#AU: foster this love make me whole again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

transorufrey · 10 days ago

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extra ordinary

Summary: Coco spends a rainy autumn day with her friends and foster family.

[4.2k words, gen, coco-centric, foster family ft. married orufrey]

They piled into the van; Qifrey turning up the heat in the passenger’s seat, Agott with room for Tetia in the middle, and Richeh and Coco in the back. Agott was still nose deep in her book, which Coco was awfully happy to see, since she had finally swapped her study materials for a novel that she could read for fun. (How Agott could read in the car, though, Coco had no idea. She herself always felt sick when she tried.) As Olruggio and Tetia joined them, Coco’s phone lit up once again. This time, it was a message in the group chat from Jujy: a blurry, very zoomed-in picture of Tartah and Coustas, taken from across the food court, was captioned SPOTTED!!!!!! “Jujy’s there already,” Richeh complained. “Hit the gas.” “I’ll speed the whole way there,” Olruggio said, equally deadpan. At the same time, Agott and Qifrey both said, “You better not.” Olruggio’s sigh was long-suffering.

modern au enjoyers make some noise !!! read below or on ao3.

Coco was sitting on the couch next to Agott and scrolling through videos on her phone when she received a very alarming text. She read it, sat up, read it again, then announced to the room at large, “Tartah and Coustas are already there!”

From the top of the stairs, Tetia, in the middle of brushing her teeth, poked her bonnet-clad head out and shouted, “What?! It’s only, like, ten!”

“‘Course,” Olruggio muttered from the kitchen. Coco heard some rummaging, then a cabinet shut and her first of two sort-of-foster fathers came up the steps with a protein bar in one hand and his half-finished mug of coffee in the other. “Girls,” he said to Coco and Agott, “get your shoes on. And Rich– Rich, where did you go?”

Richeh materialized at his side. She was, as always, already ready to go, wearing her wireless headphones and favorite boots.

“There you are. We’ll hurry, I promise.” He stuck his protein bar into the pocket of his hoodie. It was dark blue and splattered with an assortment of paint and ink, and one of the sleeves was singed; Olruggio himself wore it very infrequently, as the five other denizens of the house loved to steal it. “Tetia,” he called, “d’you still want me to do your hair?”

Tetia hurried down the stairs, followed by Qifrey, and hopped onto the arm of the couch. She tugged off her bonnet with a flourish and procured her comb, while Qifrey said, “Tartah is so close, we could have carpooled!”

“He and Coustas were having a sleepover,” Coco said. we’re a little behind, she replied to Tartah. i’ll let you know when we’re almost there! :D

sweet, came the reply, with an attached selfie featuring Tartah’s forehead and bright hair and a wide-eyed, clearly caught off guard Coustas. They sat in the mall food court, and Coco caught a glimpse of jackets spread out to save seats.

“We could have driven both of them, we have room in the van.” Qifrey knelt by the shoe rack. “Olly, where are my boots?”

“Mr. Dagda’s car has the ramp,” Coco reminded him. “Ours doesn’t.”

“Ah, of course. Olly?”

“Hang on a min’.” Olruggio had a hair tie between his teeth and both hands in Tetia’s hair. “I moved ‘em to mop, sorry. They’re on the very top shelf of the rack, but Agott’s sneakers are balanced on top.”

Agott snapped her book shut. “I’ll move them.”

“Thank you, dear. Is everyone almost ready?”

Olruggio, frowning in concentration, adjusted the second of Tetia’s pigtails and smoothed her hair back. “Almost, almost.”

“Hurry!” Richeh said impatiently.

“Go start the car, if you want, we’ll be right there.” Olruggio gestured absentmindedly over his shoulder. “Qif, keys are on the middle peg.”

Qifrey retrieved the keys, his white cane, and an umbrella, and stepped out into the autumn rain, with Coco and the two other girls close behind. While Qifrey hurried to the car - followed by Richeh and Agott, the latter hunched over to keep her book dry - Coco paused to appreciate the array of jack-o-lanterns on the front steps. As much as she wished that nothing bad ever happened to her or the people she loved, she could not help but be grateful that they had all ended up here, together.

She shared a smile with Agott’s cat-pumpkin.

As Olruggio and Tetia joined them, Coco’s phone lit up once again. This time, it was a message in the group chat from Jujy: a blurry, very zoomed-in picture of Tartah and Coustas, taken from across the food court, was captioned SPOTTED!!!!!!

“Jujy’s there already,” Richeh complained. “Hit the gas.”

“I’ll speed the whole way there,” Olruggio said, equally deadpan.

At the same time, Agott and Qifrey both said, “You better not.” Olruggio’s sigh was long-suffering.

Coco had not been surprised to learn that Agott was Qifrey and Olruggio’s first “foster failure,” as Agott herself had said, but she had been totally shocked when she found out that Qifrey and Olruggio had not, in fact, been married for nearly as long as she thought– she’d been so sure they had been together for at least ten years. They certainly acted like it.

Then again, Coco was not well-versed - or versed at all - in living in a household run by a married couple.

She frowned at the rain that raced across the window.

They arrived at the mall a little past ten-thirty, then drove around the parking garage looking for a spot for another ten minutes. Tetia repeatedly filmed dramatized updates for the group chat, and even managed to catch Olruggio saying a particularly foul word when they approached what they thought was an empty spot, only to find a motorcycle parked there. Regardless, they made it in one piece, and hurried across the covered path and through the department store on squeaky shoes.

In the food court, Coco and the others saw their friends before their friends saw them. Coustas and Jujy were talking animatedly about something that involved lots of gesturing and arm waving, and Alaira’s two-toned hair was easy to spot. It was Euini who saw them first, and he elbowed Tartah, who waved them over.

“How was traffic?” Alaira pushed her own chair aside then helped Olruggio drag several others over. The table was designed to seat six, but most of the kids were more than happy to squeeze together on the booth side.

“Fine, considerin’ people usually forget how to drive in the rain.” Olruggio nudged Qifrey into a chair.

“Oh, Mr. Qifrey!” Tartah rummaged through a tote bag that hung from Coustas’ wheelchair. From it, he drew a smaller plastic bag and passed it across the table. “Grandpa got in more of that ink you like, so he sent me with some for you guys.”

Qifrey beamed. “Why, thank you! We’ll swing by the shop sometime this week and drop some treats off for you two, but make sure to thank your grandfather for me the next time you see him.” He tucked the bag safely into a coat pocket.

The kids at the table then dissolved into good-natured bickering about where to go first while the adults debated what to do while the kids had their fun. Eventually they agreed, mostly at Agott’s insistence, to start at the new bookstore that opened next to the better of the mall’s two boba cafes.

“Meet us back here in two hours,” Qifrey told them as they rose to leave.

“Two?” Several voices cried in protest.

“Three, at least,” Coustas argued. He grinned and added, “You know I can’t get around as fast as everyone else.” It was more of an inside joke than anything, since everybody was well aware of the remarkable upper-body strength that he used to power his manual chair.

(“I used to do a lot of dance and gymnastics and stuff,” he had told Coco one day. “I could probably still do a handstand, kinda.”

He tried. He could not, but he seemed to enjoy Coco and Tartah’s raucous laughter.)

Qifrey rolled his eye, a habit he had not lost alongside his vision. “Two and a half.”

“Two and forty-five minutes,” Tetia pleaded.

Qifrey put his head in his hands, and Coco cheered with her friends at their victory.

“They’re getting too rebellious,” Qifrey muttered under his breath as Olruggio rubbed his back sympathetically.

“I seem to remember you two getting into way more trouble when we were their age,” mused Alaira. Coco had already heard a few stories about her foster fathers from her, including one about the time they had managed to drive all the way from Osaka to Sakata in Olruggio’s rundown Beetle before Beldaruit found out, and she was keen to learn more, but it was time for their two groups to part ways.

Coco and the others split further not long after. Agott wanted to take her time in the bookstore while the rest soon wanted to move on, and Coco was more than content to trail after her and listen to her ramble to her heart’s content.

“This one was bad,” Agott said as she tapped a faced-out cover. They were meandering through the young adult section. “Every sentence was structured the same way, and once I noticed it, I couldn’t stop noticing. And that one gets glowing reviews, but I was bored to death. I just didn’t care about the main character… Plus, I think I just don’t like first person point of view most of the time. Sometimes it’s done well, of course, but that was not.”

“I like when they switch POV,” Coco offered. She didn’t read as much as Agott, but she had a handful of books and series that she kept close to her heart. The main problem was that all her books were still at home. Well, at her old house, which–

A hand touched her shoulder. “Coco?” She turned and found herself face to face with Agott’s dark, concerned eyes.

“I’m alright.” Coco offered a smile and Agott blushed and retracted her hand. “Just thinking about some of the stuff I read growing up… I never did get around to finishing the Grisha trilogy.”

Agott actually gasped. “You’re joking.”

“Nope. My mom got me the box set for my birthday last year, but I…” Coco shook her head. You have to stop thinking about that! she berated herself. It just makes you sad and you’re not helping anybody. “I never got around to the third.”

“After the way the second ends?” Agott took her hand without hesitation. This, it seemed, was quite a serious matter. “You have to finish it, and then read the sort-of sequel series. It’s even better. It takes place in the same world, but in a different country with different characters, and if you like POV-switching–”

There were soon two books nestled in the crook of Coco’s arm, and Agott held the third in the series she was currently reading. They made their way through literary fiction - “Don’t read that one, her other work is much better,” Agott informed as they passed a display - and were still holding hands when Coco tugged her into the manga section.

“I think Mr. Olly’s new volume is out! Let’s go see– plus, I wanted to look for Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou.”

To her surprise, Agott frowned. “You still call him that?”

Oh. Coco frowned a bit, too. “I mean… He’s not my dad.”

“Well, yes, but I thought you would have dropped the honorific by now. It’s not a big deal, just curious.”

Coco’s cheeks heated and she scuffed the toe of her shoe against the ground. “He’s also, just— just so talented, you know? He’s such an amazing artist, and I really look up to him.” She ran a finger over the store’s volumes of Brushbug Wars. “It’s like… I don’t know. It’s silly.”

What was silly, probably, was that Coco was tearing up for no apparent reason in the manga section while holding her best friend’s hand. Everything was fine– everything was good. She sniffled just a little. Her emotions had been annoyingly touch-and-go recently, and though she could recognize that, it seemed there was nothing she could do about it.

A teenaged stranger gave her an odd look, but she paid them no mind, because Agott squeezed her hand.

“It’s not,” she insisted. “Whatever it is.”

“You kinda sound like him.” Unwilling to drop Agott’s hand, Coco shifted her grip on her books so she could wipe her eyes.

“I mean, we’ve lived together for a while. Look, they have YKK on that display.” Agott pulled her toward them.

Coco was more than happy to be distracted. She picked out the first volume of Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou, and Agott’s single choice became a small horde as they finished up in manga and swung by the books on art. Coco knew for a fact that Agott was running out of shelf space - if she hadn’t already - but her inclination for books was, in Coco’s humble opinion, quite admirable. Olruggio had mentioned adding another bookcase in the living room, anyway.

