#Embroidering white onto an almost white bag

[flowercrown-bard]

To all the aros and aces and aroaces, you're wonderful and valid and you don't have to prove to anyone that you're "queer enough"

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Our children yearn for violence

Barbie dolls: jegulus x reader (James, regulus, you)

Words: 3.6k ish

Summary: the school calls you in bc your son got into an altercation what happens when the other kids' parents are hot

Warnings: your son is named Elliot, also you're referred to as Ren and Rena like the gn term for your parent so just yk it's not an oc i promise, you're a highschool art teacher, pushing the trans James agenda, misgendering James from the principal, honestly you pour coffee all over the principal and I'm pretty sure that's assault so just yk, no consequences very fictional world, condoning violence, abortion mentioned, James is a baker and regulus is a stay at home dad/writer just so you know, modern au I'm SORRY, Lily has a wife but she isn't here Lily is just mentioned, actually kinda unwarranted meanness toward the principal but yk whatevs, kinda extremely fanficy if that makes sense but let's just close our eyes and laugh along okay, that's all I think man

Your son, Elliot, was quite kind. You weren't one to toot your own horn, but he was a pretty well raised 6 year old. He was more introverted so when he came home telling you all about his new friends you were very proud of him. He loved Lightning McQueen and he was absolutely giddy to tell you his new friend, Harry, had a Lightning McQueen backpack. And his other friend, Luna, loved Tinkerbell almost as much as he did. Elliot loved art too, he took after you in that field. You were a high school art teacher. Luckily for you the same bus that picked up the first graders for his school, also picked up from your high school. Elliot would ride the bus and after dropping off all the other students the bus-driver would  drop him off at the high school. Elliot would spend the last few minutes of the school day with your last class. They loved him, they thought he was adorable. They often made him little cards or gave him candy. Elliot was the best and nicest, if you do say so yourself, first grader you ever met.

When his school called you in the middle of your class, telling you he got into an altercation, you were shocked. You sent your class over to classroom next door, another art teacher who gladly helped you. Then you quickly gathered your things and got to the Elementary school as fast as you could. You spoke to the front desk. They pointed you down a hallway. If you were a third grader, you'd be scared shitless walking down this hallway.

Finally at the end of the row was your son. He was in a short sleeve plain red shirt and his favorite pair of shorts that has a little lightning bolt towards the bottom. Elliot's backpack was sitting next to him on the floor. He was digging his hand into a little ziploc bag of pretzels, a ziploc bag you didn't remember putting in his lunchbox. Elliot glanced up when he heard you approaching. He memorized the sound of the keychains on your bag clinking, thinking of home. He smiled brightly, and scooted out of his chair. He ran towards you, latching onto your leg.

You saw a row of three chairs, each filled with a small child, sat next to a door. The door had a small sign that read 'Princapal' so you assumed it might be the principal's office.

The child closest the the door was a girl with curly white hair tied in two pigtails down by her ears. She was wearing a shirt with Tinkerbell on it and a bright pink tutu. Her tennis shoes looked to light up. Her backpack was sat next to her. It was green and had beautiful flowers embroidered on it. She had what looked to be a thousand keychains, all of which were characters to another children's show. She was snacking on a small ziploc bag of goldfish. Luna.

Next to her was a boy. He had glasses that looked to large for his face, and curly hair that looked tossled from what you assumed was the altercation you were called in for. He had on a Spider-Man shirt and jean overalls. One of the straps to the overalls was unhooked and thrown over his shoulder. His shoes were of Lightning McQueen, they looked to light up too. They matched his backpack. That must be Harry. He was snacking on a ziploc bag of cheezits.

"I missed you, Ren. Am I going to get kicked out of school?" Elliot mumbled against your leg. You squated down and clutched onto his hands. You pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"No, baby. Why did they call me? Are you okay?" Elliot nodded as you asked him questions, holding up his bag of pretzels.

"Luna's dad gave us snacks. I took the pretzels because the cheezits are white cheddar and Harry likes those the best. And Luna likes the pizza goldfish, but I don't because they don't taste like the good pizza. But look, Rena, these pretzels have butter inside." Elliot quickly pulled out a pretzel and bit into it, showing the inside to you. Sure enough the pretzel had the fake cheese filling inside.

"Oh yeah look at that it does have cheese inside." Ignoring the fact he called cheese butter, you looked around Elliot as he continued to tell you all about his snack. You noticed two men  standing next to another water fountain. One of them was holding a green lunchbox that looked eerily similar to Luna's backpack. The other was holding a matching Lightning McQueen backpack, Harry's dad. They looked as confused as you, talking to each other quietly so their kids couldn't hear them in the near empty hallway.

"Okay baby I'm going to go talk to your friends' parents,  you go back to your chair and keep working on those cheese pretzels for me." Elliot quickly nodded. You kissed his forehead before standing up. Elliot turned back to his row of friends and started talking to Harry. You headed toward the water fountain.

Luna's dad was dressed in all black, you were curious as to how he had such a colorful kid. He was in a black button down that was tucked into his black slacks. His shoes were shiny and they made you wonder if he just came from a board meeting or whatever people who don't spend their entire day listening to your mom jokes as they teach high schoolers how to weave do. His hair was black and curly and looked to be perfectly set in place.  The only pop of color was his nails, bright green and pink splattered on each finger. Luna's doing. If you weren't deeply worried for your son, you'd say he was hot.

Harry's dad, and you do mean this in the nicest most respectful way, was fucking jacked. He was just as attractive as Luna's dad. He was in jeans and red converse. He had on a t-shirt that had red text on it. It said 'Boys with Tits' and little stars printed around the text. You wondered how strong that cotton t-shirt was because the sleeves around his biceps and pecs looked tired. Holding on for dear life. Harry's dad had what looked to be flour smeared on his cheek. His hair was also curly and black but was much different from Luna's Dad's hair as it was more messy. He looked a lot like Harry. He even had on very similar glasses. On his own Lightning McQueen backpack, was what looked to be the same number of keychains as Luna's bag had. Although his had less children's shows. You spotted a trans flag and a raccoon eating a sandwich among them. You glanced down at your own appearance, realizing you most definitely looked like an art teacher. Your hands were covered in paint. You grimaced before shrugging. One of these men had bright pink and green splattered on the tips of his fingers and the other was holding a Lightning McQueen backpack, you doubted they would care much. When you finally reached them, they both looked away from the other to stare at you.

"Hi. I'm Elliot's Parent." You gave them a light wave, giving them your name as well. They both nodded.

"Hey. I'm Harry's dad, James." you smiled at him.

"I'm Luna's Dad, Regulus."

"Do you guys know what happpened? They just said altercation on the phone." Regulus shook his head at the question. James shrugged. At this point you honestly felt sympathy for his sleeves.

"Luna won't even tell me what happened. She's just been sadly eating her pizza goldfish." Regulus said, looking between you and James.

"Oh yeah. Hey thanks for giving Elliot those pretzels. He thinks they're a hoot." Regulus shrugged at you.

"Luna's the one sharing." James moved the subject back to the whole reason you three were here.

"I asked Harry what happened and he told me 'name calling' and then continued with his cheezeits. So that's all I have." James explained. You thought you might be putting the pieces together now. Yes, Elliot was a kind boy but he was also loyal to a fault. You were both the type to self sacrifice in the name of love. You'd kill someone for Elliot and any one of your friends. Elliot does take after you in a lot of areas...

"Okay well I only see three children, they all seem to still be friends so who were they fighting?" You asked. There wasn't even another backpack sitting near the chairs. From what you spied in window to the principals office, the only person in there was the principal herself.

"Do you think our kids would actually get into a fight?" James asked. You and Regulus glanced at each other.

"Yes." You said in sync. You glanced back at Elliot. He had finished his snack and pulled out his Lighting McQueen picture book, showing Harry all the pages. Sweet boy, but also a tad rabid. You wouldn't be shocked if the principal told you he bit somebody.

"Luna's lovely don't get me wrong, but her favorite uncle has had to pay for a lot of bail." Regulus said, zipping open Luna's lunchbox. He peered in there. You wondered if he was looking for a shank she made during her art class. James huffed.

"If this is some stupid bullshit, I think I'll riot." James whispered.

"That's something Barty would say." Regulus muttered, stuffing his hand into Luna's lunchbox.

"Listen, I'm sure we're all just a little peaved because it's our kids, but surely this is something serious that truely needs me to leave 17 high schoolers alone with another teacher." James and Regulus gave you a knowing look. "Okay so I'm lying." Regulus pulled out a bag of apple slices. He held them up above his head and leaned to look around you.

"Lue, I'm stealing your apples. Is that okay with you?" Regulus yelled down the short hallway. Luna looked up from making her goldfish swim in the air, to look at Regulus. She nodded and held up a thumbs up. Regulus zipped her lunchbox again and pulled open the bag of apples.

"So what if they threw a couple punches, I taught Harry that we don't start fights, we end them." James explained. Regulus nodded as he bit into an apple. You huffed.

"I'm pretty sure I taught Elliot the difference between oil and acrylic. I'm honestly shocked he even knows the word fight." You felt a little behind on your parenting. Regulus set down Luna's lunchbox by his feet.

"Well to be perfectly honest, I am not shocked that Luna got into a fight. Her mother was, in the best way, fucking rabid. Love her to death, literally, but she got into a good number of fights while we were school." Regulus said. He chuckled after he said 'to death'. You kinda felt like he kept making inside jokes but he was the only one in on them. James nodded along.

"High school sweat hearts?" James asked, giving Regulus an understanding look.

"No," Regulus laughed as he bit into another apple. "Hell no. Um I knew her mother in high school. We were really close. She passed and I adopted Luna." You and James both let out sad ohs. Regulus didn't seemed bothered by it at all though, continuing to much on his apple slices.

"Well me and Harry's mum were high school sweethearts. After Harry was born though, we got divorced. His mum and her wife are both stuck at work so that's why they aren't here." James said, filling the awkward silence. You nodded.

"Really glad we're spending this time trauma dumping." You joked. Regulus snorted and held an apple slice out towards you. You great-fully took it as Regulus held one out towards James too.

"What is the Principal doing in there? Feeding her hostages?" James muttered not even a breath later he was following up his comment. "Sorry, that was mean." You and Regulus both laughed, looking at each other to make sure someone else thought it was funny, too. With that the door to her office opened, the Principal's head popping out.

