#Can anyone tell that I know VERY little about baking and am hiding behind the shield of FAMILY SECRET to skate by this?

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 13

PREVIOUS

“I can’t believe you would go out on Black Friday to grocery shop but I guess thanks for going out on Black Friday to grocery shop.” Aaron greets him with as FF moves over to the table.

Andrew and Captain Neil had apparently went out shopping.

Andrew and Captain Neil had apparently come back and have been in Andrew’s room for the past couple hours.

“Josten probably wanted to go to Excites for some gear. I don’t know what my brother sees in that Exy-obsessed jerk.” Aaron says as he eats his own smiley eggs and bacon. FF hears the sound of a hammer and a drill from Andrew’s room.

Heart in his throat he forces himself not to think about what Andrew and Captain Neil COULD be building.

(A guillotine, an iron maiden, that weird wedge thing that splits people in half at the groin, He should NOT have taken that Spanish history class. Oh god it’s probably a fence so he can’t escape whatever hunting ground Andrew is going to drag him to if he can’t buy his continued existence via baked good.)

“Shut up, they’re actually really sweet to one another.” Nicky chastises before turning to FF, “Because of that your final serving goes to Smithy. He deserves it more than you.” Nicky says and slides the final plate of eggs and bacon.

“He’s just as bothered by it as I am!” Aaron scowls.

“By what?” FF asks because there are a lot of things that bother him so Aaron is going to have to be more specific.

“By those two being all close. I’ve seen the way you turn and walk away.” Aaron reaches across the table for his bacon but FF just pushes the plate closer to him. The two plates he had already eaten were more than enough, especially after the full dinner that they’d had the night before. “You’re grossed out by it too right?” He asks as he goes to stab the bacon.

FF slides the plate away and Aaron stabs the table.

FF is NOT HOMOPHOBIC.

His gran raised him better than that.

“I don’t agree with you.” He says because he doesn’t but can’t bring himself to say anymore. He’s in Aaron’s house, he stole Aaron’s keys that morning to lock up the house.

(it was so rude but what if someone broke in because he left the house unlocked? What if someone got hurt just because he wanted to ensure his own survival? Isn’t it better that he just borrowed Aaron’s keys to make sure that no one in the house got hurt? Does FF still believe with every fiber of his being that Andrew Minyard is trying to murder him in this exact house? Yes. Can these concerns coexist peacefully? Also yes.)

If anything he finds Captain Neil and Andrew to be an incredibly nice couple. They talk about things together, they make plans about their future, their PDA was actually pretty minimal (especially in comparison to Aaron), and he had figured out the weird code Andrew talked in so he was pretty sure that Andrew and Neil loved one another.

The only issue he has with the couple is that they are out at a store probably buying supplies to torture and then kill FF.

Otherwise they were perfectly fine.

Aaron scowls, “You can’t be serious. You walk away faster than you run on the court when you see the two of them getting all gross.” He points with his fork and tries to grab the bacon again.

FF frowns deeper.

“I walk away even faster from you and your girlfriend.” He returns because Aaron and Katelyn are the couple who have been the MOST guilty of initiating something in front of him when he was in ‘Visible only when the sunlight strikes him at the exact right angle on the summer solstice’ mode.

 He had tried to clear his throat to get them to quit quite a few times but…well…he has heard Katelyn mention that one of her and Aaron’s favorite ‘hang out’ spots might be haunted….so he hadn’t been overly successful.

“PDA makes me uncomfortable in general. Captain Neil and Andrew are a very nice couple who you shouldn’t talk bad about.” He defends as one of the only people who would know exactly how thoughtful the two were to one another.

He hopes his Gran is proud of him for saying something.

Aaron looks at him with a twisted mouth for a while before relenting, “Fine they’re not that bad. It’s just a big brother thing.” Aaron rolls his eyes.

FF swallows down some acid in his throat and pushes the smiling eggs and bacon over to Aaron who smiles back at the breakfast and proceeds to eat it.

A big brother thing.

FF gets up and heads over to the final bag that Andrew had left out on the counter. FF had bought some additional offerings for his mortal soul to tide Andrew over while he made the brownies. It’s also where the incense and his latest two five hour energies should still be.

He finds the incense, wonders if he hallucinated the five hour energies (very possible), and hands Nicky a box of sour patch kids to distract him when he comes over.

“Smithy, why the hell are you lighting incense?” Nicky asks because the sour patch kids were NEVER going to be enough to distract Nicky. That would take something on the level of Swedish Fish but he’d been more focused on avoiding the candy thrown by an irate woman towards a member of Target staff because the grocery department couldn’t get her the redemption coupon for one of the flat screens in the Electronic department so he had FAILED to procure them. He’d even seen a box sail through the air is bullet time because his brain was too hopped up on Five Hour Energy but he’d let it go believing he could just grab a box at check out. THEN HE ZONED OUT IN THE CHECK OUT LINE AS HE STARED AT BOTH THE FUTURE AND THE PAST AND FORGOT HE WAS IN THE PRESENT WHERE HE HADN’T GOTTEN THE DAMN SWEDISH FISH.

“I’m going to make my Great Grandma’s brownies.” He says in response, “I’m hoping to channel her so I don’t mess up.” He says.

“Oh! More grandma baking goodies?! I can be your assistant baker! What do you need?” Nicky says visibly vibrating with excitement at the prospect. “We can listen to Mariah and I can lick the spoon!”

There is a noise of revulsion from the kitchen table.

“Don’t let him lick the spoon Smiths! He gets WEIRD about it.”

“That sounds like what someone who wants to lick the spoon would say.”

“Oh shut up!”

“That’s not a NO!”

The cousins continue to argue about spoon licking rights as FF gets started checking to make sure that the kitchen has all the necessary equipment to even make his brownies. He’d been so tired (last night? This morning?) that he hadn’t thought about even checking that the cousins would have things like a glass bowl, an baking dish, pie tin, etc.

Thankfully FOR ONCE luck is on his side and FF does not have to walk back to the Target.

So he finishes pulling out everything he’ll need, getting the oven pre-heated, and pulling out the ingredients for the brownies from the fridge.

He lights some incense with the stove top burners sends a quick prayer up and wonders if maybe a ouija board would have been better but if the Home Goods section had been a dangerous spot then the toy section would have been like walking into an active war zone. There are no laws as far as parents are concerned when it comes to getting the ‘it’ toy for their kids. FF has watched the highs and lows of humanity in the Barbie aisle more than once.

So he melts chocolate, he sifts flour and sugar, he separates eggs, and he uses every muscle that Kevin’s insane work out regiment had given his arms to whip those egg whites into stiff peaks. He knows his great gran is with him when Nicky and Aaron continue to argue (they are now talking about the ethics of licking the spoon vs. licking the bowl? He doesn’t quite get how they got there but alright) so Nicky doesn’t hear him say “Stiff Peaks Acquired” to himself because he knows Nicky well enough to know that he would have NEVER heard the end of it.

He uses all of the delicacy his gran had ever tried to teach him to fold those egg whites into the chocolate and then to fold in the flour and sugar. There are more steps, more ingredients, but unless you are family then those are CLASSIFIED.

Great Gran had always been the suspicious sort.

The oven beeps to let him know it’s done pre-heating as he’s carefully transferring his great gran’s life’s work into the baking dish.

He was so focused that he hadn’t even realized that Andrew was back until he turned to do the dishes and found Andrew holding the bowl and running his fingers through the scant remaining mix and shoving it into his mouth.

He is surprise that the scream remains in his head. He’s even more surprised that he stays upright. Maybe the nap did him some good even if it let Andrew and Captain Neil build whatever torture device they were intending to use on him.

He really needs to drink some pepto. He doesn’t think that Andrew will pause their ‘The Most Dangerous Game’ recreation to let FF manage his ulcers. Andrew is staring straight at him.

Andrew offers him the spoon.

FF declines. Raw eggs, sugar, and chocolate? With THIS stomach? He’d almost prefer to be chased through whatever enclosure Andrew is going to drag him to.

“When did you wake up?” Andrew asks.

“Hour ago.” He answers.

“Hm.”

“I’ll make the pie tomorrow.” he ventures trying to extend his life by another day.

Andrew shoves the spoon into his own mouth after that and walks out into the dining room. FF hears both Aaron and Nicky’s cries of anguish.

FF looks at the brownies in the oven at the incense burning on the counter and wonders if that was Andrew’s way of confirming his stay of execution.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

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As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t  get a notification there might be something switched around in your  settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

[junos-jrabbles]

How would baking with the mercs go?

Authors note sorry it's all short and possibly unreadable I might do some more of the fellas another time :) I'm am so cold and eepy

Pyro, Sniper, and Scout :)

Pyro

Spectacularly, believe me, it’d go so well, definitely no burning around here! No sir!

Jokes aside, it’d go pretty well!

You guys would bake some cupcakes, maybe some sugar cookies, as they’d probably love all things sweet in the kitchen, and you’d both be covered in flour, eggs, sugar, and god knows what in no time.

You’d get walked in on while jousting with rolling pins, and have to try and make it seem like you were being normal. Impossible.

Pyro would be sat, cross legged on the floor in front of the oven, watching the baked goods through the window.

Only some of the confectionaries would come out burnt, mostly due to you two getting distracted flipping through the recipe book and gawking at all the pretty treats.

You'd point like an excited ape at a towering cake, and Pyro would excitedly drum their hands on the paper and teeter on their heels, squeaking out muffled, joyous sounds under the mask as the cycle continued.

You guys would FEAST on your delicacies in Pyro's room, and have a little picnic/tea party with some old cartoons in the background :)

~~~

Sniper

It’d be a pretty peaceful activity, I’d imagine, an hour or so spent kneading, rolling and cutting pre bought cookie dough before you set it in the oven for as long as it says on the tin while you go spoon in his bed.

He probably wouldn’t have the ingredients for baking (or much fancy cooking) in the camper, and when you guys snuck into the base’s pantry, Lieutenant Bites was paws shoulders deep in the sugar, so.

The cookies would come out pretty perfectly, a little misshapen, (Sniper definitely tried to turn one into a heart, or an animal of some sort, and it came out as a funny blob) but really good!

He'd make sure you were both there ready the second they started turning a yummy golden brown around the edges.

He'd pull out the tray trying not to laugh, “Promise you won't laugh… the dog's gone blobby—” And almost drop everything.

You guys would cook up a batch, put half in a nice big baggy and eat the other half with him on the sofa with a board game in progress on the coffee table in front of you.

~~~

Scout

He's throwing the eggs between his hands like that one cooking mama mini game, and is NARROWLY avoiding splattering them absolutely fucking EVERYWHERE.

He'd absolutely go try and steal one from Archimedes if he dropped one

There's a crumpled sheet of paper with his ma's Boston cream pie recipe on the counter, and flour covering every single surface.

“Look, I don't know what’cha mean by ‘It won't work’— Are you sayin’ my ma ain't a world star chef? Nuh— Nuh-uh, I ain't listenin!”

He's asking you to make it tiered like a wedding cake, and he's adamant that not only is it possible, but that you definitely know how to do it.

He's got his fingers in his ears when you try telling him you don't think you can do that, and only starts listening again when you offer him the whisk to lick when you're done stirring the base cake mix.

The cake comes out okay, you manage to get just about everything put together, though, you guys definitely ate a bit too much of the cream while you were waiting, and only had a small layer to put in by the end.

It's yummy, at least! And when anyone comes into the kitchen wondering why it smells vaguely like burning and moreso like cake, you two link up like a defensive wall in front of it, looking around very inconspicuously, of course.

“What cake? Where? Someone's got cake?” Sloooowly hiding it behind your backs.

[fantasy-fields-bitty-center]

Hi yes it's me again again

I am here to also see if any canon Evan and Elizabeth bitties (and whoever they're bonded to of course, don't want to separate people) would like to come home with me

- @himesbittycenter

Answering two asks in one here: Anonymous asked:

Okay I know I just sent you an ask but you have canon fnaf Charlie bitties I would love to see if one would like to come home with me

And any bitties they're bonded with of course I won't separate anyone

And why not throw in a Puppet bitty for good measure, if any would like to come

I can remind you my current bitties again if need be but they're also in my other ask somewhere

-@himesbittycenter

-

-

These two are bonded to several bitties, though they are a happy family and have a good support system to be moved into a proper home!

And this takes care of both of your asks without having to seporate any of these bitties or worry about not being able to find all of them a caring home! I hope you like them!

This group has been to a few homes before, and have been sent back due to them being 'too high maintaince', 'too chaotic', and/or because they 'took to long to settle in',

-

CC(Canon Evan bitty): This bitty goes by Connor currently, and is never seen without his small fredbear plushy, he's not as easily scared as most CC bitties due to the fact he has a good support system with his family, though he is still very weary of strangers and will often hide behind one of his older bothers or his dads, though he has taken an interest in robotics and is very easy to trust robotic bitties! Especially if they're micro sized, he's 4 inches tall currently,

-

Lizzy(Canon Elizabeth bitty): She goes by Lila and with her family she's really come out of her shell! She's rarely anxious unless one of her family members is sick or hurt(which is understandable lol) and she's super outgoing, often being on of the first of her family to greet a new person, say for her dads of course, she usually hangs around Kiko and Luna, but will also hand around Connor and Milo, she's currently 5 inches tall,

-

Charlie(Chaos incarnate Charlie): He's taken to the name Kiko for now, and he's a little creature, like most alternates- he loves being high up! And will often be found lounging on top of the fridge or on the back of the couch in their bitty sized home lol, when outside of the house he'll often still be climbing around somewhere, he can walk on walls after all! Though luckily he usually stays by his family and if his dads tell him to knock it off or to get down he will, maybe a lil grumbly but he will! He's currently 4 inches tall,

-

Henry(Chaos incarnate Henry): He goes by Henry still, he didn’t see a point in picking a new name when he could just go by Henry, he took in all the kids and is more than willing to take in more if there are any bitties that need a home! Hell he'd even take in roommates as long as they wouldn’t hurt his kids, he loves to cook and bake! Though he does take turns cooking with William, so they both get time to spend with their kiddos! He's 9 inches tall,

-

William(Chaos incarnate William bitty): He still goes by William or Will for short, why change his name when William is a perfectly good name? He's just as caring and protective as any other father and like Henry is more than willing to take in other bitties in need, as another child or not, he's super into robotics and makes sure to keep maintenance up to date with the robotic bitties they have and honestly don’t be too surprised if you find a new one or two around- he's very talented with his robotics lol, he's 10 inches tall,

-

Mikael(Canon Michael bitty): He goes by Ryder and with his proper support system is doing well, though he rarely plays pranks still and the ones he does play are more of the confusing variety, like somehow putting a pan on the ceiling- he's not even an alternate we arent sure how he manages- but he does! Not that Milo or Kiko wouldn’t help him do something like that though lol, he's 8 inches tall currently, -

Charlotte(Canon Charlie bitty): She goes by Luna, and loves stargazing and pretty much anything star or space themed, and she has a favorite dress that’s covered in galaxies! She loves drawing and has tried to find a micro sized Sun and Moon bot to add to their lil family, though they havent found any yet(they are pretty popular bitties after all lol, and sadly some bitties don’t want to join a family as not everyone is willing to adopt a family, especially a bigger one) though she hasn’t lost hope! Shes currently 3 icnhes tall

-

1.0 Puppet: They go by Poppet and use they/them or it/its pronouns, they often watch the kids when Henry and William are busy, but also tend to stay in the pizzaria they had set up, but they wouldn’t mind if they didn’t have a mini'ria set up to chill in, though they know it wouldn’t be as fun for the kids without it, they had an arcade after all! Though they'll do their best to help care for the kids either way, they're 8 inches tall,

-

Evan(Chaos incarnate Evan bitty): He goes by Milo, and is almost always with Fredbear, and carrying around his fredbear plushy, he doesn’t care that Fredbear is a nightmare animatronic! He still finds him comforting to be around, and he's an alternate, so he can stay on whether Fredbear wants the lil guy on him or not, though he doesn’t have to worry about falling off either- he's only recently actually picked up talking and still mostly makes noises(chirps, squeaks, hisses, yips, etc) but will also give 1-2 or 3 word answers, he can understand english perfectly fine, he's just not the most verbal! But very vocal, he's 4 inches tall currently,

-

Vanni(Canon Vanny bitty): He goes by Karlos and sees Vanny as his twin brother, as they spawned at the same time, he was following William around before he met Henry, so of course when he met Henry he just went with it, after all if William likes him why shouldn’t he? Now he really does see him as a second father, though he'd never say that, he's super stubborn about that, he almost always is wearing a VANNI mask, though its not an AR one, it's just one he likes wearing, him and Vanny are almost always with each other, he's 7 inches tall currently, -

Vanny(Chaos incarnate Vanny bitty): He goes by Vanny and sees Karlos as his twin brother, as they spawned at the same time, and like his brother he was following William around before he met Henry, though hes a lot less abrasive about it, though it just made Karlos worry seeing as he's a bit of a doormat, but being with his family has given him the confidence to find his snark and sass, though he's not mean about it, he's picking up robotics too since he's usually around watching William work and was interested in learning, he likes wearing a spring bonnie looking mask, since he says he doesn’t want to match his bother to much lol, he's 7 inches tall currently,

-

Baxter(Chaos incarnate Baxter bitty): He goes by Dez and was already adopted by Henry when he met William, he didn’t mind at all and thought William was a really cool dude! And he sees him as a second father now too, he does his best but stumbles around a lot, much to his(and his dads) dismay, and literally no one has managed to piss him off yet, though no one has tried hurting his family yet either, he picked up sewing as a hobby and loves making lil plushies! Especially ones he can give to his loved ones as gifts! He's 9 and a half inches tall,

-

Justin(Chaos incarnate Justin bitty): He goes by Jessi and was taken in by Henry even before Baxter was around, he was bullied by other bitties and is extra anxious, almost always following Henry around or holding onto him for comfort since he was his only source of comfort for awhile, he was one of the 'biggest problems' when it came to settling down in a new home, he'll be extra anxious and wont really trust being near new people/bitties for a long while, he's partially blind and deaf after all, and even with his glasses and hearing aids he's still a small bitty! He'll relax after awhile but it's best to make sure he has a more quiet area to be in, luckily he does have his own room in their house, so it's already partially taken care of! He currently stands at 6 inches tall,

-

1.0 Nightmare Spring bonnie: He goes by Bonnie and loves to pull pranks! Though he's usually helping Ryder with his strange as fuck pranks, he doesn’t want to scare anyone after all! Especially not Jessi or Milo, he and Fredbear are usually at the mini pizzeria and makes sure everything is in working order, and will even put on shows like he's not a nightmare variant with Fredbear! But is usually drawing with the kiddos instead or bringing out food, he's a pretty good cook for someone who cant taste lol, he's 10 inches tall,

-

1.0 Nightmare Fredbear: He goes by Fredbear and is almost always with Bonnie, and prefers to hang around the pizzeria more, though he'll also help with the pranks, but much prefers doing maintenance on the arcade machines and other things around the pizzeria, he's taken up playing the violin for some reason? Though he also just has a love for classical music, which sometimes helps the kids get to sleep if they're having some extra troubles! He's 13 inches tall

-

1.0 OG Foxy: This lil scrapper goes by the name Foxy and was following bonded with Ryder before Henry and William found them, so he's here to stay lol, he loves telling stories and can make ones up on the spot! Him and Ryder will sometimes even drag Dez and Jessi in on some DND nights! Foxy is pretty much always the DM lol, and he's pretty good at telling stories that the younger kiddos would like too! They've even played a session with the whole family(it was chaotic as you could imagine and probably then some lol), he has his own lil cove area in the pizzeria and usually uses it to tell stories to the kiddos that wanna hear them where they wont bother anyone playing in the arcade or doing anything in the main room, he stands at 8 inches tall,

-

 -

We're also sending you off today with a care package! Seeing as there are a lot of bitties here lol:

1 bitty sized house(it's a 4 story house, with a garage that Henry and William use as a workshop! Ryder has taken residency in the attic as well)

20 bitty sized fnaf plushies(mostly Foxy's, Ryder has his hoard lol)(this does not include the Connor and Milo's fredbear plushies!)

10 sets of clothes for each bitty

Extra blankets and pillows

And finally: literally everything they own bc its theirs(furniture, clothes they already had, décor, and so on)

Some Mini'ria rooms: 1 Pirate stage set, 1 Basic Arcade room set, 1 Diner set, 1 Musical room set, 1 Hoarder room set, 1 Basic room set, 1 Basic Stage set,

[bronte-deserves-better]

What if Alina and the other councillors never really had a time to get to know each other very well so they didn't really work well together and some councillors thought of it as her replacing Kenric, so after a really huge argument (maybe at the peace summit?) They all sit down and go in a circle and the first round it's saying what their name is their pronouns and one fact about themselves, and by the end of it they feel like they understand each other better and now they get together on Wednesdays if they don't have anything going on and kinda build trust so that their not constantly arguing.