They caught up with Richeh and Euini, who had likewise gone off on their own, at the Lego store, where Richeh was taking pictures of sets she wanted. She had a box tucked under her arm, which she presented with a flourish and announced that she was buying.

“Do we even have enough room for those?” Agott frowned as she inspected the box.

“They’re small.” Richeh snapped a picture of a huge Lord of the Rings set. “Besides, it’s Richeh’s allowance. Agott spends her allowance on books, Richeh spends hers on Legos.” She paused again and added, “There’s three in it, but one is for Euini.” Euini did not reply, but his broad smile said more than enough.

Richeh made her purchase. She was, as usual, very straight-faced and almost solemn for the whole ordeal, but did a very self-satisfied and enthusiastic little fist pump as soon as she left the store. That, on the Richeh scale, indicated a five star experience.

The four of them then rejoined the others in the line at the boba cafe. Drinks and shopping bags in hand, they descended upon the rest of the mall in a pack, ready to laugh and be rowdy to their hearts’ content.

After a series of show-and-tells over lunch in the food court, they parted for the day with promises to help each other with homework and assorted assignments at school on Monday. Coco dozed off on the ride home, but wasn’t quite tired enough for an afternoon nap - unlike Richeh, who went straight to her room without a word - so she settled on the couch with one of her new books. Tetia joined her, and they managed to convince Agott to then join them. It took many promises that they would be quiet, since she wanted to study, but they got through to her eventually.

Everything was well. Thin textbook pages flipped and Agott’s pen scratched; blankets rustled as Tetia struggled to find a comfortable reading position; Qifrey and Olruggio murmured in the kitchen; rain drummed against the windows. Soon, Qifrey brought them tea, and the quiet turned to a gentle buzz when Agott asked him for homework help. Olruggio sat in his favorite armchair with his tablet and pen, purportedly to work. (When he sat in the living room to “work,” he often sighed lots and, somehow, erased more than he drew. Coco suspected that sometimes he just wanted to sit with them all, but she said nothing.)

An hour or so before dinner, Richeh joined them to play video games, and Coco, growing restless, leaned over to watch her. Tetia evidently felt similar, but she tended to be more of what Richeh called a “backseat gamer.”

“There’s one behind you,” Tetia advised.

Richeh’s little character on the screen dodged and rolled. “Richeh knows, thanks.”

“You’re low on health, you should eat something.”

“Ran out of food.” She mashed buttons.

“Make some more.”

“This is the Trial of the Sword, it doesn’t work like that.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know? You should– oops.” The screen faded to black and announced Richeh’s untimely demise.

“Be quiet,” Agott snapped, then immediately followed it up with, “Sorry.”

Coco glanced over at her, cross-legged on the floor with her math textbook resting on the couch. Qifrey, closest, patted her shoulder and said, “Read me the problem again.”

“‘If the line m is parallel to the side AB of–’”

Well, best to tune that out. Agott was in one of the advanced math classes, and hearing her talk about geometry and advanced algebra just made Coco’s head spin. It was a good thing that Qifrey, retired early at the ripe age of thirty-something, was still a teacher at heart; Tetia was still caught up by the introduction of letters into math, something she found entirely unnecessary, Richeh and Coco were simply not there yet, and Olruggio, as he always said, hadn’t thought about math in at least ten years.

(Coco thought he was kidding, the first time he made that joke. It was not long after what they ended up calling “the Romonon Incident,” and with Qifrey temporarily incapacitated, Coco had been doing some homework to pass the time. When she asked Olruggio for math help, he had laughed and shaken his head like the whole thing was absurd.

“Last time I did anything harder than arithmetic was in college, which would have been…” He started counting on his fingers, and a strange expression came over his face when he reached ten. “Never mind that.”)

Coco did not know what a “soh-kah-toh-ah” was, and she was not looking forward to finding out.

When it came time to start dinner, Agott followed Qifrey into the kitchen, and Olruggio trailed after them. Coco retrieved her sketchbook for some doodling and joined Agott at the table.

It’s like a sleepover, Coco used to tell herself. A very long sleepover. Or like a magical boarding school in one of those books. But she learned quickly that there would be no writing home, just silent hospital visits with Qifrey and whispers that followed her at her new middle school. As the days dragged by and the seasons changed, she grew to love this house and everyone in it, and they loved her, too, but she never forgot the things she lost.

Sitting at the kitchen table with Agott felt like a strange reflection of those early days. Now, they sat next to each other because they wanted to, and the silence between them was comfortable. Out of everything - all the people she’d met, all the places she’d been - Coco was most grateful for Agott; for knowing her, for caring about her, for knowing that she was cared about in return.

Coco leaned over her sketchbook and hoped that no one would ask why she was smiling to herself.

“Qif-” Olruggio gestured with his wooden spoon to Qifrey’s phone, sitting face-up on the table– “Iguin’s calling.”

Qifrey cursed under his breath. “His ringtone is muted for a reason. Sorry, Agott, I’ll be right back.” He scooped up his phone and hurried out of the kitchen, but not before they caught his highly irritated, “What do you want?”

Coco and Agott exchanged a glance. Conversations with Iguin always left Qifrey in a foul mood, fouler even than surprise visits from Beldaruit. Qifrey’s raised voice, though muffled, could already be heard from upstairs.

It seemed they were a house that could not escape family troubles.

Moments later, Tetia and Richeh crept down to sit at the table; Richeh kept her eyes fixed on her game, but Tetia squirmed and glanced around nervously. Coco took her hand and squeezed it, to which she received a forced smile.

Dinner sizzled away on the stovetop.

Rain pattered against the windows.

Something clattered upstairs.

Olruggio sighed. “Could one of you watch the veggies? I’ll go check on ‘im.”

Agott, who had been staring at a math problem and making little progress for the last couple minutes, hopped up immediately. “I will. I can start the rice, too.” Olruggio ruffled her hair in thanks as he passed.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Tetia turned to face Coco fully and blurted, “They were talking about you!”

“Who?” Coco immediately abandoned her drawing.

“Dad and, uh…” She gestured vaguely, but Coco understood just fine. Even referencing Iguin, while not forbidden, was quite discouraged under their roof.

“What were they saying?”

“Well, I couldn’t hear him, but…” Tetia faltered, suddenly guilty. “It was, uh… something about custody.”

“Tetia!” Agott shot a glare over her shoulder. She stood at the sink, rinsing rice. “What did I just say about that, like, yesterday?”

Right. On a day-to-day basis, it was easy for Coco to forget that her position here - the place she now called home with ease - was more precarious than the other girls. Agott and Tetia were adopted, after all, and Richeh was safe and sound while she waited for Riliphin to decide where he wanted to stay. Coco did not know all the details, just that Qifrey had been fighting near constantly to keep custody of her, and that his own brother had repeatedly proved to be one of his bitterest enemies.

“It’s fine,” she said, but it came out weak even to her own ears. She pictured a file folder with her name on it and the word “temporary” stamped in red ink. “It’s fine,” she repeated, louder. “Really, it is. If there’s something I need to know, he’ll tell me, and if not, there’s no use worrying about it.”

Richeh rolled her eyes fondly. “A good little Coco Speech,” she said.

Upon returning, Olruggio said nothing about whatever had just transpired out of their earshot. When they all stared expectantly at him, he assured them, directed mostly to Tetia and her big watery eyes, “There’s nothin’ to worry about, I promise. Dad’s just had a long day, an’ you know how exhausting calls like that are for him. He needs some time to decompress. He’ll be down for dinner soon enough.”

And, indeed, Qifrey rejoined them as the table was being set and portions of stir fry were scooped onto plates. He rubbed at his forehead, a telltale sign of an oncoming headache, but his small smile was genuine.

“Sorry about that, girls.” Coco and the others all leaned in to receive a pat on the shoulder or the top of the head. “Everything is alright, I promise. Now, shall we eat?”

Olruggio elbowed him. “Go take something for your headache, first.”

Qifrey sighed and grumbled but obliged.

After dinner, it was Coco’s turn to help with dishes. She preferred drying duty, but today volunteered to brave sticky food residue to let Qifrey do the drying, since it was easier and she wanted to do what little she could to make his day better. And it worked! At least, she hoped it did. He seemed mostly his usual self, which was good, of course, but there was an undercurrent to his mood that she could detect but not name. Still, he laughed at her jokes and offered a few of his own, so Coco considered it a win.

Richeh and Agott both turned in early - Richeh to wind down and sleep and Agott to work on an art project due at the end of the week - so Coco and Tetia played Pokémon (Tetia wanted to trade a basculin for Coco’s spritzee, which was not a fair trade) and snacked on yesterday’s apple cider cookies until Olruggio gave them the ten minute warning. Out of the kindness of her heart, Coco settled for receiving a seedot, mostly because she knew how much Tetia loved fairy types.

The two of them took their sweet time brushing their teeth together so they could chat more about team composition and gym badge progress. She wasn’t very good at battling yet, but Tetia assured her that there was more to the games.

“You can really get into strategy, if you want,” Tetia said as she affixed her bonnet for the night. “I like to just collect them and put all my favorites on my team, and I overlevel them a whole bunch so I can beat everyone without worrying about types and stuff.” She smiled a bit sheepishly. “Papa let me borrow his old copy of Ruby, and it was a lot harder, so my usual method didn’t work.”

“I won’t be playing that one, then.” Coco pulled a wad of hair from her hairbrush, wrinkled her nose, and flicked it into the trash.

Tetia gave her bonnet one final pat. “Well, you can always learn. I’m probably gonna play a little more before bed– don’t tell anyone. Oh, and remind me to make sure I put my sheets and stuff in the wash tomorrow.” Coco promised, and they hugged and parted ways for the night.

Out on the landing, Coco glanced down the stairs at the sliver of living room she could see. Under the unceasing rain, she could hear low voices and the clink of glassware.

She flipped the lightswitch and the hallway darkened. The night light plugged in just above the sculpted baseboards flickered to life in response, casting a warm orange glow over the hall. The furnace rattled to life somewhere deep within the house.

On Coco’s door was a great big C, crafted on short notice by Tetia and bedazzled excessively yet somehow still tastefully by Richeh. Agott had not participated– something she later apologized for.

Just as she reached for the handle, the door next to hers creaked quietly open, and Agott slipped out on silent feet as if summoned. She sported an empty water bottle and her hair was mussed in that specific way it got when she raked her hands through it while working. Their eyes met.

“Good night,” Coco whispered.

Agott glanced over her shoulder. The night light illuminated stray curls and made her cheeks look rosy. There was a smudge of paint on her chin. “Good night,” she whispered back.