"Sorry for the wait." She said, holding the door open.

The Prinicple would be terrifying to any first grader. She was in a perfectly pressed suit. Her perfectionism rivaling Regulus'. Her hair was back in an extremely slick bun and you questioning whether or not her name was Trunchbull. She sat down in the chair behind her desk, turning to her computer and typing away. She listed off each of your names, started with what you assumed was James' last name as he nodded at her and ending with yours.

"You should be." Regulus muttered before plastering a smile on and helping Luna out of her chair, shooing her into the office. James carried Harry's bag for him as they entered the office. The principal grimaced at James as he entered.

Elliot took his time, gently putting his book back into his backpack. You smiled at the care he took with his favorite book. Then he scooted out of his chair and pulled his arms through the straps. Elliot clutched onto your hand, as you walked him through the office door. There were three chairs sat in front of the Principal's desk. James was sat with Harry in his lap, James' arm crossed over his stomach. Regulus was sat similarly, Luna deciding not to face the Principals and instead sitting sideways in Regulus' lap. You sat in the chair in between Regulus and James. Elliot hopped up into your lap, placing his backpack next to you. He leaned back against you and held onto both your hands. You were pretty sure he was scared shitless, but you completely understood.

"Today your children got into a fist fight with another student. We do not accept bullying of any forms here so we will-" Regulus cut off the principal, pausing from digging into his bag of apples.

"Well what caused the fight?" Regulus asked. The Principal stayed silent for a moment before continuing.

"What started the fight does not matter. What matters is that your three children ganged up on one student, and beat him. We do not accept physical-" It was James' turn to cut her off this time.

"Well who swung first?" The principal clenched her jaw. She glared at James. Harry took it upon himself to answer for her.

"Charles did." Harry said as he swung his feet back and forth in his father's lap. James hummed.

"So you didn't start it?" James asked. Harry shook his head.

"One could say that he didn't start it but he did finish it." Regulus muttered chomping into an apple. You stuck your hand out to him. Regulus dropped a slice from the bag into your hand.

"Listen, if you three would please let me finish-" The principle started.

"Actually I have a question for you, Mrs. Principle. I didn't have time to learn your name, I was quite busy with my job," James snorted at you. "I was wondering, what happened before the fight? What triggered it to start? I am quite confident that my son wouldn't just beat some other kid up for fun. At least not unwarrantedly." Regulus nodded at you. Luna wouldn't kick somebody in shin just for breathing wrong, well actually.

"Again that does not matter-" Harry took over the principal's speaking time yet again to answer the question himself.

"Charles called Luna a bitch." Harry said, matter of factly. Regulus scoffed and James leaned down to ask Harry if he was serious.

"Yeah he did, so I called him a bootlicking, slimy, vomit inducing, retched, failed abortion." Luna said. You glanced over at her. It was actually the first time you heard her speak. You felt a small smile grow, understanding what Regulus said in the hallway earlier. Regulus was smiling brightly. He held his hand out in front of her. Luna slapped her hand in his, giving Regulus a loud high five.

"Then Charles said she was a dumb idiot." Harry explained, still swinging his feet back and forth. "Then Elliot said something, I don't 'member but it pissed Charles off so he punched Luna in the arm." Harry continued. You looked down at Elliot.

"I told him the only time anyone will ever love him is if he was cremated and turned into a diamond." Elliot whispered. You laughed. Elliot looked up at you, a small smile growing on his face. You gently kissed his on his forehead.

"Oh I love you, you know that Elliot?" Elliot nodded and looked back to the empty Ziploc bag he was tearing holes in.

"I would greatly appreciate it if you three would take this seriously, this is no laughing matter. " The principal said, clenching her jaw.

"Well I would greatly appreciate it if you took this seriously. A boy called this girl a bitch and then punched her and yet we're the ones who had to leave work to meet with you. It seems to me that these kids were just defending themselves. I think you just grabbed the nearest kids and blamed them. Luna didn't do anything she's the victim. Elliot and James were just protecting their friend. Sure maybe they should've gone easy on him the failed abortion comment would've been just enough but-"

"Your children broke a boy's nose."

"Well, maybe he should've kept his mouth shut." Regulus said, sitting up in his chair.

"I think he'll be too busy breathing out of it to call anyone else names, now." James said, setting Harry on his feet. James stood and swung his backpack over his shoulder before holding out Harry's.

"Ms. Potter we are not done here." The prinipal said.

"Seems to me we are, see you Monday." James said. Luna took that sign and hopped off Regulus' lap, pulling her own bag on.

"Well Ms. Potter I do hope over the weekend you find a new shirt, along with new manners." The principal said. You stood up, letting Elliot run out the door after Harry and Luna.

"Well Mrs. Principal I do hope you learn how to shut your mouth on matters that don't concern you, you foul, lothesome, grimy, bottoming-feeding, transphobe. Enjoy your night." You said. You reached over her desk and knocked her mug over. Her coffee spilled over the papers on her desk dripping into her lap. You assumed it was cold by now because she just clenched her jaw.  You gave her a bright smile and left out the office door. Regulus and James shared a look before following. You three lead your children out of the school building and stopped on the steps. The three kids ran off towards the nearby tree, attempting to climb it.

"We are probably going to have to enroll our kids somewhere else, huh?" You asked. James shook his head.

"No, schools almost out and luckily for us she's actually transferring in about a month anyways." James explained. Regulus nodded, setting Luna's bag down.

"I do mean this in the most respectful way, but that was extremely attractive." Regulus said. You heard Elliot laugh over in the tree at something Luna said. James nodded at Regulus.

"Oh yeah extremely Pilf-y." James grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Regulus turned to him with a confused look.

"Public Interest Legal Foundation?" Regulus asked. James, smile fell.

"No, Parent I'd Love to Fuck. Like milf or dilf." Regulus laughed and reached out for James. He gripped onto James' bicep as he laughed. You started chuckling along with him, his laughter very contagious. Regulus wiped at his eyes and he stood again.

"Oh that was good, James."

"I don't think it was that funny." James muttered. You shrugged.

"I thought it was good." Regulus sighed and straightened his back.

"So our kids beat another kid up." He said. You nodded. You glanced over at Harry and Luna helping Elliot climb up.

"Your kid has a filthy mouth Regulus, if she said that to me I think I'd cry." James said, nudging Regulus with his elbow. Regulus smiled proudly.

"I know, right? What a psycho first grader." Regulus said. His chest seemed to puff out a little more.

"Where did she even learn half those words?" You asked. Regulus' face fell as he stared at you with serious eyes.

"Her uncle." You and James shared a look.

"well Elliot isn't innocent either, that diamond comment was wild." James said, jumping topics. You nodded.

"I'm extremely proud of my son, I personally think they derseve some ice cream, what do you guys think?" You asked. They both looked at each other.

"Sounds good to me." Regulus muttered, Pulling Luna's bag over his shoulder.

"They'll have napkins there so I can give you guys my number." James said, winking at you both. You chuckled.

"Ah ha yeah that was smooth, James. Good one." You complimented.

"Yeah I thought so." James said, turning towards the tree and calling the kids down. You looked to Regulus.

"Oh by the way I love Luna's bag it's so pretty." You said. Regulus' ears turned red. He glanced down at his shoes before looking back up at you.

"Thanks. I actually made it for her." You gave him a shocked look.

"Did you really?" Regulus nodded. "Well you're extremely talented Regulus." Soon enough all six of you were in an ice cream shop. The kids were giddy. They were getting sticky ice cream all over their faces and hands, but it didn't matter. This was a celebration. you spent the time laughing along with James and Regulus. When the kids finally finished their ice cream James stayed true to his word and gave you both his number. He made a group chat before you even left the parking lot, starting up a conversation about a date.

part two

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Hi. I hope your day is being kind to you. 🙂

For the sentence Ask?

"My ears miss your heartbeat."

With Astarion x Evie (Ace!Tav) please? If you want.

Astarion x Evie (Ace!Tav) Masterlist

A/N: Sorry, this went well over an extra 5 sentences. I guess I really just needed to write.

Warning: Tooth rotting domestic fluff

Word Count: 1.1K

Astarion didn’t make a sound as he slipped through the front door, stilling the bell with his hand before it could alert anyone to his presence.

The shop was completely empty, which would not be unusual at this time of night were it any other shop in town. The owner kept odd hours, not opening until well after sunset, the exception being when his wife managed to stumble down the stairs past noon to take orders. An odd set up, but nobody could deny the craftsmanship and so there was little to grumble about.

Astarion moved through the space with practiced ease, not bothering to light a candle as he moved towards the back room and up a small flight of stairs. He did not so much glance at the rolls of golden thread, or dig around the drawers for where he knew a small fortune of gems and finery could be found and easily pocketed. Such treasures were far from his mind at that moment.

Jumping the last few steps, he easily avoided the small creak of the second to top panel before deftly maneuvering his way through the waiting door.

The barest breath of relief escaped his lips. The entryway was completely dark, only just illuminated by the street lanterns peaking through the barest sliver of heavy curtains. Once again his dark vision proved a blessing as he took a quick look around.

The room was empty of anything other than comfortable but undeniably stylish furniture and the lines of bookshelves full bear to bursting along the walls. He slipped off his boots, placing them gently near the door making it almost comical how silently he could move along the beautifully embroidered rug. It felt like cheating, but then again, since when was he above cheating.

One final door lay in front of him. At his feet he could see the smallest flicker of candle light peaking out from below the door frame. Somebody was still up.

With a grin, he turned the doorknob and slowly pushed the door open.

It was moments like these that cause Astarion to lament not having a more artistic hand. The being before him deserved to be preserved in oils and canvass, marble and stone.

She did not notice him come in. Her clear blue eyes were focused intensely on the page in front of her, her finger moving slowly under the words while her soft lips mouthed them in time. Her hair lay loose about her, a few strands tucked behind her ear. Astarion could just catch the barest hints of white hiding in the field of black, something she would no doubt deny the existence of if he pointed them out. Her dark olive skin seemed to glow in the firelight, but the final detail that make his unbeating heart stir was the fact she was dressed only in his shirt.

On second thought, maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t a painter. He didn’t much like the thought of anyone else gazing on this image but him.

“Hello darling,” he said, softly.