Aww, this is oddly sweet. Anon, i have to tell you, though it's been literal months since I received this ask, I am actually kind of obsessed with how the Council works together. We got some development on the themes of trust and secrecy in Stellarlune with Glimmer's references to how the Neverseen is scattered and every person only knows one tiny part of the picture, and I think the Council are an interesting parallel to that through a lot of the series. We know that Oralie at least is keeping a lot of secrets from the rest of the Council, and Kenric was as well. They don't trust each other! Though hypothetically they're a united front, I imagine a lot of arguing and hiding of secrets goes on behind closed doors.

Now on to your actual ask: see, I think if they'd done that they'd be slightly less dysfunctional. However, I love the idea of it. I feel like Emery would be the one to suggest that they need to get to know each other a little better in order to work together. So they do get together, and they find out that Zarina has always wanted to turn her hair some more unnatural color, and Bronte can bake, and Terik reads and analyzes poetry (for fun??????? the rest are a bit confused on that point). And Alina tells the others that she knows she can't really replace Kenric in anything except technically having his Council seat, but she does want to work well with them.

Emery sees how well that first meeting works and insists on another. And another after that. The others make a deal with him that if he's going to insist on them taking the time to get together on Wednesdays, he has to plan activities. Emery naturally takes this as a challenge and finds plenty of things for them to do. Some of them are icebreakers. Some of them are board games. One of them is truth or dare. Another is straight-up cognate type trust exercises, adapted to work with twelve people. (Listen, Emery canonically had a cognate before the Council. It would make sense that he knows the value of trust better than anyone.) Before long, people start to look forward to Wednesday evenings, and get sad if the Council has a conflict. (Emery consequently tries to arrange the Council's meetings so none of them fall on Wednesday after about 5.)

[randomstarmuffin]

Hm. What’s this? I seem to— drop something— oh! It’s the number 6. On a rug. Arug. Interesting :39

Spotify wrapped inbox prompt! Accepting (...but if anyone else is interested please do not expect it to be quite this long it very well could be but I am not capable of making length promises you really cannot trust me)

6. “Adhd” by Truslow (39. “Tonight You’re Perfect” by New Politics)

aw, geez, not on the-- i just had that steamed... now look what you’ve done, there’s a big ol 6 on the carpet. are you happy??? (actually though, i’m going to need to know how you somehow wrote 2 numbers -- I am counting the number you hid secretly in the emoticon -- of songs which are NOT on my arug playlist, but which DO completely fit. howd you do that huh??)

Sorry, there’s a clear reason I don’t post fics to tumblr usually lol. Behold, something that FAR exceeds drabble territory:

    “Stop!”

Doug drops back on his heels, instantly obeying. He already felt a bit winded, but now his lungs constrict in a terrible little squeeze that has nothing to do with running up a staircase and hiding in a tiny alcove under the hush of night sky where only the full moon can see them.

Maybe he’s stupid, especially compared to Arthur, but he’s pretty sure even he couldn’t have misread such an obvious sign. An obvious, bright and shining KISS ME, STUPID sign in the, like, atmosphere or whatever: the way Arthur had been looking at him, in how close together they’d been, in the way the conversation had naturally petered out and Arthur had glanced at his lips and leant in and closed his fucking eyes and–

And put up his hands to push Doug away by the shoulders not half a second later.

Which, fine. Doug can roll with it, and it’s not like it would really bother him if Arthur had actually changed his mind or just realized he wasn’t into it or wasn’t as comfortable as he’d thought at first or whatever.

But.

But.

The way he won’t meet Doug’s gaze anymore, and the way his posture straightened up—not just to stop bending down toward Doug, but also in that stupid way he gets when he’s feeling awkward or like he has something to prove. The way his expression is stabilizing into that level, flat, stupid mask he tries so hard to keep up all the time, and for what? His real smile—a little lopsided, a little crinkly in the nose in a way that makes his glasses ride up ever so slightly, if you’re watching for it—is a much nicer, more welcoming thing. It’s gone now, though, as surely fallen away and lost as tree leaves in winter.

The problem isn’t that Arthur’s drawing a line about the attempted kiss. The problem is that Doug can see in his eyes that he doesn’t feel differently; he’s feeling what Doug’s feeling, and he wants it as badly, and he fucking won’t go through with it.

That’s what hits Doug like a punch to the gut. He’s not worth trying.

Arthur’s arms drop back to his side, and then seemingly feeling that wasn’t enough to dispel the awkward tension (it wasn’t), he clasps them behind his back, too, for good measure. What, was he worried Doug would try to hold his hands?

“We… We can’t– We shouldn’t be doing this. I should…” he makes an aborted gesture indicating he means I should be going.

And, man. Fuck this.

Doug laughs humorlessly. “Why? I’m not on your list of pre-approved suitors, or whatever you do in your fancy ass castle? Can’t be seen ‘consorting’ with the hired help?”

Arthur flinches a little. Good.

“Doug–”

“No, Arthur, you listen up,” Doug interrupts, crowding into Arthur’s space despite his half-baked attempts to back away. He jabs a finger into his royal highness’s chest, hard enough that with any luck he’ll be feeling it far longer than only while it rests there. “Save that shit for your subjects, or whatever the hell. Don’t fucking tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing. You don’t get to decide that for me. Sorry if that’s not what you’re accustomed to.”

“I’m not–” Arthur grits his teeth, just slightly, barely visible in the pale moonlight, a tick of irritation even he can’t mask completely. He takes an ever-so-slightly shaky breath. “I fail to see,” he amends carefully, sounding no more put off than he is delivering the upcoming week’s weather forecast (and all the more out of place because of it), “the need for you to– to be– like…this.”

He steps back again, and this time pushes Doug’s hand away as well. In its absence, he pointedly does not rub at the spot Doug’s finger had been, despite the fact that Doug’s 90% sure he accomplished his goal of making it bruise.

“Like what, Arthur?”

“Like– Just– Agh.” The little noise of aggravation he lets loose would be more gratifying if he weren’t literally turning away at the same time. “I should hardly think I’d need to tell you that.”

Doug crosses his arms and follows right along, keeping the same amount of distance between them. There isn’t much room up here on the observatory’s top deck for him to really go anywhere, after all.

“Oh? Don’t underestimate how stupid I can be. Try me.”

“You’re not–” Arthur takes a breath. “Do not put words into my mouth.”

“Ha!” Doug crows, triumphant. “So don’t put them in mine either, asshole.”

“I– Hff.” Arthur runs a hand up the bridge of his nose, under his glasses, knocking them askew. “Just– Forget it, okay. I… Please, Doug. Just forget about me, we can– We can just act like nothing ever happened.”

“Like nothing ever happened,” Doug repeats. Slowly.

“Yeah—Yes. I will just… We can avoid… That is, if I leave first, you can just wait here for a few minutes before following so Volcanon doesn–”

“Fucking hell, Arthur. Seriously?! First of all, you do realize that pretending we don’t fucking know each other is ten thousand fucking percent more suspicious in a town with a fucking population of twenty fucking people! Which we showed up to together, at the same fucking time? What do you want me to say, I tripped and fell over and—oopsie!—lost my memory, too? Fuck.”

Arthur frowns at him, and for as happy as Doug is to get some kind of reaction, a silent little frown is not going to cut it.

“Is that it, then?” Doug demands. “Or what, are you firing me? How much do you want me to pretend I have no godsdamned clue who you are, exactly? Should I re-introduce myself? My oh my, would you look at that, a real bona fide prince, how very exciting!”

Arthur’s frown pinches in the corner. “Do you want to be fired?” he asks, seeming to surprise even himself a little with the question. Doug would actually have really gotten a kick out of it, if only he’d asked several minutes ago when they were still laughing and the mood hadn’t gone to shit.

“Don’t change the fucking subject.”

“No,” Arthur says. “No, I want to know this. You keep bringing it up. If that’s what you want, I won’t stop you–”

“Do you remember that thing we just talked about, where you keep putting damn words in my mouth?”

“–as after all, it’s not like you really…” Arthur blinks at him, trailing off.

Doug rolls his eyes. “So that’s a no, you don’t.”

“I simply,” Arthur says, grimace very briefly twitching across his cheek, “do not see the point in keeping up the—let’s face it—ruse, if you will, when that is clearly not what you want.”

“Oh? Then, tell me. What is it I do want, huh?” Besides a single measly kiss.

(Which he’s clearly not going to get. And it’s so stupid, so stupid, because it’s not like he was even planning to act any differently, after. Nothing had to change—nothing would have changed—if Arthur had just let it happen to begin with. A kiss isn’t really a big deal, even if Doug’s skin is still crawling with the retracted potential of one. But now, well…)

“I believe I was recently informed how distasteful it is to speculate on behalf of other people,” Arthur replies, snippy and over-enunciated. Good. Doug wants snippy.

(It definitely doesn’t tickle that missed-potential itch.)

“Yeah? Well surely they also ‘informed’ you that it’s different when you have permission, right? Go on, lay it on me. Tell me how it is, oh imperial scholar, oh ye of infinite wisdom who always knows best. Hit me.”

It’s gratifying that Arthur, of all people, looks for half a moment as though he might have been considering taking him up on it, literally. Of course, he would never, but it’s the thought that counts. Especially with Arthur.

“Mmn. If I had to speculate. I would say what you want, what you have been expressly complaining about in no uncertain terms since we left the capital, no less, is for me to ‘get out of your hair,’ as I believe you once put it. I fail to see the problem with fulfilling those wishes now, is all.”

“Hah. Do you.”

As though that weren’t ages ago. As though everything hasn’t changed since then.

As though Arthur doesn’t know exactly how little Doug had been hoping Arthur would ‘get out of his hair’ moments ago, huddled in that alcove. As though he doesn’t have eyes and can’t see how little Doug wants that now, either, despite Arthur’s best efforts.

And, really. It’s insulting and he knows better. He’ll have to try much harder than this.

“I merely wish to be conscientious.”

Doug snorts. “Sure. Call it what you need, buddy.”

Arthur opens his mouth, but falters at the last second before he can say anything more.

And Doug could almost scream, because he realizes a half second before it happens that he’s lost. That he’s lost Arthur, lost him to himself, to his thoughts and worries about every godsdamned thing except the one thing he ought to be looking out for: himself.

And not what he thinks that should mean, not how people see him and what they think of him and how his actions will reflect. Him.

Doug watches Arthur slam the door on himself, not for the first time, and, for the first time, wonders if Arthur even knows what that means. If he even knows what he’s doing to himself.

Doug’s been playing this part for a while now, pretending to be the sort of stalwart companion they both know he obviously isn’t. He would even say he’s been doing a good job of it, that it’s worked out well for the both of them, all things considered. And, fine, he can admit it—he was trying. He didn’t have to put as much effort into it, not when they’d already left the capital and there wasn’t anyone else around who could have filled the role even if Arthur had wanted them to.

But Doug had tried. And that’s not easy to admit because it is quite clearly contrary to his cause, but– How could he help himself when he’d caught a glimpse of what he could find behind the façade?

And where exactly had that gotten him?

Whether Arthur can see Doug’s turmoil, he can’t be sure, but either way he is unmoved to change his mind and continue talking. He takes a breath and with naught more than a prim nod turns gracefully on his heel and resumes his approach of the exit, neither too hurried as to betray frustration or anger nor too slowly as to betray hesitance or remorse.

Unbidden and despite the fact he’d known to expect this as soon as he saw the shift in Arthur’s expression, Doug scoffs, a sound of disgust and scorn and deeply unpleasant surprise.

And maybe some unpleasant surprise at the unpleasant surprise, too. Like… It’s not really that important. Doug doesn’t care that much about this. About Arthur.

And really, even though he does, what had he been expecting all this time? Why let it get this far? He knows what has to happen. He’s always known! He’s worse than Arthur’s being right now, if he really deluded himself into thinking he could have this and achieve his goal at the same time and everything would stay all hunky-dory. If he thought he could get this close and expect there to be no consequences.

Because now, as Doug watches Arthur rebuild his walls twice as high and twice as thick, he realizes he can’t do this.

Sure, he shouldn’t do this, he’s always known that, deep down. He let himself do this for far too long, it’s true. But all this time, it’s been because he could do it, because there wasn’t anything to stop him, because he could keep idly poking and prodding and being rewarded with more pieces of the puzzle.

But he can’t. Not anymore.

It’s not that he thinks those walls are insurmountable. Frankly, given enough time just standing here staring him down, Doug thinks it would be pretty easy to bring them crumbling to dust again. Not like it’d be the first time, after all.

And it’s certainly not that he’s seen a side of Arthur he finds repelling—if anything, he’s seen more evidence tonight that Arthur is capable of fighting for himself than not, which is… Well, not worth examining further, right now, however it might make Doug feel about him.

He can’t do this because Arthur is capable of being this person Doug can see, so clearly, who has so obviously been dying to get free, all this time, but he keeps choosing not to be.

And Doug is too in l–

He. Is too…involved to keep watching him do it.

If Arthur wants to keep doing this to himself, then, hey, that’s great. It’s not like it has ever once been Doug’s place to tell him what to do with himself. (Not like he’d ever listen even if he tried.)

But it is Doug’s place to choose what he does, and he can’t let his choice be to watch someone take everything they have to offer and smother it, over and over and over and over.

He’s lost too much. He can’t keep losing Arthur, again and again.

(If his revenge consists of getting rid of the people responsible for his losses, paying them back, giving them as good as what was got, how could that possibly figure in this? Who is he supposed to be mad at, if it’s all one and the same? What is he supposed to do about it?)

Much better to just be done with it than stand around and let it happen.

So, Doug watches Arthur retreat, chin high and immoveable and untouchable, as he’s done several times before. And he knows it’s not enough. There’s no finality in it, there’s only Arthur’s expectation—whether Arthur is aware of it or not—that eventually Doug will, once again, follow his lead, no matter how plentiful or loud his grumblings about it will be. He’ll still be there anyways.

And for just one second, Doug allows himself to imagine that things are different. That he can and will do just that.

Maybe it wouldn’t have to be just a daydream, hidden in a secluded area under the moonlight.

Maybe it’d be something they could figure out in concert, in harmony, more than the first draft of a melody only they can hear, something real and open and true.

Maybe it’s something they could learn to do together.

“Maybe it’s time to just admit it,” Doug says coldly, freezing Arthur’s retreating back in place on the stairs. Like this, they’re about the same height, and Doug appreciates how it makes boring holes into the back of that stupid, entitled, idiotic blonde head easier.

“…Admit what?” Arthur asks slowly when Doug doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t turn around.

“Admit that we’ve done all we can do for each other. We made it to Selphia, like you wanted—woulda been nice to have a head’s up there, by the way! And you already know I’m not really here because I cared about…attending to you, or honor, or whatever. So we’re good,” Doug replies dismissively.

Arthur still does not turn. “…We did achieve the first aim I intended to pursue, yes. And as I said, I will not stop you if you do not wish to retain your position. However, if you are under the impression I have accomplished everything I set out to do, you are mistaken.”

“No, you’re right,” Doug agrees.

Arthur is playing the specifics close to his chest, so Doug may not know everything, but he knows Arthur is clearly up to something when late into the night most nights, he can still be found pouring over records and receipts and maps and recovered journal entries by candlelight. Doug doesn’t really get where all of the documents even come from, but he knows there’s a kind of rhyme and reason to the haphazard way they end up in towering stacks on one side of Arthur’s desk, same as the so-called organization of his extensive collection of glasses.

What exactly Arthur’s secret agenda is isn’t important, though. The problem is and always has been Doug’s agenda. Selfishly, he hopes Arthur is clever enough to figure that out himself.

“But,” Doug continues, biting out the words, “as far as what you wanted—why bother pretending that it’s—that we’re—nothing when, clearly, it really was nothing. So. Later. It’s been real.”

Arthur turns around then, stricken. Doug has never seen such an expression on his face. Maybe he shouldn’t like the heady curl of pleasure he takes in having caused it, considering the circumstances, but oh, does he.

Maybe it’s not fair, when he’s decided to be this way not because he doesn’t care, but rather because he has all at once discovered he cares entirely too much. But that angry part of him—the part that wants to just grab Arthur by the scruff and wring him around until he realizes how stupid he’s being, the part that hates being so entirely consumed by something ultimately futile, the part that just wants to take all the things burning him up inside out on everyone, someone, anyone, around him if only so he isn’t the only one in flames—that part of him wants Arthur to hurt, too. Even if it isn’t fair. Even if he doesn’t figure as much to Arthur as Arthur does to him. (Even if, improbably, heinously, unforgivably—he does.) He should still have to feel something at Doug’s absence.

“No, no,” Doug says, deciding to screw it, to let that part of him take over, “Go on, now. Please, don’t stop on my behalf.”

Yet.

It’s petty, and it’s desperate.

But the other part of Doug?

It really, really hopes he does. Please.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur can’t stop.

Arthur would do a lot of things, ones he’d never really thought he’d have reason to, much less want to, on Doug’s behalf.

Just, not stop.

If he stops, he may never start again. If he stops, and admits that he—enjoys? Covets? Anticipates?

Desires, ardently?

—the time that he spends in Doug’s company, that he wants nothing more than to go back to that quiet, shining moment in the alcove across the observatory deck and freeze it and trap it in a jar and hold it close so he can live in it forevermore? If he admits that, he has to admit that there’s no purpose to what he’s seeking out, that finding it—finding her—won’t give him what he wants. That he’s spent all this time searching for something in the entirely wrong places.

That the thing he wishes for above all else wasn’t really anything special, that there wasn’t a deeper meaning behind it, that there wasn’t a reason he can point to. That it’s something one can just happen upon by accident. That there’s nothing to earn, nothing to prove, no epic quest required to win the right to glittering riches unimaginable.

That it’s incidental, and small, and plentiful, and common, and he’s spent so long chasing a dead end lead with such single-minded focus that he’d missed it every time it’s been right in front of him. Or if not it, then—the truth of it, which is something of equal, or perhaps even greater, import to him.

He can’t admit that. He knows it can’t be true. He has evidence, eyewitness testimony. It’s a pledge and it’s a duty and it’s a struggle and it cannot be easy or else how much time will he have wasted?

It’s difficult. Everyone says so. He knows it to be so.

But, says the errant little voice in his head, did you ever think to ask in which ways it should be?

Arthur can’t stop, and there’s a reason he’d had to beg Doug to do it earlier, to stop, instead of pulling away from that almost-kiss on his own.

Kiss. Had they really almost…?

Not that it means anything, necessarily. There are plenty of reasons to do something like that. Plenty of reasons that aren’t the only one Arthur can seem to conjure up, which is really more of a laughable non-reason than anything concrete or real.

He had simply wanted to.

They had been so close, and Doug had been right there, and that had been the only thing he could think—not even really think, truly. More like, he hadn’t been thinking, or couldn’t think, and had only possessed an impulse to do it, and… Well, and nothing else. Scarily, he doesn’t think he has a better justification to point to.

So, it’s– It’s good Doug had listened to him, that they’d avoided it. How unnecessarily complicated; how improperly had Arthur been willing to take advantage of someone he held a position of power over.

(…Technically. Sort of. Not that it means anything in practice. He thinks, if the mood were different, Doug would laugh himself to tears if he suggested this aloud, and say something about how Arthur wishes that were the case.)

Arthur doesn’t suggest it aloud. Instead, he meets Doug’s eyes, belatedly realizing they’re at height with his own, owing to his being on the steps. They catch on the moonlight and flash that fascinating striking silver; there’s steel in them, too, now, but also something else, molten and alive and demanding, all at once anvil and ingot and hammer alike.

If only Arthur could figure out which shape they’re being stricken into.

Something is different about this, as compared to every other time Doug has complained and threatened to leave Arthur’s “sorry ass” behind to be torn apart and eaten by palm cats on his own, that he has better things to do than babysit a “grown-ass” man all day.

(Are all of Doug’s insults ass-related, now that Arthur thinks about it? It’s not something to ponder on right now, but it’s hard not to consider all the same.)

Arthur really must be out of it, but either Doug doesn’t realize or doesn’t care that that’s the case, because he seems to take Arthur’s continued silence to be its own kind of answer. Something changes, a shift in his weight or a twitch in his expression, something Arthur can’t quite put his finger on but can’t help noticing all the same.

Doug blows an angry huff of air, and Arthur can tell he’s hesitated too long. He’d thought they could salvage this and just go back to how things had been, but he misstepped somewhere, and he just can’t figure out where.

He doesn’t exactly get a chance to mull it over, though.

Under his breath, almost like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but also sort of like part of him absolutely does, he says, “Figures you’d leave too. I guess that’s all you ever learned to do, huh?”

Arthur nearly doesn’t recognize the nasty voice lowly gutting him in an afterthought, pulling apart every single piece of his insides, sizzling as it cuts through him, but he doesn’t have time to dwell about the tone or the speaker when the words have seized him to the point of gasping for air.

It’s a swift, violent thing. For the way it dismantles every conscious thought and sensation in his body, if he had the slightest bit left of his propriety he’d almost say it was a mercy, such an expedient—such an accurate, precise—execution.