#wha fic #witch hat atelier #arkco #orufrey #evanfic #coco pov #i know that i posed this one to ao3 a bit ago. i just went back and forth on how to format this here lol

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euphorial-docx · 2 years ago

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ok so i have something to say about opev:

it’s okay to be sad that the ending of the first fic wasn’t jegulus endgame. it’s sad, i know— that’s why i tagged it as bittersweet, because there’s a whole lot of bitter that goes with a whole lot of sweet.

but comments like this?

these are just fucking mean.

and yeah i’m posting your comments here. if you can comment this openly in my comments section, then it shouldn’t be a problem to have your words displayed here too.

first of all, this is a call me by your name au. it is going to follow the cmbyn plot structure, and it was explicitly stated in the fic that it would follow that plot structure.

as i said, you can be sad all you want, but you can’t say you were shocked or tricked, when you know the source material i was working with and following pretty closely.

i never tagged opev as a happy ending. i never tagged it as endgame jegulus. i never tagged it as jily because lily isn’t even in the fic at all. but i did specify in the story that james would leave, that regulus had no interest in pursing a relationship with james after that summer, that james and lily were romantically involved at one point and that regulus assumed they would get back together eventually, and i tagged it as bittersweet and assured that there would be a sequel, and further assured multiple times that the sequel would be a happy ending/jegulus endgame.

if you are shocked, you did not read my fic.

forgive me for being defensive, and forgive me for being a little angry, but i’ve gotten one too many comments of that nature. i don’t want to be doing this, believe me.

i love seeing comments, i love interacting with you guys and having really beautiful and heartfelt conversations with you about my writing— it truly brightens my day to see any inbox notifications at all— but when i see comments like this? when the only comment i get for a whole week or month is something like this? it makes me feel like shit, and that’s not what i want fanfic writing to be for me. that’s not the community i want to foster or be involved in or put in months of work for.

because it was months of work for free. months of work for my own enjoyment, and for yours, and to share things that i love with people that love it too— it wasn’t an entire year of my life to have someone leave a rude comment on my fic’s epilogue without even fucking reading it.

and i know i sound so angry right now, but i am. i am angry and i am honestly really sad, because it doesn’t feel good to get those comments and it doesn’t feel good to be typing this all out. i hate being angry. i hate being mean. but i tried to be nice about it, i tried to explain my reasons for my tagging and for my creative decisions, and still this happens.

i just… i really don’t get it. i don’t get why people comment these things. you get nothing out of writing those mean comments, and maybe i’m sensitive, but i just get hurt out of reading those comments.

and again, it’s okay to be sad about the ending. i know i’ve cried over it before myself. but it’s not okay to be angry at me for it, it’s not okay to disrespect me like that. because you’re not just ridiculing some fic, you’re ridiculing the real person who wrote it.

at the end of the day, i love writing fanfiction. i love being here. i don’t want that to get lost in all the other things i’ve said.

i don’t want fanfiction to be about this, okay? so let’s not make it about this.

please and thank you.

#fic: ogni parte è viva (every part is alive)#jegulus #starchaser #regulus black #james potter

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tangerinesperfume · 2 years ago

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Long work days bring Sam home exhausted. The energy she has left in her is reserved for Tara’s sake only, at least for this night.

Maybe fuck self-care tonight.

While she usually likes talking to Tara as she prepares dinner, despite not receiving verbal responses from tara, she’s grateful for this particular quiet night.

Sam was used to only worrying about herself; how she’ll survive, what she’ll do the next, who she, alone, has to deal with, and etc.

Now she’s got a little shadow in the form of her sweet sister. She would never trade her for the world but she’ll admit that it’s been difficult to raise a kid and also, ensuring the ability to keep her happy, worry-free, and safe.

After dinner was finished, she helped Tara prepare for bed. Tara wouldn’t touch her or talk to her yet but Sam was okay with that, there was no reason to rush her. So, Sam’s help just looked like laying out her PJs in bed, helping her with the faucet, checking the inhaler, and all that.

Tara was in bed with her stuffed wolf and Sam made her way to the living room to watch some tv until she accidentally fell asleep on the couch.

As the routine goes, Tara wakes up in the middle of the night and with her wolf, goes to Sam’s room to sleep under the bed but no one’s there.

Oh? Where’s Sammy?

The inaudible sounds from the dimly lit living room grab her attention so she follows it. She walks into Sam messily asleep on the couch without a proper pillow or blanket.

Tara may have a difficulty reading people but she knows what exhaustion looks like and that, Sam’s sleeping face with her brows knotted, is exhaustion.

Tara turns off the tv, places her wolf down, and runs back to the room to fetch a pillow and a throw blanket for Sam.

Back in the living room, Tara decides the she might not be able to lift Sam’s head to put the pillow under it, so she just throws the soft blanket on Sam’s body and places the pillow on the floor.

Tara also decided that sleeping alone the bedroom is a no. So, she runs back to the bedroom to grab her pillow and blanket to join Sam in the living room in the adjacent couch to crash in for the night.

No wait, everyone should be here.

She brings her wolf along with Sam’s wolf and lets them sleep in the pillow she had already put next to Sam’s couch.

Before hitting the hay, she thinks that maybe Sam needs a goodnight kiss, she lifts her stuffed wolf from the ground and squishes a soft wolf kiss to Sam’s cheek.

Goodnight Sammy.

And that’s the scene in their home, sam asleep on the couch, Tara making herself comfy on the other couch, and their two stuffed wolves “sleeping” on the ground.

Sam wakes up early the next morning, her eyes are adjusting to the light and her confusion is setting in.

Didn’t I make it to bed?

God, Sam must’ve been so exhausted and she feels guilty for shortcomings to Tara all over again but she looks around the room and takes in the sight around her.

Oh.

She’s covered in a blanket that she knows for sure that wasn’t on her last night and she looks at a sweetly sleeping Tara on the couch and Sam takes notice that her sister looks so relaxed and comfortable.

And she remembers why she does it all in the first place.

For her. For her sweet girl, Tara.

#au: foster this love make me whole again #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #the carpenter sisters

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krikeymate · 2 years ago

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heyyyy, how are you?

so, for the mother's day (and the foster this love au), what about sam and tara having the greatest day, doing all the things together and at night, when tara is going to sleep, she calls sam "mom" without noticing? and sam is like 😭😭

The first time Sam hears Tara call her mom, she's bleeding out on the kitchen floor. She thinks she must have been imagining it, blood loss will probably make you hear all kinds of things. Stuff got pretty hectic after that, and Sam forgets about it. She doesn't hear Tara say it again.

After 7 months of being too nervous to leave the house, Tara wakes her up one Sunday morning, earlier than she'd like on her day off, and asks to go to the zoo. Sam would have said yes anyway, overjoyed that Tara is ready to take that step and move forward with everything that happened, but the fact she brought Sam breakfast in bed makes sure she agrees without pretending to complain about it first. Tara looks so nervous, constantly fidgeting with her hands. Sam doesn't want to scare her off the idea.

So they go to the zoo. Sam's a little concerned that Tara's pushing herself too far, and wonders why now, as she sticks to Sam's side, hand squeezing hers tightly. She's shaking slightly as she eyes all the people around them.

"Hey, so what d'ya wanna see first, the wolves?" She asks, nudging Tara, hoping to distract her. Tara loves wolves, Sam knows she'd never pass up an oppor- Tara shakes her head. "Hyenas," she declares, scanning the park map for a moment before pulling Sam off in the direction of the hyena enclosure. "Huh," Sam mumbles to herself, a little confused as she lets her lead her away by the hand.

"Y'know, hyenas are my favourite animal," Sam says in a faux-whisper, like she's revealing some grand secret. "I know," Tara responds simply, like it was obvious knowledge. It leaves Sam speechless as she tries to figure out how Tara could know that. She's never talked about her favourite animal before... has she? No, no, she's certain.

"And do you know why they're my favourite?" Sam questions, a laugh in her voice as they watch a mother play with her cubs. She's always impressed by Tara's observation skills. "They're pack animals, like wolves," Tara answers, "but the females are in charge. They're fast, and clever, and often misunderstood and misrepresented. Like you."

Sam's a little stunned by Tara's response, and more than a little touched. She blinks back tears. "You forgot one thing," Sam declares. Tara frowns up at her, doubt in her expression, "what?" "I like their spots," Sam says, tapping Tara on the nose in a way that never fails to make her giggle. "They're just like your freckles, adorable."

It's a long day, Tara taking Sam to see every animal she thinks Sam must like (and she's right, much to Sam's amazement). "Look, they're just like us," Sam announces, waving their held hands together at the otters floating past paw-in-paw. By the time they get ice cream, Sam's favourite flavour, and have Sam's favourite food for lunch, she begins to wonder if she's done something to make Tara think she feels bad or that she's having a hard time.

She can't imagine what, she thinks she's been doing pretty well, given... all that happened. It weighs on Sam, seeing Tara get steadily more stressed as the day goes on, watching the way she tries to hide it from her so they can stay a little longer.

By the time they get home, they're exhausted, and arm-in-arm with two new stuffed toy hyenas for their pack. Little sam is sleeping on the two stuffed wolves that sit atop Sam's dresser, and is delighted at the chance to scent mark the new additions.

After their evening routine, Sam flops back onto her bed, Tara cuddling into her side, yawning. "Did you have a good day," Tara mumbles into Sam's neck. "I had the best day," Sam proclaims, closing her eyes, "just like any day with you." Tara hums into her neck. "Thasgood," she slurs, beginning to fall asleep, "love you, mom."

Sam's eyes snap open. Oh.

#/mp #ask box #Scream #Sam Carpenter #Tara Carpenter #my writing tag #AU: foster this love make me whole again #funnily enough the timeline for this actually matches up to this exact day #so i think realistically hyenas and wolves would probably be in the same general area. but for the purposes of this fic. they're not.#did some reading about hyenas and now i know more than i ever wanted to know about their s*x organs. so. thanks for that.

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krikeymate · 2 years ago

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Sam's seen all her childhood pictures by that point, the dark ones and the bright ones. After Sam adopted her, she dragged Sam into her bedroom one day and had her sit on the floor, and let Sam go through her sketchbooks one by one. There were dozens. Tara tells her she can look from now on, if she wants. Sam chooses not to look at her art unless Tara specifically wants her to.

After the Ghostface attacks, Tara's gone back to being reserved and scared all the time. Sam creeps out of the bed one night and goes to the desk where Tara's latest sketchbook lies. The very first page is Sam on the floor, bloody, looking up at a shadow holding a knife. The only colour on the page is red. She flips to the next page, something similar. And on the next, and the next. It's just full of pages of Sam, injured. Tara got hurt too, and she's never shied from drawing herself, so her absence in these pages feels... she's going to call Tara's therapist in the morning, they need a joint appointment.

YES. YOUR TAGS!! Tara's drawings are all so dark and hard and speak to the trauma that she can't speak of, except when she's drawing Sam. If Sam's involved, the pictures are happy. Tara doesn't draw sad or dark pictures with Sam, she doesn't want that darkness to touch her big sister too.

Makes me think that one day her dark drawings become fewer and fewer. As she grows up with Sam and sam, her art works gradually take on more vivid hues.

But then GFs happen and the darkness makes a comeback.

#/reblog #/mpa #Scream #Sam Carpenter #Tara Carpenter #AU: foster this love make me whole again

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hythlodaes · 3 months ago

Text

and then came june

emile/leofard 9.2k words [read on ao3] explicit summary: modern AU. when leofard becomes friends with benefits with his university's star quarterback, he never expects to fall for him. (also ty @scionshtola for letting me borrow cori!! ♥)

Chapter One- Spring

Leofard has every reason to feel alone in this world.

He doesn't remember his parents, doesn't know what happened to them, only that he was left to grow up by himself. He used to wonder about his relatives—when other children would talk about grandparents, aunts, uncles, siblings, and he'd think, Where are mine? Why couldn't they take care of me?

