkens. “Although I blame the networks more than anything else, truth be told.”

He’s got a bone to pick with networks.

Valera

Valera finally has a chance to speak? Good. "Well, I'm glad you two have so much to talk about! I'd say you should exchange numbers or find a way to talk in DMs, but I haven't had a chance to try and explain texting or tumblr blogs to Alexander yet." And she is NOT looking forward to it!

"Though, Alastor, if you'll indulge my hypotheticals while we tidy this fellow up. What do you think would be the best way to deal with his current state? I've thought about asking Pentious to make him some kind of automaton frame around his radio, or find a way to separate him from the radio entirely and... Force him to manifest some form of body."

Alexander shrugs, flipping a dismissive hand. "I've got no knowledge of the supernatural, and barely any on the normal natural either, so this is all Greek to me!"

Alastor

“I wonder if it would be possible to get a radio signal through to Hell! I’ve never picked up a radio broadcast from the living world before, but as far as I know none have been sent out by the dead. At any rate, if Internet can get between here and Hell, radio should be able to just as easily—it’s all the exact same stuff, just traveling through the air on different frequencies.”

Alastor considers the issue of Alexander’s body for a moment, glancing over at him. There’s a brief quiet humming noise like microphone feedback from the radio’s speakers as Alastor stretches out with his own energy field, prodding around Alexander’s, measuring it.

Then he snaps it back in and continues working. “Automatons are all well and good, but if you want to know how I’D do it—the easiest thing would be to get him trained up as a poltergeist! There’s three parts he’d have to learn: drawing more energy from his environment than he’s currently getting through passive processes; focusing it so he can telekinetically affect his environment; and finally, focusing it to visually and physically manifest a form for other people to see and touch. It’s essentially what I’m doing any time I step out of Hell, although I’m cheating: coming straight from Hell means I’m carrying enough Hellish energy with me that I don’t need to gather or focus any more, I’m fully solid from the outset. But it’s a skill that can be learned!”

He beams at Alexander. “You’re lucky you’ve got a focus for your energy, here! I’d hazard a guess that all this time you’ve been using what ambient energy you’ve picked up to help power it—but I bet it wouldn’t be too hard for you to use IT to help power YOU!”

This is all too exciting. The study of the interactions between spirits and electricity had only been going a few decades when Alastor died, and the topic is obviously irrelevant in Hell; what he’s proposing was supposedly possible even in his own time, but he can’t imagine what information might be available today.

Valera

Alexander twitches as Alastor's field brushes against his. It's an almost ticklish sensation, like almost but not quite touching something charged with static electricity. The moment passes, and he rubs at his arms. Could ghosts get goosebumps? It sure seemed so! Weird! Everyone he's met has been so strange and colorful, he'd hardly even thought about his own appearance. Immediately distracted, he starts looking for a mirror to check his hair in.

"Hm, I don't have any experience with poltergeists.." Valera's at a bit of a loss, narrowing her eyes as she squints at the two radios. Three radios? Does Alexander count as a separate entity from the radio? Gods, she should have taken the Mortals and Their Souls elective in school. She heaves a sigh. "Well! I hope you're willing to help teach him, Alastor, because otherwise I'm going to have to start doing _research_."

Alastor

“You and me both! Ha! Most of what I learned about poltergeists in life was how to get rid of them, imagine that. But! You know where ghosts end up once they’re got rid of! I’ll inquire around, see if there are any ex-poltergeists interested in sharing their tricks of the trade. If not, I’m sure the imps will know all about it.”

He beams at Alexander. “Oh, this is going to be fun. I haven’t had a reason to dip this deep into the occult since the sixties!”

Valera

"Oh that's marvelous. Thank the gods, the less I have to try and muddle through human focused occultism the better, it gets damnably frustrating trying to find books that aren't full of teenage angst and garbage." She sighs, taking her tea in hand and busying herself with draining the glass. That's ONE problem out of the way.

Alexander glances over, feeling eyes on him again, and offers Alastor his sunniest grin. He wasn't really following the conversation, but that doesn't matter when there's an obvious opening. "Don't leave us hanging, my good man! What happened in the sixties? Inquiring minds, and spirits, want to know!"

Alastor

“The first step is to get book recommendations from actual occultists.” Where is Valera picking up teenage angst?

Oh, Alastor is going to love this new guy, he follows up on the topics that Alastor leaves dangling. “A deep dive into angelology! Researching what sort of defenses Heaven has aside from being ridiculously high in the air—this was before rockets, you see, so we couldn’t just fly up and check—and trying to deduce any of the angels’ vulnerabilities.”

Valera

"Fair enough, I assume you knew a fair few back in your day?" Meet enough overly young heroes and some of them are going to write about their experiences while unfortunately being teens. Combination diary and field guides are the _worst._

Alexander BEAMS as Alastor speaks, the light on his radio dial glowing like a little beacon. "Fascinating stuff there, Alastor! I never even knew that was a field of research, shows what I know! Did you learn anything useful in your forays?" A pause. Wait. " You have rockets in Hell?"

Alastor

“A decent amount! I had a healthy circle of pen pals. None of them quite as successful as me, if I do say so myself—but that had less to do with their occult knowledge and more to do with their heads for business. All the symbols, herbs, and precious metals in the world won’t do you a lick of good if you don’t know how to make a deal with a demon.”

He’s gotten the inside about as clean as he feels safe to while the radio is still clearly *on*—there’s probably no way to fully turn it off as long as Alexander is connected to it, is there?—and starts on the outside. “In the living world, it probably isn’t one! Angelology in general, sure, but penetrating the gates of Heaven? Maybe in an ‘astral projection’ way, but certainly not a ‘breaking and entering’ way! I can’t say I picked up much of practical use, but...” He falters a moment before rallying. “The project I was researching it for fell through, so I abandoned it early with several research avenues unexplored.” Shrug.

For a moment he’s tempted to let Alexander think they DO have rockets. But then he bursts out laughing. “No, no, hah! I only meant that humanity in general has rockets, don’t we—and enough people with the know-how to make ‘em are in Hell by now. We *could* have rockets if we decided to. But we don’t have our act together enough for that—put together a list of everyone who could make it happen, and even the person at the very top of the list has priorities pointed very firmly elsewhere. Anyway, where would we go with them?”