Evie’s head snapped up, her eyes going wide in alarm as her hand gripped the book in her hand as of to throw it. As soon as he caught the quick progression of fear to recognition to annoyance slip across her face he let out a laugh.

“Milil’s tongue Astarion,” she grumbled, snapping her book shut. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.”

“Just be happy I’m the one doing it,” he teased, setting down his bag beside the door. “You’re getting slow my love.”

She gave a small pout, but still rolled onto her back, opening her arms to him.

He didn’t need further incentive, launching himself onto the bed causing them both to bounce and his love to laugh. Gods he missed that sound. However, he decided he missed her lips more, kissing her soundly as they both sunk into the too soft mattress.

“Good trip then?” she asked in between his attentions to her mouth.

“Tedious,” he corrected. “Better if you were there.”

“Well if it was so tedious I’m glad I skipped it.”

Astarion gave a huff of annoyance moving his lips across her face and jaw and down towards her neck. He took a deep breath in, the musk of her skin mixing with the perfume of her blood pulsing just below. He could drown in that scent.

“Hungry,” she asked, turning her neck slightly in invitation.

He shook his head pressing a kiss against the fading scars.

“No need darling, just enjoying being home.”

He didn’t need to look up to know she was smiling. He could feel it in the way her hands rubbed up and down his back and brushed the stray hairs at the back of his neck. All the same, he decided to look anyway.

This was his home. Even all these years later, he still had a hard time believing it. He and Evie had all but hung up their adventuring gear and settled in a town just big enough to justify a fine tailor shop. The occasional helpless damsel or bandit gang causing trouble could pull them from their daily routines, but little else. They were both getting older and ready for a place to call their own, something that was denied to them for so long. Even stranger and more wonderful still, Evie had agreed to marry him.

She brushed a stray hair back from his forehead, her fingers tracing down his face before teasing the edge of his ear.

“I missed you, too,” she said, her full love only just tempered by a hint of humor.

He didn’t have the strength to pull away from that perfect touch, and settled kissing her sternum in response.

“I did plenty more than just miss you darling,” he confessed. “There are too many parts of me that miss too many parts of you.”

“Oh?”

He nodded. “For example, my lips missed your lips quite a bit.”

“I gathered,” she said with a barely contained laugh. “What else?”

“My hair missed your fingers.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled in amusement as her hand moved slightly up, allowing her fingers to comb slowly through his hair.

Astarion sighed in contentment, settling his head to rest comfortably on her chest.

“Go on my love,” Evie encouraged. “Don’t stop now.”

“My arms missed your warmth,” he said, wrapping himself tighter around her for emphasis. “My nose missed your smell. But if I really had to name it, my ears missed your heart beat the most.”

“And you say you’re not a sentimental,” she teased.

“Exceptions are always made for you my heart.”

She hummed in acknowledgment settling into the sheets, her fingers still running soothingly through his hair.

Astarion feel asleep in her arms as he had done for countless nights and hopefully countless more; safe, loved and truly home.

[heliads]

i've got my eye on you

Nico Rosberg has moved on from 2016; the silver war; all of it. So he thought, at least. Lewis is still here, though, and that makes the forgetting so much more difficult.

masterlist

Nico Rosberg is not lonely, most of the time. He’s a busy man; he meets a lot of people, takes them out to drinks or dinner parties, and exchanges LinkedIns as often as phone numbers. It’s a good life. Keeps him sane. 

Sometimes, though. Sometimes, Nico finds himself waiting for something else, something better, something real. That’s when he crosses the line he swears he’ll never touch again and thinks about someone specific. There is a man living in his very same complex, someone who knows Nico better than the scores of environmental activists and Sky Sports reporters, and Nico doubts they’ll ever be the same again. 

They were good in the beginning. Better than good, they were the best and everyone knew it. The silver arrows, finest of the fine. They had identical white race suits and the same exact drive to win. That’s where they ran into problems, of course, because the podium only has space for one king to have a crown. The other has to be left in the shadow, the cursed second place. No one could live like that forever. They certainly didn’t.

Still, they were the same in almost every aspect. Nico swapped up their hats once, towards the end. He had wanted to throttle whoever had the idea to make their merch so similar. They may be on the same damn team, but that doesn’t mean they have to match in everything else as well. Same logo, same colors, and then Nico had taken off his cap to fidget with it and saw Lewis’ name there instead of his own, embroidered into the black fabric with the precision of a machine stitch. 

Funny how Nico can literally walk around wearing Lewis’ name against his skull, and they still have no more claim to each other than complete strangers. Worse than strangers, actually. They had once been everything.

Some days, he thinks about it all the time. Other days, he forces it out of his mind until he can almost delude himself into thinking it’ll never show up again. And, on other, worse days, such as this one, Nico walks into the lobby of his home building in Monaco, both of his daughters holding his hands, and he spots Lewis across the room, pulling a suitcase behind him. Must have been a race weekend. Nico knows it is, of course, fixates over every score like he’s still in it, but. It’s easier to pretend that he could forget.

Usually, Nico’s good at brushing off encounters like this, but they’re just too close for that tactic to work. Nico wasn’t expecting it; last night ended up being late, plus he’s been out with the girls all morning. That’s why he doesn’t just keep walking, why he actually stops and stares. Lewis comes to a standstill around the same time. Must be the jetlag getting to him. That, and the fact that they haven’t been face to face outside of a race or work setting in months.

Nico should keep moving. He doesn’t, even as his girls tug at his hands in confusion. They know of Lewis, certainly, they’ve seen pictures up on the fridge and online, but they didn’t know Lewis like Nico did. No one could.

“It’s good to see you,” Nico says uncertainly. Pleasantries never fail.

Lewis shudders slightly and nods. “Yeah, you too. Hope the girls are doing well,” he adds, as if he can’t see both blonde daughters right by Nico’s side. They’re still holding onto his hands, one apiece, and eyeing Lewis with wide, curious stares. They’ve inherited that from him already, it seems, the inability to look away.

“Do you two want some sweets?” Lewis asks suddenly. “I keep a bag in my luggage.”

Nico frowns, asks something asinine about drivers and nutritionists and fitness goals. Lewis just chuckles and says that he never actually opens the thing, just keeps it in the bag so he can practice self discipline or something else insane like that. God, he always tried to be the best of them.

His girls don’t know any of that sort of life, though, and won’t so long as Nico can help it, so they just clap their hands and plead for a treat or two. Nico gives the appropriate nod when it’s clear that Lewis is serious.

Lewis kneels down to the ground, unzips the top of his suitcase and pulls out a bag. Crisp, unopened, just as promised. Lewis’ resolve held all this time, then broken just now. The plastic tears easily. It doesn’t take much.

Lewis considers the bag. “I’ve always been fond of those. They remind me of some stuff I used to love a while back. They were from some small town, I don’t remember where.”

“Hoddesdon,” Nico says. He states the place aloud like he’s rattling off one of a thousand countries or capital cities, some bright child with a knack for memory games who will grow up into a man who knows too many languages but not enough people with whom to practice. “You’re talking about the candy from Hoddesdon.” Town near the place they used to kart together. Close enough to walk or bike from any hotel or flat. Two boys could do it easily if they were inclined to stay out all day and night, and they usually were.

Lewis’ head snaps up, and the brief look of shock and wonder reminds Nico of when they were kids. It’s the exact same expression Lewis would wear when Nico agreed to buy him some sweets. Even though Lewis would beg and plead with him all day long, the moment Nico said yes Lewis always looked surprised, as if he never truly expected that Nico would go along with it. That Nico would go along with him. Maybe that’s why Nico always caved. It meant he got to see that look again. 

Painfully, it also reminds Nico of how Lewis had looked when he found out Nico was retiring in 2016. They were in the midst of a massive crowd with too many overlapping voices and faces, but somehow Nico had still been able to look out across the crowded room and sight Lewis the moment Nico opened his mouth and announced his retirement. 

It had been the same expression then as now. The brief drop of his stomach like a roller coaster, the smooth spread of a poker face to cover up any emotional slips or wide eyes. All of it. Lewis had never told Nico any of this, of course, but Nico has known Lewis long enough to read his body, his mind, his entire life. It’s why he likes pointing out Lewis’ flaws on Sky Sports; just another way of proving that he’s still got it, that no matter how much Lewis changes, Nico Rosberg still knows exactly what makes him tick. 

More often than not back then, it was Nico. It’s still Nico now whenever they awkwardly run into each other in their complex or Nico analyzes him a little too well on live TV. 

Right now, though, Lewis is not angry at him, just caught off guard. Something in the back of Nico’s brain says that he likes that more. Nico scowls to himself and wonders why he hadn’t shut that voice up years ago. 

“Yeah,” Lewis says at last, after a weighty pause that Nico isn’t entirely sure doesn’t solely happen in the confines of his own head, “Yeah, it was.”

To distract himself, Lewis remembers what he’s promised and hands some individually wrapped candies to the two blonde girls clustering in front of him. Nico remains where he is, watching as Lewis replaces the bag in his luggage again, closes the top, stands up and mumbles something about how he’d better get going. Crazy travel like always. You know how it is.

Nico does know. He nods, giving Lewis the reprieve he needs to head to the lift. Nico thinks that he might actually lose his mind if he was in the same small box rattling up to their floor, looking anywhere but at Lewis, so he diverts his girls to throw their trash away first and Lewis gets away. Another lift comes in a short time. Everything is just as it was before, but– not at all.

His daughters cheer over their new sweets, giggling down the hallway about how they were able to convince Mr. Hamilton to give up his secret stash. Nico is plagued by the sudden thought that if he had married Lewis like he’d wondered about all those years ago, if they had adopted these girls instead of them being Nico’s by bloodline, that he might laugh about their reaction being inherited from Lewis instead of, you know, from him. It makes Nico think about just how much of Lewis is left in him. It makes him question if any of Nico is trapped inside Lewis, waiting to be let free. 

Even after he gets back to his place and locks the door carefully to guard against any unwholesome influences, Nico’s entire train of thought is rattled for the rest of the day. Nico has been trying his damndest to avoid Lewis every time they catch the lift or leave the building around the same time, and he knows full well Lewis has been doing the same. He’s all but admitted to it a few instances before.