He's long grown out of those thoughts.

At nineteen, he loses the one person that he could call family. Not related by blood, Raimille still loves him as a son, still leaves him everything she has with only one request: that he graduates college. At nineteen, he moves across the country with the car he loves with all his heart, speakers blasting Nirvana the whole way. Years in foster care have taught him never to feel sorry for himself, only to chase the freedom that he finds out here. After watching Raimille waste away with sickness, he chooses life.

And he never feels alone. He meets Stacia at orientation, and she instantly becomes the sister he always wished he had. Over the years he meets friends in classes, at parties, at work, and it becomes a new kind of family—silly, loud, and his.

Then, early spring of his junior year, he meets Emile.

—

It starts with a half joke between Leofard and Stacia at two in the morning, curled up on the couch of their apartment and barely awake after marathoning their favorite movies all day. We should throw a party, Leofard murmurs into the tv flashed dark, and Stacia—his usual voice of reason—doesn't say no.

Their apartment ends up cramped with dozens of college students the next weekend, loud and messy and the kind of thing that makes Leofard laugh until his stomach hurts. He shines under the extra attention, his body warm from alcohol, and it’s the kind of happiness that feels just real enough.

He runs into Stacia as the front door opens again. A bunch of tall, bulky guys spill through, and Leofard may not follow their school's football team the way Stacia does, but she's dragged him to enough games that he recognizes a few of them.

She always says she comes from a football family, and well, that includes Leofard now too.

"God, they're huge," he comments, and he's about to turn his attention away when his gaze catches the last of them ducking under the door. He’s a little taller than the rest, and dark brown hair falls to his chin but he tucks it behind his ear, big eyes searching the room before someone claps him on the shoulder.

The guy smiles, eyes curving into half moons, and Leofard feels the corners of his lips threaten to raise.

Stacia shakes her head. "Leo, I swear if you try to sleep with anyone on the football team..."

"Who said anything about that?" he asks, but this time he lets his mouth pull into a grin. "I'm just appreciating the view."

The night drags on, the music blurs from one song into the next. Leofard feels only slightly hazy—that sluggish kind of drunk that makes the room spin a little slower. He gives into it, hearing his own laughter as a loud and distant sound in his ears.

He finds himself in the kitchen again, a full drink in his hand. Utata sits on the counter, singing along to the music at the top of her lungs, and Leofard keeps his focus on her for a moment too long. In hindsight, it's funny that he doesn't see it coming, but Leofard turns away, knocking into the person behind him, and the entirety of his drink spills onto their shirt on impact.

He has to tilt his head back to meet wide brown eyes, shock evident in the gaze that looks down at him. Leofard recognizes him from when he came in, but he's even cuter up close, where he can make out the freckles on his cheeks, the pout of his lips as he glances down at his shirt.

"Shit, sorry," Leofard says, wincing at the red splotch that trails from collar to hem.

"It's okay," the guy says quickly. His voice is softer than Leofard expected and a little hard to hear over the music. He looks up over Leofard's head and into the kitchen. "I'll just rinse this off."

Leofard almost laughs until he realizes he wasn’t joking.

"Hate to say it, but that's not coming out, baby," he yells over the music. "Come on, I'll get you a new one."

"You'll—" he starts, but Leofard claps him on the back as he walks past him. He leaves no room for argument, and the guy follows him to his room. The door shuts behind them, quieting the party to a dull roar in the background. It grounds Leofard for a moment, steadies him against the blurriness of the alcohol in his system as he goes to his bureau.

“You called me baby,” the guy says, and when Leofard glances over his shoulder, he’s looking around the room, pausing at his desk to pick up one of Leofard's records. He meets his gaze. “This is your apartment.”

“Right on both counts," he answers, and the guy smiles at him. There’s a warmth in Leofard’s chest that has nothing to do with being drunk. "What's your name?"

"Emile." "I'm Leofard."

"I know," he says, and clears his throat. "I've heard about you."

Leofard’s hands still. "Really?"

"Well...I've heard about your car."

"Even better," he says, letting his lips split into a crooked grin. He turns his attention back to the bureau. "Given the obvious, I'm not sure if I have anything that'll fit you."

"You really don't have to, I'm sure this will wash out."

"As much as I enjoy the mental image, do you really want to walk around in a wet shirt the rest of the night?" he challenges, just as he finds an old band tee that's always been way too big for him. When he turns around, he has to smile at the pout on Emile's lips. It doesn't last long, but he continues to stare at Leofard for a moment before his shoulders slump in defeat.

Then he takes his ruined shirt off.

Leofard has to bite down on his tongue—he should look away. He doesn't. His eyes roam along the thick muscle of Emile's chest and up to the line of his broad shoulders, back down the bulk of his arms. Lifting his gaze, he meets Emile's, who watches him watch, something not quite discernable in his eyes before he smiles shyly—it's the tilt of his chin, the curve of his lips...

"Baby, you're something else," Leofard breathes out, and hands him the clean shirt.

Emile rolls his eyes before he puts it on. It stretches around him—where it hangs loose on Leofard, it clings to Emile, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Thank you.”

"Don't mention it," he says, and he shifts his weight between his feet, unwilling to let the moment go. "So what’s this you heard about my car?”

“Oh,” he says. “Some of the guys were talking about it on the way over—said you could hear it halfway across campus.”

Leofard raises his brows, grinning helplessly. “It’s not that loud. Shit, I thought it would be something good.”

"Like what?"

"Like what? I've worked on that car for the last six years of my life, it's perfect. A thing of beauty."

Emile laughs, watching him for a moment longer before he asks, "Will you show it to me?”

That single question sets his mind racing. For a moment, he can see it so clearly: Emile's long legs in the passenger seat, Leofard's hand on his thigh. He'd roll the windows down, stealing glances at his loose hair blowing in the wind while the Shins play over the speakers.

He thinks he’d show Emile anything, if he asked.

"Play your cards right," he says. "I'll even take you for a ride."

Emile laughs again, something closer to a giggle. He must be just as drunk, but he's so cute in Leofard's shirt, his big eyes bright with amusement. “You're flirting with me.”

“Well, you’re the one wearing my shirt.”

“You spilled your drink on mine!”

Leofard grins. “And I almost wish I did it on purpose.”

A blush colors Emile’s cheeks as he turns his head away. “I wouldn’t say no,” he murmurs, and when he looks back, he doesn’t hide the way his eyes cast down Leofard’s body and back up to meet his gaze. He clears his throat. “You know—to a ride.”

Leofard swallows hard. Everything in him says to move closer, to reach out, to touch him, but he holds himself back. “Come on, let's get another drink.”

The sound of the party passes over them as Emile follows him out of his room. They walk down the hall together, but as soon as Leofard makes it to the kitchen, someone wraps an arm around his neck and yells into his ear. Leofard makes out half of the words, but as he looks behind him, it seems that Emile is similarly lost in the crowd.

The stab of disappointment lasts longer than he expects it to.

The night grows weary, the music still plays. Leofard is definitely drunk but it only makes him tired. There are a few times throughout the night when Emile catches his eye across the room, and a small smile crosses his lips. It feels like something secret exists between them—something merely waiting for the right moment.

They collide again.

This time it’s Emile’s hand on his shoulder, holding himself steady as his body sways closer, as he leans down. Distance is a second thought when he fixes those brown eyes on Leofard, lips curving up at the edges in a shy smile.

“I thought you were going to show me your car," he says, his soft voice loud over the music, but all Leofard can focus on is the strength of his grip on his shoulder, and as he blinks at him through the blurry lights of the living room, the only thought on his mind is touch him.

This time he doesn't hold back.

He reaches out to wrap his arm around Emile's waist, hand grazing along his own shirt clinging to his body. He bites down on a grin at the way Emile shifts into his touch, the way his eyes widen when Leofard inches his fingertips beneath the hem, teasing at his warm skin. With their faces this close, Leofard just has to tilt his chin towards him to be heard, keeping his voice deep, quiet. “All you have to do is ask, baby.”

“Please?” Emile murmurs against his ear, and Leofard closes his eyes for a moment. That single word sets the room spinning, keeping in time with the way his heart pounds in his chest. He turns his head towards him, noses brushing for a moment, breath ghosting against each other's lips, and he swallows hard as he pulls away.

“Come on.” Fresh air sounds like a good idea.

He turns his gaze to the door, and Emile is a step behind him as they head outside. There's a few people smoking on the front steps, but in the fuzzy dark they hardly pay Emile and Leofard any mind as they slip around the corner. The streetlights barely reach them here, washing the yard in gray light while everything sits muted and quiet. Only the distant sound of music from the house can be heard, a beat that sinks under the surface of the night.

It's cold, but Emile's body is warm as he crowds him against the side of the house, the excuse of seeing his car all but forgotten. Leofard touches the hem of his shirt again as Emile's head bends towards his, and there's a certain sway to them both, something hazy but desperate, lingering at the boundary line between them.

Leofard crosses first, reaching up to wrap his arms around Emile's shoulders and pull him down into his space, where he meets his mouth with his own. Emile tastes like sugary punch, and he kisses him softly until he parts his lips. Leofard gasps against him, tangling his fingers in his hair as he deepens the kiss, a sound caught in the back of his throat as Emile's hands skim down his back and pull his body against his.

It's the right kind of messy—lacking just enough control to satisfy that desire in his chest. It says I need you without holding back, and Leofard hates how much he wants that from a stranger familiar enough to give it to him.

He pushes further, hands seeking the touch of his skin beneath his shirt, and he moans when Emile slots his thigh between his, as a rhythm begins to build, heavy breaths warming the air between them, and—

"Hey, Emile, are you out here?" comes a voice from the dark.

They break apart. Leofard doesn't recognize whoever calls out towards them, but he keeps his eyes closed as he catches his breath. Emile’s touch shifts to his waist as he leans back in, his voice just above a whisper. "That's my ride home."

Leofard cracks his eyes open. "You're kidding."

“I wish I was.”

He has the thought to offer to take Emile back himself, but he's too drunk to drive. His next thought is to offer to let him stay the night, but he dismisses it the second it comes to mind. The thought of Emile taking his hands off of him is unbearable in this state, but he can't think of another way out.

“Okay, Cinderella,” he relents, and he can see the stretch of Emile’s smile even in the dark. "This was fun."

"It was," he agrees, and for a moment Leofard thinks he's going to kiss him again, but he just shakes his head. "Goodnight."

Leofard watches him walk back towards the lights of the driveway, where the silhouettes of his friends wait for him. Leofard just stares, his head in a daze as he blinks into the night. Emile opens the door to the passenger side of an old jeep, throwing one last look over his shoulder before he gets in.

Headlights pass over the yard and then disappear down the street. Leofard tilts his head back against the house, willing his body to calm down before he goes back inside, where the party slows to a stop. Stacia raises a brow when they meet in the kitchen, but he merely shrugs a shoulder at her despite the disappointment in his chest.

When he finally makes it back to his room, he has to laugh at Emile's stained shirt left on his bed. Cinderella indeed. He tosses it into his closet and crawls under the blankets. The room still spins even when he closes his eyes, but he thinks about the warmth of Emile’s body along his, the press of his lips, and what could’ve happened if they had a little more time.