Valera

"You can say that again. Though of course, my experience is decidedly _not_ from the mortal's side." A hum, and Valera leans in to take a peek at Alastor's work. "I knew you were the person for the job, that little darling is looking almost as good as new." A grin for his efforts, that's more than payment enough. That and getting to work on such a nice radio. Probably.

Alexander snickers, pressing a hand to his chest in mock dismay. "My goodness, you really had me going for a moment there, Alastor! I suppose there wouldn't really be anywhere to go, you're right! Though that does beg the question. How *does* Hell compare to all the biblical stories? I can't imagine it being all fire and brimstone if you're as well dressed and decidedly not prodded by pitchforks as you appear to be!"

Lowering her empty cup to the table, Valera flicks her eyes over to watch as Alexander quickly turns to try and pick up the teapot to offer a refill. Bless his dead little heart, he gave it a good shot even if all he managed was a slight rattling.

Alastor

Getting to work on such a nice radio is *absolutely* its own reward. “A professional could do something about the scuffs. And you definitely want somebody else to do something else about the last of the wax.” He rubs a thumb over the last little bumps stubbornly stuck on the wood. “I don’t think I can get the remains off without scuffing the wood.”

He tries to think back to what he was taught Hell was like before he saw the real thing. What had his first impressions been like? “Picture Dante’s Inferno. So you’ve got your rivers bile, your fields of icy mud, your endless hurricanes—but then dump a bunch of humans in it and assume they’re going to do what humans always do. We build cities and civilizations in scorching deserts, frozen tundras, and smothering jungles—and we do just the same in Hell. Sure enough, fire and brimstone is Hell’s natural, untrammeled state—but we’ve been trammeling all over the place for thousands of years by now! The native demons and fallen angels in charge are largely content to ease up on the pitchforks as long as our labors improve their standard of living, too.”

Alastor watches Alexander attempting to manipulate the teapot, then puts his hand on top of the radio and focuses on channeling as much of his own energy into the cathedral case as he can. “Try again now.”

Valera

"You can say that again. Though of course, my experience is decidedly _not_ from the mortal's side." A hum, and Valera leans in to take a peek at Alastor's work. "I knew you were the person for the job, that little darling is looking almost as good as new." A grin for his efforts, that's more than payment enough. That and getting to work on such a nice radio. Probably.

Alexander snickers, pressing a hand to his chest in mock dismay. "My goodness, you really had me going for a moment there, Alastor! I suppose there wouldn't really be anywhere to go, you're right! Though that does beg the question. How *does* Hell compare to all the biblical stories? I can't imagine it being all fire and brimstone if you're as well dressed and decidedly not prodded by pitchforks as you appear to be!"

Lowering her empty cup to the table, Valera flicks her eyes over to watch as Alexander quickly turns to try and pick up the teapot to offer a refill. Bless his dead little heart, he gave it a good shot even if all he managed was a slight rattling.

Alastor

Getting to work on such a nice radio is *absolutely* its own reward. “A professional could do something about the scuffs. And you definitely want somebody else to do something else about the last of the wax.” He rubs a thumb over the last little bumps stubbornly stuck on the wood. “I don’t think I can get the remains off without scuffing the wood.”

He tries to think back to what he was taught Hell was like before he saw the real thing. What had his first impressions been like? “Picture Dante’s Inferno. So you’ve got your rivers bile, your fields of icy mud, your endless hurricanes—but then dump a bunch of humans in it and assume they’re going to do what humans always do. We build cities and civilizations in scorching deserts, frozen tundras, and smothering jungles—and we do just the same in Hell. Sure enough, fire and brimstone is Hell’s natural, untrammeled state—but we’ve been trammeling all over the place for thousands of years by now! The native demons and fallen angels in charge are largely content to ease up on the pitchforks as long as our labors improve their standard of living, too.”

Alastor watches Alexander attempting to manipulate the teapot, then puts his hand on top of the radio and focuses on channeling as much of his own energy into the cathedral case as he can. “Try again now.”

Valera

"Fixing the wood? Not a problem. I just didn't trust anyone else with the internals!" She shrugs, seemingly content to lay back and idly listen as he explains the inevitable human nature of settling even the inhospitable lands of Hell. But the moment Alastor's powers are channeled, Valera stiffens, head swiveling to stare at where his hand at the radio meet as her fins flare out.

Alexander looks between Valera and Alastor, then down to his radio. You know what that reaction sounds like? None of his business! He nods, then carefully, carefully, picks up the teapot and pours a single cup of tea out with a look of utmost concentration. Once the teapot is safely back on the table and the cup is delivered into Valera's hands, and ONLY then, he shuffles back a few feet, looks around to make sure there's nothing breakable near him, and finally throws his arms in the air with a cheer. "Alastor! Whatever you did got me back on the trolley!"

Alastor

The motion catches Alastor's attention and he meets her gaze. Oh, hello? What's all *that* about?

But he doesn't get a chance to ask before Alexander is celebrating his triumph. Alastor switches his attention back to him, beaming. "Back on for the time being—although I'm afraid this trolley company makes you pay by the block and I essentially gave you one nickel. Still, it's proof of concept! You're powering your radio—and your radio can power you. This expands our options immensely!"

Valera

Scoffing while grinning ear to ear isn't something you see often, but Alexander is quick to wave off even minor pessimism with the cheeriest dismissal. "Bah, who cares about that! That's more interaction with my environment than I've managed since I died, I'll take this nickel as far as they'll let me." He pushes the teapot to the left, then the right, and then picks it up once more for good measure before moving to start carefully prodding at Valera, who tolerates it with the face of the family dog tolerating bratty kids yanking their fur.

Alastor

“I suppose five blocks is exciting if it’s the first time you’ve been allowed on the trolley,” he says dryly; then, while Alexander is distracted, he gives Valera an inquiring look. He’s not going to ask Valera about their reaction to his magic while Alexander is around, but he wants them to know he *noticed* and he’s *going* to as soon as he has a chance.

Valera

Valera looks at Alastor, giving him the most innocent stare they can manage with those big ole eyes... And then snorts, shakes their head, and gives a thumbs up. Yeah, yeah. Quiz them later, radio deerman.

Looking back to Alexander and his prodding hands, Valera finally hauls herself up to cheerfully clap her hands together. "Well! This has been lovely, but I think that's enough excitement for the day. We've both got new projects to get to, and the sooner we sort this fellow out the better!"