This is why they play this elaborate game of hide and never seek, then. Nico lies awake at night, remembering paths he hasn’t gone over in a long time. The start. The glorious first act. How it had all broken to pieces. Nico had said before that he doesn’t regret the rivalry, that it only pushed them to greater heights, and he stands by that now. Still. That doesn’t mean his blood doesn’t run dark with grief to think of everything they once had that is gone forever now.

Nico can remember talking with his communications handler about it one time. He and Lewis had been fracturing for a while by then, but they’d only started showing it publicly for a few weeks. The guy had told Nico that this was good, actually, that people liked the slow burn death of it all. It was like watching a railway crash in slow motion, the guy had said. You know it’ll hurt and you know it’ll end badly but you just can’t look away for the life of you. 

It had made Nico’s veins thrum with the unhappy sickness of needing to prove the truth to be a lie. He’d wanted to spit in the guy’s face; swear at him until he ran out of breath; go drag Lewis in front of a live camera and make out with him until their gums bled, just to prove that they were still totally fine. 

Look where all that pent up self-justification got him, though. Nico and Lewis are hiding from each other in the same complex, too convinced that the other needs to change to ever leave. The comms handler must be laughing at them still, gleeful and victorious after Nico made him rich. 

There was a lot that even the viewers didn’t see. It’s not like either of them really tried to hide it, how they broke apart, but even so. People only saw the same few photos of sun bleached hair and gap toothed grins and unicycles, they didn’t know all of it. Nico thinks that’s for the best. The thought that anyone could know even half of what they had is intrusive and wrong.

When he closes his eyes, he can see all of it at once, overlapped like a thousand magazine clippings. Sleeping over and staying out late and making the same stupid jokes every time. Trying each other’s food and loudly arguing irrelevant details and racing and racing and racing. Small nothings that only serve to make him smile. More important stuff. Secrets Nico has only kept to himself.

Nico has only kissed Lewis once. That’s not counting stupid things like kisses on cheeks, everyone knows those don’t actually matter. That’s why you can get away with doing them in the background of televised interviews, in large crowds, even next to your father. People wouldn’t care, anyway. They’d laugh and say that he and Lewis were European, that’s what they did. It wasn’t real. It could never be real. When you count up how many times Nico wanted to kiss Lewis and didn’t, though— well, that would be like damn near every day. 

The one kiss was different. That was on purpose. He’s thinking about it now. It was late at night. 2015. Abu Dhabi. Nico had wanted to win that championship more than he’d wanted anything in his life. Maybe he’d fucked himself over in Austin, maybe even earlier, but it was still Lewis with the security of that title once the final race was over. He’d driven beneath the waving flag, he’d smiled and cheered in all the photographs, and Nico had felt this terrible sort of rage simmering beneath his bones.

The kiss had been later, at one in a successive chain of afterparties for both Mercedes drivers, technically, but mainly for Lewis. Lewis was the one who got it done. Lewis was the one who made them all proud. Lewis was also the one who pulled Nico aside when everyone else was busy getting shitfaced or screaming their heads off.

It had been dark. No one had seen. Lewis had grinned at him, asked Nico if he was really going to sulk the whole night. Nico had said something stupid like why shouldn’t I and give me a reason to stop and, well, Lewis had. Nico can still feel that night burned into him, taste it like all those times he drank champagne on a podium straight from Lewis’ hands. Salt and sweet and shameless. 

Lewis had pulled away just a little, enough to smell the alcohol on his breath, and asked if he was better. Nico lied, said yes, and swore to himself that he would win the next championship just so the next time this happened, he would not be the one to suffer. Betrayed with a kiss. Nico had made a proper Judas after all. He can still see the faces of everyone at Mercedes after he walked out of that contract, how even Vivian had cautiously asked him if he was really sure this was what he wanted. No one knew Nico Rosberg at all, and that was exactly how he wanted it.

Still, though. Thinking about the past makes him think about the kiss. They may have been somewhere between tipsy and wasted when it happened, but Nico swears that it had been a long time coming since before the fights even started. It just took the ache of resentment to let them cross that bridge and leave it burning.

He shouldn’t think about it anymore. He definitely shouldn’t think about how he’s still in the same building as Lewis, so close. Viv is out with the girls at the moment. No one would know. If Lewis rejects him here and now, well, Nico can always go back to his green energy fanboys and YouTube subscribers to soothe his ego.

This is a bad idea, and Nico can’t help it. He paces back and forth on the hallway he thinks might be Lewis’, dragging his heels like Lewis might be able to sense his hesitation somewhere, wherever he is, and come out at last. At the start of it, Nico has about a thousand different things he wants to say, accusations and apologies and mundane pleasantries all.

At the end, when Lewis does come out of his room, Nico doesn’t say anything. Can’t say anything. Instead, he just sort of nods, raises a hand halfway like he’s doing that weird half-jog at the start of a crosswalk. 

Lewis waits, silhouetted against the threshold of his door, and when it’s clear that Nico won’t be doing or saying a whole lot at the moment, smiles and asks, “What, come here often?”

It’s a stupid joke. Nico laughs anyway. “We both live here,” he says somewhat impetuously.

Lewis tilts his head to the side, considering this. “Not right here, I think.”

Nico narrows his eyes, debating whether he truly has to explain the abstractions of flat rooms versus buildings, but Lewis breaks into that light chuckle of his and Nico lets go of his irritation, he lets go.

“I’m kidding, man,” Lewis tells him, still unable to hide a laugh, “Just trying to mess with you. Can I ask why you’re here, though?”

It’s a fair question. Nico is, in fact, loitering outside of his former friend turned rival turned something’s door like he’s got nowhere better to be. He doesn’t, but that’s beside the point. Truth be told, Nico himself doesn’t entirely know why he’s here. It just seemed like the place he needed to be.

“I was thinking,” he begins, “About a lot, actually. It’s been a while.”

Lewis stares at him for a moment, eyes wide, and then all of a sudden his entire being relaxes and he opens the door a little more. Good of him for finally recognizing an olive branch when Nico offers it. God knows he’s been practically screaming it every interview they’ve shared, every time they’ve met each other’s eyes in the paddock when he was there with Sky Sports.

“Wow,” Lewis mumbles, “Yeah. That sounds– that sounds good.”

This time Nico can’t hide his derisive snort. “That’s terrible. We’ve been avoiding this for ages. I run into you, we act nice, then run off. We have to face this.”

A brief spark of anger flashes through Lewis’ eyes– good, that’s something Nico can handle, something familiar that they can both feel better about than this strange nothingness– but even that’s gone soon enough. Lewis doesn’t have to put up with him like a teammate, Nico supposes. Whatever they do from here on out is their own undoing, the red purely on their ledgers. He wants to drown in it.

Lewis knows this too, Nico can taste it like blood on a bitten tongue. They stand there for a moment longer, daring each other to take it further. It’s a familiar game, one they’ve played since kids. I’ll go faster if you do. You’ll jump off the bridge so long as I go first.

The heavy pause ends with the gasp of a caught breath. Lewis hesitates a bit, wobbling on the heels of his feet, then rocks back down to earth at last. “You can come in, you know. If you want to.”

The sentence sort of makes Nico sick. There was a time when he wouldn’t have had to offer such a thing at all. The invitation would have gone without question. Nico thinks he lived half of his childhood at Lewis’ place instead of his, in hotel rooms and bedrooms and streets behind houses. The other half Lewis was at Nico’s. The thought that at some point they would be grown and staring at each other, having to wait for a formal question to share each other’s space, is nothing short of horrific.

Still, it’s better than they’ve been for a long time. Nico can still feel Lewis’ gaze washing over him again and again, taking in the details. They’re older, both of them, but not beyond the urge to stare. He can feel the weight of it on his throat, heavy like a chain, and it robs him a little of his faux confidence.

 Nico nods once, the movement jerky and unsteady. “Alright,” he says, smiles, loosens his collar, and follows Lewis in.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy

[beaniebeensbaby201]

SPIDERS, clickers and tampons oh my!// JOEL MILLER X READER

A/n: so I just killed a tiny spider and I had an idea for a Joel Killer fanfic😭😭😭thanks to the now dead spider.

Summary: you and Joel go out in the city to buy some tampons for you and Ellie. But on your way to the pharmacy you run into a clicker, and a spider crawls onto your leg as Joel tries to flick it off you as you try not to scream.

Warnings: periods, fluff, no spoilers. Joel being super soft to reader. Mentions of plan B.

When you woke up one morning, you woke up with a start. Thus causing Joel to get up as he soon realized you were bleeding on the white sheets. You were embarrassed. You should have known that you were getting your period, but it was a few days earlier than you thought.

"Fuck, Joel I'm so sorry." You fumbled over your words, as Joel continued to stay silent.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about." He assured as he took the sheets off the now bloody sheets.

You went over towards your bag only to realize that you were out of tampons. Fuck, you cursed to yourself.

"Joel, I don't have any more tampons." You said out loud as you showed him the now empty box of Tampax.

"We'll go see if there is a pharmacy that hopefully carries more." You nodded your head as you let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank God I'm not pregnant." You mumbled under your breath, enough so that Joel didn't hear what you said.

You and Joel have been married since before the outbreak. You were a few years younger than him in your early thirties. You were in your twenties when you met him when he was in his forties. Ever since Sara Joel has been overprotective of you since Sara has passed.

"I'll go tell Ellie. See if she needs anything." You quickly left the room after you washed yourself up. You were in an abandoned house that you had found, so you three decided to camp out there for a while until Joel decided it was time to leave.

You walk down the hall to Wllie's room to see that she wasn't in there. As you walked around the house, you see Ellie sitting in a love seat. The house looked like it hadn't been remodeled, as it was like colors had thrown up in it. It was very seventies. The living room was a bright green along with the chairs that were white, but they had embroidered vines wrapped around it. The floor was made of wood with a white and green circled carpet.

Ellie was reading her puns book as you could hear her cackles.

"Hey, Elle, do you need any more tamps? I ran out, and I just got my period." You point my thumb at the door as you looked at the younger girl.

"I have one tampon left. You could have it." That was all the answer you needed as you quickly left the girl and grabbed her last tampon. You were going to have to grab at least four more boxes instead of just two.

You ran towards her bedroom for her bag and found one tampon left back in the box. You prayed the lord silently as you grabbed the tampon and ran towards the bathroom. You pulled your jeans down along with your thong, and you inserted the cotton tampon in.

You heard a knock on your door, when you fixed yourself you opened it to see Joel.