He lets his hand drift down his stomach—an echo of Emile's touch—but almost isn’t quite enough.

—

It doesn’t stay on his mind for long.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t keep an eye out for Emile on campus—he’d be hard to miss, anyway—but a week goes by, then another, and Leofard lets go of the idea of running into him again. He never mentions it to Stacia, who would only make fun of him for it anyway, he merely chalks it up as a missed opportunity, something that wasn't meant to be.

Where he's content to let it stay, until a few weeks later.

Utata invites him and Stacia over on a Friday night. She says she's throwing a small party, but they all know better. She's one of his only friends that lives with her family off campus, which means whenever her parents are out of town, they have the whole house to themselves.

Leofard walks over with Stacia—they meant to show up early but they're both perpetually late, and the party is in full swing by the time they get there. Cars line the street and the yard, and inside the lights are low, skimming over the crowd in a blue haze. It smells like smoke and like someone spilled punch, which makes him think of a stained shirt, and—

"I'm going to grab a drink," he yells over the music, and Stacia nods at him before she disappears into the packed living room.

He navigates through the crowded hall, and it’s funny how everyone feels a little familiar at this point, strangers faces that he can pick out from classes over the years, from this same party he's been to time and again. It's always the same and yet they keep doing this, keep repeating it because it's the smallest break from the stress of school, from the stress of figuring out what they're supposed to be doing with their lives.

At the end of the hall, he runs into Cori.

They’re bent down in front of Utata’s dog—Pickles, a fluffy collie that's currently nuzzling his face into her lap as they scratch behind his ear. Leofard’s used to seeing them at school, their similar majors all but guaranteeing shared classes over the years, but they've become something like friends at this point.

Mostly they share the same love of cars, which—and he would never admit this to anyone, not even Stacia—Cori is far more knowledgeable of.

"Hey," he says, and a wave of hair cascades over their shoulder when they glance up at him.

“Hi,” they return. "No one was paying attention to Pickles."

“It's a good thing you're here, then," he says. "I was just going to grab a drink, do you want any—“

His voice cuts off as he glances into the kitchen, where his gaze lands on the one person he thought he'd never see again. Big brown eyes curve into half moons as he smiles, loose hair curves around his chin as he talks, the light of the kitchen makes his skin golden.

Emile is here.

“Leo?” It’s Cori who says it, and Leofard barely registers his own name.

"Sorry, I—" he starts, but then Emile looks over, brows lifting when he notices Leofard. A small smile crosses his lips, but someone grabs him by the arm, pulling him out of the kitchen. He lifts his drink towards Leofard for a moment and then he's gone again.

"Someone you know?" Cori asks.

"Yeah," he answers, and he clears his throat, forcing himself to look away. "I'll catch up with him later."

He tells himself that he'll let it happen naturally, that if they run into each other again then he'll talk to him, but it's just a few minutes later that he finds himself fumbling over an excuse to Cori before heading in the same direction that Emile left in.

The music has definitely gotten louder, and the sound of laughter and conversation has risen to match it. The living room is a mess of people dancing and silver balloons that get thrown into the air, skimming along hands raised from the crowd. Emile shouldn't be hard to find, but Leofard doesn't see him anywhere. Maybe he left already—

"Looking for someone?" Emile asks, and Leofard turns towards the sound of his voice. There's something so bright about his brown eyes as he grins. "Hi, Leofard."

"Hi," he returns, and he catches himself smiling back. "I didn't think I'd see you again."

"Me neither. I owe you a shirt."

"Don't worry about it," he says. "Looked better on you, anyway."

Emile glances away for a moment before huffing out a laugh. "You're so..."

"What—charming?" he suggests.

"Something like that."

"Come on, let's dance."

He immediately shakes his head. "Oh, I'm not much of a dancer."

"No one's judging, baby," he says. "Besides, everyone's too drunk to care."

"Are you?"

Leofard didn't even stop for a drink. "Not yet."

"Me neither," he says. "I have a meeting with my coach first thing in the morning, I shouldn't even be here."

"Miss me that much?"

Emile laughs. "Yes Leo, I've actually spent all this time looking for you."

"Well here I am," he returns. "May as well make the most of it."

Leofard watches him press his lips together, the way his gaze shifts over him as he considers it. His shoulders lower the slightest bit and Leofard smiles, knowing his answer already.

"Fine," Emile says. "One song."

"Before you turn into a pumpkin, yes I remember," he says, and he takes him by the hand into the crowd.

He was right, hardly anyone even looks over at them as they begin to move to the music. The beat is fast and heavy, pulsing through him as he keeps his eyes locked on Emile. They move closer and closer and impossibly closer, and Emile puts his hands on Leofard, long fingers pressing into his waist.

More.

Leofard raises a brow before he turns in his embrace, moving back until he fits against Emile’s chest. Emile’s hands skim down to rest low on his belly, and Leofard covers them with his own as he rolls his hips against him.

Blue dimmed lights, the kiss of balloons against the ceiling, he blinks in and out of a dream. There’s something possessive about Emile’s touch, and Leofard lets his head fall back against his shoulder as the music beats through him. Are both of their hearts pounding? Emile’s head lowers to his neck, and he can feel the warmth of his breath as his lips ghost against his skin—

The song ends.

For a moment, neither of them move.

"You know," Leofard says, turning to face him. "We have unfinished business, Cinderella."

"What do you mean?" he asks, but his hands are still on Leofard, and they inch the slightest bit lower.

"I mean," Leofard starts. "I never showed you my car."

Amusement makes a home in Emile's gaze. “I don’t think that’s what we were doing.”

“No? Maybe we’ll have to try again.”

Emile glances at his lips for a long moment before meeting his eyes again. The next song starts but they don't move, still standing too close, faces angled just right—all it would take is the slightest effort to kiss.

It's been weeks, but it's the same feeling crawling up Leofard's chest.

"Come on," he murmurs. The music drowns out his voice but Emile's hand finds his as he leads them through the crowd. Going outside didn't work for them last time, and he knows Utata would kill him if he took Emile to her room. Still, they go upstairs where the house is emptier, the music is still loud but the sound of voices dims to the background.

They slip into the bathroom.

Silver blue light streams in through the window, echoing across the tiled wall. The silhouette of Emile steps ahead of him, and they stay in the dark, bodies moving closer. Emile is so big and solid and yet he yields to Leofard, lets him crowd him against the sink. It's quiet enough that Leofard can hear the hitch in his breath, the small sound in the back of his throat when Leofard puts his hands on him.

In the dark, their lips meet.

It's better than his drunken memory, sharper without the haze of alcohol blurring the lines between them. His heart races as they rush into it, his own desperation climbing as they continue what was cut short. He kisses Emile's jaw, lips brushing along warm skin as he works down to his neck, and he has to hold back a grin as Emile's hands bunch at his shirt, pulling him closer.

"Isn't this," Emile breathes out, "a bit of a risk?"

"Maybe," Leofard returns, but he lets his hand skim down to Emile's jeans, tugging at the waistband. "I can stop if you want, baby."

Emile pushes his hips into his touch. “Keep going.”

Leofard bites down on another grin before he presses his mouth to his shoulder, hand reaching lower to undo the button of his jeans. Heat surges through him at the sound of Emile's shaky breath, at the crack of his voice loosening into a moan as Leofard finally touches him.

It’s like the rest of the room disappears. Leofard pulls back enough to watch his face, to see his brows push together, his lips part, the way his eyes shut as his head tips back. He does not hide his pleasure, and in the ghost of the moonlight, Leofard is transfixed.

"Wait," Emile murmurs, and Leofard looks up in question when he puts a hand on his wrist to stop him. "I want to—with you."

Leofard is about to ask what he means when he reaches over to tug at Leofard's jeans, a small smile on his lips as he looks up to meet his gaze. His hair is a mess, lips still parted, his big eyes wide as he watches him—Leofard doesn't stand a chance.

He's already close, and he groans openly as Emile takes them both in hand. Somehow they find each other's lips again, and they kiss as their hips work together, the sound of the party all but gone as they pant into each other’s mouths. For a moment, all that matters is the rush of warmth through his body, building with each stroke until his breath catches in his throat.

They’re still kissing when they come.

Leofard tilts his head back, eyes squeezed shut until the feeling begins to fade. The world comes back to him in pieces: the distant sound of music playing, Emile's hand steady on his hip, the room shifting into focus when he opens his eyes again.

He catches Emile's gaze, and they both laugh.

"Utata would actually kill me if she knew."

Emile shakes his head. "I won’t say a word."

And then it's just the two of them in a dark bathroom. They clean up, taking turns washing their hands and fixing their hair and clothes. Leofard almost wants to put the lights on just to see the flush of Emile's skin, but once they're both ready, they slip back into the empty hallway, where a rare question leaves Leofard's mouth: “What if I asked for your number?”

Emile blinks at him for a moment. “Oh, I don't really date. It's kind of hard with my schedule, and I don't want to commit to anything if I'm not sure about it—not that I don't like you! I just don't know if it would be a good idea, or if I'm even in a place to figure that out..."

His voice trails off and his brows push together as he watches Leofard for a reaction.

Leofard laughs.

"Relax baby, I'm not exactly boyfriend material either," he says. "I just wanted to hook up again."

"Oh," Emile says, and he begins to laugh as well. "Sorry."

"It's okay," he returns. "We can leave it like this, too."

Emile bites his lip. "No—no, I'd like to see you again."

"Yeah?" He fishes his phone from his pocket and opens his list of contacts before handing it over. He watches the way the light flashes against Emile's face as he enters his number. It makes his freckles stand out, and it's hard not to stare at the way they cross over his nose. He clears his throat. “I don’t date either, you know.”

“Okay,” Emile says, and he lets their hands brush when he gives him his phone back. “So no expectations?”

“No expectations," he confirms. "We can just be friends."

Emile smiles. “Just friends.”

—

If Leofard knew, in that moment, that Emile was in love with someone else, he probably still would've gone for it.

If he knew how easily his own heart could break, how this conversation would be the one he'd come to regret—

Well.

Maybe that would've made him pause.

—

He sleeps in too late the night day, the sun bright behind his blinds and warming him even as cool air seeps in through the cracked open window. His blanket is in his fist, curled up beneath his chin as he takes in a deep breath and stretches his body out for a moment before relaxing back into his pillow.

He gives himself a few more minutes; it’s been a while since he's felt this good.

It's noon by the time he gets up, and he shuffles into the kitchen with his blanket still wrapped around him. Stacia's at the table with a steaming cup of coffee and an open book, but she stares blankly at the space in front of her. It takes a moment for her to look up at him, and the looming afternoon light only highlights the dark circles under her eyes.

“You good?” he asks.

“Hungover,” she returns. “You?”

He bites his lip for a moment as he recalls last night, the phantom memory of Emile's hands on him, the new phone number in his contact list. “Just tired.”

It’s a testament to her hangover that she doesn’t notice the tone of his voice—light and entirely too pleased with himself—but he leaves her to her coffee while he makes breakfast. Though he is prone to burning most of the food he cooks, he is more than capable of eggs and toast, and he pours himself a cup of coffee to sip at while he works.