Alastor

“I think you’re right! Happy I could offer my assistance.” He offers a hand to Alexander. “And a pleasure to meet you, my good sir!”

Valera

Alexander pauses in his prodding to take Alastor's hand in both of his, giving it a firm shake. "I hope I'll see you again, Alastor! Even if we can't figure out how to help me, meeting a fellow radio enthusiast of your caliber is more than worth being stuck in an attic for so long!"

Alastor

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find a way!” And a firm shake back. “And even if not, I’ll be visiting from time to time anyway, never you fear.”

Valera

Val would ask if that was a threat or a promise, but she isn't really sure she wants to know. A portal is prepared in short order, one wall of the sitting room turning a familiar inky black as she rises from the couch. She does, however, make a point to look Alastor dead in the eyes as she speaks her goodbye. "I'll see you in Hell, Alastor."

Alastor

It’s only a threat if Valera finds his presence threatening.

“Imminently, or eventually?” He *does* still want to find out what that Look was about.

Valera

She grins, ignoring Alexander as he quietly oohs and aahs over the portal. "Eventually! I'll be there tonight or tomorrow, depending on wherever Penny decides to sleep, but who knows when you'll actually _see_ me there."

Alastor

“Well, track me down to talk when you can.” An unnecessarily dramatic half-bow and he steps through the portal.

Carefully. He doesn’t know what angle he’s going to emerge at.

[gumnut-logic]

Parents

Title: Parents

Author: Gumnut

12 Jan 2020

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Gotta love them anyway.

Word count: 4938

Spoilers & warnings: Episode tag for 3.20. Spoilers for Season Three, particularly 3.20.

Timeline: Directly after 3.20

Author’s note: This one is a weird one. It mostly wrote itself and what came out was odd.

I had to do some serious math on the brothers’ ages. Please see the notes at the end of the fic for details.

Many thanks to @scribbles97 for the read through and cheering and @thunderstorm-bay for the wonderful support ::hugs you::

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

 “I can’t believe he did that!”

John looked up as his littlest brother stormed into the lab. Alan was still in his uniform and obviously fuming.

“Did what?” Apparently, his calculations would have to wait. He straightened in his seat and turned to face his brother.

“You didn’t see it?”

“See what?” Sometimes it took time to get to the point.

“Virgil cleaning my face in front of thousands of people. With his own spit.”

“Oh, that.” John fought the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s just Virgil, you know that.” He turned back to his workstation. He really needed to get these calculations done and sent to Brains. “Oh, and it is more like millions rather than thousands. An enthusiastic Tracy follower clipped the shot and posted it to social media. It’s got raving reviews.” He pulled up the post and flung the hologram in his brother’s direction before focussing once again on that argumentative variable.

“What?!”

John vaguely registered Alan glaring at the hologram and its attached comments.

“Cute? Adorable? Baaaaby Tracy? What the hell?!”

John had to smirk. “Yeah, well, your fans do love you.”

“My fans? What fans?”

That brought John to a halt. He looked up at his brother. “Your fans. The Spacey Tracy Tribute Troop.”

“What?!”

John arched an eyebrow at the shock on his brother’s face. “You can’t possibly tell me you didn’t know.”

But Alan’s stunned expression blatantly said he didn’t. John rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Alan. You have a whole array of fans who love you. And that moment with Virgil is at the top of the charts.”

“But it is so stupid!”

“Why?”

“Because only mothers do that to their toddlers!” Alan’s face was a little red.

“Well, perhaps you will consider that next time you stuff a hot dog in your face before a big presentation. That glob of mustard was visible from space.”

“He could have just told me.”

Patience. “This is Virgil we are talking about. How long have you known him?”

Alan didn’t answer that, because it was obvious. Virgil and of course Scott would always be defacto parents to the rest of the brothers. Hell, John had been twelve when they lost their mother, but he still valued having two older brothers during that time. He had always valued having Scott and Virgil to turn to for support.

His little brother deflated and threw himself into a chair in picture of utter dejection. “It sucks.”

“Really?” John stared at Alan. “Look at the shot and you tell me exactly what you see.”

Stubborn blue eyes looked up and narrowed on the hologram as it replayed over and over again. “I look stupid.”

John sighed. “Read the comments. None of them say you look stupid.” He threw up a few of the better ones. “If anything they say you look loved.”

Alan stared at him.

-o-o-o-

Alan Tracy didn’t remember his mother. She died when he was still a baby. He had stories and photos, but all his life it had just been his older brothers. They were the ones who saw him off at school, they helped him with his homework, they were the ones he went to for help and advice. He still remembered the night he discovered who Santa Claus actually was.

It was their first Christmas on the Island and nine year old Alan had been worried the big red guy would have trouble finding him out in the middle of the Pacific. So, despite the reassurances from both Scott and Virgil, he had set his alarm to wake himself up in the middle of the night.

Two am and he stumbled down the interior stairs of the new building. He could still remember the smell of new paint and wood stain and the slickness of the polished floor under his socks.

At first he had thought the voice was that of his father, but he knew his Dad was in New York for a special meeting. Scott had been rather loud in his argument against the his absence, but their father had left anyway.

Scott had been far from happy and Alan had given him a wide berth for most of Christmas Eve. Virgil had gathered them all for an evening movie, but even that had not fully dulled Scott’s expression. Not that his brother said anything. He just emanated unhappiness from the corner of the new lounge.

As he neared the main living room, he realised it was Virgil talking.

“Dad wouldn’t have gone if it wasn’t important.”

“What possibly could be more important than our family?” Scott’s voice had anger in it, but it wasn’t the angry of him yelling, it was more resigned and defeated.

“He’s doing this for Mom.” Virgil sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Paper rustled. “Hand me the ribbon.”

“Grandma is upset.”

“I know.”

“It isn’t right. This is our first Christmas here. He should be here.”

“Well, he isn’t, so we’ll make the best of it.”

“It isn’t fair to Alan.”

“He’s got us.”

“We’re not his parents.”

“May as well be.”

“Virgil.”

“You said it yourself. Dad’s not here. Mom’s gone. He’s got us. He’s got Grandma. Could be worse.” Another rustle and Alan moved closer to the edge and peered around the corner.

Virgil and Scott were surrounded by wrapping paper in the middle of the circular lounge. Several shapes sat wrapped to one side. On the other there was a pile of shopping bags. A rocket kit almost as tall as him sat in amongst them.