"You ready to go?" You nodded your head as you take his hand in yours to head towards where you left the girl.

"Do you want to come into town with us?" You asked. There weren't many infected over here. The last time you saw them was over a week ago, and it's almost been two weeks since you've seen any. She shakes her head as she gives you a wave goodbye. You both bid goodbyes as you head for the town.

You were finally into town. A few clickers had found you, but you were easily able to kill them. Joel was in front of you(as usual), as you watched every step you took.

There was a small hole in the building as you were at a wall greens.

"You think there'll still be tampons?" Joel shrugged in response.

"While I'm here, I'm gonna see if they got plan B. Just for in the future." You didn't miss the frown on his face when you said that.

You looked into his chocolate brown eyes as you, yourself frowned.

"Do you think you could help me get threw the hole? It's a little too high for me to get through." Joel nodded his head, putting his gun back on his shoulders. He cups his hands together to help give your foot a little boost.

"Scope the place out first before you find the door." You heard his gruff voice say. You rolled your eyes but complied to his command.

You didn't see or hear anything as you difficultly pushed the shelf that blocked the door. Joel was pushing the door to help you. Joel is finally threw the door and was at your side.

"Well, let's get the tampons and get out." You huffed as you put your gun away as you didn't have to worry because you knew that Joel had your back. But you still kept your guard up in case anything happened.

But what you didn't know was that there was a clicker hiding. You were going through the isles trying to find the tampons, but you quickly took two packs of condoms. Joel raised his eyebrows as you picked the right size. The last time you got him a large, but he needed an XL.

"You got the right size this time." You rolled your eyes as you past him the box. He tossed the Trojan in his bag as you found three boxes of tampons. You and Ellie share, so it was easier for you two to not go threw so much.

"Ah!" You yelped when you saw a clicker on the other side of the shelf. Joel quickly took your wrist in a tight grip, almost bruising as you ran. You were able to run far as there was another one blocking your exit. Joel tugs your arm once again. You were panting, you and Joel were at the end of the shelf. Your front was pressed against his chest. Your back was against the cold metal as you stared into your husband's eyes.

You were terrified. It's been two weeks almost since you've last seen a clicker. You forgot how terrifying they looked. You felt something crawl on you, and you realized it was a spider. You almost let out a gasp until Joel placed his hand over your mouth. You continued to panic, as you had severe arachniphobia(please lmk if I spelled that wrong).

Joel tried his best to calm you, as he continued to stare into (your eye color). Joel tried to get the wolf spider off of you as you continued to squirm. You let out a yelp, causing the clickers to turn your way. You quickly took the spider off of you as you both run out, making your escape.

They were fast, as one almost caught your leg as you fell. You were quick to kick them in the head, as you let out a shout.

Joel helped you get up as you both made your exit.

You ran a few blocks until you were almost back at the house. You were both panting since it had been a while since you two had ran.

"What the hell took you two so long?" Ellie announced, only to realize that you two were sweating and you looked like you saw a ghost.

"There were clickers. Got the tampons. Spider -" you weezed between each word. You were too young to have to catch your breath after running, yet you have a hard time right now from not exercising enough.

"You're scared of spiders?" She laughed loudly, as you glared at the young girl.

"It was a wolf spider! It was crawling on me! Joel was useless as he wasn't even trying to get the spider off of me!' You said, blaming it on your husband.

"Hey! That's not fair!" He whined, as you huffed in response giving him the cold shoulder.

"Baby!" He called for you as you shunned him.

"You are being shunned, dude you fucked up." Ellie giggled as she watched you walk towards the slide doors.

"Fuck me." He muffled under his breath. He was happy that his wife hadn't changed the last twenty years, and you were still as dramatic as ever.

[ithinkabouttzu]

Boy Next Door || Pt. 4

A Choi Beomgyu Fic

Word count: 2.3k

Summary: y/n has been neighbors with an insufferable boy, Beomgyu for quite some time. When one day he wakes her up to an offer of a lifetime. A fake relationship with him, in return to get back at her ex and his fling.

Warnings: Fake relationships, beaten windows, an obnoxious Beomgyu, ex bestfriends & boyfriends, a hint of betrayal, swearing, Jake Sim is your ex lol.

{Pairing: Beomgyu x Female oc}

“Y/n, let’s go! We’re gonna be late!”

You hear the voice in the dark. It woke you up from your deep sleep. Why does Beomgyu have to come wake you up every single morning? doesn’t he have anything else better to do?

“Shut up Beomgyu! I’m getting up! Geez” You yell as you groan in frustration. Opening you eyes, you feel the puffiness in your face from the hard sleep the night before.

“Excuse me? I’m not Beomgyu, now get up!” You sit yourself up almost immediately, recognizing the voice of your mother, and getting out of bed quickly in fear.

“Sorry sorry ma! I thought you were Beomgyu!” You look around your room trying to locate the clothes you had laid out from the night before. Last night after the special kiss between you and Beomgyu, the random urge to clean your room doubled , even to lay out clothes for the morning time. The one kiss between you two had given you a boost of energy and excitement, hence the clean room.

You find the cute combination of clothes. The weather outside was rainy, and cold, and despite the predictions of a warm spring, it had been quite cold these past few days.

You picked up your cardigan. It was a white knitted cardigan, with blue stars embroidered into the right sleeve. The paired the topped with skinny jeans and plain white high top converse.

You put on the outfit and look in the mirror, examining for any wrinkles in the jeans and adjusting the cardigan to your liking. “Perfect.” You say to yourself.

You quickly move to your bed now, grabbing your comforter and sheets, tucking them over your bed and buffing your pillows.

“BING” You hear the noise, and could locate that it was coming from your phone on the nightstand.

You pick up the phone, curious to see who or what sent the notification. It was a reminder from your calendar. It said, “SPRING FORMAL - 3 DAYS” You look at the notification pensively. So many things had happened in only 4 days. Who knows what’s in store for the next 3.

You look up from the notification and find the time at the top of your phone screen.

11:45

Oh no. You had only 15 more minutes until you had to meet with Beomgyu and Mrs. Choi. Even though you had already gotten dressed, you still hadn’t put any makeup or jewelry. You haven’t even did anything to your hair! You hurry to the bathroom in your room.

You look at the counter top in the bathroom, finally finding what you were looking for. The makeup bag in the corner of the room, where the wall meets the countertop.

You grab the bag and fix your make up diligently, carefully putting on the dark mascara, and applying your light lip gloss with concentration.

You had finally finished your makeup in a quick routine. You were onto hair next. You unraveled your hair from the mess it was in the night before. You had decided to go with a simpler hairstyle that suited your hair texture best.

Just as you finished your hair, “Y/n, let’s go! They’re here!” Your mom shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

In return, you grab your phone from the counter, and turn off all of the lights in your room, before leaving and heading downstairs.

You see your mom opening the door and stepping outside, about to close it, but just in time you get down the stairs and make your way through the front door. Quickly behind your mother.

“Well that was a close call! I almost hit you!” Your mother laughed out. She turned to you, putting her hands on your cheeks and examining your face for any scratches or bruises dramatically.

You laugh back at her, “I’m fine mom” You pull from her touch.

“You ready hon’?” She looks at you and back at the Choi’s home.

“I guess I better be” You sigh as you make the first couple steps to their house, your mom following quickly behind.

You walk carefully through the grass, the rain had just stopped from earlier this morning and it had left a dew in the green grass.

“How are you, bug?” She looks up from the ground and asks you the question. She stopped in her tracks to look at you.

“I’m okay, I already told you mom, you didn’t hit me” You tell her in a nonchalant tone. You just wanted to get to their house in time.

“I mean, how are you?” She asks you, following quickly behind with her reasoning to ask. “Yesterday was the first time you ever saw Jake in two years, and Beomgyu kissed you. You had yourself quite the day.”

“Yeah, I guess I did, but i’m okay. Now let’s go before they leave us.” You chuckle, quickly brushing off the comment from your mother.

~~

You and your mom finally get to the front door step of the house next door. You knock lightly, letting Beomgyu and his mom know that you were there.

“Coming guys!” You hear a male voice shout lightly, you could assume that it belonged Beomgyu’s by the very light lisp at the end of his sentence.

You feel a rush of excitement travel to your stomach. Oddly enough, you had kind of missed Beomgyu throughout the twelve hours you hadn’t seen him. You could still feel the strawberry chapstick that came off of his lips when you kissed him, or the smile on his face after.

“You guys ready to go?” You hear the voice in front of you, pulling you out of your thoughts. It was Beomgyu. Smiling at you and your mom lightly.

“We are” Your mom replied back sweetly. In return Beomgyu shouted for his mom, letting her know that we had gotten here and we were ready. After, he stepped outside of the house, and shut the door behind him.

“How are you?” He asks you, looking into your eyes deeply. You could feel a small ball of heat creep onto your cheeks and throughout your cheeks.

A simple “I’m okay” is all you could reply back with, still semi frozen by his strong gaze. Why did he always have to make you so nervous.

Behind him, you could see his mom through the window door trailing behind him, on our way to us.

The door opened up with Mrs. Choi behind it. She had a big smile on her face. That one smile could put your mind at ease, you were still nervous about shopping for Beomgyu. Considering what happened yesterday when you went shopping, you really didn’t have a clue what you were in for.