But he can’t breathe, doesn’t remember how, isn’t sure if he wants to, so how can he possibly be expected to respond?

But an assassin’s job isn’t to torture, is it? Get in, finish it, get out. Arthur still doesn’t know the whole story, but it may as well be the truth, too, for everything he does know about why Doug dropped himself onto his doorstep in the first place.

Regardless of how well-trained for it he is, Doug wraps this hit up quietly, short and to the point. And Arthur almost wants to thank him for it.

“Don’t worry,” Doug says, voice so close to Arthur’s ear and so very, very far away. “I’ll save you the trouble.”

And he shoulders past Arthur and just.

Leaves.

Arthur isn’t sure how long he stands there, feet on stairs at different heights, nearly-but-not-quite-by-a-step-or-two on the observation deck all alone, growing cold in night air. There’s a chill in it, absent of a breeze but rather of the type that merely sinks directly into your bones without any motion, the kind your body involuntary soaks up like a sponge. He doesn’t remember how Doug left, exactly, though he supposes, with no shortage of hysteria, that he must have used the stairs to do it.

(With no shortage of hysteria, he’s very briefly struck by the thought that he wouldn’t, technically, have had to do so, necessarily, but he shuts that off before he can picture how such an improvised exit would end. He can’t even think it.)

(Besides, how could he have done that when Arthur knows Doug had pushed past him on his way out?)

(He had. Surely, he had. Arthur can feel the phantom burn of his touch blistering his side. He hadn’t imagined that.)

(Right?)

Arthur is on the floor of the observatory deck, the Selphian observatory deck, and he isn’t quite sure how he got there, but all he can think is that this is what he wanted, this is what he asked for.

He’d been begging for this, to be alone, to have his legs collapsed out from under him (somehow, miracle of miracles, not on the stairs but on flat, solid deck, though he’s not sure when that happened, either). His knees, he realizes, sting from the impact of falling on them. He wanted… He wants–

He needs help.

It’s so simple. How he hadn’t realized before is impossible to know. He can’t do what he came here to do on his own.

But things had changed, hadn’t they. Without his noticing, without his permission, without his appreciation, Arthur had gained something he’d never once in all his 19 years had, and he hadn’t even realized it until it was gone. Someone who truly listened, and cared, and not because they were on a payroll, and not in spite of it. Someone who stuck around despite all-too-oft expressing frustrations about situations he’d put them in. Someone who hadn’t known him all his life, and hadn’t asked to hear about it, but had remembered anyway. A confidant.

A friend.

And maybe…

If Arthur hadn’t been so stupid, and blind, and senseless, maybe tonight he could have even been more. Maybe he already had been, and Arthur simply and foolishly had insisted he wasn’t. Hadn’t let him be.

Maybe, despite everything Arthur’s ever known telling him otherwise, maybe that fleeting moment, that moment-before-a-first-kiss, in which everything had felt perfect–

Maybe it really had been?

He struggles with it, but at least the air comes easier to breathe, now. Nothing that feels perfect ever really is. Arthur knows this. He’s always known.

Focusing on the basics always helps. Perfect is imaginary. It’s not real. By definition, it is untouchable and unquestionably impossible.

But.

But the stars shining in Doug’s silver eyes, iridescent in the moonlight. But the lingering echo of his muffled laughter, like a barrier holding out the rest of the world aside from just them two. But the gentle weight of his touch, branding Arthur’s forearm where he holds it.

Perfect is a fabrication, it is a standard to be upheld, it is expected.

Perfect is not something that knocks you so hard off your feet that you tear through the knees of your trousers, that catches you so unaware that you haven’t even realized you’ve fallen until you hit the floor.

Arthur knows this. He knows many things, and he knows this.

But.

Oh, but.

But he believes, for the first time in a long, long time—a startlingly, shockingly, quakingly long time—he believes tonight. He believes tonight had felt perfect.

Being nearly caught by Volkanon after assuming the head butler would have already been asleep, immediately after they’d stolen out of the castle with an assortment of documents even a visiting prince really shouldn’t have been privy to, which they’d filched from the castle basement and which had still been very much on Arthur’s person. Doug snatching his arm when he’d frozen stiff, quickly but discreetly dragging him away in the opposite direction. A near miss with Forte coming around the corner on patrol, Doug yanking Arthur back into the observatory stairwell just before the Dragon Knight could spot them.

Of course, it’s not like they’re fugitives. There would have been no reason for Forte to think anything amiss even if she had seen them, and as Doug himself has pointed out, it’s more suspicious to draw attention to the issue by pretending something obviously untrue. If they had just kept walking, no one would have stopped them from a pleasant if somewhat late night out strolling Selphia’s streets. Even Volkanon would have likely only had an exuberant greeting for them and asked how their night was going, none the wiser about what Arthur was concealing in his coat.

But had that mattered? Had it mattered that it had been unnecessary when Doug, face flushed with adrenaline, had started wheezing quiet giggles about the overreaction, had turned to Arthur, eyes bright, and said, “Race you to the top,” and taken off up the stairs before Arthur could stop him.

Had it mattered that they could have kept walking, when Arthur finally made it to the top (a bit more out of breath than he’d like to admit) and realized he couldn’t see Doug, and he’d wandered onto the deck apprehensively, halfway through quietly calling his name a second time when he’d been bodily tugged into an alcove he’d never once even noticed before. When he’d stumbled into Doug, who had been been right up against him, laugher still singing in his eyes and the crinkles in his face, and Arthur hadn’t been able to help himself from laughing too.

It hadn’t mattered. It hadn’t been anything noteworthy at all, in fact, not any part of the whole thing.

And it had been—wonderful. Exciting. Thrilling for no reason in particular, not due to any real danger, not for any reason Arthur could think to give. It had just been…unreal. Perfect.

And Doug—Doug had been perfect.

No, not just that—Doug had made Arthur feel perfect, too. And that’s nothing anyone’s done in… Since…

Has anyone ever?

Has he ever felt such a perfect, whole sense of belonging, such a perfect reason to just be, to screw all the other noise and nonsense and not worry about everything else around him and just be, there, in the moment, with someone else by his side? The way Doug, without even trying, had done tonight?

At least, before Arthur went and ruined it.

Ah.

Right.

What does it matter, what does it matter, for Arthur to realize any of this now? Doug already left. He isn’t there to help Arthur back on his feet. He isn’t there to tell Arthur if he should keep running, or if he should stand and fight, or anything else.

How unbearable, to only realize how far and fast and deep he’d fallen after he’d already absolutely screwed up his best chance to do something about it, tonight.

Arthur rearranges himself carefully, mindful of his scraped knees. Out of habit, he pats the pocket of his coat containing the documents that had gotten him into this situation in the first place. They’re still there, safe and sound. He sits leaning back against the observatory railing and tips his head to gaze at the stars above him.

Arthur sighs. What Doug had said—that last part, at least—that had hurt. And the irony of saying it and then leaving himself? With a clearer head, Arthur can now say that was far worse.

And isn’t that just something. People say these sorts of things about him, have said them since he was a child, and he’s never paid them much mind. Sometimes they sting a little, he can’t help that, but never any worse than a prick of the finger. But tonight? But when Doug was the one saying it?

The worst part is, Arthur isn’t sure if he was wrong—about any of it. About Arthur running away, about them having already done all they could do for each other? About Arthur putting words in his mouth and expecting things from him that he’d never promised?

And had he truly meant it, that there was nothing between them? It hadn’t felt that way. The fire in Doug’s eyes hadn’t made it seem so. But how can it possibly be, that someone as direct and shameless at Doug would lie so unflinchingly, now, after all this time?

Unless…all of it had been a lie?

Arthur knows that could be true. Hell, maybe it’s even likely, given what little he knows about Doug and how very much he doesn’t.

He just…doesn’t believe it.

The stars twinkle on, laughing at him, and the moon watches, still and silent and calm. The clear, cloudless sky itself offers no great insights—though it does remind him that there is supposed to be a storm blowing in sometime in the next few days.

Calm before the storm, indeed.

It’s a little silly, but Arthur doesn’t have any energy left to combat silly, so he mutters, “If you were going to send a sign, wish you would’ve been a little more clear about that,” at the sky.

Predictably, he does not receive an answer.

[babyboibucky]

Obvious

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You and Bucky are more than friends but less than lovers.

Word Count: 1,700

Warnings: slight angst??? mention of injury???

A/N: Inspired by Ariana Grande’s “obvious” because I fucking love that song lmfao. Let me know if anyone wants to be included in my Bucky Barnes tag list! Will do separate tag lists for everything Bucky and Babysitting Bucky. Feedback is highly appreciated!

MAIN MASTERLIST

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You and Bucky weren’t lovers, no. But you were definitely not just friends either.

There were kisses early in the morning, while both of you were cuddled in bed basking in the warmth of the sunlight spilling through the thin curtains; soft and subtle touches in the afternoon as the two of you navigated through the kitchen in an attempt to bake together. Slow touches late at night, cold metal fingers grazing you in just the right places that made you feel like on fire. And the exchange of whispers in the wee hours of night after coming down from the high of exploring each other’s bodies, uttered so softly, words meant only for each other to hear.

More than friends indeed, less than lovers? Maybe. Maybe not. Does it matter though? Because even without the words of affirmation, you loved Bucky and was sure that he loved you just as much.

Besides, you were obviously head over heels for the soldier. Not that you were denying or hiding it, in fact, you felt like you showed it a tad bit too much.

“Leaving so soon, soldier?” You’d asked with a pout as you watched Bucky leave your side on the bed.

“Duty calls.” He told you as he began to dress up.

Noticing your frown, he chuckled and approached you on the bed, bending down to press a kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He reassured you, smoothening out the crease on your forehead with his thumb.

“But I wanna cook you dinner.” You told him.

The thought of you and Bucky spending a domesticated evening together always elated you. You loved daydreaming about it, about sharing a life with your super soldier. Him coming home after a mission and you making sure to take good care of him. Maybe run him a bath while you prepared dinner. Silly, it seemed but you couldn’t help imagining all the possibilities with Bucky. Letting him sleep in on Sundays while you go on a jog, only to come back home with pancakes and bacons waiting for you in the kitchen. And Bucky of course, fresh out of bed with his hair sticking up in different directions.

Being with an Avenger of course, made it difficult to experience all these things. Sometimes you’d wake up alone but Bucky always made sure to leave you a little note.

I’ll be back soon, beautiful.

His notes found a home in one of your drawers. There were plenty and although these notes symbolized his absence on most days, they also meant promises. Promises to make it up for the lost time, promises that were never broken nor forgotten.

Dinner dates were often postponed, sleepovers a rare occurrence— spending time together in general, wasn’t as easy as it was for other couples out there.

But that’s okay. Because you’d always wait for Bucky. You’d wait for him to come home and even if it’d take him three days, one week, two months or even a year, you’d still wait and welcome him with hugs and kisses and affectionate whispers.

Sometimes you wondered whether Bucky knew how much you loved him.

Disagreements were of course, unavoidable even between you and Bucky. Oftentimes, the arguments would stem from his carelessness and selfless decisions during missions. Your super soldier, always so giving and generous and kind. You couldn’t care less about what others thought of him and his days under the influence of monsters. The moment you knew you loved Bucky, you had already accepted him. And that included his demons and dark days too.

To you, Bucky had always been kind and put others first before himself. Sometimes a little too much that you couldn’t help but feel hurt that he didn’t seem to care how you’d feel if ever he wouldn’t make it home.

If Sam hadn’t called you that night, you wouldn’t have known about the serious injury inflicted on Bucky while on a mission.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked as soon as you barged into the medical bay, ignoring the nurse who immediately scrambled out of the room.

Bucky laid in bed, bruised and wrecked and unable to respond upon seeing you seething with anger for the first time ever.

“Were you even planning to tell me in the first place?” You scoffed.

They needed to infiltrate another Hydra base. Raid the base, get all possible information and blow it up to ashes. But then Bucky found a secret basement at the very last minute, young women and men were kept— future Winter Soldiers. The serum hadn’t been injected into their systems yet, they were merely poor teenagers in captivity. Bucky knew he couldn’t let these young people suffer the same fate as him. With barely a minute left before the bomb was set to explode, Bucky did his best to save everyone in that basement.

Never mind the Falcon’s orders to abort his mission, never mind the back-up they had called for to help them out. Bucky knew the choices he had: walk away unscathed knowing that the back-up wouldn’t arrive in time to save the children, or stay behind and do his best to make sure that no one will become another toy for Hydra to play with.

Even if it meant risking his life, even if it meant leaving you back home unaware of his fate.

“They needed me. I couldn’t just leave them behind.” Bucky explained.

“And you didn’t think I needed you too?” You asked, eyes rimmed with tears.

God, you knew you were selfish for feeling hurt but you couldn’t help it. Did it not cross Bucky’s mind that if he had died, you’d be left behind too? Did you not cross his mind during that time?

“Look, I understand what the superhero life is all about. And I know that it’s fucking selfish of me to say this but...Bucky, I need you too. As much as the world does.”

It was a conversation that you and Bucky had many times now. But with how your love grew for him with each passing second, the thought of losing him, it had become too much for you to suppress.

Waking up without his little notes of reassurance that he’d be back soon, no more cold fingers tracing against the smooth expanse of your skin and having to sleep knowing that the next day, Bucky wouldn’t be there anymore— just the mere thought of losing him broke your heart.

“I can’t...” you breathed out, “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, Buck.” You admitted with a shaky sigh as your tears continued to fall.

Bucky wanted to get up and pull you to an embrace, but he was too injured to do so. How we wanted to kiss your tears away, all he could do was extend a hand towards you, inviting you to come closer and touch him.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled. “I should have told you, I’m sorry. C’mere.”

Despite your anger, you didn’t think twice and immediately went to hold Bucky’s hand, squeezing it tightly as if you were trying to make sure that he was fine and real and that you didn’t lose him.

“Please stop being so reckless. With how much I love you, it drives me crazy whenever you come home all wounded and bloody and now—“

“You love me?”

Bucky had asked the question as if he couldn’t believe that yes, you do love him. Sam really wasn’t kidding when he said how dense Bucky was.

“Is it not obvious?” You asked, wiping away your tears.

“I mean yeah but...I just didn’t want to assume that you do because we never really talked about it.” He explained, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

His metal fingers, although cold and hard against your skin, had always been your favorite. They were gentle when they needed to be, or at least whenever Bucky touched you. They were cold and made you shiver but always in a good way.

“Bucky, I’ve talked about wanting a future with you. You still didn’t think that that was love?” There was a hint of playfulness in your tone despite your deadpan expression.

Oh no, what if you interpreted everything the wrong way?

“Do you not...oh my god, Bucky am I the only one in love?” You asked, panicked.

“Oh god, no.” Bucky immediately clarified as he pulled you to sit down on the bed beside him.

“I love you. So much. Please don’t think otherwise.” He said, cupping your face and wiping away the remnants of your tears.

A smile followed by a quick peck on the lips. Bucky moved and gave you enough space to lay down beside him on the hospital bed. Suddenly, everything felt right. Not that it wasn’t before but with the both of you finally uttering those words, it felt different.

The perfect kind of different.

You laid your head against Bucky’s chest and listened to his heartbeat as his hand rubbed comforting circles on your back. You can’t imagine a life without being this close to him, your super soldier.

“I thought of you, you know.” His chest rumbled as he spoke.

You lifted your head up to look at him in confusion. He smiled at you lovingly, “During the mission. Every mission I go to actually, I thought of you.”

Bucky thought about how you always waited for his return no matter how long he took. He imagined what you’d be doing when he’d come back, would you still be asleep? Perhaps you’d be in the shower, singing. Bucky thought about how he’d kiss you as soon as he comes home, how he’d make you feel how much he missed you and your scent, how your smooth skin felt against his.

Every single time, Bucky thought about coming home to you. It was his motivation to stay alive no matter what. He knew you needed him as much as the world does.

Because he needed you just the same.

More than friends, indeed. Less than lovers? No, you and Bucky were more than that.

You were each other’s worlds.

[mindninjax]

Awake

Bakugo x Reader (duh)

wc: 1.7k

A/n: Had a full on mental breakdown yesterday. Tried to sleep tonight. Couldn’t. Wrote this instead. I listened to Rain Clouds by The Arcadian Wolf while writing it and it’s the song that’s referenced in this. I could link it but I’m lazy and depressed so I’m not gonna *dabs sadly*. Anyway here’s a comfort Fic I guess.?

Bakugo: Hey

(2:38AM): uh…hey?

Bakugo: You up?

(2:39 AM): clearly… clearly I’m up Bakugo. Why are you?

Bakugo: Can't sleep.

(2:39 AM): oh. I’m sorry.

Bakugo: Come outside?

(2:40 AM): like outside outside?

Bakugo: What other outside would there fucking be?

(2:41 AM): don’t curse at me stupid. I meant the balcony? Or are we going for a walk or something?

Bakugo: Fine. Nevermind. Forget I asked.

…

…

…

Bakugo: Balcony.

(2:52 AM): gimme five to put on pants.

Bakugo: Ok

(2:52 AM): folk or classical?

Bakugo: Ugh neither.

(2:53 AM): neither wasn’t an option shit head. Pick one.

Bakugo: Whatever you played last time. It helped me feel far away.

(2:54AM): Folk it is.

You put your phone down, the light dying and drawing you back into the darkness of your room. It’s quiet, you can hear him rustling on the other side of the wall, hear the balcony door slide open in his apartment next door and then shut.

You sit in bed for a moment, your heart the only thing thrumming in your ears as you take a deep breath. The city is quiet for the first time in a long time. There are no cars on the street, no sirens, just the sleepy lazy sound of the wind blowing and alley cats slinking through the garbage filled alleyways.

Then you get up, grab a pair of sweatpants and exchange the large holey t-shirt you’re wearing for a comfy but secure cami top. You search around your room for the little Bluetooth speaker and pause when your eyes fall on your acoustic guitar. You smile to yourself, it's perfect. You’ve been thinking about the song, the chords should be easy enough to grasp, and the words have been drifting around your head for days now.

You grab your phone to send him another quick text.

(2:58AM): Change of plans. The roof.

He doesn’t hesitate.

Bakugo: Ok.

He’s up on the roof of your city apartment building before you are, gazing out at the city lights , the moon in the sky blazing white shimmering light through his ash blond locks. He doesn’t turn around or acknowledge your presence when you land delicately on your toes and deactivate your air quirk. He’s wearing a red tank top, must’ve had to change out of the usual black one he wears to bed from all the sweat. His shoulders look broad and you can see the scars rippling down the muscles of his arms.

“Took you long enough, even with your floaty little air quirk,” he taunts, back still to you.

“And yet you’re still here,” you quip back, rolling your eyes and grabbing a crate to sit on. You pull another over and plop it down across from you the same time he turns to join you on the other crate. He has dark circles under his eyes, there’s still a gleam of sweat shimmering on his jaw and neck. He watches in anticipation as you ready the guitar on your leg and hook your arm over it, expert fingers finding the correct chords to strum a lovely tune.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks, gesturing to the guitar. You smile down at the guitar, concentrating on the correct note in your mind to start the song.

“It’s a nice night,” you murmur, eyes still focused on the instrument on your lap.

The muttered “It is now,” is swallowed by the sound of you strumming the strings softly diving into the tune as you rock back and forth. You close your eyes and hear Bakugo take a deep calming breath in and out before you start singing the lyrics.

I'm being frightened by the people

They look at me like I'm a scar upon their perfect skin

Perfect to only them

I'm being shadowed by my past

Reminding me of what I was and what I could become

My sins should stay where they belong

The wind is blowing gently and you can smell Bakugo’s sweet scent on the breeze. His crisp pine scented body wash mixes with his smoky sweet scent and it almost feels like the two of you are sitting around a campfire. Your voice drifts dreamily over the lyrics, enunciating the words and basking in the ease of the notes while putting your own lovely spin on it.

Listen to my voice

Close your frightened eyes

Hide behind my love for you

Fear's only a choice

One that we all must make some day

So know you're not alone in this

It’s clear and strong like a bell, punctuating every phrase with meaning that sits in Bakugo’s core and makes his heart do that weird thing where it’s fluttering but also extremely tranquil at the same time. When you end the song and finally open your eyes, he’s looking at you incredulously.

“How do you do that?”

“Hmm?” you say, placing the guitar against a huge wooden pallet gently.

“How do you fucking do that? Every time. It’s fucking creepy.”

“You mind elaborating, dummy? I’m not a mind reader.”

“Coulda fooled me,” he grunts, rolls his eyes and folds his arms, pouting.

You roll your eyes before chuckling and answer the question you already know he’s asking. “Somewhere out there. Someone has made a song for every feeling you’ve ever felt. So I won’t take credit for that.”

“But you show them to me.”

“Yes,” you say this as if it’s an obvious statement.

“And play them for me.”