It was the rocket he had asked Santa for Christmas.

His brothers were wrapping presents. Virgil stood up and grabbed an armful of gifts and hauled them out of the sunken lounge and piled them up under the tree just beyond the piano.

What?

“What are you guys doing?” It burst out before he could think.

His brothers looked up, stunned expressions on their faces. “Alan?!”

“Virgil?” He eyed his eldest brother. “Scott?”

Virgil recovered first, Scott was still staring at Alan in shock.

“Hey, Allie, what are you doing up? Bad dream?” His brother put down the presents in his hands and walking around the lounge, headed in Alan’s direction.

“What are you doing?”

“Um...” Scott appeared stuck.

Virgil came up to him and put an arm around his shoulders. “We’re wrapping presents.” He squeezed a hug.

“But Santa...?”

Scott looked down at the wrapping paper in his hands. Virgil drew Alan close and walked him into the sunken lounge. He sat him down and took a seat beside him. “Well, I guess you’re old enough now.”

“Virgil.”

“Scott, he’s old enough.”

Alan frowned as his oldest brother’s shoulders slumped and his whole body sagged. He dropped the wrapping paper in his hands and sat down in defeat, running his hands through his hair. To be honest, that freaked Alan out more than anything. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Allie. Scott’s just had a bad day and he’s tired.”

“Then why isn’t he in bed? Why are you wrapping Christmas presents?” He felt he knew the answer, but it couldn’t be right, could it?

“We’re on Santa duty.” Virgil’s brown eyes were wide and honest and kind of caring.

“Santa duty? But where is Santa?”

Sad blue eyes looked up at him. “There is no Santa, Alan. We wrap the presents and put them under the tree for you.”

Alan stared him. “What?”

“There is a Santa.” Virgil was glaring at his eldest brother. “Just not the Santa you think you know.”

“What?”

“Every year we choose presents and under the guise of Santa, we gift them to those we love. You are now old enough to gift presents to those you love, too. You can be Santa.”

Alan stared at him. “But what about the North Pole and the reindeer and the red suit and...”

“A fairytale.”

“Scott.”

“C’mon, Virg, he’s found us out.”

“He’s found out the truth. That we as a family give each other gifts because we love each other. We don’t need to glam it up anymore.”

“You lied to me?”

Virgil’s eyes widened, but then he sighed. “A little.”

“Why?”

Scott stood up, walked around the centre table and sat on Alan’s other side. “Allie, it’s a coming of age thing.”

“Why?”

Virgil answered. “Because it is sometimes nice to believe there is a little magic in our lives.”

Alan remembered the disappointment he felt at that moment and perhaps the loss of innocence, but of that night, the one thing that still stuck in his mind was the sadness in his brothers’ eyes.

Sure, Virgil was cheerful and positive, and even if Scott had been a little tired and grumpy, he was there and an hour later after wrapping first Gordy’s present, then one for John, he had gone to bed with the new knowledge and a sense of responsibility.

The hugs hadn’t hurt either.

Christmas morning had a little less urgency to run down to the main room and Gordon had to be clapped around the ears by Grandma for teasing him about the whole thing, but it had just become another part of growing up.

That his mother and father had missed.

He didn’t hold it against them. Mom, he never knew, and Dad had to make the sacrifices so other families didn’t have suffer the loss of a parent like they had, but it really just was another example of his two eldest brothers being there for him.

Which really sunk in when he was officially orphaned two years later.

-o-o-o-

Alan continued to stare at John.

“Do you have a problem with being loved?”

“What? Nooo.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I’m eighteen! They treat me like I’m still a kid!”

“You are still a kid.”

“No, I’m not!”

John held back the instinctive rebuttal and bit the inside of his cheek. “Alan, look at it from Scott’s point of view. He has been your guardian for eight years. Technically he is almost old enough to be your father. It has been his responsibility to look after you for even longer than that. That isn’t something that just switches off.”

“I’m not talking about Scott. I’m talking about Virgil. He’s not my guardian, but he treats me like he is.”

John’s lips thinned. “Don’t you ever say something like that to his face. In fact, don’t bother saying it in front of me again either. We’ve all made sacrifices, Alan, but none more than Scott, and Virgil isn’t far behind. You’d be better to recognise that and be grateful for what you have.”

Alan grumbled. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. They’re great, it’s just...so frustrating.”

“Then perhaps it is your turn to show the patience that has been offered you all these years.”

-o-o-o-

In 2055 the world lost the brilliant entrepreneur, billionaire business man and founder of International Rescue, Jeff Tracy.

Eleven year old Alan Tracy lost his Dad.

He also lost a part of his biggest brother. Scott had been forced to sit idle in Thunderbird One while his father tackled the Hood. He hadn’t been able to do anything but watch the Zero-X explode in front of him.

The whole family had been shattered, but no more than its new head. Scott was driven wild, determined that their father was not dead. The world disagreed, the explosion had been too final, too definite, to be anything but fatal. But Scott refused to believe.

There were arguments. They tried to hide them from the youngest brothers, and yes, at sixteen Gordon was almost as under-aged as Alan. But the pair of them could hear Scott’s strident and commanding voice echo through the house, followed by Virgil’s bellowed contradiction.

The day Alan found Grandma crying in the kitchen was the last straw.

“Grandma?” Did his voice have to sound so small?

She startled and turned. Her eyes were red and wet and, oh god, there were tears on her cheeks. “Grandma? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear. Umm...I’m just not feeling right at the moment. I’ll be okay.” She reached out and squeezed his shoulder, but the smile was so forced his heart broke.

“Is it because Scott and Virgil are fighting?”

She shook her head, but didn’t seem to be able to say anything.

“Is it because of Daddy?”

And there were tears running down her face and he found himself wrapped in her arms. To his shock, he found he was almost her height, her head resting easily on his shoulder. “It will be okay, Allie.” But her voice was sobbing.

Eventually, she straightened and her smile became brighter and she sent him on his way. Told him to go clean his room, in fact, but Alan had a better idea.

He found them facing off on either side his father’s desk. Holograms hovered over it and his two biggest brothers were glaring at each other through the flickering images.

“It is what Dad would do.”

“You are not Dad.”

“Somebody has to be.”

“Why?! Why Scott? Why can’t we be ourselves?”

“Because this is what Dad would have wanted us to do.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I do! I knew him better than you!”

Virgil took a step back, eyes widening.