“Are you guys ready!?” His mom chirped up, dangling the keys in her hand.

~~~

The car ride was longer than the ride to the dress boutique yesterday. The rainy weather had made you tired, but the long narrow and curvy roads never failed to make you queasy.

You had decided to listen to some music on the way there. You weren’t in the mood for small talk, plus you felt an extreme amount of bubbles in your stomach every time you looked at Beomgyu. You thought that it might’ve just been because of what happened yesterday, or from the fact that you were going to prom with the guy. Either way, your feelings for him were something you’d have to examine another time. Definitely not in the car with him.

“Only a couple more minutes guys, It’s a bit of a drive!” Mrs. Choi speaks out to the group. You turn to Beomgyu, tapping his arm, pushing him up from his small car nap. “Only a few minutes til’ we get there, Gyu” You whisper, trying not to disturb his peaceful sleep.

“Okay, thank you” He says in a groggy voice. He didn’t attempt to open his eyes at you, you could tell he had been tired.

Before you could reply back to him, The car made a sharp turn right, shoving Beomgyu into your side (and of course was not wearing a seat belt).

“My moms driving is bad as mine” He says in a sleepy, hoarse voice. With his eyes still closed and his body still half asleep.

“Hey! My driving is not bad as yours!” Mrs. Choi says looking through the rear view mirror, trying to find some sort of eye contact with Beogmyu, but his eyes made no attempt on opening.

“Are you excited, Gyu?” You looked over to your left, where he was, sleeping very softly with his head on your shoulder. The light tapping of the rain on the car, and the scenic views from outside the window, it made it almost easy to drift to sleep.

“I’m okay” He says, not quite fully answering your question, but it was close enough.

You could feel yourself getting sleepy yourself, the tears on the window that were coming from the rain, made your body relax and your brain calm down.

~~

“Y/n/n, get up loser” You heard a nasally voice, one that you would usually hear from someone who had just woken up, along with the slight lisp in the words.

You turn your head to look up, and to your eyes, you see a messy haired Beomgyu.

“Hey weirdo” You smile at him, still waking up from your short nap yourself.

“Cmon, let’s go, our moms are waiting for us.” He whispered to you sweetly, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting himself out of the car.

~~~

“So here it is” Beomgyu says. Both of you had walked up to the boutique and followed inside. The outside was much different than the inside. It was just as beautiful as the boutique you were at earlier this week, except, it was in the middle of nowhere and it was only for tuxedos.

“I though we’d come here ya’ know, it’s got some pretty cool suits, I mean, we are here to dress to impress” He sends a wink at you, but you were unfazed. You were too busy looking around at all the bright forest green colors around the place, all kinds of suits, ties, and everything a man would need to dress up for.

“Are you ready to try on some suits, Mr. Choi?” A bright voice comes towards you two, followed closely by your mom and his. “I’m Jason, i’ll be your stylist today!” He says, putting his hand out to shake Beomgyu’s.

You three follow Jason and Beomgyu to the dressing rooms, with some outfits already picked out by Jason. You follow them into the waiting room, one right beside the dressing room. “You pretty ladies can wait here! Don’t worry, we’ll be out soon” Jason says, sending a silly wink your way. You smile at him shyly while taking a seat.

Beomgyu walks up to you, holding out his phone for you to take. “Hold this for me, can you?”

“Sure” You take his phone and place it in your lap, along with your phone and house keys.

~~

You sit quietly, mindlessly staring at the ceiling. He had been in the dressing room for a while, trying on different suits, but to his discretion, he hadn’t quite found one that he liked enough to show to all of us.

Is this getting too out of hand?

The sudden thought pulses through your brain. Before you can elaborate an answer, the phone in your lap dings and in curiosity, you pick it up.

It’s a text from Beomgyu’s phone.

Hazel: Hey Gyu, can’t wait 2 see you tmr on our dd, i’ve missed you….

You read the text on the screen over and over again. Could this all be true? Hazel randomly texting Beomgyu the day before you all meet up (against your will of course) It just didn’t make sense. Hazel isn’t the type to text someone first, even if she did want to talk to them.

You could tell it was her by her awful abbreviations like “2” instead of “to” and “dd” for double date. She had the grammar of a 5th grader and a mindset of a home-wrecker.

You think to yourself, Beomgyu had must’ve texted her first. The thought made a ping in your chest, it was hard to believe that he could possibly be going back on his word about the deal and getting back with her?

“You okay, hun?” Your mom asks you, erasing the thoughts from your head. You shake your head up and down in response, not being able to find the right words to say, and even if you did there was a doubt you could even say them.

“Okay guys! I think I found the one, you wanna see y/n?” You hear the familiar voice come out of the dressing room and into the waiting area.

He looks handsome, you can’t lie, the thought of him in that suit, and taking hazel to the spring formal made you sick to your stomach, but you hid any emotion just for the sake of no drama.

“You look good gyu, you always do” There was a glow to his eyes when you said that to him, his smile rose up, lighting up his whole face. “You really think so! What about you mom? What do you think?” He turns to his moms side, posing for her as she gives an answer, “I agree with y/n, you look very handsome” She smiled brightly at her son. They had the same familiar glow to their eyes when something made them happy. It was beautiful.

You suddenly felt bad at the thought of confronting him about hazel. What if this was the whole point? For you to get with Jake and Beomgyu get with Hazel?

You keep your thoughts to yourself as you guys make an exit out of the shop. Beomgyu getting his suit and his phone back, and you alone with your thoughts.

“Hey, you okay?” Beomgyu says getting into the car. The rain had started again once you guys left the boutique, you could hear the small tapping of the rain on the car door.

“Yeah, i’m fine” You say, giving a soft, sad smile his way.

You put your airpods in and listened to the music silently. Enjoying the patterns of the rain on the car window, the rain continued to beat down onto the car. Pat! Pat! Pat! The calm pattern mellowed you into a sleepy state, the same pattern again. Pat! Pat! Pat!

~~

“It’s time to get up sleepy head” Your mom patted you awake from the passenger seat. You open your eyes up more. It was almost dark outside and The car was parked at the Choi residence. Beomgyu was no where to be found.

“Where’s Beomgyu?” You sit up from your seat, and unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Oh. He left as soon as we got here. I just think he’s really tired.” Mrs. Choi said, looking back at you. He didn’t even think to say goodbye?

You and your mom had gotten all of your things and said goodbye to Mrs. Choi, thanking her for inviting y’all.

“You sure you’re okay, bug?” Your mom said softly. Rubbing your back as you guys crossed the short difference from their house to yours. “Yeah, i’m fine.”

You guys finally get to your house, and open the door up. The fresh air greets your way. Before you can do anything else, you hurry up and make your way to your room, ready to relax and wind down for tomorrow.

You plop down on your bed. The comfy sheets embracing you.

You hear a nofication from your phone. “Ughhhh” You sigh loudly, assuming that it was your mom, but to your suprise it wasn’t.

Unknown: Hey it’s Jake, can we talk?

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

A/n: Sorry guys for the long wait! I know this chapter is a little short but don’t worry! Next chapter is probably going to be pretty long 😋 Make sure to like and reblog if you enjoy!

[plush-rabbit]

Build-A-Bear with the Boys

Request: Idk if you know what a build-a-bear is , im just going to assume you do sry♡

I havent had one since i was a toddler but for my 21st my friend got me one and had put the "birthday cake" sent in it, and they last a long time!! And the fabric is so soft, its v comforting.

Sooo i wanted to ask for Shig,Dabi,and Jin reacting to their partner getting them  a bear or whatever animal you want, that had a sent that was personal to them, for their birthday/anniversary. Idk what they all carry sent wise so we can just pretend they have whatever lol

Another idea; maybe theyre away from reader for a bit and they end up cuddling the stuff animal ?

Whatever works♡

A/N: I wrote a BAB piece a while ago, but that was for Tenko rather than Shigaraki, so it’s a different feel for a different character 

Bubaigawara Jin:

You look excited. Much more than usual when you sit yourself beside Jin with a generic gift bag sitting by your feet. The tissue paper is all sorts of colors, a mix of pastels peeking past the opening of the bag, and he can see something peeking out from it. There’s this wide grin that you keep trying to suppress by sucking in your bottom lip, but when then, it’s like you’re unable to stop. The palms of your hands smack against the wooden table, too erratic and too jittery to form any sensible beat. You’re waiting for him to ask you something relating to your mood. He takes the bait, sniffling and running the back of the index against the tip of his nose.

For whatever reason, you don’t answer him, simply grabbing the bag and urging him to take it. You want to tell him; that much is clear when you part your mouth open, ready to spill whatever has you in such a happy mood, but you refrain. And now he’s holding a bag in his hands, the paper crinkling and something stopping his fingers from pressing too harshly into the bag. His hand pulls out clumps of paper and he doesn’t give a second glance as the papers fall onto the floor. He pulls out a teddy bear, the fur of it coiled and shaggy. The stitched mouth smiles up at him, and it wears a basic white shirt with a blue bear head embroidered at the bottom.

He turns to you, asking why you’re giving him this. Immediately after, he begins to worry that he’s missing an important date and that if you can give him an hour or two, he’d make it up and he’s beginning to trail off, his foot tapping nervously against the floor and teddy bear held tight in his hands that you’re almost afraid the eyes will bulge out. You urge him to smell it and his eyes squint as he tries to figure it out. He can hear you laugh and your hand rests between his shoulder blades. It’s peppermint. You nod, coming in closer to him, your legs squished together as if the room was packed full of people, when in reality, it’s just the two of you alone in a room, pressed tightly together. You go on to explain why you chose peppermint, your body squirming and holding tightly onto the back of his shirt, voice much lower and much more timid than before. All he can really catch on is that peppermint is meant to reduce stress, or something like that as he holds the bear in gloves hands. 

The stuffed bear has transfixed him, and he is unable to look away. You wanted him to have something nice and you took the time to pick out the scent and the animal, and he’s grateful that he has a mask because there are tears in his eyes. He loves it so much, he can’t even convey it. There have only been a few people that have been kind to him, and even when he was a kid, no one would have done this for him. He has a mean looking face and for so long he tormented himself if he was real or not, and you have given him this- a child’s toy. In his calloused hands covered in blood and gloves, he holds something soft and his hands now smell like peppermint. 

It’s just a gift. No real importance associated with it other than you had thought it would be nice for him to have something like this. He doesn’t really talk about his childhood with you- something about claiming not to remember- and it gave you the impression that perhaps it’s not something worth remembering, or wanting to remember. So you took it upon yourself to get him a standard bear, hoping that it would help him feel a bit less lonely when you aren’t there with him. His smile twitches for a moment, and he’s brought back to reality in remembering that one day, you probably won’t be with him because he is a villain, and he can’t promise his safety, and he won’t make you promise to stay with him, even though the desperate, selfish part of him wants you to swear to it. For now, Jin holds the bear, his index tracing over the eyes and down to the soft swell of the muzzle. 

Dabi:

It’s early when Dab is awoken by you shaking him and calling his name. His mind can’t catch up quick enough, sleep lulling him back in and he pulls the blanket over his head, hoping that you’d let him rest for a minute longer. But, of course, that's too much to ask for. You’re desperate, begging and shaking him, and with great reluctance and a loud groan, he peeks past the blanket, with an unamused look on his face. He knows that you’re safe, if you were in any danger, you’d be much more frantic, much more shrill and harsh with your shakings. When you pull out a gift bag with the tissue paper spilling out from the top, he can’t recall any important date. 