“Yes.” Again, another obvious statement. Why wouldn’t you play them for him. It’s why the two of you are here. Right?

“And make them….ya know… sound good and shit,” he says, stuttering over the words as his cheeks and ears start to turn pink.

You smirk, “You can say I sound pretty. I won’t tell anyone you said it,” you tease.

“Tch. Idiot.”

There’s a beat of silence, you’re lost in your thoughts staring up at the starry sky before you look at him again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You’re going to even if I say no.”

“Correct. Why do you text me when it happens? Why me?”

He shrugs his shoulders, looks away sheepishly and doesn’t meet your questioning gaze. "Don't know.”

You raise a suspicious eyebrow, “Yes you do”

He sighs, holds out a hand to gesture as if it’s obvious. Why would you be asking this? Especially after the many nights the two of you have done this. “Just feels right I guess. And after we talk I can go back to sleep just fine.”

“You realize what that is right?” You lean in closer to him, elbows on your thighs, chin in your hands. “That’s called trusting someone.”

“Sure I guess.”

Another beat of silence and then a long winded sigh from you, one that definitely says “I’m tired of this” and it makes a shiver of fear run up his spine.

“Look Bakugo. I’m not usually one that skates around feelings. And as much as I enjoy late night jam sessions or sneaking out and gazing at the moon with you until you feel ok enough to sleep, I…”

He holds his breath, “What?”

“Hmm…” you have a finger up to your chin in the universal thinking pose.

His heartbeat picks up and his fingers start to fiddle in the pocket of his sweatpants. “Fucking what? You just said you don’t skate around feelings so what?”

You frown at him, “Hold your flippin’ horses I’m thinkin’ first.”

“‘Flippin’ horses?’ You’re such a weirdo.”

And now you’re glaring. "Speaking of thinking before speaking. You should try it.”

“Fuck you.” There’s no hostility to it and he knows you know it.

“Very original. ANYWAY, I was going to say despite your constant attitude and constant shouting, I still really like hanging out with you. So I’d like to not only hang out at…”you pull your phone from your pocket and gaze at the tiny blue screen, “4 AM”

Another pause as he processes his elation. He’s happy you’re not telling him this is the last time. But this isn’t the hard part. “Ok.”

You squint suspiciously. “I mean it.”

“So do I.”

“Then say it aloud to me,” you challenge.

This is the hard part.

He takes a few deep breaths and then… “I don’t wanna be just friends with you. I don’t know what any of that shit even means. All the stupid lovey dovey shit Raccoon Ey-”

“Ashido.”

It’s his turn to glare. “Fine, Ashido talks about all the time. All I know is no one talks to me the way you do. And I always feel calm around you. Calmer than usual. I always wanna hang out more with the idiots when you’re around to hang out with them too.”

You smile but hide it behind your fingertips. He doesn’t look finished so you nod to encourage him to finish.

“And I don't know what it is. But whenever I wake up from the fucking …” He doesn’t say the word “nightmare”. He struggles with it like if he says it he’s surrendering to weakness or something. “Whenever I wake up the only thing I think of is you. Wishing you were there, like a fucking idiot. But it never goes away, not until I text you and I see you and I hear your voice.” His head is in his hands, like he’s ashamed to admit this to you.

It’s quiet again, some cars from below have started bustling on the street. The morning wind carries his scent and the city's waking smells of coffee and fresh baked bread. You stand quietly and walk over to him, head still hanging in his hands as he crouches over on the crate.

You hug him, force yourself between his legs and wrap your arms around his head. And at first he stiffens but he doesn’t pull away from you or move out of your grasp. He just sits there with his arms hanging limply at his sides,eyes wide, and your arms wrapped around his head. His ear is pressed against your chest, listening to the city waking around you. You're warm and you smell impossibly good and he knows this is what he craves when he wakes up from those terrifying nightmares. Your embrace is the cure.

“I like being here. I like being there for you.”

Then his arms move up to wrap around your waist and he hugs you back and sighs into your chest. He stays there for at least 10 minutes listening to the steady beating of your heart.

And then he quietly mutters, “Thanks.”

--

[idy-ll-ique]

Things I Like About You.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff, fluff, fluff

Warnings: mentions of nightmares

Requested: nope

Summary: Bucky makes a list of 18 things that he likes about Y/N, starting with her voice.

Author's Note: Hiya peeps! idk how this idea came to me but I decided to proceed with it anyway lmao. enjoy!

---

The first thing he liked about her was her voice. Just smooth, soft, a little raspy but it made his heart flutter as he walked to the communal area with Steve, his best friend. As they neared the room her voice became louder, turned more melodic. Singing, she was singing a song. A wave of pleasure washed over him when he heard her but he concealed it easily.

The second thing he liked about her was her face. When he and Steve walked into the communal area her back was to them, and she was still singing. For a minute they just listened as Y/N hit all the notes correctly; only then did Steve cut her off by clearing his throat. She whirled around and his breath caught in his lungs.

She had the most gorgeous eyes he had ever seen on anyone. They were simply perfect and when they narrowed as she smiled widely, he was done for. Her nose was perfect, her pretty lips were perfect, her teeth were perfect, her hair was perfect and literally everything else about her was just perfect. "Hi Steve, Mr Barnes!" She greeted them enthusiastically.

That was the third thing he liked about her, her personality. She was not too loud, not too quiet, not too brazen, not too prude… simply marvellous. "Hey, Y/N! You can call him Bucky, you know." She glanced at him and his eyes went wide on their own accord as he nodded, agreeing with Steve. Then she gave him another smile.

Oh boy, I'm in trouble. "Fine, Bucky. It's very nice to meet you." She held her hand out and that was the fourth thing he liked about her; the feel of her skin. Just like her voice, her skin was smooth and buttery, so soft that for a moment, he almost didn't want to blemish her beautiful skin by touching her. But he still gingerly took her hand, shaking it.

He did not trust his voice; he knew that if he tried to speak, he'd just squeak out some nonsense. Where is my 40s charm?! Just when you need it… He gave her a polite nod as they shook hands and Steve sighed on his right. "Sorry, it takes him a while to, you know, speak in front of the others…" Y/N waved him off easily.

"I understand, Steve. Let him take his time, no rush." She gave him another smile and this time, he found himself smiling back. "Your smile is wonderful," she told him, which caused his smile to widen involuntarily. "So is yours," he rasped and there it was: the fifth thing he liked about her. Her blush. She went red and rubbed the back of her neck.

"Thank you, Bucky." He had never liked his name more. "Well, now that you two have been introduced, I guess I can go. Think you can take it from here, Buck?" He nodded but the truth was that no, no he couldn't take it. Alone with her? What if he did something embarrassing and drove her off? "Shall we sit?"

She gestured to the couches and he nodded, both of them sitting next to each other. The sixth thing he liked about her, her posture. Back straight, ankles crossed, hands folded neatly on her lap, she looked like a Royal. There were no words spoken in the first five minutes but Y/N didn't get up, she knew it always took him some time. She'd be there for him.

"You sing wonderfully," he blurted out and she turned to look at him with the smile he was quickly getting obsessed with. I'm gonna have to make her smile more often. "Oh, thank you so much!" He gave her a smile of his own and looked down at his lap. "How are you doing today?" He looked back up. "I'm doing well, you?" She nodded and giggled.

"Sorry, didn't know what else to ask." The seventh thing he liked about her, her giggle. Her laugh, in general. "It's okay, darling," he grinned lazily and watched as she blushed again at the nickname. Maybe he won't embarrass himself after all. "So, are you new on the team?" he asked her and she shook her head.

"I'm not on the team, actually. I'm just good friends with the Avengers, I don't fight. I own a bakery down the street," she told him and he hummed. "A bakery? Sounds just as sweet as you," he flirted easily and watched how she went red again. "You're too flattering," she mumbled and he shook his head. "You deserve it."

"I was actually wondering when I'd get to meet you, but Steve told me I'd have to wait before you were ready," she blurted out, suddenly nervous. He cleared his throat and looked away. "Sorry." She placed a hand on his shoulder and his head snapped towards her, making her drop her hand. But he gently took it and returned it to his shoulder, giving her a shy smile.

"Hey, no, don't apologize. I have a PhD in Psychology, you know, I know you needed time. I was willing to wait longer," she told him and he felt his heart flutter. Mama, I found my wife. "You have a PhD and yet you opened a bakery?" She flushed deeper. "I just like baking. I have had my bakery before I even started my first year at the university."

"That's wonderful. So, uh, the Avengers, they visit often?"

"Yes, oh my God! After every damn mission. Steve and Sam were there the last time, yesterday, when they came back. Finished two dozen of my muffins, had to bake more in the middle of the night to restock." The eighth thing he liked about her, the way she complained, how her nose scrunched and she pulled a face.

He couldn't help but laugh. "They do have a sweet tooth," he pointed out and there it was; the ninth thing he liked about her— her pout. "Still! I lost a lot of sleep," she huffed. "I'd like to visit your bakery too, doll. Have an address?" She immediately reached into the pocket of her jeans, pulling out a slightly crumpled business card.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry!" she hissed, noticing the state her card was in but he didn't care in the least. I'm going to keep this paper with me till the end of my life. "It's not a problem at all, doll." Then he examined the card, smirking at the name of the bakery. "The Sweet Spot, huh? Wonder where yours is," he spoke effortlessly, eyes still on the card.

He heard a choking noise and turned to see Y/N laughing behind her hands, barely able to contain herself. "Aren't you just smooth, Barnes," she replied evenly and all he wanted to do at the moment was haul her over his shoulder, take her to his bedroom and never leave. "I was known to be quite charming in the 40s," he winked and she giggled more.

"I would've loved to see that." Soon, she checked her watch and clicked her tongue, standing up. "My bakery opens in 15 minutes, I have to go. It was nice to meet you, Bucky." She simply stood there, fidgeting and that worried him. "Doll?" Her eyes met his. "Sorry, um, I was thinking… should I hug him or shake his hand? Probably should've—"

Without another word he pulled her in his arms and the tenth thing he liked about her? Her hugs. She easily slid her arms around his torso, pressed her face into his chest— being shorter than him— and squeezed. His vibranium hand cradled her head and the flesh one went around her shoulder, returning the squeeze.

The hug was longer than necessary, not that either of them complained. When she pulled away, both of them exchanged huge smiles. He felt lighter and happier than he had in years, even though he was attending therapy now. "Bye, Bucky! See you later!" Oh see you later alright, he visited the bakery just an hour later.

---

A sharp knock on the door to her apartment startled her. She checked the time; it was 2 am. Dread filled her entire body as she slowly made her way to the living room, peeking out of the peephole. The dread washed away entirely as she opened the door and swiftly pulled the man inside, shutting the door behind him.

"Bucky?"

"I needed you," he spoke hoarsely. Y/N noticed the dark circles under his eyes, his bloodshot eyes, his tousled hair and his dirty clothes. He had been gone on a mission for the past 5 months; they met 7 months ago. 5 months? Who has a mission that long? The Avengers, that's who. Bucky and Y/N had bonded quite well in the small amount of time.

There were many more things he realized he liked about her; her dancing, her cooking, her apartment, the smell of her laundry detergent, her caring nature, her jokes, her— "Bucky? Bubba, did you hear me?" He blinked a few times and offered her a sheepish smile, shaking his head. "I said, take a bath. I'll leave you some clothes outside."

He agreed instantly and went to her bathroom, hopping in for a quick wash. He cleaned himself with her body wash; it smelled like lavender that calmed him. He had missed her a lot. On the way back home all he could think about was her. He wanted— no, he needed to hold her as he slept to ensure he didn't wake up screaming.

After the shower as he put on the clothes she left for him, he realized something. Walking into the only bedroom in the apartment he saw her looking up from her phone. "Yes, Buck?" He hadn't permitted Sam to call him that, even though he had known the man longer than he had Y/N. "Are these Steve's clothes?"

She went pink and stammered. Bucky's brows furrowed. "Are you dating Steve?" he blurted out and her eyes went wide. "No, I've never dated Steve. It's just that… one time he was on a mission and he needed some place to hide and live for a few days. He lived with me. He left his bag behind and I kept the clothes, for situations like these."

He could tell she was telling the truth. The seventeenth thing he liked about her was her honesty. "Oh, okay." Suddenly a smirk came over her face, which made him nervous. "Were you jealous, Barnes?" It was his turn to blush and he went 10 shades darker than she had. "I— I mean, I— I wasn't, I— I was—" he stammered and she laughed.

"I was kidding! Get in the bed, we're going to sleep." He felt nervous again. "I, um, actually had a… favour, if it's not much, uh, if you don't agree I'll take the couch I promise, but I—" She shushed him. "Spit it out." He exhaled. "Can I… maybe… snuggle with you? While we sleep? Please?" He sounded so soft that all Y/N wanted to do was tell him how much she liked him and cuddle him to death.

"Of course! If it makes you feel better, sure, we can do that. Get in." He took off his t-shirt, hurriedly explaining that he couldn't sleep in them but she brushed him off. He got into the bed next to her and tentatively held his hand out, grinning to himself when she snuggled into his side with a soft sigh.

"You're so warm. It's perfect," she breathed out. Bucky never wanted to let go. "Goodnight, doll," he whispered and pressed a soft kiss to her head as both of them drifted off to dreamland. Bucky dreamt of her. The seventeen things he liked about her as of yet, with many more to come. Like maybe the way she tasted.

The way she would feel under him, around him… He gulped and rid himself of the thoughts; he didn't want a boner right now. You've known this woman for 7 months! Calm down, horny. That night, he slept like a baby, his firm hold on Y/N never wavering. Somewhere during the night her face had pushed itself in the crook of his neck, not that he cared.

One of his hands had landed on her butt while the other cradled her head again. Not that she cared. The next morning, Y/N was the first one up. She tried to get up from the bed but Bucky whined, actually whined underneath her. "Don't go." She giggled and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "I need to use the bathroom."

Blinking a bit at the unexpected kiss (not that it wasn't welcome), it took him a few minutes to process her words. He let her go then, falling back asleep. He was tired; if he could, he wouldn't wake up for another 2 weeks. Y/N smiled softly when she came out of the bathroom, he looked so peaceful. Let him stay a while longer. She went to make herself some breakfast.

15 minutes into the process Bucky showed up, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

He buried his face in the side of her neck, leaving tiny kisses. "I thought you'd like to sleep longer," Y/N offered, one hand squeezing his arm. "It wasn't the same without you." She giggled as he pulled away, giving him another kiss on the cheek. "You sure know how to flatter women," she snorted and he grinned.

"Not just any woman, you in particular," he winked, sitting down at the dining table as Y/N brought over 2 plates of pancakes. "Consider me impressed, James," she teased back. "When does the bakery close?" he questioned as they both ate. "5 pm, why?" "I'm taking you out on a date," he said confidently.

"What time?"

"6:30?"

"Cool."

After they finished eating, they cleaned up for the day and left her apartment. Bucky offered to drop her to her bakery and she readily agreed, both of them walking down the street hand-in-hand. "I've been wanting to ask you out ever since we met," he confessed and she turned to him. "So have I," she chuckled and he looked at her, another grin forming on his face.

Soon, they reached the bakery and stood outside, simply staring at each other. "So, uh, I guess I'll—" The rest of the sentence caught in her throat as Bucky leaned forward and kissed her deeply. He couldn't hold himself back any longer. Y/N kissed back, smiling when he pulled away. "Can't wait for 6:30," she whispered.

"Neither can I."

And as he walked back towards the Compound, he thought about her, the eighteenth thing he liked about her (her kisses) and the many more things he was sure he was going to like about her in the upcoming months.

---

A/N: Leave a like if you enjoyed, thanks for reading!

[icerosecrystal]

The Love We Give To You

Mominette Month 2021

Day 02: Signs of Affection

Masterlist

Author's Note: Hey everyone! Day 2 was a lot of fun to write! I hope you guys enjoy it! Also, to make sure that no one is confused, I wanted to let you all know that this is not a continuation of Day 1.

It has been three months since Marinette married Bruce and became a part of the Wayne family. Bruce's and Marinette's had a great relationship. Bruce showed affection through cuddles and kisses. Not that he would ever admit to doing it. Alfred and Marinette had bonded over their love of baking, cooking, and mother-henning the children. They showed their affection when they offered to help each other. Whether it be with work in the kitchen or little hobbies. All of the children loved Marinette and showed their affection for her in various ways.

Dick loved hugs. The moment he spotted Mari in the room, he would bound over to her, a smile on his face, and squeeze the life out of her. She would always let out one of her tinkling laughs in response before returning the enthusiastic hug.

Tim liked to give her hugs and kiss her cheek in greeting. But for him, it was more his actions than anything. He would get her a cup of coffee and then babble to her about really anything. In turn, Marinette would patiently listen, adding her input when necessary.

For Jason, he didn't appreciate physical affection as much as his other siblings, but he still would allow some of it, but only ever from Mari. Jason would show his appreciation for Mari every time he helped her out with whatever she was doing. He would sometimes talk about he was feeling also. But his favorite part would be when Mari would indulge in his thrill-seeking activities with him. He loved that she didn't try to change anything about him, and he always did the same for her. He even tried to make a leather jacket with her help.

Cass liked connecting with people on a soulful level. So she would usually sit by Mari when she was designing something and meditate or even only watch her work. They would also meditate together at times. Due to Cass being born into the League of Shadows, she found a lot of physical affection to be strange. But she sometimes did hug Mari.

Stephanie was as enthusiastic with her affection as Dick was. She would bounce over and hug Mari every time she entered the room. She would also constantly cling to Mari and would urge her to make waffles with her.

All of Mari's new children showed her different signs of affection except for Damian. She didn't think that Damian should be as blatant with his love for her, but she wanted even the slightest bit of confirmation that he loved her.

A Week Later

Damian flopped down onto his bed in misery. He had just witnessed another hug session between Dick and Mari. Damian wanted that same love, but he was confused about what to do. He felt like he was betraying his birth mother by trying to show Mari love, even if Talia wasn't the best mother ever. Besides, why would Mari even want a former assassin child as her kid? She's probably happy with the rest of them. At least they were somewhat ordinary. Even Cass, the only other one that had only ever been an assassin, was a lot more passive than him.

He continued to mope about his problems before he suddenly had an epiphany! What if he tested her? He needed to make sure that she was worth loving. And so, the next day, when everyone but Marinette, Alfred, and himself was out of the house, he went to the Batcave. He then started sparring against some dummies. He was hoping that Mari would attempt to bond with him and offer to spar with him. And sure enough, after a few minutes of sparring on his own, a melodic voice behind him called, "Damian? Why are you sparring on your own?"

Damian, in turn, replied, "I had nothing better to do. Would you like to join me? I could teach you."

He watched as her face lit up with unspoken happiness before she stepped onto the mat. They both positioned themselves into a starting position for the spar. He then counted them down, "Three, two, one, go!"

He had barely uttered the words before Mari ducked down low, whipped her leg out, and swung it towards him, hooking the back of his ankle with her foot. The action resulted in him falling to the floor. He quickly jumped up and kicked her leg from behind, causing her to hit the ground. Before he could tackle her, she rolled on the ground and jumped up, punching him as she went. He quickly recovered from the hit and followed with his own, which she caught and flipped him over, putting him back on the floor once more. Before he even got the chance to try and get up, she clambered over him, putting him into an armbar hold. And with that, Mari had officially won the spar.

Damian stared at her in awe as she climbed off him, beaming in excitement. Mistaking his silence and awe for embarrassment and hostility, Marinette frantically tried to make him feel better, "I am so sorry, Damian! I didn't mean to be so aggressive! I know that you wanted to teach me, but I already knew how to fight! But I thought that I would pretend that I didn't! But you were giving me a challenge, and I accidentally started treating it as a real fight! You are an amazing fighter! I am so, so sorry–"

Before she could continue with her spiel, Damian interrupted her with a whisper, "You're awesome." Realizing what he said, he ducked his head, attempting to hide the blush that had made its way onto his cheeks. He quickly gave Mari a tight-lipped smile before running to his room, ignoring Alfred's questioning gaze. He had to think. Right now!

He quickly slammed the door and leaned his head against it. Okay. Things that he had learned today. Number one, Mari knew how to fight. Number two, She knew how to fight very well. Number three, Marinette was awesome. Number four, she was much better than his mother could ever hope to be. And number five, he wanted Mari to be his mom! And he knew how to do it.

Two Weeks Later

It had been two weeks since the spar between Mari and Damian, and much had changed since then. And everyone in the family knew it. But no one, except for Marinette and Damian, knew why.

The first thing that changed was Damian's attitude towards Marinette. Before, he would try his best to never be in the presence of his stepmother. But now, he didn't mind. Everyone could tell that he would try to delay his time spent with her. Not many people would realize it, but the Wayne family wasn't just everybody.

What changed next was how he responded to her words. Before, he would roll his eyes, ignore her, or huff. But now, he would still grumble, but it was always half-heartedly. And one time, they caught him smiling at Mari. The dramatic gasp that Dick let out didn't help anyone in figuring out what was going on.