Scott echoed his expression as if realising exactly what he had just said. “I didn’t mean that, Virgil. I’m sorry.”

Plaid clad shoulders straightened and squared. “Yes, you did. But regardless, International Rescue was his dream, not ours.”

“So you want to give it up? Just like that?”

“No! As I have said multiple times, we just need to do it differently! We’re down an operative. Gordon and Alan are not old enough to take their places on the team. Hell, they may not even want to! We can only do so much. Give John some time to find his feet, for goodness sake.”

“Time is something we do not have. People will die.”

“People will die anyway! I just want to make sure no Tracys are on that list!” Virgil was leaning over the desk, his big shoulders wound so tight, his shirt look fit to bust a seam.

Alan had intended to yell at them, maybe scream a little for what they had done to Grandma, but instead their words scared him and suddenly he had tears on his cheeks, just like Grandma.

“Allie?” Virgil caught sight of him and within a split second was kneeling on the hardwood in front of him. “What’s wrong?”

It took him a moment to find his voice but he found himself wrapped in soft plaid flannel anyway, big hands rubbing his back.

“You hurt Grandma.” It came out as a sob.

“What? What’s wrong with Grandma?” Scott was standing beside them, his stance immediately ready to go and fix whatever problem Alan was able to point him at.

Unfortunately he was part of the problem.

He pulled away from Virgil and turned on both of them. “You. Both of you. You made Grandma cry. All you do is yell and fight!”

Both brothers froze and his eleven year old heart beat an extra beat in just a tiny bit of triumph. Perhaps they would listen? “Since Daddy died, you’ve done nothing but fight. I hate it when you fight and so does Grandma. Gordon hates it too. He goes swimming to get away from it. I don’t even know where John is. Please stop.” His throat caught again and he almost strangled on a sob. “Please.”

To his horror he realised Virgil had tears in his eyes and that, of course, only set Alan off more. Once again he found himself wrapped in his big brother’s arms. Virgil’s chest rumbled with words, but Alan didn’t understand what he said.

When he surfaced, Scott was no longer in the room.

“Scott has gone to find Grandma, to make sure she is okay.” Virgil wasn’t letting him go and his big brother had red rimmed eyes. Virgil’s voice was little more than a rumble. “I’m sorry, Allie. We’ll try to do better.”

His brother held him for a long time. Eventually Scott and Grandma found their way into the comms room, John was called out of his hidey-hole and Gordon dragged out of the pool. There was much family talking, hugging, a little more crying, but ultimately they worked it out enough to keep going.

The arguments stopped.

Well, mostly. Virgil still brought them out on very special occasions. Usually when Scott was being a pig-headed moron which fortunately wasn’t very often.

Life went on as best it could.

But then Gordon had the hydrofoil accident.

-o-o-o-

There was silence in the lab after that. Alan wasn’t happy, it was obvious, but he didn’t say anything so John just let him stew a while. Let him take the next step in the conversation.

After all, these calculations weren’t going to calculate themselves.

He just made it into that comfortable zone where he knew exactly what he was doing and had to be done, the numbers flowing, the equations dancing to his tune, and...

“What was Mom like?”

John blinked. That came from left field. Numbers dissolved in his head. “What did you want to know?”

“You know, things.”

“Things? You’ve seen the videos.”

“Of course, I have.” Their father, Scott and the budding artist, Virgil, had made many home videos over the years. They still did, knowing exactly what could be taken away in a flash and without notice. So there was plenty of footage of their mother.

Virgil was the brother most often found delving into those files. John had done his fair share of watching late at night when the Earth so far below just didn’t give him what he needed. Eos knew those files well and often offered them without prompt when John was feeling down.

But Virgil was the one who had the most affinity for their mother. Not to devalue any brother’s grief, but as Virgil had been the closest to her, the most like her in both appearance and interests. Knowing her must have been like learning about himself, his art, his music and answering all those questions their father just couldn’t answer.

John had a few of those himself. He had no doubt Virgil had more.

“She was a lot like Virgil is today. If you’re asking if she would have wiped the mustard off your face, I can tell you right now, she did the exact same thing to me on multiple occasions.” It had been quite gross actually. Fortunately, he had learnt fast and removed the stimulus for such an action at an early age.

His musician brother had been fifteen to John’s twelve and Alan’s one year when they had lost their mother. Alan had no memory of her. Gordon at age six had been just old enough to know what he had lost but not really why. John swore that the close bond between Gordon and Virgil had been forged in those early years as their older brother had responded when Scott couldn’t, tied up with the ball of grief that was their father.

It had been a bad time, but they had struggled through it.

“She used to sing a lot. She and Virgil sang together every Christmas.” His brother hadn’t sung much since, the tradition lost to grief. “She was more open than Dad. Less of a stickler for rules, more willing to be flexible.” Their father was military and he fell back on discipline when at a loss.

Scott thrived under his father’s regime.

Virgil did not.

And his resemblance to his mother didn’t help in the slightest.

“Mom knew how to make Dad smile. She loved a good joke. Heh, I swear Gordon gets that from her. Once she put a jack-in-the-box in Scott’s lunch box. He nearly had a heart attack in the school cafeteria.”

“Why would she do that?” Alan frowned up at him.

“She believed in experience being the greatest teacher. She caught Scott boasting about his parents to another kid who was far less fortunate. About all their successes. She didn’t appreciate it and figured Scotty could come down a peg or two. She succeeded.”

“Wow. Scott did that?”

John snorted. “Scott was a kid as much as any of us once. He’d prefer you believed he sprouted fully formed, but no, he had to grow up and make the same stupid mistakes we did.” Half a smile. “He’s far from perfect, but he tries.”

“He certainly does.” Alan grinned a little fondly, but then his face fell and he sighed. “You’re right. I’m being an ass.”

An arched eyebrow. “I never said you were an ass.”

“No, but I am. You guys have been great. I couldn’t ask for more.”

“Except maybe a little less saliva?”

“Eww, yeah, Virg had garlic bread for lunch.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

John couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing.

Alan stared at him a moment longer before his face cracked too.

“Gotta love him anyway, I guess.”

A snort. “Yeah, we do.”

-o-o-o-

Gordon’s career was a fast one. Straight out of high school and into the Olympics. By the time he was eighteen, he had a gold medal hanging on the wall and had started his career in WASP.