Sometimes it's like this: bare feet on the cool kitchen tiles, warm sunlight on his skin, the smell of coffee in the air—moments of the smallest, most simple happiness can happen so unexpectedly.

When he sits back down, he takes a breath and asks, “What do you know about Emile?”

Stacia's head pops up from her book. “Jenidaut?”

“Maybe?” he says, lifting a shoulder. He doesn’t have a clue what his last name is. Through a mouthful of toast, he says, “He’s on the football team.”

“Yeah,” she answers. “He’s the best quarterback this school has ever seen. He’s a sophomore and there were already rumors of a Heisman this season.”

Leofard just blinks at her.

“You've seen him play. Do you remember that playoff game last year?" she tries. "They put him in at the last second and he caught the game winning pass—I lost my voice from screaming."

See, he remembers actually going to the games, but as far as what happens during them? “I thought Emile was the quarterback...”

“Well not at first, but Varlineau injured his shoulder and Emile took his place,” she says. “You really weren’t paying attention, were you?”

“I pay attention,” he argues, but quickly relents at the look she gives him. “Just not that much.”

She shakes her head. “Why are you even asking about him?”

Hands on his body, head tipped back with a groan, the heat of his skin—Leofard clears his throat. "I might've hooked up with him last night."

"What," she exclaims, and he has to laugh at the way she sits up, eyes wide, her hangover all but forgotten. "The hell, Leo, why wouldn't you start with that? Tell me everything!"

It starts in their own apartment, it starts with a stained shirt, it starts with kisses that lead nowhere in the dark. It leads to last night, to their dance, familiar enough with each other to push them over the edge. He brushes up against the details, skims past them, but he fails to hide his smile at the memory of the two of them slipping away from the rest of the party.

He can tell that she notices, but all she says is, “So, what—are you going to call him?”

“Probably,” he says, lifting a shoulder. The truth is, he can’t imagine passing up another opportunity to see him, but he just smiles before he takes another sip of coffee—

“We’ll see what happens.”

—

He gives it a couple days.

It crosses his mind while he partakes in his favorite activity—laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, music playing too loud while he ignores his homework. He can't seem to focus, mind spinning between thoughts but unable to land on one, and he turns his attention to his phone laying at the other end of his bed.

Emile would make a better distraction.

Still, he stares for a long moment without moving, and the second he wonders if he's nervous, he gets up and makes himself call.

It rings a few times before the soft sound of Emile's voice comes through. "Hello?"

Leofard smiles. "What's this I hear about you being a hotshot quarterback?"

There’s a beat of silence, and then: “Leofard?”

"Who else?"

He hears him laugh. "And you call me a hotshot."

"Am I wrong?" he says. "My roommate was just talking about some play you did last season, thought I'd see if it’s true."

“Yes, it's true,” he says. "Is that the only reason you called?"

"No," he returns, biting down on another smile. "Let's go for a drive, I'll pick you up."

"In the infamous car that I still have yet to see?"

"The one and only."

"Alright," he says. "Give me a half hour."

He tells him where his dorm is, and Leofard gives himself approximately twenty minutes to look nice before he has to leave. One glance in the mirror, he ruffles up his curls and takes off his old sweatshirt and replaces it with his favorite beat up denim jacket.

Stacia is in the living room when he comes out of his room, and she takes one look at him and raises a brow. "Off on a date?"

"It's not a date," he says, grabbing his keys.

"Off to get laid?"

This time he laughs. "I'll catch you later."

"Be safe, have fun!" she calls out after him.

Early evening means the campus is quiet. Leofard lived in the dorms his freshman year before moving in with Stacia, so he's familiar with them. He navigates across campus to Emile's building, biting down on a grin at the sight of him waiting on the front steps.

Emile looks unfairly good, simply in a sweatshirt and jeans, hair falling loose from his ponytail. He looks up and waves.

Leofard is in trouble.

"Hey, gorgeous," he says as he gets in the car.

“Hi,” Emile says, smiling in that shy way. His attention turns to the dashboard. "So this is it."

"This is it," he says. "What do you think?"

"It's nice."

His voice tips up at the end, almost like a question, and Leofard can't help but laugh. “You sure about that?”

“I don’t know anything about cars,” he admits. “But it's pretty."

"I've always been obsessed," Leofard says as he pulls out of the parking lot. "I got my first job just so I could buy it."

He worked every day after school. Raimille wanted to pay for it for him but he wouldn't let her, convinced he needed to prove that he could do it himself. Part of him regrets it, if only for how much time he unknowingly lost with her.

"I like that,” Emile murmurs, the sound of a smile in his voice as they take to the tree lined streets, headlights coasting over gravel. "You know, I never actually learned how to drive."

“Shit, baby, I’ll teach you,” he returns. "Why not?"

"I was just busy with football, I guess," he says. "And my friends were always willing to drive me."

"So football is your thing."

There's a long pause, but then, "Yeah, I guess."

Leofard's brows dip down. "Not your thing?"

"I don't know," Emile answers, and there's a slight laugh in his voice. "I don't love it anymore. Not the way I used to, at least."

"Stacia says you're the best quarterback this school has seen."

"Stacia?"

"My roommate," he says. "Which is an understatement—she's more like an annoying sister. And my best friend. She's the biggest fan in the world, drags me to your games sometimes."

"You've seen me play?"

"Don't get too excited—it's kind of like you and my car," he explains. "I don't know anything about it, but it's pretty to look at."

Emile laughs. "You're such a flirt."

"And you've got a nice ass," he returns. "Are we just stating the obvious?"

"Leo."

"Yes?"

In his peripheral, Emile shakes his head. "Where are we going?"

"I don't know," he answers. The evening begins to settle into night, deep hues of the sky bleed into the orange sunset peering through the spaces between trees. Leofard smiles to himself. "Don't you ever just want to get out for the sake of getting out?"

"That's usually when I go for a run."

He glances over at Emile, getting the feeling that there's far more to him, but he won't ask. "Then let's see where it takes us."

It takes them across town for ice cream, which takes them to an empty park. It's too cold to get out, so they sit in the parking lot, music playing softly while they talk. He learns that Emile's from Maine, that his eyes light up when he talks about his sisters, and that he's a music major. He brushes it off when Leofard asks, but he sounds more excited about playing guitar than he does about football.

He learns that Emile is a good listener, even if the spoon at his lips is distracting, and Leofard ends up talking the night away. Everything from school to work to his car. He doesn't mention Raimille, doesn't mention family at all, because he never wants his loss to define him.

And then it's sugar sweet kisses in the dark, Leofard fumbling over the console to settle in his lap. It's cramped against the roof of the car, but nothing else matters when Emile's lips are on his, when his hands roam up his thighs as his heart picks up a beat, breath growing heavy as their kisses deepen.

Emile reaches up to tangle his fingers through his curls, pulling him that much closer, and Leofard rolls his hips against his, grinning when he moans into his mouth. At twenty two, he feels like a teenager getting off in his car again, something secretive and exciting about it. Emile kisses his neck and he can't help but let his head fall back, giving into it as it overwhelms him.

He stays in Emile's lap afterwards, head on his shoulder, face tucked into his neck. Neither of them say anything for a moment, but Emile's hands linger on his back, smoothing over him in an absent rhythm. It doesn't last long, but it's nice.

When Leofard pulls away, they smile at each other as he reaches up to pat Emile's hair down, and they clean up the best they can before he scrambles back into the driver's seat.

He turns the music up as they drive back to campus, the windows cracked and leaking in cool air. Each time he looks over at Emile, he's staring out the window, and Leofard can't tell if he's okay or not, but maybe he just doesn't know how to accept something peaceful.

He pulls up to Emile's dorm, but Emile stays a little longer, looking over at him with a soft expression.

"You should call me again."

Leofard grins. "You can count on it, baby."

—

It begins in a bathroom of a crowded party, and what starts as intermittent, becomes frequent.

They learn each other's schedules, and between classes and Emile's workouts and Leofard's job, they find time during the week to hang out. Since Emile lives in a dorm, they always meet at Leofard's apartment—Leofard either picks him up, or Emile will walk over—and in the privacy of his room, he finds out just how much better it can get.

That first shirtless glimpse of Emile the night they met couldn't have prepared him for the sight of him stretched out naked in his bed. Leofard can hardly look away, can never keep his hands to himself, always tracing his fingertips along warm skin. They learn the ways their bodies fit together, how to say more and now through touch, through breathless gasps, through the way their eyes meet, tangled up and not letting go until they're whispering jokes and giggling into the small space between them.

Whenever they finish, Emile doesn't leave right away. He never stays the night, but they always end up talking for hours, about school and friends and life, video games and tv shows, or stories about Leofard's job at the pizza shop down the road. One time they watched a marathon of Saved by the Bell while they ate leftovers from the fridge, and Leofard ended up driving him back to his dorm at three in the morning, Elliott Smith playing softly to fill the tired quiet between them: I’d say you make a perfect angel in the snow.

Leofard has had friends with benefits before, but this is the first time it feels like they're actually friends.

It's nothing more, despite what Stacia says. She's only run into Emile a few times in the apartment, but she always raises a brow with a smirk, always teases Leofard the next day about his boyfriend coming over.

Leofard just laughs it off.

He's too young to be tied down, too selfish to be good at a relationship. The thought of trying to make this romantic sounds exhausting, like a performance neither of them know the steps to. What exists between them is the easiest thing in the world—he couldn’t be happier with this arrangement.

No expectations, they’d said, and it was a good idea.

It begins to change with this:

Early May means finals, and with one year left of school, one year left of his promise to Raimille, Leofard needs to make sure he passes these classes. The only one that gives him trouble is his English paper—he's never been good at planning or gathering sources, and he keeps putting it off until he has ten pages due the following day, and maybe two done, at most.

It becomes a marathon to finish on time, surrounded by stacks of books and a perpetually full cup of coffee at his side, but he gets frustrated with himself again and again as he loses focus. He stares at his laptop for so long that his vision feels a little blurry, so when his phone rings, he accepts the distraction for what it is.

"Hello?"

"Hey," says Emile on the other end of the line, voice soft.

Leofard bites his lip as he stares at the ceiling. "What's up?"

Emile is quiet for a moment, and then: "I was wondering if you're free tonight."

Leofard spares a glance at his laptop. "Shit, I wish I was, but I’m going to be stuck working on this paper all night."

"That’s okay," Emile says, and there's something distant and strange about his voice, but Leofard can't tell whether or not he sounds disappointed. "I don’t want to—we don’t have to have sex.”

Leofard frowns at the ceiling. They've never hung out for any other reason. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just…” he trails off again. “Sorry, I’ve been having a really hard day, and I don't want to be alone. My friends ask too many questions and I—I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So I’m an option because I don’t care?” he jokes.

“God, no, that sounds terrible,” he says quickly. “You’re just…easy to be around, Leo.”

Leofard’s left with the sound of his heart beating in his chest. For a moment, his thoughts blur together and it feels like he only hears himself say, “Come over."

Emile lets out a soft breath. "I promise I won't distract you."

Something in Leofard's stomach twists uncomfortably, and he wants to tell him that that doesn't really matter. What comes out instead is, "Do you want me to come get you?"

"No, I'll be okay," he says, and pauses. "Thank you."