Then he started doing little things, like pecking her cheek before he left for school. He would smile at her, give her a tiny compliment, paint while she designed. They were such small actions, but every time Damian did them, Marinette's heart swelled with happiness. She was in disbelief that Damian was showing his love for her! Yes, he wasn't as blatant about it as his siblings, but he still did it, and that made her all the happier.

But the day that things finally changed completely was when Damian Al-Ghul Wayne walked up to Marinette Dupain-Cheng and cuddled her. It was an ordinary Saturday. Everyone was up early except for Damian. But then Damian came in yawning and looked around. He saw Mari sitting on the couch stitching something. Damian trudged over to her and sat down next to her. He put his legs up on the couch and buried his face into her chest. Marinette smiled gently at his actions and put down her sewing things before putting her arms around him. She then started stroking his hair, and as if he was part cat, he preened at the attention and pressed his head to her hand in want of more strokes. Damian then mumbled, almost incoherently, "I love you, Ummi. You're amazing."

Marinette stopped stroking his hair in shock, and Damian looked to her worriedly, thinking that she was mad with his declaration. But instead, her face broke into a huge smile, and she hugged him tightly, breathing out, "I love you too, Dami."

All while this was happening, the rest of the Wayne family looked at the pair in awe. Finally, Jason spoke, breaking everyone out of their stares, "When did this happen?! And what did happen?!"

Damian looked over at Jason with a scowl and said, "I found out two weeks ago that Ummi is amazing. She beat me in a spar. Now, she's my Ummi, and none of you imbeciles can take her away from me!"

Everyone except the pair continued to be bewildered over the situation. That was when Dick spoke up, "Ummi?"

Damian looked ready to murderer them for not allowing him to cuddle with his Ummi, but all the same, he replied, "I heard a lot of children call their mothers 'Ummi' in the league, or at least in private. But Mother never permitted me to do the same, alone or in public. She said that I was the heir of the league and should, therefore, be as nonsensical as possible. But now that I have Mari, I finally have someone to call Ummi."

By the end of his speech, Marinette looked to be close to tears, and everyone else was looking at him in surprise. Marinette started clinging onto him, whispering, "I love you so much, mon cheri. I'll always be there for you."

Damian blinked back tears and clung back, saying, "I know you will. I am your favorite anyways." When Damian saw his siblings realize what he said, he jumped off his Ummi's lap and ran out of the room. Behind him, a herd of footsteps was heard, along with shouting from each of the children (except Cass). Each of them trying to convince him as to why he was wrong and why they were the favorite.

Back in the living room, Alfred had left to give Marinette and Bruce some alone time. Marinette beckoned Bruce over to sit beside her. She pecked his mouth before seeing the adoring stare. She raised an eyebrow and asked, "And what is it that you are staring at?"

Bruce pulled her closer, inhaling her jasmine scent, and mumbled, "Oh, nothing. Just looking at my beautiful wife that I can't believe I managed to marry."

Marinette flushed a deep red before punching his arm, "Sap."

"Your sap," he retorted back.

"Yes, my sap," she whispered before giving him a deep kiss.

As Bruce pulled away from her, he mumbled against her lips, "Besides, we all know I'm your favorite."

Marinette smirked before saying, "Oh, I don't know. Your son seems to be just as charismatic as you."

"Exactly–," Bruce started saying before he realized what she said. "Hey! Come back here you!" Marinette giggled as he chased after her trying to tickle her.

The rest of the family came into the room, trying to find the cause of the noise. But they stopped at the scene of their parents laughing together on the ground. Dick then yelled, "Cuddle time," and jumped onto his parents, the rest of the kids, even Alfred joining.

As they all laughed together, Marinette looked at every member of her new family. They were all so different, and that was what made them unique. Even their signs of affection were unique to themselves. But at the end of the day, she knew that they loved her and that she loved them. And that was all that mattered.

2011 words

Day 2 is done! And on time! I wonder how long that'll last!

~ ❄ Crystal ❄

@mominettemonth

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[tennessoui]

hi all of your aus are amazing! pls what happens with divorced!obiwan and the twins?

hey!! sorry this took so long i had to think of an appropriate cliffhanger

this is a continuation of this ficlet and this ficlet, where divorced!obi-wan accidentally acquires a partner and a set of twins.

(2k WHOOPS)

The twins are not, and probably have never been described by anyone except their father, angels. They take to Obi-Wan as well as Obi-Wan takes to them, which is to say that all three of them watch each other suspiciously until one day Luke launches himself off the top of the fridge--how the fuck did he manage to get up there--and Obi-Wan drops his morning toast in a frantic bid to catch him.

After that, Leia and Luke apparently decide he is Another Anakin Who Is Just Around A Lot Less But Is Better At Reading Bedtime Stories and deign to treat him as such.

Obi-Wan decides that he’s going to have a heart attack by the age of fifty. Do all children see a childproof house as a challenge?

It somehow takes both a longer and shorter time to win over Anakin’s favor, mostly because Obi-Wan isn’t sure what the man’s thinking at any given moment. He seems to blow hot and cold depending on how he woke up or how the work day goes. Some days, Obi-Wan comes home from campus and Anakin and the twins have waited to eat until he’s there. Sometimes they’ve eaten and there’s a meal under foil on the stove just for Obi-Wan.

(“I don’t know how you do it,” Obi-Wan tells him one night after the children are put to bed. “I mean, work from home with your job, mind the children, and cook?”

“They made me head of the R&D department a few months ago,” Anakin admits, taking a sip of his second glass of wine. “So I’m doing a lot more checking through other people’s work instead of making my own. It just means I can do that and make something edible--no, really, you just can’t cook, Obi-Wan, I’m not the best either.”

“Do you miss getting to make something other than food?” Obi-Wan asks eventually, giving himself enough time to recover from the sound of the other’s giggles.

Anakin shrugs languidly. “It’s better salary, and I’m the youngest ever in the company to have the position. Means I’ll pay off my student loans quicker, same with my mom’s hospital bills. Doesn’t matter what I want.”

Obi-Wan’s chest hurts and he wants to lean across the gap between their chairs and place his hand on Anakin’s arm, but they don’t know each other like that. It’s only been a month and a half since they moved in. Still. “It always matters what you want,” he insists. “And I think you’re amazing.”

Anakin blushes bright scarlet and takes a huge gulp of wine, and Obi-Wan wonders if this is a throwing-yourself-off-the-fridge break through.)

(It’s not because the next day, Anakin doesn’t say a single word to him, which bothers him more than he’d like to admit.)

(“Am I in the wrong for wanting to get along with my housemate?” Obi-Wan asks Quinlan despairingly during their office hours that he should be using to grade papers. Instead all he can think about is Anakin Skywalker and the goddamn cold shoulder he’s been getting from the man for the past three days.

“Yeah,” Quin says absentmindedly, marking something with a red pen before looking up at Obi-Wan’s outraged intake of breath. “I mean, no. I mean, sorry, Obi, what are we even talking about now? Is it still your hot new roommate with the two kids? Because that’s what we were talking about an hour and a half ago.”

Obi-Wan crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “I’m just not sure I appreciate--”

“And you said he’s not been hanging around in the living room when you get home? But he’s still leaving you meals in the kitchen? And you’re upset about the free food?”

Obi-Wan is upset at the lack of Anakin’s presence, but he thinks that’s probably not the right thing to say here.

“Maybe he’s just tired?” Quinlan puts down his pen and rests his chin on one of his hands as he looks at Obi-Wan. “From the kids and the job and putting up with your moody ass. C’mon, Obi, what’s really getting you worked up?”

Obi-Wan purses his lips and stares at the desk in front of him, but he had come to Quinlan for help. He should at least be honest about what’s eating at him, even though he knows how silly it will sound when given a voice. “...Satine always waited up for me,” he mutters. “Until she didn’t.”

Quinlan’s quiet for a worryingly large amount of seconds, before he reaches out to pat Obi-Wan gently on the arm. “Oh, Obi,” he says pityingly. “Repeat after me. You cannot make your new roommate your rebound from your thirty year marriage.”

Obi-Wan scoffs. That’s not the problem at all. “That’s not the problem at all,” he says, not defensively in the slightest. “I think I’m just worried about the children not having enough structure in their lives.”

“Right,” Quinlan says, not quite managing to hide the skepticism in his voice. “Then you should talk to him. For the sake of the children.”

Obi-Wan will absolutely not be doing that, but it’s a nice thought.)

The real turning point in Anakin and Obi-Wan’s relationship happens five months after the Skywalkers move in.

Anakin and Obi-Wan are in the living room. Anakin is trying to braid Leia’s hair while Obi-Wan tries to pretend he isn’t watching. From the kitchen, there’s a very, very loud crash and the sound of something shattering.

Both adults leap up from their seats immediately and run to the other room.

Luke is standing in the epi-center of disaster, little face scrunched up like he doesn’t know whether or not to cry. At the sight of his dad and Obi-Wan, he starts to wail, moving forward and reaching for Anakin.

Obi-Wan, who is wearing shoes inside the house (a point of contention between himself and Anakin), grabs Luke roughly and picks him up by the armpits before he can cut his feet on the glass. He hands him over to Anakin to soothe, stepping further into the kitchen to find the dustpan he keeps in one of the pantries.

It’s very obvious what broke, though Obi-Wan can’t for the life of him understand how Luke got ahold of Satine’s heavy cake stand. He can definitely understand how Luke dropped it, as the thing was ridiculously heavy.

It had been one of the only things left in the house that had been Satine’s. She’d left it, and Obi-Wan had been too bitter or petty to point it out to her. Yes, it had been her mother’s. No, keeping it had not made him feel any better. But it’s not like Satine ever baked anything anyway.

Good for Luke, actually, for doing what Obi-Wan never could bring himself to do.

He grabs the broom and dustpan and marches back to the pieces of shattered glass. Anakin has placed Luke on the counter, ostensibly to check to make sure his feet are fine if the boy would ever let go of his father’s neck. Leia is peering around at the mess on the floor.

When Obi-Wan comes back and starts sweeping everything away, she darts forward to pick up a rather sizeable chunk.

“Don’t touch that,” Obi-Wan says sharply, much harsher than he intended. Leia drops it instantly and scurries back to her father, eyes wide and sort of watery. Oh, fuck.

“Hey,” Anakin snaps immediately. “She’s just trying to help and Luke didn’t mean to break--whatever that is.”

Obi-Wan holds up his hand to cut Anakin off. “I’m not mad,” he promises all three of the Skywalkers. And he’s not even lying. He’s really not mad, hasn’t even thought to be mad at this last piece of proof of his relationship with Satine shattering on his kitchen floor. “I just don’t want either of you to cut yourself. Glass like this can be very dangerous and none of you are wearing shoes.”

“Promise?” Luke asks, untucking his red face from Anakin’s neck so he can peer up at Obi-Wan.

“I’m sorry I was a bit rough,” Obi-Wan apologizes, coming over and bending down a bit so he’s on the same level as Luke. “I was just worried about you. Promise.”

Luke sniffles but lets go of Anakin to throw himself at Obi-Wan, apologizing all the way.

“Hush,” Obi-Wan says as Leia scrambles up his leg, vying for his attention. With his hands full of children that aren’t his, he raises his head to look at Anakin who’s watching them with a very strange expression on his face. He tilts his head toward the broom and then down to the kids in his arms. “Come along,” he tells them both. “Leia, I’ll finish your braids if you’d like.”

“Braid my hair too!” Luke demands with a pull on Obi-Wan’s shirt.

Luke’s hair is floppy but awfully short. “I’m sure we can figure something out,” Obi-Wan says generously, leaving the kitchen.

“I suppose I’ll just clean this up then?” Anakin calls sarcastically behind them.

“Thank you, darling,” Obi-Wan responds.

There’s the sound of something else breaking, but it’s not Obi-Wan’s problem at the moment.

(A year later, Anakin mentions something over morning coffee about looking for a new apartment, now that he’s got everything straightened out. “We’ll get out of your hair,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ll look today since it’s my day off.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t want to examine why that idea makes something curl tightly in his stomach, making him feel vaguely nauseous, but it does. On his way out of the house, he unplugs the router, and then after a second of thought, takes it with him just in case.)

(Quinlan laughs his head off when Obi-Wan sheepishly puts the router down on the desk in front of him. “It’s a bad market right now,” Obi-Wan says defensively. “I’m just looking out for him.”

“Obi, I mean this in the best way possible, but there are at least four professors in the psych department that would probably love to do a case study on you.”)

(Two years after the Skywalkers move in, Obi-Wan is running late for a meeting with the head of his department. The man is stepping down, finally retiring, and Obi-Wan thinks that perhaps he’ll be tapped as the new head. It would mean dropping some of his classes, but it would be worth it.

“I made you a breakfast wrap,” Anakin greets him at the door, holding out a paper bag. “It’s got that salsa you like in it.”

The salsa Obi-Wan likes is the mild version of what Anakin and the kids eat, but Anakin treats it as if it’s from another planet entirely.

“Good luck!” he says with a sweet smile, also passing Obi-Wan a travel mug of what’s hopefully fully caffeinated tea. Obviously Obi-Wan needs it. He got perhaps two full hours of sleep last night, tossing and turning and thinking about this meeting and now he’s running late and his tie is crooked and none of his favorite sweater vests were clean.

“Thank you, dear one,” Obi-Wan mumbles, mind somewhere else. If traffic isn’t too bad, he could still be on time.

“Text me how it goes!” Anakin chirps, following Obi-Wan out the door to stand on the front porch with his arms crossed in an attempt to fight off the early winter chill.

“Yes, of course,” Obi-Wan replies, turning around to brush an absent-minded kiss to Anakin’s lips before hurrying to his car. It’s a twenty minute commute. If he gets his preferred parking spot and runs to the department building, he won’t be late at all.

Is that too much to hope for?

He starts the car and pulls out of the driveway, looking back in the rearview mirror to see Anakin standing frozen on the porch. That’s strange, usually the other man can’t stand being out in the cold.

Obi-Wan gets to the first stop-sign out of the neighborhood before he realizes what he’s done. It’s lucky that he’s already slowing down, because he slams on the brakes. Did he--

Did he kiss Anakin? Did he really kiss Anakin as if he does it all the time? As if they were in a relationship?

Oh shit.

Frantically, he pulls out his cellphone from his bag and checks to see if he has any new messages. He doesn’t.

Oh. Shit.

[misselko]

LIONESS

Warnings: Angst, fluff, small violence

Words: 20.130

 

“Begin.”

Loud clashing of lances can be heard through Garreg Mach hallway.

The red-haired skirt chaser barely able to hear you said it when you rushed him. Sylvain knew that he should focus on his strikes.  He didn’t have time to be impressed at this small, petite girl that is jabbing her lance so fast against him. Devastatingly fast. And strikingly strong. ‘It is such a wonder how a small, petite body like hers held so much power’. That’s the last thing that passed his mind before (Y/N)’s lance has cracked so loudly against his that he thought it might snap. Beautiful, fierce, deadly (E/C) orbs that staring into his soul has captivated the Gautier heir and got him hard knock on his shin, felling him over.

“Whoa there! I yield. You do like it rough, don’t you, (Y/N)?” Sylvain raise his hands on the air with and winks seductively. Rolling your eyes, you put a light tap on his neck at his remarks.

“Though she be but little, she is fierce. (Y/N) is the youngest among us, but she is indeed a Lioness!” Dimitri claps over your third in a row winning for today. You beat Felix in sword and Dimitri in the lance spar.

“That’s what you get for skipping classes, Sylvain. And.. keep up with your solid techniques, excellent moves, and rapid quick footwork, (Y/N). That’s all for our combat class today,” said Professor.

“She’s a few inch shorter than me but she had effortlessly defeated Blue Lions’ strongest lancer and swordsman! That’s my favourite lil sis (Y/N) for you!! ” said Annette giddily. She hugs you in a death grip embrace and sings her silly song.

Everyone are so nice to you, to the point of spoiled rotten! Especially Ingrid and Mercie! They are like your big sisters, always offering their help to ride pegasi and give endless supplies of baked sweets that you love very much. Felix is kinda harsh and always eager to spar with you, but he’s the first person to get angry when someone bullies you because you are so small. So kind, almost feel like a big brother! Dimitri helps you with your late night studies and picking books in the higher shelves on the library a lot. Dedue and Ashe cook dinner together with you on your duty day.

They see (Y/N) as the sweet smol bean that has to be protected at all cost!

“Are you free tonight, Munchkin?” Care to join me to visit the town and get something to eat? I know this little restaurant that has nice dessert! My treat, of course! Think of it as a token of congratulations from me on your brilliance today!” Sylvain put his hand on your shoulder in a friendly gesture and wink seductively.

“Seteth will scold us for sure, Syl! This is the fourth or fifth time we went for a late dinner this week,” you pout at his invitation. “He won’t. I’ll walk you back before curfew as usual. Don’t want my Kitten to get  hurt on her way back. Night walk can be dangerous, you know.”

“Why you are being so nice to me, Syl... Your girls will be upset and kill me for sure.”

“Nah.. I don’t have any! It would be a shame to waste such a beautiful evening alone. Besides, I don’t want to let my Munchkin starved in her sleep! Not to mention that you just looked awfully cute with your cheeks stuffed.” You smacked his shin and rewarded with a loud yelp from him.  “Lead the way. And.. it’s not like I like it or something like that, you know! Don’t get any wrong ideas,” you hide your blush and took his huge hand in your tiny ones.

The food was delightful as usual and Sylvain stay true to his words about going back before the curfew.

As you both closed the large door’s that marked the dormitory, you were greeted by the crisp spring night. Warm wind passed over your forms, and crickets chirped in the night.

“While we’re at it, how about a little board games rematch at my quarters? I got a new strategy to show you, Syl!”

“Bring it on then, (Y/N)! Let’s bring some sweet buns as usual to snack on later as well, then.”

“It’s a deal!”

“I’d think playing it on the bed would be more comfortable than doing it on the floor. You might catch another cold and passed out like last month in my room. It scared the living daylights out of me! Nope, never trying that again.”

“It’s not fun being frail and get sick easily.” You sigh.

“No problem. Think of it as a good chance for me to get to carry you around in my arms. For our weddi-- Ouch!!” he faux a sad face melodramatically when you punch his hand away playfully. “You might be small and petite but these hands are a force to be reckoned with. You’re as strong as a lioness,” said the philanderer as he ruffled your hair affectionately.

 

It was such a beautiful night.

---

“Do you have a moment, Miss (Y/N)? I have something important to tell you regarding my research and your Crest. We can discuss it in more detailed manner in my research room,” Professor Hanneman ask you out of the blue after the afternoon battle strategy class.

 

“Crest? But I’m sure I don’t have any, Professor! It’s stated as clear as a day in my enrollment documents, isn’t it?”

 

“There’s a mistake, Miss (Y/N). And I sworn it on my name as the Father of Crestology, you do HAVE a Crest. A Major one at that! Congratulations! I have sent a letter to your family and inform other Professors and your House Leader regarding this matter. I have my suspicion about your Crests since I watch your  prowess at combat and when it activates, the timing, and the flash of....”

 

You are a bit shocked about this and decided to ignore this fact, having a hard time to process this shocking information. Your family and other members of Blue Lions will be very surprised of this information. Is it going to be a good thing or not? Professor Hanneman’s murmurs fell on your deaf ears as you politely excuse yourself out of his room. ‘It’ll be better to keep this as a secret to avoid unwanted attention nor unnecessary commotion’ you think to yourself.

---

Moons have passed. Then the night of the ball came. Urged by your curiosity, you are eager to wait for your true love at the Goddess Tower. You were hardly expecting to see Sylvain, of all people. The surprise at seeing each other was mutual. The both of you stood there for a moment, simply enjoying the scene before you. You wrapped your arms around yourself to stave off the chill that went down your spine, shuffling closer to the older man.

 

“Do you even believe the rumors about this place?” he asked as he lay his uniform coat over your shivering form. “My curiosity gets the best of me. But am glad to find you here, Syl.”

 

“Huh.” Sylvain went quiet, his face etched with contemplation. After he thought about it a little, he let out a huff of breath and frowned.

 

“Well, the person I’m interested in... is already here. You’re here alone. I’m here alone. I was thinking maybe....”

“Wait. Me?”

“Well, of course! We’re the only two people here, aren’t we? I keep thinking about it, and it just makes sense. My Crest and yours...”

“How did you...?”

“Dimitri told me. I have confirmed it with Professor Hanneman as well. A Major one, he said. So lucky.”

He looked down at you menacingly. Your eyes were averted away from his, looking away into the distance. “What do you mean? I’m still me, Syl.  Crest or no Crest.”

Despite your dismissive answer, something changed in his expression. He took his hands from behind his neck and stalked towards you. This wasn’t at all like the kind and flirty Sylvain you loved. He’s... different.

“You know what? I’m a bit jealous. The whole time you were growing up, you never knew you had a Crest. You were free. Nobody pretended to like you. I kind of hate you for that...” he slammed you hard against the wall behind you. Strangled pained noise came from you.