Alan missed his fishy brother, but he was ever so proud of him. There had been talk of him joining International Rescue and activating the final Thunderbird once his training and tenure was done. Alan had seen his brother hovering around the slick little yellow submarine and Scott had been heard to wish for the full complement of Thunderbirds to finally be deployed.

The fact John was flying the ‘bird Alan wanted to fly more than anything was beyond frustrating.

Virgil was helping Alan with his physics homework when the call came through.

A familiar face flickered up on the holoprojector at the end of the kitchen table. “Aunt Val. Hey, how are you?” Virgil offered her a smile as Alan surfaced from under the details of pressure, torque, momentum and velocity that were required to tackle the problem at hand.

“Good morning, Virgil. Is Scott available?”

“Unfortunately, no. He’s out on a rescue. Can I help you?”

“Hey, Aunt Val.”

“Alan.” Her expression was grave and something in Alan’s gut twisted.

“What’s wrong?”

Beside him, Virgil sat up straighter. “What is it?”

The Colonel sighed. “I’m afraid I am the bearer of bad news. Your brother Gordon has been in an accident...”

And their world dissolved there and then.

Alan didn’t remember much of those early days. There had been frantic calls to brothers, John limping around because he had crashed to Earth too quickly for his own health. The fear in Scott’s eyes had been terrible.

The sight of his fish brother decked out in medical equipment.

The not knowing.

The terror.

Virgil holding him in the hospital corridor while Alan cried his eyes out all over his shirt.

Scott sitting at his brother’s bed, head bowed down to the sheets clinging to a limp hand.

John, vacant eyed, staring into nothing the night they thought they were finally going to lose Gordon.

Virgil crying in his grandmother’s arms.

Scott kicking a hole in Gordon’s door and making enough racket to wake up the dead.

Gordon answering the call and faintly scolding Scott to keep it down.

The hope that followed.

That first week, their lives froze. Everything stopped. School, IR, regular meals, everything. The outside world kept moving around them, ignoring their pain, but within their family everything stopped, narrowing only to the hospital and their desperately ill brother.

Once Gordon woke up. It started to move again.

Life slowly came back.

It became full of odd moments. Brothers in places he didn’t expect to find them. Gordon’s illness brought out aspects of Alan’s family he didn’t expect.

He had to say that the most unexpected was the day John walked into Gordon’s hospital room with his red hair spiked in all different directions. It was as if he had stuck his fingers in a power socket and sprayed gel into his hair at the same time.

Gordon had laughed himself silly and considering there had been tears half an hour prior, this was a major thing.

Apparently Gordon had dared him once to do it and John had saved it for a special occasion.

Alan made sure he took pictures for history’s sake.

Another day he found Virgil curled up asleep in the chair beside Gordon, his head on his brother’s pillow. The engineer was still in his uniform and covered in dirt. The hospital staff were going to have a fit.

Alan stopped in the doorway and Scott collided with his back with a “What?”

“Shhh...” And Gordon was holding up a very shaky and uncoordinated hand that clearly said ‘Leave him be.’

“What’s he doing here? He’s supposed to back at Tracy Island.” Scott’s voice was a worried whisper.

“B-bad rescue.” Gordon’s voice was as shaky as his hand. “Think he w-want to ch-check I’m ‘kay. Cos they weren’t.”

“Shit.” It was little more than expelled breath.

His big brother disappeared out into the hallway and a moment later they had the full story from John.

A boat. A teenage boy. And a flood. Virgil did his best, but there were limits.

They sat together until Virgil woke up, groggy and miserable. Scott took him out of the room and Alan was left alone with Gordon.

“I should been there.” His brother’s speech was patchy. The hydrofoil he had be travelling in had been at travelling at a ridiculous speed. When one of its foils collapsed, he was very lucky he wasn’t killed. There was a long, long road ahead.

“Wasn’t your fault, Gordon.”

“No, but should be there for him.”

As if that was the starting point. His brother picked himself off the ground and drove himself back to health. It took a lot of work and no small amount of pain, but a year later Gordon Tracy presented himself to the Commander of International Rescue ready for action.

It took another six months and Gordon’s birthday for his brother to be drunk enough to mention to Alan exactly what had happened that afternoon and what Virgil had said to him.

His fish brother held up his glass, grim and serious. “Our big bros are THE BEST.”

Alan smiled, hoping to god Gordon wouldn’t remember this conversation in the morning. The fact Virgil had come off a hell of a rescue, exhausted and upset, and flown in to see Gordon just to sing him a lullaby was baffling. But it had apparently done something for Gordon and for that Alan would ever be grateful.

-o-o-o-

“So what happens when we find Dad?”

John started, suddenly thrown out of old memories. “Uh, whatever needs to happen?”

“Do you think he will be okay? It has been so long.”

Eight years alone in space. “I don’t know, Alan.”

“How did we not work this out earlier? That capsule was sitting down there all that time. Dad has been waiting so long. He’s missed so much.”

John closed his eyes and touched his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have the answers, Alan. I’m sorry.”

“I know.” His little brother swallowed. “It’s just that I can’t remember much about him anymore. He’s going to be a stranger.”

“He’s our father. We’ll make it work.” They had to make it work. The guilt was tearing Scott apart. Eight years. Eight long years just because they had missed one piece of the puzzle. Dad could have been home years ago.

The yelling had started again. Scott angry and hurt, Virgil battling to keep him on the straight and narrow and tackling his own guilt at the same time.

John felt the guilt, too. He had looked at everything after the incident. Everything. He had even combed space. Eos had been looking for their father from the day she joined him despite John’s heart telling him it was a lost cause, that Scott was wishing for the impossible, that it had been too long. She had been scanning for three years they still hadn’t found him. Until now, and from a clue that could have...should have been found so long ago.

“I wonder what he looks like.”

John closed his eyes.

“Johnny? You okay?”

“Don’t call me Johnny.”

He received a snort for that. “Yeah, well, I guess it will be good to save Dad and bring him home.”

A frown. “You guess?”

“Well, yeah, it will be great. But you are right.”

The frown deepened and he looked over at his little brother. “I right? With what? You’ve lost me.”

“Well, Scott and Virg are really the ones who’ve been there for me, you know?” Alan rubbed the back of his head. “So, like, they are the closest I have to parents. They were doing that gig even before Dad went missing.”

John stared.