Leofard has a hard time focusing on his paper after that, unsure of why it bothers him so much. He gets a single sentence done by the time there's a knock on the door, and Leofard gets up to answer it before he can think better of his appearance.

He regrets it when the door opens and Emile’s expression shifts into a grin. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

Leofard scrunches his nose as he looks down at his outfit—an old baggy t-shirt and sweatpants. “Sorry I didn’t get dressed up for you, baby.”

“No, I like this,” he says as he steps inside. “You look comfy.”

It's difficult not to be affected by those brown eyes steady and warm on him, the softness of his smile. “Don’t get any ideas, I will indulge them.”

Emile laughs. “I’ll be good. Look, I brought my books so I can study too.”

He holds up his bag. Leofard shakes his head. “Do you ever get tired of being so cute?”

He lets him inside, and he ignores Stacia’s grin as she glances up at them from the couch. Emile stops to greet her while Leofard goes to his room, where his laptop is still open, books spread out everywhere. He cleans off a space for Emile on the bed, who merely raises a brow before settling in beside him.

It feels oddly intimate. They work separately but they're merely inches apart, brushing elbows and passing books and stray comments. Leofard wasn't sure he'd get anything done with Emile here, but he finds it easier to focus with someone beside him.

For the most part, Emile seems fine. Leofard finds his thoughts drifting towards what could've happened today that he's having such a hard time, but he can't ask—Emile specifically came to him because he won't ask. Still, it doesn't stop him from worrying. They know each other but they don't, their intimacy is limited to the physical, and that's all they wanted, right?

He doesn't know why he can't stop thinking about it.

It becomes more obvious as the night goes on. Emile doesn't move for several minutes at a time. Leofard gets through half a page of his paper without Emile turning a single page of his book, and when he looks over, Emile’s gaze is fixed blankly at the space in front of him, worrying at his lip with his free hand. It takes too long for him to notice Leofard watching, but he offers him a closed lip smile when he does. Leofard smiles back.

With two pages to go, it creeps past midnight. Leofard is ready to throw his laptop out the window when Emile's book slips from his hands onto the bed. He looks over to the dull light of the lamp casting shadows over his face pressed into his pillow, eyes closed and chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm as he sleeps.

Leofard stares for far too long.

He half asses one more page, makes the margins and the spaces between lines bigger so that it goes onto another, and closes his laptop. Emile shifts but he doesn't wake up, and Leofard debates for a moment what to do. To wake him and send him home seems cruel, especially if he's having a bad day. To let him stay here feels...too close.

Carefully, he gets up to brush his teeth, but by the time he gets back he still hasn't decided. He stands in the doorway of his own room, watching the late night shadows cast over the shape of Emile in his bed, and something tugs in his chest. He closes the door with a soft click and crawls back in beside him, pulling the blanket over them both.

This time Emile stirs, eyes blinking open slowly. "Leo?"

"Hey," he says, his voice whisper soft. "You fell asleep."

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

"Just stay—it's too late to walk back and I'm too tired to drive."

He doesn't think that either of these things are true.

Emile is quiet for a moment, but then, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, voice drifting off. He reaches over to turn off the light. "Of course, baby."

He can't remember the last time he shared a bed with anyone—maybe not since his second foster home, when the other kids would come to his room at night and he'd tell them stories until they fell asleep. He takes a deep breath at the memory, and watches the ceiling until his eyes grow used to the dark. Judging from the sound of Emile's breathing, he falls back asleep quickly, and Leofard lets his head turn towards him, foolishly wondering what it would be like to reach out and touch him.

He closes his eyes and waits for all of it to pass.

—

The sun spills into the room through Leofard’s cheap blinds, paled light that still stirs him awake. There’s a weight around him, something solid that seeps warmth into his body, and his brows furrow for a moment before it comes back to him.

Right. Emile stayed the night.

Leofard knows their size difference well, but for the first time he lets himself catalog it—the way Emile’s broad chest spans past his shoulders, his heavy arm curled around his waist, and his cheek pressed to the top of his head. Each point of contact says you’re safe, and to Leofard’s surprise, he doesn’t mind.

He’s never needed anyone. He’s never wanted anyone like this, but he isn’t awake enough to overthink it as he lets himself inch further back into Emile’s space, sliding his arm along his to cradle it against his chest.

Blinking through the dust dazed light, he breathes in time with him—something steady to pull him back under as his eyes fall closed.

Distance will be easier in the morning.

—

Except—then he's alone.

He wakes faster this time, but the only evidence that Emile was here at all is the rumpled blanket beside him. Something in his chest pulls at the sight, but he refuses to call it disappointment. Leofard wouldn't have woken him to say goodbye either, if their roles were reversed.

Putting on his glasses, he glances at the clock to see that he still has a couple hours to submit his paper, and he chooses to ignore his laptop in favor of coffee.

He stretches out his back as he gets up, but there's a crick in his neck from spending all day working on his paper yesterday. It's forgotten the moment he opens his door and hears the sound of voices trailing from the kitchen. He frowns to himself, but when he turns the corner, Emile and Stacia sit at the table eating breakfast, so deep in conversation that neither of them notice him.

"I trust you saved me some coffee?" he asks, interrupting. They both look up, and there's a sly smile on Stacia's face and an earnest one on Emile's. He doesn't know how to process the way it makes him feel.

"Sorry, you're on your own," Stacia says.

Emile laughs. "There's some left."

Leofard still just blinks at both of them before he goes to pour himself a cup of coffee, his brain struggling to catch up with the situation, and for once in his life he's quiet as he listens to them talk about football. Stacia's voice is bright and more excited than he remembers it ever being, and Emile indulges her, going back over specific plays and explaining the story behind them.

“That pass from Estinien,” she says, and apparently it’s all she needs to say. Leofard watches the twitch of Emile’s mouth, the way he looks down at the table as he runs a hand through his hair.

“It was his idea,” he says quietly. The memory seems to come to him, and he smiles a little to himself before he looks back at Stacia. “We used to practice those kinds of throws together all the time—it only worked because no one was expecting it.”

But before Stacia can say anything, he continues, "I should probably go, though. I have a final at noon."

"I'll drive you back," Leofard offers before he can think about it.

Emile glances at him, his expression soft. "Thank you. I'll go grab my books."

Leofard just nods as he gets up and leaves the kitchen. He wants to ignore the look on Stacia's face but it's impossible with the way her lips curve into a smug grin.

"Your boyfriend stayed the night,” she says the moment he’s out of earshot.

"Stacia," he returns, not quite a warning but more of you know it's not like that. "He fell asleep, I wasn't about to kick him out."

"Of course not." She takes a sip of her coffee, and just when he thinks she's going to let it go, she says, “I’m assuming you were the little spoon.”

“Stacia.”

She laughs, but then her voice turns a shade softer. "He's a sweet guy."

"He is," Leofard lets himself admit, and he stares in the direction that Emile left, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to tell her we didn’t have sex last night.

Because there's a limit to their relationship. There is a defined boundary, and last night doesn't fit within that. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. A moment later, Emile bounds back into the kitchen, bag slung over his shoulder and surely way too energetic for this early in the morning. Leofard just smiles. "Ready?"

The drive back to his dorm takes only a few minutes, but Leofard can't help but sneak little peaks at him along the way. The windows are down because they’re always down, and Emile’s hair blows with the wind while music plays softly, morning light along his profile. Leofard tries not to think about his body curled around his, different from the way they usually touch, and ignores the thoughts that creep into the back of his mind.

He parks outside Emile's dorm, and Emile turns towards him.

"Thank you," he says, his voice so earnest that, for a moment, Leofard can't return his gaze.

"Of course," he returns, and he thinks too hard about what to say next, settling on, "Did it help?"

"It did," he says with a nod, and he leans in close, sliding a hand along Leofard's jaw as he pulls him in for a soft kiss. Leofard gasps against his mouth but leans into it, letting his lips part against his and lingering for too long.

“As a promise for next time,” Emile murmurs against his mouth.

“Next time,” Leofard echoes, opening his eyes as he pulls away. “Let’s celebrate when finals are over.”

Emile smiles. "Good luck!"

He gets out, and Leofard is left to watch him go. Something stirs within him, a feeling that is both unfamiliar and unwelcome, and as the door to the dorms closes behind Emile, Leofard stares for a long moment before he looks back at the road.

Under his breath he mutters, “What the hell...”

He goes for a drive.

#oc: emile jenidaut #leofard myste #emile/leofard #modern au #screaming forever !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#i've been thinking about this AU for a long time now #and it's been so long since i've posted anything #but this project means a lot to me and i have so many plans for them i'm just sdjfsdf yelling #and this might not be a good time to post but i need to finish packing o7 #my writing

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empressgeekt · 4 months ago

Note

I'm curious now, if someone made a reaction fic with canon watching your stories (not me because I suck at those), how do you think they would react? Especially if Branch was still gray?

Oh I play out this fic plot in my head on almost a daily basis.

If I were to put, Grey Branch, Poppy, Viva the snackpack, and Brozone into a room to watch my aus, both fics would probably start the same. Shock on both sides (brozone to Branch's state, and The Snackpack to Branch's alter ego as Bitty B), but eventually they'd all settle and start watching. Though, Brozone would definitely not that Creek at first glance. Viva would cling to her sister and the Snackpack would welcome her, but they would be very confused when she starts acting paranoid about the bergens like Branch, and Creek would..be Creek...getting on her bad side. Bruce would have to step in explaining that Trauma doesn't work the way Creek is trying to simplify it (he read a lot of the vacationer's psychology books before his kids were born). Needless to say, by the time that everyone has sat down the room is tense.

For Burning Branches it's pretty clear that this is an alternate universe so, they kind of just sit back and enjoy.

The Snackpack would get to witness the abuse a tiny grey branch would get in the tree, while Brozone gets to see Branch follow in there footsteps and escaping on his own. Branch himself remembers a few of these events but doesn't remember leaving so he interested in seeing where he counterpart went. Practically everyone panics when they see the head injury on screen, Floyd even starts crying at the sight. Once the rock trolls get involved it draws a lot of surprise from the whole group. Floyd and JD aren't too surprised they've been around the block before, and have a basic gest of the other tribes. Bruce is in the same boat as a few Techno trolls have washed up on Vacay island. However none of them had seen rock trolls in person and their dulled nature are a little disturbing, considering what dulled means for Pop trolls. Clay and Viva are paying rapid attention to the rock trolls on screen, because considering the environment their people live in these guys know how to survive and protect themselves. The Snackpack has mixed reactions, Cooper wonders if theirs another tribe that looks like him, Poppy just wants to help these guys find happiness cause they are way to serious in her opinion, Creek calls them brutes (impressing no one), while the rest of the pack are either confused/fearful/curious. Branch is just awed, this troll, the rock king no less, on screen took his other version and saved him. Not only pull him from the water but take this trolling stranger into his home and raised on-screen Branch as his own. It's made veery clear that the pop and rock tribes do not get along, and yet this king was willing to risk his power and reputation to care for Char, King Peppy never kept Branch for more then two days until shipping him off to the next foster family. He even seemed mad on Char's behalf, something Branch had never thought anyone would do. The amnesia is something that hurts Brozone, learning that in one world there brother forgot about them. Branch is a little envious of Char, after all losing his memories was pretty starting a new life with a clean slate. Sure he watches Char struggle, but he also watches Char thrive, regaining his color, learning to love music again, making friends, having a family behind him, heck even getting Poppy for a love interest. Sure, it's an arranged marriage between the tribes, and makes the theater very awkward, but there's a clear connection between the two of them. By the end of the whole first movie all the snackpack (minus Creek) and Bruce are shipping Poppy/Char (Choppy? We should call them Choppy), and they get pissed when John Dory on screen interrupts their wedding.