His knees rest on either side of your petite body and his arms cage your head, his much bigger hand grasp yours roughly. “All you’re worth to me is a little bit of fun. We’ve been having fun, haven’t we? I thought that you understood,” Sylvain’s face a mere inch from yours, glaring daggers at you. You can feel your tears begin welling, threatening to spill at his words.

 

“Is that really what you think of me? I thought... I was different. So… our friendship has just been for nothing?” you muttered quietly, holding back your sobs.

 

He scoffed. “Of course you are. You’re just some dumb noble looking for crest babies. You never meant anything to me.” His rejection was validation of your worst fear, that you were just like every other girl. Your friendship had all fallen apart and meant nothing for him.

 

“Playing around with girls is the most fun a guy can have. Besides, I don’t care what you think of me. I don’t intend to change how I live my life. I’m a good-for-nothing, if you haven’t noticed, but I’m still a noble with a Crest. That’s all anyone cares about. It’s best to avoid getting too serious with fools like me.” His expression darkens and unreadable. The carefree mask was long gone.

 

“My Crest bring me nothing but pain. I thought maybe...if I made someone else suffer, it might help me feel better.” His hand shot up and grabbed you by your throat. Sylvain held you in front of him, tightened his grip, choking you hard. His caramel eyes glowed dark with excitement.

 

“Unnnghhh......Syl....”

You tried to squirm away but he clamped his hand tighter, making it harder for you to breathe. Your legs felt weak and limp. The pain was too intense.

 

“You were a spoiled brat who should pay for that Crest. Maybe I’ll collect the debt.” His expression dark as he looked up at you.

 

Focusing yourself, you punch his jaw as hard as you can. To your surprise, a blinding flash of your Crest shows up when you smack him as hard as you can, making Sylvain flinch in pain, dropping you with a loud thud on the cold floor. You stumbled back and dropped to your knees. Gasping for air, you tried to rub the pain from your throat, doing your best to pick yourself up.

 

“Sylvain Jose Gautier!  I care not for your Crest nor title! It means nothing to me. I like.. no, love you because you are the strongest, kindest, funniest, and the most caring person that I know. Even you are such a skirt chaser, but you always very considerate and protective of me. I never felt this way before about someone. This is my first time but... This… This was a mistake. Sorry. I hope.. you find your own happiness someday,” you said, your voice is raspy from his deadly grip and your sadness. Tears were finally flowing freely from you.

 

Sylvain’s posture becoming rigid despite his feigned relaxed position. “H-hey,” Sylvain said, his voice softened somewhat. “Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry...”, he tried to pat your head, but you step back instinctively. The red head flinch and turned away when he saw angry purplish hue on your neck. Guilt began creeping on his conscience.

 

“I believe you. You’re not a bad person, Sylvain, no matter what anyone says. I care about you. Our friendship, dinners, late nights walk and banters... I cherished them a lot. Really, I do. I love you, Sylvain.” You couldn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t look at anything besides the floor. “That’s what I came to tell you, but... nevermind. Good night, Syl. I’ll see you tomorrow in class.”

 

“Did you mean that? (Y/N), wait!” He spoke with disbelief.

“Why would I lie?” you asked, hardly audible. “Goodbye, Syl.”

 

His pleas fell on deaf ears as you dash yourself as fast as possible from Goddess Tower, locking yourself inside your quarters, clutching to Sylvain’s uniform coat, while crying yourself to sleep.

---

That’s the last thing that you can remember from your Academy Days. Things were never the same since that night. You never talk to the playboy ever again since that incident. No more night walks or late board games. When you have to work together in weekly duty, there’s an unseen awkward distance and heavy tension between you two.

 

The notorious philanderer went back into his old ways, going around with a different girl each day. You often catch him glimpse at you with eyes full of remorse and sadness (mostly when he thinks you aren’t looking or noticing). Everyone in the Blue Lions noticed the changes between your relationship but being very considerate of your feelings and trying to not mention anything about it.

 

Your Father called you back home because of his grave illness in Pegasus Moon, insisting you to leave the Officers Academy behind. Blue Lions was taken aback and sad with your abrupt leave. Going back to your home in Fhirdiad, days flies in a blur motion into moons and years.

---

It’s been 5 years since you left your Academy days in Garreg Mach.

A bloody coup led by Cornelia causes Duke Rufus and Dimitri both to be apparently killed. Her  tyranny left Fhirdiad in poor state with poverty and famine. Holy Kingdom of Faerghus thrown into disarray condition with their Prince’s disappearance. The nation is plagued by civil strife and hardship.

 

With the vast majority of the former Kingdom lords having bent the knee to the overwhelming power of the Empire, all Blaiddyd territory, including the Kingdom capital, is ruled by those who are cooperating with the Empire, and is thus renamed the Faerghus Dukedom. Houses Fraldarius and Gautier were left to spearhead the resistance as the primary opponents of the Dukedom.

 

As the legitimate Marchioness of your major noble house in Blaiddyd territory after her Father’s passing, (Y/N) decided to keep on fighting against Empire until the bitter end, along with Houses of Fraldarius, Gautier, and Galatea. You keep maintain close relationships them, mostly with the neighbouring Houses, Fraldarius and Galatea. Whether it may be reinforcements soldiers to House Fraldarius or stock supplies to House Galatea, you are so much eager to give it all (sometimes by going there personally—much to your advisors’ dismay) to aid them.  Being always giving or adding the most relevant information about current war state developments made you overjoyed when you heard about the news of Dimitri’s plan to recapture Fhirdiad.

---

It’s been forever since your last time fighting on the battlefield. Reclaiming the capital is a daunting task with shortage of soldiers and resources. Rodrigue’s death is a devastating blow to Faerghus’ military strength and resources. Not to mention that House Gautier and Galatea has any resources to spare. With limited resource of your own House, you decided to prioritize evacuation of Faerghus’ citizens and helping Blue Lions to the utmost.

 

Dimitri marches for Fhirdiad, causing the oppressed citizens to revolt against Cornelia’s tyranny People are rebelling against Cornelia and Fhirdiad has turned into a gruesome battlefield. Fire was everywhere The sound of metals echoed loudly in your ears. Large Titanus crowded the streets and wreaking havoc upon buildings and citizens. With your sword in your hands, you leap and cut through Kingdom Soldiers that is preparing to activate Viskam turrets against Felix.

 

You pushed forward with great caution. When you are done helping a pair of elders and children under the rubbles to evacuate, you saw him. Sylvain. Fighting over a mage and a large Titanus all by himself. Did he get separated? He barely dodged a fireball when you strike down that mage.

 

“Munchki--!” He gasped, surprised to see you back.

“Watch out, Syl!”

You leap in front of him, parrying and slash back at the Titanus’ large appendages that is going to smash him. Sylvain cast a Ragnarok and taking down the golem-like creature with a loud explosion, sending flying debris everywhere. He gasped, grabbed your arm and pulled you out of the way. 

 

“Ugh... that hurts. Are you okay, Munchkin?” He was trapped under the rubbles and the first thing that he asked is your safety?

“W-why did you do that, Syl? You got hurt protecting me. Didn’t you want to kill me?”, you said as you helped him out from the rubble.  Fortunately he is okay aside from a few scratch and bruises.

 

“When I thought you were going to be killed for real, my reflexes kicked in. I reacted without thinking. It doesn’t mean I’ve stopped being jealous of you. But, come on, I can’t help looking up to you.” He look at you with eyes full of worry and sadness.

 

“Sylvain..... Well.. It’s been awhile, but as much as I want to chat with you, we have to help Professor and Dimitri first. Cornelia has brought us so many sufferings. Now’s the time to put an end to all of this. And... thank you, Syl.” He nods and push forward to throw his lance at a Pegasus Knight that is fighting against Ingrid.

 

“I will go to deactivate Titanus’ lever. I know its location and it will help everyone tremendously against that gigantic monster! I’ll open Fhirdiad’s secret passages within my House territory to help everyone to get better access to Cornelia. When I’m done with it, I’ll regroup with reinforcement soldiers from my House to evacuate more citizens on the east side of Royal Capital, then go to help Dimitri fighting against Cornelia. See you later, Syl. Please stay safe.” You bid your farewell and run through smaller alley path, doing your missions, leaving Sylvain astonished at your very thorough, detailed plans.

 

Without the Titanus, Cornelia only has archers as her backups. As you take the archers down with Felix and Annette, Professor and Dimitri are working together to close in on her and take her down. It was a gruesome battle, but thanks to everyone’s efforts, casualties were kept to minimum and reclaiming Fhirdiad is a big success after Cornelia has been defeated.

---

It may be spring, but the nights are quite chilly here in Fhirdiad. The people are rejoicing at the return of their King. After a hard won battle of reclaiming Royal Capital of Fhirdiad, celebratory feast shows no sign of stopping. Growing weary of the festivities, you decided to excuse yourself from the banquet at the castle balcony.

“Munchkin. Here you are. His Highness has been looking for you. He wanted to express his gratitude for your loyalty and huge help at reclaiming Fhirdiad.”

“Good evening, Syl. We just did our utmost to help. Fhirdiad’s  peace and safety of the Blue Lions is of the most important thing for me, after all.”

A moment of silence passed where both of you stayed still, just basking in the moonlight and enjoying each others’ presence for a while.

“I’m sorry. I really am.” You are taken aback when Sylvain bows his head deeply in front of you.

“I know I messed up really bad and it’s fair enough if you can’t find it in your heart to forgive me. My jealousy got the best of me and it has brought you so much harm. Most girls just want me for my title or my Crest, and when I thought that it was the same for you, I… I was the one who made a mistake. I’m sorry, truly I am.” Peeking at him from the corner of your eye, you could see the furrow of Sylvain’s brows, the frowning twist of his lips. It was a look you’d never seen on him. Regret and pain. He looks so vulnerable. Somehow, you didn’t doubt the apology.

“Please elaborate, Syl.”

“Since I bear a Crest, my parents made sure I was never left wanting. My older brother didn’t have one, and so when I was born, he was pushed aside. My mere existence stole everything from him. There’s so many people that want to get close to me because of my crest. Because of something I didn’t even want to be born with. I wish I could have cared as little about my Crest as you do yours...,” he grimaces, running a hand through his hair briskly. “Women smile at me for the same reason my parents adored me...and my brother wanted me dead. And I have to meet them all with a smile because I have a Crest.” Sylvain purses his lips.

 

“But you–you’ve never treated me differently. Always being there for me and understand me, and…and–I like you, (Y/N). No. I love you so much that it scared me. A lot,” he says, closing his eyes.

 

“You say that, but it doesn’t excuse the things you’ve done.” You didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to let him see mixed expression you were making at  his sudden confession but you knew he was looking at you. Intently.

 

“I was devastated when you left Garreg Mach years ago. I lost you once and I won’t let it happen again. So.... what I’m saying is…” he hesitated and briefly appeared at a loss of words which is very unlike of him.

He hugs you closer very tightly it hurts, cradling you gently against his chest. This close, you can feel the rapid pace of his heart and his nervousness. “Can you give me a second chance?” Sylvain’s touch was awkward and clumsy.

“......I will. But first… Please let me go, Syl. You are crushing me.”

Sylvain paused, as if unsure. “Did you mean that?” Vulnerability colored his tone, softened it. “I’d like to be a man who deserves that. Who deserves you. Even if you want nothing to do with me, one day I will find a way to make it up to you, to earn your forgiveness. I promise.” His voice wasn’t strong with his infamous flirtatious bravado. It was sincere.

 

“You’re so much more than just your Crest or your status, Sylvain Jose Gautier.” Taking his much bigger hand in your tiny ones, you smiled and whisper it against his hand. “You are the most amazing, kind, strongest, and nice man for me. Your path is your own.  I love you just the way you are, Sylvain. Crest or no Crest.” His face turned dark red instantly redder than his hair at your words. Sylvain.exe has stopped working

“You are going to be the death of me, Munchkin!!” Sylvain yells frantically. You can see his ears flushed furious red. He can die happy now. Goddess Sothis please take his soul.

“Why you still call me Munchkin, Syl?” you asked much to your curiousity. “It’s been years but you barely grow a few inch! But y-Ouch!! He yelps when you jab at his stomach. “But you have... grown into a fine, smart, and beautiful woman.”

 

“Time hasn’t been so kind to me in these past years, Syl. After my Father’s passing, I have to succeed him. Being a Marchioness isn’t an easy task but I learned so much and am still learning.”

 

“My sincerest condolences for your loss. But... he must be very proud of you, Munchkin. You will be a great Marchioness. Strong, thorough, quick-witted, and lovely as a—”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Mr. Gautier.” You rolled your eyes at him. The redhead laughs softly and embrace you in his arms.

 

“When this war is over, will you come with me to my homeland? It’s time for the first step in the right direction. I don’t want to marry a girl who wants to use me for my Crest or a girl who someone else chose for me. I want to marry someone I really care about. With you by my side, I’m excited to find out what this new way of life is all about. (Y/N), I’m serious. Marry me. I’d do anything for you. I’m done lying, especially to myself. I’m going to spend the rest of our lives together trying to make you happy. I promise.”

 

 “I’d like to.... introduce you to my parents. They’d love to have a new Gauti—Gyaahh!!!” He shrieked when you stomped your feet on him. “I’m so DONE with you, Syl!!” you said with exasperated look, looking away trying to hide the rising heat in your cheeks. ‘A future with Sylvain...’

 

There’s a pause when you catch his gaze and find something vulnerable there, something familiar. The flicker of hope, mirrored in your expression. It’s as if everything falls into place and clicks. Then his lips were on yours, soft and hesitant, so unlike his usual self. Your eyes fluttered shut, your lips moulding against his, as his hand came up to cup your cheek. It was all the confession you needed.

 

“I will, Syl. I promise.”

---

Bonus:

When Professor and the Blue Lions heard about your new relationship with Sylvain, they offer you heartfelt congratulations and throw a little dinner party. Dimitri is OVERJOYED and sobs a little when he saw you are radiating with so much happiness. Back then in your Academy days, he was the one who worry about you the most when Sylvain treated you poorly, after all. Ashe and Dedue throw a lavish dinner to celebrate (Y/N) and Sylvain’s relationship that evening. Mercedes and Annette provide everyone with tasty sweets and dessert. It was a heartwarming small party among Blue Lions members.

Sadly, Sylvain didn’t get to celebrate it together. Rumors had it that Felix and Ingrid has beaten him to a bloody pulp (with Professor’s EXCLUSIVE permission) because he made you their lovely sweet lil sis wept and hurt. Sylvain kept on mumbling something between “Don’t ever hitting another girl”, “RUIN his Lance of Ruin”, “Don’t ever taint her”, or “You’re finished”. Even the kind and benevolent Mercie turned her back and refuse to heal Sylvain. The Gautier heir almost went to hell that evening.

 

The poor, traumatized philanderer will changing his ways for the better for sure.

[skellebonez]

Because I'm sure this is going to be inevitable, how about some angst for the Chaos Trio (Mei, Jin and Yin)? With 61 and 52

Oh I have been looking forward to Chaos Trio angst since you sent me this, anon. Despite how they act in show... I think Jin and Yin are not exactly harmless. Especially if you mess with people they start to consider family.

The Cursed AU and the Chaos Trio in it come from @winterpower98!

Warning: blood and head injuries, enemy demons limbs (not detailed).

That is not a good hiding spot./I am a really bad actor.

Things had been going pretty well, all things considered. Jin and Yin had no problem getting Mei to join them in a little bit of... let's say "competitive insurance" as it were. They had to make sure they were secured in their own little tech related ventures, and after some financial setbacks they needed extra fallback. They’d planned the whole thing out with her help, more than 2 steps and everything! She was good at that.

The problem was that someone got a lucky hit.

They would have made it out with no problems, if they all hadn't decided going on Mei's motorcycle as a group (which, now that Yin thought about it, was probably incredibly dangerous and illegal with 3 of them on it... not that they cared about legality for themselves but somehow when it came to Mei that suddenly made them concerned). But nope. 1 bike. 3 people.

One lucky shot to the rear tire.

The three of them went flying, Mei landing very impressively on her feet whole Jin and Yin bounced on a bush and thanked anyone listening that demons were sturdier than humans. They didn't thank anyone for the pieces of bike that came flying at them all, and they were certain that they heard a piece make contact with something hard, maybe the nearby light pole, but couldn't be sure.

By the time they looked up they just knew they had a group of very angry demons that were pissed they stole and then wiped their code for... something, didn't matter to the twins what it was. They just wanted their competition out of the way. For solely selfish reasons. Nothing else. Not like they wanted it to see what it was and maybe figure out a counter attack so that certain overpowered people with monkey motifs would have an easier time in the future.

Not a chance.

As they fought off the attacking demons they insisted to themselves they didn't care that much.

"That is not a good hiding spot!" Jin yelled across the battlefield as Yin ducked behind crates. "Just chuck it for now and beat em with the blunt end of something else!"

"Just give me 2 seconds, I can fix it!" Yin yelled back, trying his best to reassemble a part of his sword hilt that had broken off.

"Come on, these guys ain't so tough!" Mei laughed out, easily dodging projectiles and backsliding and slicing and dicing as she went. No one was actually killed, but they were lucky because the only reason for that was the young woman wasn't exactly out for blood. They'd be feeling every single hit well into morning though! She was doing much better than the two of them. "Grab a pipe or something! Wish I had MK's magic building power though, I'd rather not be here all-YIN!"

The younger twin looked up from where he had been crouched, eyes widening as he saw the form of a much larger demon hulking over him and ready to batter him with a club.

Things had been going well. All things considered. Then someone got a second lucky hit.

Right as Mei dove in to push the younger silver twin out of the way.

For a second the fighting stopped. There was just the sound of wood hitting hard plastic and fiberglass as the club was sliced in half by her sword and the lopped off half continued it's trajectory and slammed into Mei's head to lead to her crumbling on top of Yin. Jin stood on too of a pile of crates, watching as a line of red seeped through a crack in her visor and stained the white of her suit.

And then his entire vision was red as he lunged at the demon and sliced, sending his arm flying in the opposite direction.

The demon screamed, holding the stump that was his arm from the elbow down, backing away as quickly as he could. "W-what the hell!?"

"Mei," Yin said softly, carefully clicking the emergency release button to make her helmet digitize away. Her eyes were closed, blood dripping from a slice running along her scalp... but as far as he could tell it was from part of the helmet being cracked and cutting her. She was most likely knocked out from the impact, breathing odd but steady in her unconscious state. "You... we're going to get you to the hospital."

His tone hardened as he carefully laid her on the ground, standing tall as he grabbed his broken weapon and a nearby piece of broken steel.

"You. Are going. To pay for that," Yin said coldly, stance no longer lose and half playful as it had been the whole battle. His stood tall, eyes wide and cold and the demons surrounding them felt a chill run down their spines.

Jin stood in front of him, blood from the other demon splattered across his face and chest in a stark contrast to his orange visage.

This... this wasn't the pair of Gold and Silver Demons they had heard about before. They were known for not taking almost anything seriously, making bad deals and pacts and weird blood oaths they wasted on bizarre favors. They were known for being good at tach but not much else, most demons in the area knew vaguely of their history with the Monkey King but even that ended in failure. Their plans were half baked, goofy, and lately they'd heard they'd gotten roped in with the Monkey King's successor and renewed flame of the Six-Eared Macaque.

The two standing before them did not look like the demons they'd heard about.

Mei hadn't wanted to seriously hurt anyone. The demons heard her yelling as much on the battlefield. But now Mei was hurt.

And the twins did.

It happened fast. They wanted to get it over with quickly. Mei had also not wanted to kill anyone at the very least the twins could do was keep up their promise from earlier in the day to avoid that. And they did.

That didn't mean there weren't lost limbs. Hands and arms. A leg or two. More than a couple eyes were lost. Someone lost an ear. Another a tail and horn.

Injuries they could recover from meant as warnings.

All it took was 3 minutes and the entire storage area they crashed in was a mix of grey and brown and red. Demons holding their injuries or running off.

The one who had attacked Yin and hurt Mei stood in awe and fear, looking down at the smaller twins who has decimated an entire group so fast.

"I-how!?" He yelled, backing up slowly. "This isn't possible, you're not this strong!"

"Who told you that?" Yin asked slowly, tilting his head and watching as the demon realized... he'd never heard they couldn't fight. "We don't fight like this because we don't want to. Never meant we can't."

"Why?"

"We are really bad actors," Jin said, wiping the blood off his weapon on an unconscious demon's shirt. "Why bother trying to hold back when we can just hide it by not trying?" He turned to the demon, glowering coldly as he watched his brother pick Mei up carefully. "Tell anyone who asks nothing. We'd like to keep it that way. Unless you want a round two where someone else doesn't hold us back."

And then they were gone.

~

"What in the actual hell happened?" Macaque asked in an even tone. Practiced even. A dangerous even.