His little brother didn’t notice. Instead he stood up. “Well, I guess I should get out of this uniform. Getting a little ripe, I think. Anyway, thanks for the chat, bro.”

And with that Alan bounced out of the lab as fast as he had bounced in.

John blinked and turned back to the calculations he had been trying to wrangle this entire time.

But the numbers ignored him.

Dad.

Scott.

Virgil.

If they found their father, things were going to change.

John frowned and rubbed his face.

Damn.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

 Notes on the Tracy brothers’ ages in this fic:

The conclusions I have come to are based on three things – Alan’s estimated age of 16 in season one, the number of years ago they lost Jeff as stated in season three and counting back using each season as a year with season one being set in 2060, and also the need for the eldest three boys to be adult at the time of the loss of Jeff in order to keep IR running and for Scott to take guardianship of the younger two. So my calculations with a few estimates thrown in are that in 2060 Scott is 31, Virgil 30, John 27, Gordon 21 and Alan 16. I know this is older than generally recognised for TAG and the only age I can be vaguely sure about is Alan’s but there is logic behind these calculations. It does merge it slightly better with TOS, so I think I’ve balanced the two.

Jeff was 24 when Scott was born. Lucy was 22.

Lucy died age 38 when Scott was 16, Virgil 15, John 12, Gordon 6, Alan 1. Jeff was 40.

IR started and they moved to the island when Scott was 24, Virgil 23, John 20, Gordon 14 (not an operative), Alan 9.

Jeff (aged 50) was lost two years later when Scott was 26, Virgil 25, John 22, Gordon 16, Alan 11.

In season three this would make Scott 33, Virgil 32, John 29, Gordon 23 and Alan 18 which is where this story is set.

I generally see Kayo as the same age as Gordon, but in this case she may be a little older, perhaps between Gordon and John.

(It should be noted that in most of my other fics I had the boys generally much younger, but with the canon mention in season three of Jeff having gone missing eight years ago, I have since had to recalculate things otherwise the boys would be too young to keep IR going. In Warm Rain, for example, Virgil is 24 and Kayo 20. This is not possible with the new information of Jeff being missing for eight years because Virgil would have only been sixteen when he disappeared).

[theobscures]

Summary of: Filgaia

Okay so since Wild ARMs is such an obscure RPG series and that a lot of it isn’t that well documented, I figured I would compile this post for my moots wanting to interact with my Jack muse or for those curious! Be warned that this will get wordy--WA gets pretty comprehensive with its lore--and also spoiler heavy for the first game.

Though Filgaia is a recurring world in each WA game, the cast, story, lore, and geography differ in each installment. (A bit like how Final Fantasy games share the same motifs but have completely different settings.) Since my muse is Jack Van Burace and since I’m most passionate about the first game, this post will only detail the first incarnation of Filgaia (particularly the PS1 original’s).

Geography and the Guardians:

Filgaia is an Earth-like planet that, in its current state, has been on a painfully slow decay for a thousand years now. Though the its ecosystems are still fairly diverse--with grasslands, forests, oceans, and even snowy mountains--most of it has increasingly turned into wasteland and threatens the areas still yet untouched. The planet’s continents form a sort of ‘ring’ that shapes two oceans; the Inner Sea and the Outer Sea.

The state of decay is caused in part by the Guardians’ diminishing powers--they are the 20 spiritual beings and beasts whose magic power protects and maintains the lifeforce of Filgaia. The Guardians and Filgaia are all connected by a spiritual channel called the “Ray Line” that lies beneath the planet’s crust and carries and supplies the shared lifeforce. They can lend their powers through protective tablets called Runes.

The Guardians’ diminishing powers are believed to be a direct result of the devastating war that occurred 1,000 years ago, which damaged most of the planet’s life and geography (there is a massive desert called the Sand Ocean created by the destruction). In reality the true cause of the Guardians’ loss of power was the inhabitants losing hope, courage, and love in their hearts (though that too was also caused by the war). The loss of these virtues have made the Guardians grow weak and themselves despairing.

Inhabitants:

Humans are the most populous on Filgaia. 1,000 years ago however, they used to share the planet with the Elw (”the ancients”) who were closely connected with nature but also very technologically advanced. The humans and Elws didn’t just share Filgaia, but also the human space colony Malduke that orbited around the planet. But as the colony was also equipped with the capability for mass destruction, the Guardians crucially sunk the connecting tower, Ka Dingel, to the bottom of the sea.

After the war, the Elws chose to abandon their homeworld for a new one in the Elw Dimension they created. One of the last things that the Elws did for Filgaia before leaving it was to create the “Elw Pyramids” to help amplify its lifeforce when the Guardians’ strength grew weak--essentially putting the planet on life support. But they also function as transports by teleporting people across Filgaia as energy with the use of satellites orbiting the atmosphere. Despite the Elw’s efforts, the pyramids seem to at most slow Filgaia’s decay.

The one other thing the Guardians are closely linked to are the women of the Adlehyde royal family. Though it’s not said why, the Adlehyde women are gifted with magic power and are the only ones who can hear and speak with the Guardians. The royal family’s heirloom is the “Tear Drop”, a blue gemstone that reflects the powers of the Guardians and also contains the essence of the shared lifeforce. In the right hands it can “give birth” to life.

With Filgaia’s never-ending hardships and the loss of valued virtues, there are a handful of people who have chosen to reject their former lives to become “Dream Chasers” (or drifters or migrant birds depending on translation); those who live for the thrill of adventure without a care in the world, though each person’s reasons are unique. Some are looking for treasure, some for fame or power, and some for simple belonging.

History:

Filgaia is defined by the very history of the great war. 1,000 years ago, the planet was invaded by the extraterrestrial Metal Demons--so called because they are of “living metal”. The Demons’ home world, Hiades, was destroyed by their parasitic Queen Mother and forced them to flee and conquer another world. Perhaps unaware of her true nature though, Mother’s sole desire and existence is to destroy everything in reality--which includes the Filgaia that the Demons hope to colonize.

The Metal Demons’ power was truly unparalleled and a grave threat to the inhabitants of Filgaia. To combat them, the Elws banded with the Guardians and humans to develop a series of powerful technological weapons. Many of these were far too powerful though and, after the war, the Elw sealed them away in tightly-secured ruins never to be unearthed. But treasure hunters and scientists eventually found them. These weapons were,

ARMs: Short for Ancient Relic Machine. These (I believe) can actually refer to any weapon the Elw developed for the war, but in this context they refer to very powerful firearms synchronized with psychic waves. In present day, they are highly feared and forbidden weapons--those in possession of one are often exiled from their homes, becoming drifters. They (along with other ancient technology) have been researched by the scientist Zepet and his six apprentices, now known as the ARMs Meisters. Despite the ARMs being taboo, there is a small growing interest and ‘economy’ in them as shops supplying bullets opened. 