For FOF, it's more of confusing reaction since this could still be their actual future.

Branch makes notes to look out for Keith, cause just in case there might be a trolling who's a little weird ending up in the foster system after losing his dad and he doesn't want that to happen. Kid seems sweet and not that judging. As the au goes on, Branch feels all sort of embarrassment, from them witnessing his panic attacks and how they called him cute for the more wholesome reactions when it comes to Keith. When the whole wolf incident comes on screen, Poppy ask Branch if he would really do that for the village, and everyone is shocked when he nods. Creek tries to say the the forest is over dramatizes in this and that the critters aren't that cruel in real life, Branch just rolls his eyes only to hear John Dory come to his defense, as a survivalist himself he had to deal with predators, and everything on screen is necessary. FOF Branch is a lot harsher on his brothers and the interactions on screen are a lot more charged. Branch isn't sure how he feels about this counterpart. There's a feeling of justice at watchin his brothers get what's coming to them, but it also hurts that he's hurting them. He doesn't hold the same anger that FOF feels. Smidge kind of wants to meet her FOF counterpart, someone who uses her strength to save others, she's down for it. And Asks Branch if he could set up something like that in there world or at least train her, to help him in the forest. Branch is confused by that. Creek completely denies that he would betray everyone, but strangely Branch doesn't believe him. FOF Branch's wounds are scary to think about for everyone but Branch forces himself not to react. Broppy makes once more everyone uncomfortable, Branch feeling awkward, Bruce teasing, Poppy blushing, Creek giving the grey troll the stick eye. It's harder to different Canon from AU with FOF since Char is less Branch like.

There's just so much that could happen that i can't fit it into one post, but if anyone wants to make one to these they have my full permission. Though that might want to wait until the final product is finished.

#dreamworks trolls #trolls #canon divergent au #field of forgetmenots au #branch x poppy #burning branches au #trolls branch #trolls keith #brozone #snack pack #fanfic #thank you for the question!#questions and answers

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parkerpeter24 · 2 years ago

Text

bloody love . part 2

pairing ➳ peter parker x reader

warnings ➳ hanahaki!au, unrequited love, no happy ending, heavy angst, mentions of cancer, please read at your own discretion.

w.c. ➳ 1.7k

summary ➳ who said love couldn’t kill?

don’t judge me for writing this messily i have my exam tomorrow 🥹

part 1 | part 3 | part 4

“i-i gotta go.”

peter and gwen watched you leave, a concerned look etched over both their faces.

you ran back inside the complex, coughing as you did, a hand tight over your lips. peter followed you, not caring the moment as he followed you into the “girls’ washroom”, ignoring the disgusting looks and comments he got from some girls by the sinks calling him an absolute freak.

when he found himself alone with you in the bathroom, his knuckles erratically tapping the door to your stall, “y/n, what the fuck is wrong?!” he demanded as the sounds of your coughing became prominent, no longer muffled by the palms of your hand, “please open up!”

peter’s voice was starting to sound helpless now. there were those blood drops again as he roamed his eyes around the white bathroom tiles, “it’s not that easy, peter.” your voice sounded from the other side, “p-please go away.”

“is it cancer!?” peter’s heart clenched at his own question, not really wanting to know the answer, “please say it isn’t cancer, y/n.” his voice cracked, repeatedly tapping his head against the door.

you were leaning against the door too now, your back to it. the place filled with silence as your hand slid outside through the gap between the floor at the wood. peter noticed instantly and placed his hand in yours, wrapping his fingers around yours, “it’s not cancer.”

peter felt a wave of relief wash over him but found himself asking, “what is it then?” he waited for you to speak but heard no reply, “please tell me. i need to know what’s wrong.” his grip on your hand never faltering.

“not here.” you pulled your hand back before peter felt you shift, standing up as you did too. you opened the door, finally meeting peter’s warm; and now tear filled; eyes, “i can’t tell you here, peter.”

“w-we can go wherever you want!” peter offered, taking your hand in his again.

you nodded, avoiding his eyes, “my place?”

“okay.”

“you two! my office. right now.” the two of you, as soon as you turned to leave, the met with the fiery eyes of mrs. foster– the principal of your school.

the two of you sat on the chairs opposite the ginger woman who kept going and going about how it is normal for teenagers your age to have urges, but to break the decorum of the school isn’t helping anyone. however, you two were asked to leave with just a notice for the time being.

“your place?” peter asked timidly as soon as the two of you were out of the school building, taking a deep breath when you nodded and started to walk towards your apartment building.

once the two of you were inside your room, you closed the door and faced peter, “peter, please tell me this won’t make things weird between us.”

“nothing could.” peter promised.

you took the brunette’s hand, leading him to sit on the bed. you sad beside him before you started speaking once more, “peter, i.. i have this condition.” peter waited patiently for you to continue, “since two months, i have been coughing up… b-blood and these petals.”

“petals?” peter asked, “w-why?”

“we went to the doctor, and she said that it was a rare condition. i-it happens when you fall in love. unrequited love.” you completed your sentence, letting each syllable settle in.

“what? i- y/n, that’s crazy!” it took peter– the smartest guy in all of midtown– about five to six minutes to understand your whole sentence, “y-you love somebody?”

you nodded, staring at the floor. you could feel his eyes fixated on your and you didn’t wanna risk looking into his eyes.

“who is it?” he asked.

“it’s you.”

to say that took peter by surprise was an understatement. all colour was starting to drain from his face and he processed those two words, “it’s me?” he mumbled.

your eyes brimmed with threatening tears this time, “i-i’m sorry, peter. i never wanted it to-”

“*i* caused you this pain?” peter cut your statement short.

“what? no, no. it’s me, it’s my fault.” you finally looked up to meet peter’s eyes, the same shade of red as yours.

peter nodded, though he could feel the guilt rising up his chest. your fast heartbeat synchronized with his own, an indication that you were as scared and uncertain as him. peter didn’t ask you any more questions. all he did was get up and walk towards your window, “i wish i could love you back, y/n. i really do.” he said before stepping out the window.

you didn’t make any move to stop him, hot tears running down your face.

the moment peter was out on your fire escape, a realization dawned upon him. he wasn’t wearing his spider-man suit. it didn’t seem right walking back inside just to use the door, the brunette sighed and opted for the stairs.

that night on his routined patrol, peter passed by your house but didn’t stop by like he usually would. you weren’t waiting either.

you had stopped coming to school again and peter felt as if it was his mistake. the school seemed lonelier without you, not like he had a huge circle of friends, but you used to be the highlight of his day. he brought you milkshake and in turn you’d promise to get him a pb&j sandwich– like you’d done the previous day– but now you weren’t there anymore.

“hey, pete!” gwen chirped, then noticing the glum look on his face, “everything okay? you didn’t make it to dinner last night so i thought something came up.”

“it’s y/n.” he answered shortly. “she’s not well.”

“oh. what happened?”

“it’s complicated.” peter said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. it was getting colder as the days passed and peter’s mind wandered to how you would always complain about it being the worst weather. you really hated the cold and every time you were at his place, you’d manage to sneak one of his hoodies out of the closet, saying it’s warmer.

“maybe you’d like to talk about it over coffee?” peter snapped out of his daze, looking at the blonde girl in front of him.

“oh, uh yeah, coffee sounds nice.” he gave her a tight lipped smile.

“great, i’ll text you.” she smiled before walking away, leaving peter with his thoughts.

to even peter’s surprise, the thoughts were yours. if this was any other day, he would have jumped in the air and danced his little victory away inside his head, but all he could think about was how you told him that you loved him.

later that evening, peter reached the coffee shop and found gwen already sitting there, waiting for him. he rushed inside and sat across her, “sorry i’m late.”

“oh, no. you’re on time!” she smiled sheepishly, “i was actually early.”

the two of them ordered, feeling an awkward silence settle in. it was never like this, at least for peter. he always found talking to gwen so easy, but everything felt different suddenly.

the palpable tension was cut short by gwen clearing her throat, “so, y/n?” she asked, taking a sip from her chamomile tea.

“what?”

“you wanted to talk about her.” she clarified, watching peter stir the coffee in his cup.

“right. well, yesterday i was over at her place.” he averted his eyes, knowing that gwen would be disappointed he never showed up at her place, “i’m sorry for ditching your plan.”

“you mean our plan?”

“right, sorry.” peter took a deep breath before continuing, “i was with her and she told me… she told me that she loves me.”

“what!” gwen bore the same dumbstruck expression peter expected her to. for a moment it was silent again before she asked, “do you?”

“n-no. i don’t.”

“are you sure, peter?”

it was peter’s turn to stay mute. he didn’t know how to answer that question. he wanted to be clear about his feelings but he wasn’t. the more he thought about it, the more twisted it became.

“i don’t know.”

another week passed like that. peter didn’t see you at school, nor after his patrols. he just couldn’t muster up the courage to crawl up to your window and confront you.

he’d stopped hanging out with gwen too. or maybe it was the other way around, the vigilante wasn’t sure anymore.

it was as if you were holed up in your room all the time. whenever he passed your apartment building, he saw the light to your room turned on but never saw your shadow, or any silhouette moving about.

however, today the case was different. your room appeared dark and quiet, the streetlight peeked into your room through the window just like peter’s curious eyes. he finally landed on your fire escape, one week after the events that led you to confess to him about your love.

the house felt lonely. peter pulled out his phone and shot you a text, then another and two more, asking about your whereabouts, but you gave no reply.

peter decided to ignore it even though his heart was telling him to wait there, frozen at the spot, until you returned back home.

the next day he saw you in school by your locker. he couldn’t believe his eyes, thinking it was a dream. even though he was uncertain, there was a pull between the two of you that led him towards you, his feet stopping only a meter away from you, “y/n?”

you looked up from your locker, lips parting, “peter.” your face remained stoic.

“i- uh, how have you been?”

your eyes turned towards the floor, “i got the surgery.”

“w-what? what surgery?”

“i got the flowers removed surgically.” you closed your locker, clutching the books over your chest almost protectively.

“why?” was all peter could whisper.

“i’m sorry for getting in between you and gwen. now you can be with her.” you gave him a little smile, taking a few steps back, “maybe we could be friends again, peter.”

with that you left.

peter stood there, staring at a ghost of you in front of him, wishing you would come back and hold him in your warm embrace. but that seemed like a distant dream. peter’s chest tightened at the thought of leaving you. a feeling of pain blossomed within his lungs. he gasped for air and coughed, cupping a hand over his mouth.

to his horror, when he pulled his palm back, resting over it was a petal covered in blood.

you left with peter, the pain that your heart suffered through once. and his own that never got a chance to win your bloody love.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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