"Well-" "You see boss-" "we kinda-" "-there was-"

Jin and Yin tried to think of a reasonable excuse, faltering as everything they thought of sounded worse and worse in their heads.

The two sat in Mei's hospital room, towels draped around their shoulders. They’d been smart enough to stash Mei's bike somewhere safe and wash off in the ocean before coming to the hospital, less covered in demon blood meant less scared humans when they rushed in with Mei in tow, and it was easy to make the nurses believe them.

Simple bike accident, friend hurt, help please.

With Macaque staring them down with his patented death glower, shadows growing and warping around the room in response to him, it was infinitely harder.

Of course Mei's emergency contact was MK. Of course MK could call Macaque before her parents (who were apparently on their way back from some kind of dragon family business trip when they learned). Of course Macaque would show up almost immediately and begin asking questions.

"It was my fault," Mei chimed in, voice slightly off from having awoken with a nasty concussion. "I thought it'd be fun to go on a joy ride late at night, I've done it before without issues! But, uh... I've never had two passengers before... and we hit something. Don't be mad at them?"

Macaque looked like he believed Mei as much as he believed Tang would lose interest in the Monkey King and switch his field of study to obscure methods of basket weaving. Which is to say: he didn’t. But he sighed, giving Mei a small smile as the shadows returned to normal.

"Ok," he said softly, tone much more gentle with the dragon descendant as he reached out to brush loose hair out of her face. "I won't be mad at them. I'll be very disappointed-" his tone hardened for a second at those words as he turned to the twins with a glower again. "-but I won't be mad. Do you need anything?"

"Maybe a candy bar from the vending machines outside?" Mei asked with a smile.

"Sure," Macaque laughed and shook his head, moving to the corner of the room. "I'll be right back."

He sunk into the shadows, a cool trick that the twins would always be impressed by, and they breathed a sigh of relief at knowing they were alone. For now.

"You didn't have to do that," Jin said, frowning at Mei in concern. Maybe it was just because he was now the eldest in the room, but some kind of protective feel pulled at him.

"I know," Mei said with a tired laugh, laying back into her pillow. "But you guys are like... my bros. I gotta stand up for my bros."

And that made both Jin and Yin pause. They looked at each other, eyes widening as they both came to a realization that was probably a very long time coming at that point.

"Yeah..." Yin said, a soft smile forming on his face. "We'd do the same for you... you know, if you didn't take that hit for me you probably would have kicked everyone's ass way better than us! We barely got out by the skin of our teeth!" A full truth and a blatant lie, but he hoped Mei wouldn't pick up on that second part.

"You know it, boi!" She didn't.

It was odd for him in particular. Yin had never really thought of himself as an older brother before.

First time for everything.

[lostysworld]

A healing touch – Kaz Brekker x reader

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 (final)

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader

Warning: OOC, mention of touch aversion

Summary: You trying to fight your motives to help Kaz, but maybe you should not?

A/N: I don't know what I'v done, but anyway :D. I promised some romance, so enjoy a little bit of it, guys, in the end of the chapter)

Masterlist

– I am so selfish.

You and Inej are sitting in your parents' bakery after the closing hours, waiting to finally come home.

Despite the girl's calm behavior, you always find yourself comfortable around her.

– Why?

– I wanted to help Kaz through his avertion, - you casts a look towards the kitchen, where your mother is, and lower your pitch. – But I only ended up with thinking about my own reasons.

– So you are in love with him!

– Shh! - you wave your hands at Inej for her loud voice, being afraid your mum will know about it. In that case you won't be able to shut that woman up. – Do you want everyone to learn about it?

– I'm sure, your mother will be happy-

– That is the reason, - seeing your friend's mischievous grin you realizes, your worst fear may come true. – My mum will talk about it for the whole time, if she knows.

– Knows what?

Your heart sinks down. Seems, you were so worried about your predicament, than didn't notice the entrance door opened silently behind your back. But Inej did for sure.

You turn around to face Kaz, your very handsome problem, as it appears. Now you know why Inej was smiling like this.

– We are closed, young man, - your mum comes out of the kitchen, but when she recognizes Kaz, her smile becomes wider – Oh, Mr. Brekker, come in. The oven is still warm, do you want something?

You fight the urge to hide somewhere and only whispers.

– Saints, it only becomes worse, - Inej holds back a laughter looking at you, your mother, and Kaz, who seems struggling the same problem as you.

He can deal with every freak in Ketterdam, but when it comes to your mother, the man is always confused.

– Uhm, no, thank you.

Brekker turns to both of you, looking at Inej. It is clear, that he doesn't come to see you, and it suddenly upsets you.

Inej only nods to you and stands to follow Kaz, while you is staring down in your empty cup. Suddenly a brief touch to your shoulder draws your attention.

You raise your glance at Kaz, who stands right beside you, rather close to you, you'd say. His hand is still on your shoulder, and his heat radiates from the palm even through the leather of the glove.

– I didn't thank you for your help last time.

You could never read his glance, it is always the same cold, collected expression, that you can't understand. Maybe, you are way too much mesmerized by Kaz Brekker to notice something else.

– It's fine, Kaz. You are welcome, - you hesitate, seeing his piercing eyes don't leave you. – And good luck your heist.

He nods silently and walks out. As soon as the door behind him is closed, you drop your head on the table with a loud grown. Why you can't just tell him how you feel? It will go two ways anyway. He will admit that it's mutual or not. No big deal, yeah?

– If I acted like you twenty three years ago, I would never marry you father, Y/N.

Yours mother's sympathetic voice rings somewhere above your head, but you don't want to argue with her.

– I'm not a sum of kruge for Kaz to be interested in.

– Mr. Brekker is only interested in kruge, because he doesn't have something more valuable, see?

You raise your head to her to see her smirking and lay it down again. Your mother can advise you whatever she wants, but it doesn't mean you have enough courage to do it.

You walk into the Slat, that is unexpectedly overcrowded for this time of the evening. Earlier this day a boy came to collect you to Kaz, as he was told, and that makes your heart flutter.

You haven't seen your friends for these two days, the heist they prepared was extremely important for all the Crows and you decided not to distract them.

On the first floor you notice Jasper and others, though Kaz isn't amongst them. You wave playfully to the guys, it is hard for you to hide, that you really miss them.

Jasper waves you back and nods towards upstairs.

– Kaz wanted to see you, Y/N.

With a brief nod you run to Brekker's room. After two short knocks you open the door, not waiting for a permission.

– Y/N, - a small smile hides in the corners of the man's lips.

– Should I congratulate you with the successful heist, Kaz? Everybody look so content.

He nods and extends his hand towards you. You come closer immediately noticing a small silver pendant on his palm.

– It's lovely, Kaz. Thank you.

– Are you sure? - his suspicious gaze follows you, you raise your brow trying to understand his question. – I mean, it was stolen-

Does he question his methods now, after all these years?

– I like it, stolen or not. Besides, you risked your safety to get it. So, I like it even more.

Taking it from his palm carefully, you realize Brekker's hands are without gloves tonight. Your decision, made some days ago, comes to your mind at the same time.

– Could you help me?

The man's gaze instantly finds yours, and you recognize a sparkle of panic inside. Any other day you would apologize for breaking his boundaries, but not now.

Kaz swallows and nods, after that you turn around letting him lock the pendant on your neck.

He is doing it so carefully, that you don't even feels the touch, but only his hot breathing on you neck. And it slowly drives you insane.

– Kaz, - once the pendant is locked you turn rapidly to face him, meeting his piercing blue gaze.

You know that this kind of proximity makes him uncomfortable, but you just can't help yourself to move an inch back.

You swallow and drop your gaze on his hand, that now is laying on the table just right next to you. Brekker's glance is watching you slowly moving your own one.

Your palm is inches from his, still you don't make a final move. You two are so close, Kaz can feel your breath on his cheek, and it gives him slight shiver down his spine. Pleasant or not, he can't decide.

– Kaz, - you call him once more, whispering. – I can help you with it.

– No one can, Y/N, - you don't need to be precise for him to know what are talking about. Brekker shakes his head, and you watches his weak grin disappeare.

– I will. Please, let me in, Kaz. I will not hurt you.

You are craving for his touch so badly, that it almost makes you shake with anticipation. But the man doesn't rush the moment.

You finally touch his wrist with you fingertips, Brekker flinches, but doesn't move away. Taking a silent permission you trace an invisible pattern on his arm, when his hoarse whisper reaches you.

– Stop, - he swallows hard.

– Kaz-

– Please, stop, Y/N, - you've never seen Kaz Brekker begged before, moreover you don't want him to hate you after this evening.

Your glances cross and you feel like you are unable to move. He is still a bit struggling with the effect of your touch, but something else is on the back of his mind.

– I've wanted to touch you for so long, - his voice runs goosebumps across your skin. – I even thought that ignoring you might help.

– Look at me, Kaz, - your hand flies to his chin, barely touching, slightly turning him to face you. – You can do this.

The man shakes his head with anger appering in his eyes. He doesn't blame you for trying, anyway, he tried too. But he does blame you for giving him this false hope.

– We need to try once more.

'We'. Kaz sighs. Isn't it worth trying? Isn't Y/N worth?

Your hand caresses his cheek as if he's made of glass. Brekker tenses, and you feel him ready to burst with swearing.

But to you own surprise, the man just exhales slowly, and after a second he slightly leans into the touch.

– See?

Y/N is warm, not like Jordie, Kaz feels it's radiating through his own skin now. The tingling on his cheek from your accident brushing leaves him a bit nervous. In a good way.

Y/N smells like cinnamon and baking powder, and Brekker loses a bit of his sanity from such proximity. He would never let anyone do the same with him.

But it's you. Kaz can make any deal, but he also can make an exception for Y/N.

– I think, it's enough for today, - you slowly take your hand from his cheek, afraid that it cam be too overwhelming for Kaz.

A faint smile lights up you face, and instantly it is reflected on Brekker's face.

– Ask Jasper to walk you home.

– I will be fine-

– No, I want you to be safe, - your breath is stuck in your throat. – So...good night.

– Good night, Kaz.

This stupid smile doesn't leave your face until you come home.

[codenamed-queenie]

#BatsInQuarantine

I am going insane. So I poured my restlessness into one long and very detailed post and got super into it. Please enjoy this hot mess.

The Justice League, being the well-meaning virus-proof Super Friends that they are, took one good look at the news, one good look at their non-powered friends Ollie, Bruce, and their families, and collectively decided that these normal humans must be Protected At All Costs.

Now, keep in mind, Bruce is never one to roll over when it comes to being benched. 

However, he understands the importance of social distancing. He knows he needs to set a good example for his kids, and keep up appearances as Gotham’s Most Responsible Multi-Billionaire. 

So. Quarantine it is. 

But how are his kids handling it?

Dick - 

100% on board in the beginning. Gotta do the Responsible Thing. Gotta set a Good Example. Besides, guys, this is gonna be Fun. Quality Family Time is always a Must.

He lasted 2 days. 

Then he started to get twitchy. 

And as everyone knows? A Trapped Dick Grayson is a Feral Dick Grayson.

He bounces off the walls.

Literally.

“I have to climb.” 

“Dick, no.”  

“I have to climb everything.”

Has scaled the manor 16 times already. Has climbed the chandelier. The banister. Bruce. The roof. The Cave. Anything in the house that’s been bolted down and especially anything that hasn’t. 

Duke found him clinging to the wall 10 ft off the ground like Spiderman and screamed so loud it shattered glass. 

Desperate for news of the outside. 

He thrives off of it like a starving man. 

Was the one to suggest he and Barbara take a break to Social Distance from each other (”Sorry, babe, kissing spreads germs”) and experienced Instant Regret(TM) approximately 5 minutes after. 

The Family has labelled him a Flight Risk Level 1 (Most likely to say f**k it and make a break for the outside world)

Jason - 

Accidentally got trapped inside the manor with the others when Bruce called Shutdown. If he had his way, he’d be chilling in his favorite safe-house right now, binging The Witcher with Roy and Artemis, and not worrying about finding a stray brother in his sock drawer.

But he’s nothing if not an opportunist. 

The way he sees it, Jason has 3 options:

Self Improvement

Self Isolation (See Duke, Cass, and Damian)

Descension Into Madness (See Dick and Steph)

And, well, he always wanted to try a few things. Now he’s got the free time to do it.

So he settles on baking. 

Alfred’s got enough food and raw ingredients stored up to feed an army. (Not because he’s a Panic-Buying-Hoarder in times like these. But because he’s a Panic-Buying-Hoarder all the time. Just try feeding 11+ teenagers sometime.)

Uses recipes he finds off Google.

His first few attempts are, in a word, ‘tragic’.

Alfred slips him a few of his recipe cards, and Jason suddenly starts seeing Results. 

Turns out he’s pretty good at this baking thing once he gets the hang of it. 

Hope everyone’s okay eating nothing but pie, macaroons, biscuits, and whatever else Jason whips up. 

Cause that’s gonna be the only food left by the time he’s done. 

Barbara - 

Self-quarantined with her dad. 

They’ve been binge-watching classic black and white movies together.

It’s a fun time, but she’s started to get a little antsy. Loving her dad and wanting to be around him 24/7 are, understandably, mutually exclusive. 

Calls the manor to video-chat every day.

For her sanity just as much as theirs. 

Gives everyone little challenges to film on their phones and send in. She makes compilations of everyone’s submissions so they can all watch and laugh together. 

Bonus points for Creativity

One comp shows the family trying to drop Mentos into coke bottles. 

Dick did a handstand, and dropped his Mento from the second story balcony. 

Tim did it wearing the Batman cowl. The soda exploded into his face, and the rest of the video is just Bruce’s Shrieking.

Stephanie tried it, but the bottle tipped. Everyone on camera screamed as the bottle rocketed through the front window. 

She spends most of her calls having one-on-one convos with Dick.

They’ve come up with little code phrases so they can be Cheesy even with family members lurking in the background. 

She thinks the way he clings to the monitor is cute. 

Almost like he’s giving her a hug through the screen. 

(It’s easier than letting herself worry about his mental state, at least)

Tim -

Oh this boy.

Freaked out for the first five minutes before he decided ‘hey wait, Bruce is letting me stay in my pajamas all day? Noice.’ 

Now he’s just vibing.

The rest of his family is Low-Key shielding him.

He Has No Spleen, you see.

Steph: “Someone could cough on him and he could die!”

He just goes about his day, playing Animal Crossing like there’s no tomorrow, tinkering on projects, taking naps, etc. Living his best life.

Meanwhile there’s always someone lurking behind him, keeping watch, keeping him safe. 

Dick sneezed within 5 feet of Tim once (the fact that he was on top of the dusty bookshelf Tim was perusing is irrelevant)

Jason still full-body tackled him the second Tim’s back was turned. 

No one with any symptoms--

Like, any symptoms. They don’t even have to be Corona-related.

--is allowed within 10 feet of Tim. 

Tim has been wandering the manor for weeks, now, without seeing another human being. 

(He sees Dick on the ceiling sometimes, but that doesn’t really count)

He’s been trying increasingly drastic pranks and shenanigans to draw someone, anyone, out. 

But it doesn’t matter how many times he steals Damian’s sword, or sets fire to Jason’s brownie bites.

Nobody wants to risk it. 

Cass - 

No one has seen her since quarantine started.

Everyone is approximately 87% sure she’s somewhere in the manor though

Because she does eat the meals Alfred leaves out for her.

Or at least someone does, at any rate. 

(Jason and Santa top the running suspects list)

Santa was Steph’s suggestion. For some reason it snowballed. 

It’s assumed that Cass misunderstood the meaning of ‘social distancing’ and took it too far. 

But no one knows for sure. 

She is Tim’s Guardian Angel. 

People who so much as clear their throats a little too loudly anywhere near him suddenly wake up on a different floor of the house four hours later. 

Duke came closest to spotting her while he was up in the attic. 

Either that, or there’s another Creepy Sister everyone forgot to tell him about living up there.

She is silent, and watchful, sticking to the shadows, but she does leave the occasional note out to brighten her siblings’ day. 

Things like ‘helo i love u’ and ‘hop u ar ok’  mostly. 

She is bound and determined to protect her family from this invisible threat, no matter the cost. 

Steph - 

Like Dick, she was Super Pumped at first. 

(Just kind of showed up at Wayne Manor before quarantine was enacted. The original purpose of her visit is unclear, but regardless, she’s Trapped.)

Also Like Dick, her descent into madness was swift.

She is impossible to pin down. 

Not like Cass or Damian, who’ve stayed off the grid, and are therefore Untraceable. 

No. She’s impossible to pin down, because she never stops moving. 

Switches seamlessly between Zumba on top of the Giant Dinosaur in the Batcave, and furiously knitting Alfred (the Cat) a sweater with a pair of Tim’s used chopsticks. 

Braided everyone’s hair while they were asleep.

Even Bruce’s. 

She tried to do Tim’s, but somehow blacked out and regained consciousness in the attic. 

When she woke up with a scream and a furiously twitching eye, she startled Duke out of his Makeshift Fort he built out of old cardboard boxes and antique furniture. He’s had to resort to finding a new hiding place. 

Sometimes, on the rare occasions she does sit still, staring off into the distance, she’ll suddenly start laughing hysterically. This may last between thirty seconds and thirty minutes, depending entirely on how long it’s been since she’s knitted a cat sweater or done cartwheels through every room in the house.

Blew up the greenhouse out back, somehow.

Everyone has agreed not to talk about it.

Some people were built to handle prolonged time inside their homes.

Stephanie Brown is not that way.

Damian - 

Damian Wayne Cannot Be Contained.

At least not inside the house. 

He took off thirty-six hours into quarantine. 

Thanks to the security equipment around the borders of the Wayne Estate, he can’t escape the grounds. 

(He’s tried and failed multiple times. Jason and Bruce have a running bet on how many times the perimeter alarms will go off per day.)

(Jason is winning.)

He wanders the grounds with Titus as his only companion. 

The two of them run laps, practice drills, and find ways to occupy their time. 

No one’s entirely sure what those ways are. 

In fact, nobody knows exactly where Damian is at any given time. 

Only that he is Out There. 

And he’s the best security system Wayne Manor’s ever had. 

So far, he’s stopped five groups of civilians scaling the perimeter walls before the lasers and electric nets even have a chance to deploy.

They were trying to break in and steal supplies. 

(Even ones they already had in surplus. Like Toilet Paper.)

He’s also stopped Dick from escaping twelve (12) times.

Drags him back by his shirt collar and deposits him on the welcome mat. 

Usually with a note for Alfred/Jason, requesting more fruit tarts. 

Duke - 

Did not leave the attic for two weeks. 

Then Steph discovered his hiding spot (read: was dumped there by Cassandra) which forced him to relocate to the basement. 

Yes, it turns out Wayne Manor does have a basement. 

This was a surprise to Duke, who always thought that the Batcave was Bruce Wayne’s basement. 

Alfred keeps him supplied with all the necessities:

i.e. food, magazines, assorted pastries from Jason’s latest batch, usually straight out of the oven.

Duke also snagged the Manor’s Alexa. 

She has become a sort of ‘Wilson’ to Duke’s ‘Chuck Noland’.

She is his only comfort. His only ally. 

He’s determined to wait out this quarantine, doing his best to avoid the others. 

Duke has seen these people under pressure. 

He knows exactly what he’s dealing with. 

Duke: “Alexa is the only motherf****r in this madhouse I ever respected.”

*offended butler noises from the other room*

Duke: “And also Alfred.”

[frostfireft]

Can we have more Bickslow headcannons? And maybe Evergreen, Freed, and Lexus too?

Fuck yeah you can! I’m gonna start with a lot of angst and then move into their dynamics as a team. (this got REALLY long but I’m not sorry)

-I gave you all my HC for Freed’s backstory in my last post and mentioned that Freed is the reason that Bickslow and Evergreen joined the guild, so have both their backstories too! 

-Bickslow grew up in a travelling circus with several other child performers. It wasn’t exactly a nice environment. There were lots of issues and safety hazards and abuse going on behind the scenes, but they were forced to keep smiling and performing through it all. 

-Bickslow was especially targeted by the ringmaster because of his magic allowing him to look into people’s souls. The ringmaster is the one who forced him to wear a helmet when he wasn’t using his ability on the crowd for money. 

-Because of that, he only had five friends back then, all children younger than he was, who looked up to him both for his tricks and the fact that no matter how upset he was, he had a smile for them.

-one day the tent caught fire during a practice. Bickslow was the only one to make it out alive. 

-but considering all the traumatic events they went through, most of the children kept there weren’t able to move on, and their spirits lingered in the area... Except for the five kids who were most fond of Bickslow. They stayed near him and talked to him all the time, especially once they realized he could see them. You still have a soul as a spirit after all. 

-the town he was in began to think he was crazy because he was “talking to the air” all the time, and they would continuously call child services to try and take him to an orphanage. The five spirits however, would warn him before they could, and Bickslow used his years of acrobatics skills to stay away from anyone who tried to move him away from where the circus burned down. It may have been a place of trauma, but there were good memories too, and it’s all he had. 