The bag is thrusted into his hands and you’re much too eager. He’s tired and you’re giving him a bag, and talking, words meshing together that you hadn’t meant to wake him, but you were too excited to keep this to yourself for a moment longer, and that he had to have this now. He doesn’t know why he has to have it now, there’s no rush in you kicking him out of your home, there’s no rush in him leaving, but when he turns his head to your direction and you have this wide smile as your hands fidget and twist the comforter in your hands, he takes pity on you and accept the gift with a thanks that comes out softer than he had meant to. The colored paper falls onto the bed, and he pulls out a stuffed wolf dressed in a black shirt with a bear head embroidered at the end of it.

He isn’t sure what to make of it, and he holds it without much of a grip in his hands. You’re staring at him, and he can feel it, and he knows that he needs to have some type of reaction to your gift, a simple thank you, or even just a half hearted hig to the thing would be enough, but he can’t bring himself to do that. He stares at the wolf that smiles back up at him, and he’s far too grown to own a stuffed toy. You tell him in a much quieter voice that it’s supposed to smell like lavender- something about helping him sleep. And slowly, he meets the wolf in the middle, taking a sniff to find that it does smell like lavender.

It’s dumb. He feels dumb having his face pressed against the belly of a stuffed animal, and you watch with your legs bent under you, and he turns to you slowly. It’s difficult to pull any emotion off of him, and it’s easy to read you. You give him a taut smile, pulling on a loose thread from the blanket, and without a word, the tissue paper is shoved back into the bag, crumpled and messily pushed to the bottom. He isn’t sure if he wants the wolf or not, but he knows enough about you to know that if he rejects this, you’d give him these sad eyes and turn your back on him. The bag is shoved to the foot of the bed, and he turns to you, throwing his arm over you in a half-hearted hug. It’s enough for either of you, and you kiss his cheek, laying down and patting the empty space beside you. 

There is a cloth and stuffing on his chest and it weighs a ton, and it makes it hard to breathe and difficult to think. The scent of lavender is faint, and he smells it on his hands. He tries to think back to when he last received a gift like this- something so trivial and soft. Dabi finds that he can’t remember. He isn’t one for stuffed animals, and he isn’t one to keep mementos, but he finds himself gripping the shirt of the wolf tightly, and suddenly his hands are much too raw and dirty to hold something this sweet, to touch something given by you, something so simple and new. Something that was meant for comfort is given to him, and twists to you, the wolf falling between the both of you, and he thinks to himself, that when he’s dead, he’d like for you to cry on the wolf and smell that smoke that follows him.  

Shigaraki Tomura:

His body is sore, and he can feel himself become faint from too much blood loss. It’s come to a point that walking has become too much of a strenuous task for him at this moment. The only thing actually pushing him to walk further is that fact that he knows once the door is closed, it’ll just be you and him, and while you’d be asleep, he knows that no one is going to bother either of you. At least not until the morning when preparation for a war begins to happen, but that’s for the morning, when he’s at least had a few hours of sleep and his body has recovered from whatever it is that the doctor is doing to him and his body. Tomura stops in front of his door and through the bottom crack, he can see orange light spill and light the tips of his shoes. He hopes that you’re asleep, he never liked the look on your face when you see him covered in bruises and blood.

You rise from your place on the bed and though your smile falters when you take notice of his rugged appearance, you encourage him to sit on the bed. He’s grateful he had the sense of mind to shower before coming to you, but as he sits on the bed, he finds it difficult to keep his eyes open. You run to the closest and pull out a gift bag, tissue paper dotted in sparkles rising past the opening of the bag. You know that he’s tired, but it would mean a lot if he would open your gift to him. Has he missed an important date, or is this just an out-of-the-blue type of gift for him, and when he looks at you, and you encourage him to open it without shifting your eyes to some corner where you think he’d place a present, he knows it’s an out-of-the-blue thing that you’ve done for him. The sparkled paper falls to the bed and onto the floor with the gust of air. His hands grab at something soft and he pulls out a stuffed dog. 

He has to remind himself that you don’t know. That this is all just some coincidence, and he can’t breathe. It looks nothing like Mon, but even so, after his memories came rushing to him, and after he experienced it all in a moment’s blink, he can’t help but realize he never truly processed it, simply accepted it and ran with it. He looks at you and you move close to him, resting your chin on his shoulder, asking him to smell it. He does so, and smells the top of the stuffed dog’s head, and it’s sweet. You tell him that it’s peaches with a kiss on his cheek and he holds the dog in his hands, nails digging into the blue shirt with an embroidered bear head at the hem of it. 

With everything going on- the experiments and the other things, that you leave just as that because he can’t tell you what he’s doing and what he’s planning- you thought that he could have used some comfort. It’s childish, and small, and he’d never take it out this room, never risk letting anything of his or anyone else’s things or blood get on the dog and ruin it. He’ll keep it tucked and hidden away and think of it when electricity courses through his body. He’ll think of the peaches and the soft fur, and you chin on his shoulder and hands on his waist. He’ll remember how you asked in a whisper if he liked it. 

Of course, he likes it. He loves it beyond what words can convey and he hates it with such a passion because he knows that the dog won’t last. It’ll stay forgotten in a corner, and he’ll long for it like a child clinging and yearning for something that was caressed by love. You lay down, and exhaustion is evident in your eyes now and it’s catching up to him. The room is engulfed in darkness and he’s holding the dog listening to your soft breathing and even though his eyelids are heavy and keep closing, he keeps them open, looking at the dog and hugging it close to his chest. He’ll fall asleep with the dog tucked under his chin and in the morning, he’ll keep it tucked in the bag, hidden in the closet, safe from danger.

[because-she-goes]

parental guidance

warnings: none, just some anniversary fluff!

The noise of the crowd was deafening. Nora shook her head quickly, ridding herself of the nerves. Tonight was her and Matty’s 3rd wedding anniversary, they were in her beloved big apple at her favorite venue in the world. Matty had had this tour date circled on the calendar since he found put about it, wanting to plan something extra special for the concert - and ofcourse for Nora.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen before we get into this next bit. We have to bring it back to basics, yeah? I mean c'mon admit it… your life wouldn’t be as dramatic without this song.” Matty’s voice booms out of the overhead speakers as the band begins the intro to Robbers. Nora braces herself for the inevitable hunt Matty goes on trying to find someone in the crowd to pull on stage and kiss. He jumps down to the barricade and feigns his search, already having a surprise planned out in the back of his head. He walks to one side, then the other before jumping back up onto the stage and he struts his way over to the side stage where his wife is absentmindedly watching the crowd still.

“Actually, we have a different plan tonight everyone. As some of you may know, I got married three years ago today, in this exact city! In honor of that, I’d like to invite a special someone to join me for this song in particular.” Nora comes back to her senses once she hears the words married and special someone and her face goes white. He knows how she hates big public romantic gestures like this, always commenting on people who propose at sporting events on the jumbotron and how much pressure that puts on the moment and the person being asked the question.

Her eyes lock onto Matty’s as he walks toward her with a small bouquet of white flowers in his hand, other hand reaching out to her. White tee shirt and dress pants suiting him wonderfully. Matty almost freezes when he sees her outfit. They came separately since he had to soundcheck and she was busy finishing up work for a buyer in her studio so she got changed since he last saw her. Nora had decided to go a bit out of her comfort zone for their anniversary, not thinking she would be pulled out on stage to face a crowd of tens of thousands of people. The sheer lace bralette adorned her body beautifully, black caging framing her ribs and contours of her chest. She also had thrown on the red lipstick she knew he liked and a pair of his black jean she had cut into shorts since they were more comfortable and roomy than normal women’s ones. She also had brought the anniversary present she got the two of them with her, thinking he’d like it for the afterparty.

He gulps, rethinking his plan for half a second. She notices the worry flash across his face and how he was thinking about subjecting her to face a crowd in her current outfit. She holds a finger up to him and pulls out their anniversary gift. With leather being the customary third year wedding gift, she had gotten custom leather jackets made for both him and her. Embroidered with their New York wedding date and the skyline on hers, and the Manchester wedding date and map of the city on his. Pulling them out of the bag and handing over his, she slips hers on. “Happy Anniversary, handsome.” He pulls off his button down and swings on the jacket. She kisses him on the cheek as she walks past him and out onto the stage. Waving a hello to the now mental crowd, she smiles - Matty still bumbling behind her in awe. “And everyone please welcome my wife, the incredibly talented Nora Downey! Now, I have a surprise for you tonight. You, my dear, have always mentioned wanting to get some tattoos of your own… Well, I’d like to also welcome our tattoo artist for the evening.” Nora is practically buzzing with excitement over how she is about to get her skin permanently etched with symbols that remind her of Matty. They had decided ages ago to do matching tattoos and figured out what they’d be, but their schedules never aligned with any of the openings the tattoo parlor in London Matty had gotten all of his at had. The tattoo artist walked out on stage with her kit and in a lab coat like the rest of the crew members. Nora took her seat on the comfy couch and pulled off her jacket. Matty sits next to her, getting comfortable as he tells the tattoo artist what he’d like - the words “i’m a man” scrawled along his ribcage as well as the number 12 on his right collarbone. Nora then follows the idea up with her own. They decided to do the three ideas Nora was most certain on: a MOM tattoo on the top of her wrist, i’m a woman also along her ribcage and then finally a 12 on her thigh.

Matty was first. He peeled off his jacket and leaned back in the couch, letting his abdomen be on full display. While the tattoo artist artist got to work, he began to sing. Head leaning back, “she had a face straight out a magazine, god only knows, but you’ll never leave her. Her balaclava is starting to chafe…” and Nora looks at Matty dead in the eyes as the next bit comes, ink finally piercing his skin.

“And when gets his gun, he’s begging ‘Babe stay, stay, stay, stay, stay. And I’ll give you one more time, we’ll give it one more fight. Said one more line, will I know you?” Matty’s voice rings out over the crowd and Nora can barely look away. Her brown eyes locking onto the tattoo beginning to form, mouth agape at the man in front of her. He has never looked more himself in this moment, he has never looked more like her Matthew. Singing his heart out, skin being decorated with inky blotches she has now memorized, curls going in a million directions around his angular face. In that moment, like every other moment she has ever looked at him, she knows he is the love of her life. The song progresses a bit more and the tattoo begins to form. Matty holds Nora’s hand tightly as the needle dances over the bony part of his ribs, pain starting to seep into his voice a bit. She glances down from his face and to their hands, forgetting the crowd of 20 thousand people staring at them. A blush crawls over her cheeks as she admires their silver rings glinting in the light - like the moon being mirrored off the ocean.