The Golems: There were eight golems created for combat and defense. They are mecha-like, able to be controlled by issuing commands, and each represent an element. The golems have now long since turned inactive and lifeless.

The Guardian Blade: Little is known about it, but it was a sword infused with pure life energy and was devastatingly powerful--it is actually rumored to be the main cause of Filgaia’s decay. It tore across the planet, forming the massive Sand Ocean desert, before ultimately destroying itself. The Elw consider its creation to be their greatest sin and the forger of the blade, the Elw Vassim, is labeled a criminal by his kind. In present day, most still believe it is hidden somewhere in the desert and have died trying to find it.

The Holmcross Project: (Or Humonculus.) They were the successor to the Golems and the Elw’s final weapons. The Elw and human mages created them by replicating the “biometals” of the Demons they had captured, essentially creating an artificial man who is both organic and metal. Their enhancements enabled them to better synchronize with the ARMs and made them the best choice against the Metal Demons. However because they were blank slates and lacked empathy and understanding in their hearts, the Holmcross went on violent rampages and killed anyone they came across. The Elw were forced to destroy them all save for one, a prototype they sealed away. (Spoiler: He later became Rudy.)

By far the greatest threat to Filgaia, aside from all of the Elw’s advancements, was Queen Mother. Whether the weapons helped at all or not, the Guardians were able to defeat Mother by splitting her heart into three pieces. Each piece became guarded by a Guardian Statue whereas Mother’s body was sealed away in a cocoon (called the “Arch” in Alter Code F). Queen Mother is not actually dead though; she’s technically immortal and would be revived if reunited with her heart pieces and given life by the Tear Drop. The cocoon was housed deep in Arctica Castle in the north.

Mother’s defeat thwarted the Metal Demons’ goal and they disappeared from memory, having seemingly abandoned Filgaia, and became part of the war’s myth. But Filgaia has never able to move on from its devastating past as the planet continues to decay and the inhabitants must live with the consequences. It’s easy to lay blame on the Elw, but the drive to develop the weapons was likely a mix of fearful desperation, a lust for intellectual or physical power, or even at the pressuring of the humans.

Towns:

Village of Surf: A small farming community that has fell on hard times due to the encroaching decay. Rudy used to live and tend to the horses here.

Curan Abbey: A boarding school south of Adlehyde that teaches the magic arts. It is customary for women of the Adlehyde royal family to study here until their 17th birthday.

Adlehyde Castle Town: The fortified ‘capital’ in front of Adlehyde Castle. In the ancient Elw language, Adlehyde means “light”. The town praises itself for its scientific community and accomplishments and holds a festival dedicated to their findings.

Milama Village: Also called the “oasis of Filgaia”, Milama is built around a moat of clear water and is one of the very few places still untouched by the decay. A popular destination.

Baskar Village: Another tiny farming community populated by people who bond with nature. It sits close to the Altar of the Wind Caller where the Guardian Zephyr, the “west wind of hope”, may be summoned. It’s also close to a Guardian Statue and an Elw Pyramid. Baskar supplies the “Kizim Fire”, which is used to light the pyramids’ furnaces and reactivate them.

Saint Centour: A city settlement named after its Guardian Statue: Ione Paua the centaur Saint Guardian. The city is heavily fortified with tight security and an invisible ‘dimensional’ barrier that surrounds it. This barrier repels monsters, demons, and spirits, but fails if either are smuggled inside with a person. It’s also near an Elw Pyramid.

Port Timney: A seaside port town along the Inner Sea that is mostly populated by trade merchants and sailors. There is a local tradition here that people propose marriage with a crystal flower. It sits near an Elw Pyramid.

Town of Yard: A harbor that sits close to the Sand Ocean desert. It used to be bustling with trade but has turned desolate as a result of the tumultuous sea warding off ships. There is a famous beach here where almost anything lost at sea is said to wash ashore there; it earned the town the nickname “Ship Graveyard” and is what most call it today.

Rosetta Town: A prosperous town that has managed to avoid the decay, but it is now also facing threat with the lack of trade ships coming in. It is most notably the home of the sole Elw who chose to remain in Filgaia, Mariel. But the townsfolk are suspicious of her. The town sits close to the secret Elw Dimension gateway.

Court Seim: An orphanage town founded by the Maxwells: Nicholi the ARMs Meister and his daughter Jane. They originally lived in Milama but, unable to afford it there, were forced to move away to a small, desolate island to keep supporting the orphans. There is an evacuation sanctuary nearby in case of emergencies.

Elw Village: Not actually part of Filgaia anymore but in the Elw Dimension. When the Elws chose to leave Filgaia they picked a large plot of land and isolated it within a dimension they created for themselves, which became a floating island. Outsiders are forbidden. The dimension resembles Filgaia before the war and its decay.

Pandemonium: Though most of the Metal Demons were defeated in the war, a small handful of them survived and secretly built a couple strongholds for themselves, including the Photosphere and Demon Lab--this one being their castle fortress.

Arctica: A proud kingdom that used to exist in the northern tundra continent. It used to be guarded by the seven Fenril Knights, who not only protected the royalty and the people, but also Mother’s cocoon hidden deep within the castle. A few years prior, the kingdom fell when the Metal Demons attacked. There were no survivors. (Spoiler: Except Jack and Elmina.)

Ancient Arena (Devil’s Playground in Alter Code F): A castle that holds gladiator-style battle tournaments. The battles are overseen by the self-proclaimed “Duke” Pegucci who, frankly, enjoys watching contestants battle-to-the-death a little too much. It is rumored that the arena used to be the castle of the King of Illusions in ancient times.

Malduke: A space colony in Filgaia’s orbit where the humans originally lived before they came to live on Filgaia with the Elw. It’s also called the “New Moon”. The colony and Filgaia were connected by a tower called Ka Dingel that could teleport travelers to and from. The colony has now long since been abandoned ever since the Guardians sunk the Ka Dingel to the sea to prevent Malduke from using misused for destruction.