-So the town tried one last gamble. Who better to adopt a child with mysterious magic that Fairy Tail? 

-And Makarov, in an attempt to get Laxus to be more social, decided to send him and Freed. 

-It went about as well as you’d expect. Laxus tried to fight him while Freed did research on the area and what happened to him. 

-Laxus didn’t have as much control over his magic as he thought he did at that age, and Bickslow was kicking his ass before Freed showed up and trapped him so they could talk.

-Freed shared his story with him and offered the same thing Laxus once offered him: a home. 

-Bickslow cracked soon after that, and told them everything after Freed started asking questions about the town thinking he’s crazy while they were on the train back to magnolia. 

-While many members of Fairy Tail were unnerved by him, those around their age did their best to make him feel at home. Natsu listened to all his stories about the circus and about the five ghosts who followed him, and Bickslow listened to his stories about the dragons. 

-Freed used this time to research Seith magic extensively, and he eventually came across the idea of putting the souls into objects. He and Bickslow worked for weeks to figure out how to do it, and the five spirits became his five main “dolls.” 

-He of course, asked them if they were okay with being alongside him before putting them inside the tiki dolls, and if he cried when they said there was nowhere else they’d rather be? Well Freed and Laxus weren’t going to tell anyone about it. 

-Evergreen was both harder and easier to get back to Fairy Tail. 

-Like Freed, She was once a part of the noble class, but under a name she never wants to use again. 

-When she gained her eye magic, she accidentally turned her mother to stone, and it was all downhill from there. Her father tried to keep her locked in a room, and it worked for a long time. 

-Eventually though, she had decided she’d had enough, and snuck out and ran as far away as she could. She kept a ribbon tied around her eyes any time she had to go into town, and learned how to walk while completely blind. This did some damage to her eyesight after several years of doing it. 

-it felt like it was too good to be true. She was free and she did odd little jobs in a town far from her original home to earn money for food. it was all she needed..... Until a child tore the ribbon from her face. 

-the second she made eye contact, the little boy turned to stone. There was nothing she could do about it except cover her face up again and run. 

-her father, however, had notified several guilds about her disappearance and claimed she was dangerous if left alone, so when stories spread about a homeless child turning a boy to stone, it became their first lead in months. 

-there was a lull in fighting missions at the time, and something about her magic intrigued Freed. It was an eye magic like his and Bickslow’s first magics, and they aren’t exactly common. Freed, Laxus, and Bickslow took it upon themselves to take the mission to bring her home.

-She very quickly figured out how to hide herself in the woods and away from people. Freed had to trap the entire area and make it so that eye magics don’t work within his barriers before they could even get close to her. It took almost a month. 

-And much to their surprise, she was nothing like what they were expecting. After all, they were supposed to be hunting down a nobleman’s son, not a daughter.

-Bickslow almost immediately asks her about why she ran away, and Ever looks up at him- then panics as she slams her eyes shut- but he doesn’t turn to stone because of Freed’s runes, and he explains as such. 

-They have a long conversation about why she ran away, and she tells them everything her father did to her, from being locked in her room to being terrified to tell him she’s his daughter and not his son because of his anger issues.

-They realize then and there they can’t give her back to him, and Freed comes up with the plan to tell him that they didn’t find his son, but rather a random girl with a similar magic, and she can join Fairy Tail instead of staying on the run. 

-The only reason she doesn’t agree immediatly is because of her eye magic. She couldn’t control it, and the idea of turning someone to stone again scared her.

-Freed sent Laxus to buy a pair of glasses without a prescription and a nice dress for her to wear, and he etches runes into the glasses to block her eye magic when they’re on.

-She’s sold from that moment on, and the raijinshuu’s friendship is sealed with that secret. 

-Laxus helps her chose her name before they get onto the train, and they solidify the story before then too  

-Makarov Accepts the story without question, even though they have a sneaking suspicion he knows. 

-They become a tight knit group in no time. 

-Then they learn about Ivan and all he did to Laxus, and they start to jokingly refer to themselves as the Laxus protection squad. It’s a lot less of a joke when Ivan’s actually around though, and the guild definitely notices. Makarov even starts to officially call them that in some reports. 

-No one remembers who suggested the name “raijinshuu,” but they all privately agree it’s dumb. Especially since  it insinuates that Laxus is the team leader. Freed’s the captain of their team for a reason.

-Dispite the fact that Bickslow is the tallest of them, both Laxus and Freed are both physically stronger than him. That’s not to say he isn’t strong, but Laxus can carry freakish amounts of weight due to his slayer biology, and Freed does the same due to his demon biology. 

-Freed can carry all of them at once. No one knows how. 

-Freed puts new runes on Ever’s glasses every time she gets new frames or a new prescription. He knows she doesn’t need it anymore, but she’s always grateful for the option. 

-if they share a bed, Freed and Ever cannot sleep next to each other. Their hair tangles together and they’ve only had to make that mistake once. 

-Ever and Bickslow are not under any circumstances allowed to cook, Freed can make fancy meals, and Laxus makes homemade stuff that would make your mouth water. He also stress bakes in secret at four am. 

-That’s how they always know he’s stressed when he doesn’t tell them. It’s kind of hard to miss 6 batches of cookies that spontaneously appeared overnight

-Freed has an unsharpened rapier that feels like getting hit with a slap bracelet at full speed. Naturally, this is the sword he chases Bickslow with when he pisses him off. 

-Laxus likes to pretend he’s one of the smartest members of the guild, but the raijinshuu knows he’s actually kind of a himbo. 

-Bickslow is really close friends with Loke, and when he noticed the man was dying slowly, the others comforted him despite not knowing what was going on.

-Bickslow often helps ghosts pass on from the mortal plane. 

-Evergreen keeps up with all the latest fashion, but she still considers Freed to be more fashionable. Because of this she always double checks her outfits with him. 

-Evergreen’s always the first to sass someone when they’re being rude to her team. It’s earned her her reputation as a “bitch” but she’s far too proud of it to be offended.

-One Laxus was open about his dragon slayer magic, they pushed him to talk to the other slayers to learn about himself and his magic. Freed and Bickslow pushed the hardest though, since they’re friends with Natsu and knew that he would be all too willing to drag Laxus into his little family of dragon slayers.

-Laxus was much happier oncce he accepted that he was more dragon that human anyways, and the more he learned, the happier he was. 

-In case it wasn’t clear: mtf Trans!Ever (she/her exclusively), he/they Freed, and  wtf is gender, is it a food?” Laxus and Bickslow (any pronouns). 

[lambden]

What better way to break in a new blog than by immediately posting fic? In honour of Nightmare of the Wolf, here’s some Vesemir and Filavandrel!

(read on AO3)

M, 2.9K words, no warnings, Vesemir recognizes Jaskier’s lute when he arrives at Kaer Morhen

Vesemir has been expecting this day for decades. It’s rare for witchers to meet a trusted companion out on the Path, and even rarer to find one who wishes to travel alongside them. But the reputation of witchers has changed in recent years, for better or worse. Their focus is no longer on maintaining the traditional practices of their schools, but on protection— of other witchers, and of helpless commoners. Perhaps the humans can sense that change.

More curiously, the folklore surrounding witchers has changed. Vesemir very badly wants to meet the man who has done so much to change the narrative, but years pass and all Geralt brings home every winter are stories. The younger witchers entertain (and tease) him but no one ever asks where the bard goes during the cold months that Geralt spends at Kaer Morhen. Perhaps even Geralt doesn’t know.

Finally, after hundreds of stories of Geralt-and-Dandelion, Vesemir receives a letter one autumn before he himself has even considered the journey home. His chest warms as he reads Geralt’s careful penmanship, noting how the ink blots at the start of each new sentence. The paper and wax are fine, suggesting that Jaskier used his academic connections to perhaps land Geralt a few contracts near Oxenfurt. Geralt’s lettering may be nearly flawless but his message is stilted, reminding Vesemir of when his pups were nervous children. Does Jaskier really make him act this awkward? Their relationship must be serious, then.

I am hoping you will welcome my guest with open arms, or I fear he may freeze over the coming months. Vesemir looks for a signature but there is none, save a very fancy G at the bottom. No returning address has been provided either, and while he could easily pen a missive to Oxenfurt, it’s probably best not to respond. Each day Nilfgaard only grows stronger, and crueler. Perhaps Jaskier has been caught up in their hunger for power. Vesemir folds the letter up and hides it in his saddlebag.

When the frost begins creeping in, the oldest Wolf begins his trek up the mountain. He’s almost always the first one to arrive; Coën had beaten him to it once and apologized for weeks, and Vesemir would do anything to avoid that again. And if he makes an effort to arrive early this year so that he can make the Keep look as important as it is, well… nobody needs to know.

It takes a week and a half before Geralt arrives, Jaskier in tow. Vesemir spends the time flushing out a bat infestation and dealing with the most perishable of his spoils from the past year. The White Wolf seems to bring the cold with him most years but Vesemir, cognizant of Jaskier’s inferior body, made sure to set out enough furs in advance. As soon as he hears Roach’s hooves approaching he starts a roaring fire, and when the inner doors of Kaer Morhen burst open, Vesemir is ready to make a great first impression.

Upon seeing him, Geralt smiles right away, crossing the room to greet him. Vesemir looks him over; no obvious new scars, no missing body parts. Must have been an uneventful year, but… Geralt is here, safe and alive, so Vesemir allows himself some private, selfish, unwitcherly joy. It’s the sort of thing Deglan would have lectured him for. He finds he doesn’t care.

“I got your letter,” he tells Geralt, who nods solemnly. “I thought it best not to reply. Is Nilfgaard on your trail?”

“Our trail,” Geralt sighs, stepping aside so that Vesemir can meet his companion. “Vesemir, this is Jaskier.”

The bard, dwarfed by a large fur coat, moves forward so that Vesemir can properly scrutinize him. He certainly doesn’t look his age, but Vesemir knows he’s travelled as far as any witcher has gone, and seen sights no human should really have witnessed. “Oh, I’ve heard plenty about you, Jaskier. I was wondering when Geralt was finally going to bring you along for the winter!” That makes Jaskier perk up, and Vesemir chuckles. “I promise that no harm will come to you here.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier says. “Geralt doesn’t like sharing much about the other witchers, but I’m sure you must have a wealth of stories for me to hear!” Sure enough, Geralt frowns. “And I don’t know how much help I’ll be with hunting or gathering, but I would be happy to regale you on the coldest nights—” 

And before Vesemir can read into that unfortunate phrasing, Jaskier shrugs off his fur coat to produce a lute. He must have been wearing it strapped around his front on the journey through the mountains, not wanting to condemn such a fine instrument to being jostled around in Roach’s saddlebags. Vesemir squints at the red-brown wood and the golden details under the strings. They almost look like a particular elven design.

Oh. Vesemir’s realization nearly bowls him over. Geralt and Jaskier stare at him, respectively concerned and curious, but Vesemir can’t take his eyes off the lute. “My apologies, I… I forgot something in my chamber. Make yourselves at home, and… I’ll leave you to it.” He leaves without any further explanation, hastening to his quarters and abandoning the pair of them to their own devices. He can still feel their gazes drilling into his back but he suddenly feels weaker than usual.

---

 “I heard there was a witcher skulking around this forest,” the spy says. Vesemir is almost relieved to hear them speak; he’s been glancing over his shoulder for nearly an hour now to try and reveal an invisible pursuer. He should’ve known he was right. Just because the spy doesn’t lumber like a human or reek of magic like a monster doesn’t mean he won’t be in trouble. 

He stops in the middle of the path, still facing forward. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that the second he turns, a very unfriendly knife is going to introduce itself to his ribcage. Or perhaps an arrow, although he hasn’t heard the sound of anything and he’s been listening very closely.

His pursuer approaches. Fuck, they’re light on their feet. If Vesemir was just an average bandit, he’d be done for. He braces himself for an attack, balling his hands up into fists at his sides. The stranger continues, tone still pleasant enough, “Why not stay in town? A warm bed must beat trudging through mud in the early hours of the morning trying to find ground. I’ll give you some advice, witcher; there’s no dry ground. You’re heading towards a swamp.”

“They wouldn’t let me stay in town,” Vesemir admits, already grumpy. He whirls around and sees the stranger; a lean man, just slightly shorter than him. The long hood of their cloak casts a dark shadow over their face, blocking them from view. “If you’re here to rob me, I hate to disappoint, but you’ve followed me all this way for nothing.”

He holds up his empty coinpurse; not to prove himself, just to complain. The stranger titters, a lovely, high-pitched sound like glass clinking against glass, like chimes. Like birdsong. Vesemir’s eyes narrow. “That’s a shame,” they say. “You do love coin.”

There’s something disturbingly familiar about the words. Vesemir decides to gamble with his own life, stalking forward until he’s face to face with the stranger. Up close, his scent is even stronger. Frowning, Vesemir is about to reveal the man’s identity when he does it himself, pushing his hood back. His hair is tied up in complex braids unlike any Vesemir has ever seen, only a few loose strands hanging down over his forehead. But it would take more than a lifetime for Vesemir to forget that face.

“Fil,” he declares, delighted, and doesn’t think twice before crashing into the elf. Filavandrel laughs again and though it makes Vesemir feel a little silly, the sound still fills his heart with joy. He embraces his friend tightly, clinging to him for so long that both their boots sink down into the flooded dark soil of the forest. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s like I told you.” The elf pats the back of Vesemir’s neck, unwittingly sending a shiver down his spine. Vesemir’s grip tightens. “My scouts said I might find a witcher lost in the woods.”

“I’m not lost,” Vesemir grunts, finally pulling away. “I just… don’t know where I’m going.”

“Come to my camp,” suggests Filavandrel. As if he even had to ask.

Unsurprisingly, elves make their camps much differently than witchers do. When they arrive Vesemir doesn’t immediately see any sort of bedroll, and then he feels embarrassed for looking. He never feels this way around anyone else; he can make bawdy jokes with Sven or blatantly hit on Luka, but in the company of Filavandrel aén Fidháil, shame bursts through him so easily.

Maybe he just has a thing for pretty blondes who he leaves behind.

Except Fil is here, smiling indulgently as Vesemir gapes like a fool. “It’s nice,” he finally manages to say. “Want me to set a fire?”

“A campfire, sure. Not a big one,” Filavandrel teases. Swallowing, Vesemir turns to a firepit that the elf must have fashioned himself. He takes a bundle of wood that’s already been cut and easily ignites it, all the while trying to figure out why his heart is pounding so damn loud. Thank fuck that Filavandrel isn’t a witcher.

“Have you eaten?”

“No. You?”

“I was going to have some bread, and go hunting in the morning.” There’s a small noise and when Vesemir turns to look, his friend is holding out a large chunk of bread. It doesn’t even look that stale. Vesemir sees that Filavandrel has taken a much smaller piece for himself and growls about it, but the elf snatches the smaller piece away before Vesemir can lunge for it. “I don’t want to hear any self-sacrificial bullshit about how witchers don’t need to eat. Take the damn bread, Ves.”

“... Fine,” Vesemir relents, cowed. He accepts the bread, fingertips accidentally brushing over Filavandrel’s when he takes it. It’s fucking delicious, melting in his mouth almost instantly. Seeds and herbs have been baked into it too, and Vesemir savours every bite, moaning. “You should quit being a professional elf and start a new life as a baker, fuck.”

“I can do both. It’s an old recipe, needs a stone oven. And what does being a professional elf even mean?” Filavandrel reaches up to shove him, except they aren’t very far away from each other so the push nearly knocks Vesemir off his balance. Before he can tip over onto the grass Filavandrel grabs him by the collar of his gambeson and tugs him back, and, well. Vesemir may be a witcher, but parts of him are still human. 

Neither of them has to say a word; he opens for Filavandrel like he’s been thinking of nothing but this since the second they laid eyes on each other. Honestly, he sort of has. Fil runs a hand over the shaved part of his head, pressing his palm against the back of his neck to pull him in closer. Vesemir moans, chasing the taste of something sweet and acidic and magic. It certainly isn’t the fucking bread.

Afterwards they lie together by the smoldering remains of the fire, both too spent to clean themselves or dress. Vesemir glances over at the cinders and thinks about making an exit soon. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to stay with Filavandrel. He’s comfortable here, especially right now, and his friend always makes his heart feel lighter. But the Path calls to him; lying here without his weapons or armour, Vesemir can nearly hear Deglan’s scolding. And that thought is enough to ruin anyone’s afterglow.

Before he can move, Filavandrel sits up, arching his back. Vesemir turns to watch him, nearly salivating at how he looks in the low firelight. His hair is radiant, and his skin isn’t nearly flushed enough. He’s beautiful. Ethereal. Selfishly, Vesemir wishes that he’d left more marks.

Fil climbs to his feet and crosses the campsite to retrieve something out of reach. Vesemir cranes his neck to try and peek, and Filavandrel laughs kindly at him. “I was just thinking that something’s missing.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Vesemir says, lowering his head back down onto the ground. “I should have kissed you more.”

The elf pauses at that before finally demanding, “Kiss me later.” A note resounds through the air, clear and beautiful; then a chord, and another. Very soon their little clearing feels more like a fairy circle than a campground as Filavandrel plays music. 

He finally walks into view, still naked, still beautiful. Now holding a lute. Vesemir tries to sit up so that he can properly see the performance but Filavandrel is faster, moving over him and then sitting atop his stomach, resting his back against Vesemir’s thighs. He plays the entire time, fingers moving adeptly over the instrument.

It’s a beautiful lute, probably made of some holy dark red wood. The golden design etched into it is mesmerizing, and the strings could have been plucked from the mane of a unicorn. Vesemir hardly spares it any attention, too wrapped up in the sight of a naked Filavandrel straddling him and singing.

He’ll only realize decades later that the elf was probably trying to court him.

Someone knocks on the door to his chambers and Vesemir jumps to his feet, caught off-guard by the sound that plucked him from his memories. He finds Jaskier waiting outside his room, toying idly with the sleeves of his doublet. Vesemir shakes his head, holding the door open for Jaskier even as he apologizes. “I’m sorry for running out earlier. I meant to give you a tour of the Keep, hopefully Geralt will have stepped up in my absence, but I am sorry—”

“No— please,” Jaskier interrupts. Once more he pulls his lute from around himself, holding it out to Vesemir. “I just… Your countenance changed dramatically upon seeing this, so…”

Fuck. “Yes,” Vesemir sighs, staring at the lute. Jaskier has managed to keep it in good condition after all this time. “I… Filavandrel and I are old friends.”

The bard’s eyes bulge out of his head but he enters Vesemir’s chambers, heading straight to the desk to perch on the edge of the chair. Vesemir finds another chair for himself, moving its previous occupant— a stack of books— onto the floor. In his defence, he hadn’t expected the tour of Kaer Morhen to begin in his personal chambers.

“He didn’t mention knowing any other witchers,” Jaskier hums. “How did you meet him?”

“You’re sure you want to know? It’s sort of a long story.” The bard just nods, eager and polite. Instantly Vesemir can see why Geralt likes him. “Alright,” he obliges, reaching for the bottle of wine on the desk. They’re going to need it. “We met long before you would have been born…”

 ---

 South of Kaedwen, the seasons are more aligned than any other part of the Continent. The winters are crisp, the summers lazy. Filavandrel likes to spend his summers here, where the canopy of trees is thick enough to provide shade but thin enough to provide colour. Everything is verdant, the flowers calling to him as he passes each one. When he was a child he had longed to visit towns and experience human delights like festivals but now he knows better. The elves live off the land well enough anyway.

Some of the younger people in his company these days have that same yearning, and some of them even manage it. One elf who resembles Toruviel always runs off to see some different show, take in some new performance. If Filavandrel thought that she could get away with it, he would pay for her to attend Oxenfurt— she’s very good. And the upside of her risking her life just to listen to music is that she’s got a very good memory, and she always brings the songs back home.

Today she’s singing some new ode to a witcher; not that bigoted anthem of lies that the bastard warbler from Posada somehow spread through the Continent, thank the Gods. This one seems to revolve more around making the right choice, and how a real hero does good deeds not for coin or his own profit, but just to be good. Filavandrel thinks about the few witchers that he’s had the misfortune of contacting over the years, and under his breath he scoffs.

Cheesy chorus aside, the lyrics seem to have some merit. The first verse is all about some terrible monster that was taking young girls, transforming them into half-beasts. The hero witcher’s judgement fails him and he blames himself for years, even losing a lover in the process. Filavandrel scowls; despite his own experiences with witches, he doesn’t want to listen to a song written by yet another prejudiced bard.

Then the third verse lands. The witcher grows old and wise and has children of his own, and he regrets his inaction and he tries to reach out to contact his lover. But at that point his lover, who devoted his life to protecting those in danger, was too busy being King of the Silver Towers. Filavandrel stops dead in his tracks as he realizes which witcher this must have been inspired by.

The elven king huffs, starting to compose a route in his head. He thinks a trip up north is long overdue.