“Now if you never shoot, you’ll never know. And if you never eat, you’ll never grow. You’ve got a pretty kind of dirty face, and when she’s leaving your home she’s begging you to stay, stay, stay, stay, stay.” Nora mouths the words to Matty and he feels his heart soar out of his chest, the emotions of both the song, the moment, the night flooding him. He has never loved anyone more in his entire life, he has never seen a more beautiful human being, he has never known anyone better than Nora. The thought he had when he first saw her all those moons ago in Las Vegas, and every other time he ha ever looked at her, reverberates in his brain… she is the light of his life.

Finally, “I’m a Man” adorns his ribs. The artist cleans the area and wraps it up. Moving up to his clavicle for the 12 he requested.

“We’ll give you one more fight said, one more line. There’ll be a riot cause I know you! Well, now that you’ve got your gun it's much harder now the police have come. And I’ll shoot him if its what you ask…” The tattoo needle quickly draws the number on his shoulder, Matty glances down at his two new pieces and smiles to himself, then to Nora. “Sing it babies!” He commands the crowd before leaning over to her.

The whole of MSG screams: “But if you just take off your mask, you find out everythings gone wrong! Now everybody’s dead!! And they’re driving past my old school.” Nora takes his face in her hands, thumbs rubbing his cheeks as they soak in the moment. Both sets of eyes glassy and overcome with how much they love each other in this moment. As they continue to yell, Matty takes his microphone to his lips and Nora mouths back to him.

“He’s got his gun, he’s got his suit on and she says ‘Babe, you look so cool! You look so cool, you look so cool!” He now forgets everything else and kisses her like he never has before, all the love and admiration in the world being poured into it. The rest of the world evaporates around them and suddenly it is just her and Matty together. That is until Goerge is yelling in his in-ears to move to the next song and get his mind together.

“Right, we have another surprise everyone. In honor of my lovely wife being here, we’d like to play the first song she ever heard from us. Because I can be romantic, thank you very much!”

With that, the boys jump into Settle Down as her and Matty switch spots on the couch. Nora’s face breaks into a mile wide smile as she starts to lightly sway to the music. Her and the tattoo artist agreed on doing her upper body pieces first then moving to the 12 on her thigh.

First, the “I’m a woman” on her own abdomen, right under the bralette. Matty sings beside her while holding her hand as she braced for the needle hitting her own ribs.

“A soft sound, into the way that she wears her hair down covering up her face. And oh what a let down I don't seem to be having any effect now, falling all over the place.” Nora bites her lip as the needle hits her skin, trying her very best to contain herself and the slight, but constant pain. Matty’s thumb brushes over the back of her palm soothingly and she instantly relaxes into the couch. Remembering to take deep breaths so as to not pass out on the stage.

Matty continues to sing, but his eyes never leave her. Worry flashes across his face a few more times during the song but once she is finished with the rib tattoo, he knows the worst pain is over - his wrist one was a walk in the park and so were the ones he had gotten on his legs.

Getting her own abdomen wrapped and sealed, she offered her wrist to the woman beside her. Luckily this one would only be three letters and not a whole phrase like the other one.

“A small town, dictating all the people we get around. What a familiar face, do you know what I mean now? I’m so fixated on the girl with the soft sound, her hair all over the place.” Matty takes another glance in Nora’s direction before getting off the couch and back to walking around and dancing to the music. She gives a thumbs up to him and with that, the worry slides off of him. He blows a kiss and off he goes.

“And you’re sure that I’d learn. I’m pushing through bodies, avoiding me and walking ‘round you. And you’re cold and I burn, I guess I’ll never learn ‘cause I stay another hour or two.” He knew that was one of her favorite lyrics he had ever written and he smiled, glad he could surprise her and give her such a lovely night.

With the mom tattoo now complete, they moved to the 12 on her thigh. She thought about how their hands would now look holding hands - wedding rings, matching tattoos and all. She swooned. She couldn’t have dreamt of a better husband than Matty.

“For crying out loud, settle down! You know I can’t be found with you, we get back to my house. Your arms, my mouth, now I just stop myself around you for crying out loud!” The song finishes as soon as the 12 is done and Nora runs to Matty once she is all finished and jumps into his arms. Like out of a movie, the two kiss in front of Madison Square Garden as it erupts in cheers for the happy couple.

[ravendruid]

Fairytale

This work is part of the @percahliaweek event. Day 5 - Fairytale [Read on AO3]

Parenting is hard. It certainly has good moments, like seeing one’s toddler take their first step or hearing them call one’s name with such adoration, but it also has bad moments, like not being able to sleep longer than three hours at night. And this just happens to be one of those nights. Vex’ahlia rocks her daughter in her arms, bundled in a soft violet blanket with embroidered flowers given to her as a birthing gift by Keyleth. The baby’s screams are so loud that Vex is confident she can be heard on the other side of town, but she has done everything she knows to try and calm her daughter. Vex fed and changed her, she bounced and sang to the baby, and gave her to Percy to see if he had some magic powers she was missing, but nothing worked so far. 

“Would you like me to try again, dear?” Percy offers. The bags under his eyes are heavy, and Vex knows if she were to look in the mirror, hers wouldn’t be much different. She sighs, trying to hide her frustration from the baby and nods. Vesper is passed carefully onto her bare-chested father’s arms. Sometimes, it works to calm her. Sometimes, the baby clings onto his skin like he’s the sun and she a flower, but not this time. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Vex raises her arms above her head. “Do you think something is wrong with her? Should we call for a healer?”

Percy lowers his gaze to the baby on his lap. Her skin is pale as snow—like his—eyes bright as a sunny sky, and the top of her hair is dusted with snow-white peach fuzz. There is something eerie about Vesper. Even her cries, if one were to pay close attention, sound almost like a song. Maybe that was it.

Percy starts singing a beautiful, calm song in Celestial. The melody gives Vex a warm, cozy feeling, albeit slightly melancholic, and while she doesn’t understand the meaning behind the words, she knows it to be a song about good. And it works. Vesper’s screams stop, giving room to soft sobs that are quickly replaced by sniffles. Her eyes open wide, staring at her father’s face, who smiles back at her, and her small, chubby hand comes up to caress his jaw. She’s so focused on him, concentrating hard on his words as if she knows exactly what they mean. Maybe she does.

Vesper’s eyes start closing as the song picks up tempo, her soft pale eyelashes flutter on her cheek, and she brings her tiny thumb to her lips. With a deep sigh, the baby falls asleep. Vex is still standing in the middle of the nursery, watching her husband place their child back in her crib and cover her. Percy does seem to have magic powers that she doesn’t, after all.

“What was that song about?” Vex asks moments later in the warmth of their bed. Her head rests on Percy’s still bare chest, and she traces shapes over his scars, remembering each one’s tales in her mind.

“It was an old fairytale my mom used to sing to me,” Percy answers, softly scratching his wife’s back with his dull nails. “It is about an angel who falls in love with a mortal and gives up their immortality to spend their life at their lover’s side.”

Vex stops her tracing, pondering the meaning of the song. She is far from being an immortal angel, but she does know what it feels like to be expected to live a long life and fall in love with a human who will likely die before she gets wrinkles in the corner of her eyes or white hairs sprout from her hairline. Vex dwells on it more often than she would like to admit to anyone, including herself. “It is beautiful,” She opts to say, hoping Percy doesn’t hear the sadness in her voice. She understands the melancholy of the song now.

Percy presses a soft kiss to the crown of wife’s head and pulls her closer to him. When he speaks, his voice is just as downcast as hers, a sign that he, too, was thinking about their lifespan discrepancy, “It is. And thank Pelor, it worked.”

“Mm.”

There are unspoken words between the two, a pressing conversation that will have to happen sooner or later, but not tonight. Not right now. Instead, Vex’ahlia shuffles in closer to her husband and, in a quiet voice, asks him if he could sing it again. He obliges, and the soft melody echoes in the room again, lulling Vex to sleep with Percy following right after.

[shatteredvioletnuzlocke]

Chapter 1: Late Bloomer (Patch)

It was a brisk morning in Cabo Poco, the sun slowly rose against the windowsill of the guestroom. The calm air swayed the palm tree side to side and the outward horizon was nothing other than a flat, blue sea. From the window side Patch could see two yellow Sqwackabillies flying together. Once one of the birds landed on a nearby branch, Patch was quick to pull out their sketchbook and jot it down. They had never seen vibrant Pokémon like this back in Unova, it was always dull gray Pidoves.

On a fresh, untouched page, Patch began circling a head with their pencil and then went straight to the beak. I wonder if I’ll catch one of these, they thought smearing some graphite on their face as they brushed their cheek. 

Nemona’s voice called out from downstairs, “Patch, breakfast!”

Patch sighed at their sketch, then looked back at the window to find that the Squawkabilly had flown off. The page would be forever haunted by a drawing that could never be finished. They flipped the sketchbook shut and tucked it away in the lavender backpack. Patch got up from their bed, plopping themselves onto the smooth hardwood floor. They then walked towards their reflection in a mirror hung on the faint, orange wall.

This is happening, they thought as they brushed their hair with their fingers. They licked their thumb to clear the graphite smudge, I’m going to be a trainer, for real this time! They tried to smile with pride even though their pastel purple eyes showed regret; they still felt uneasy. Patch couldn’t understand it, they’d been excited since they found out they got accepted into Uva. Why now? Why did their anxiety have to show up this late? 

“Patch, you good?!” Nemona hollered.

The soon-to-be trainer snapped out of their trance, “I’m coming!”

Patch reached back into their bag and pulled out their favorite beanie. It had been their comfort hat for years, and no one else had another one like it. It was lavender, with an embroidered design of an Elgyem at the center of the folded sleeve. Despite the well-known heat of Paldea, Patch just couldn’t live without it. They slid the beanie on top of their brown hair, grabbed their backpack, and went straight down to the kitchen. 

They felt exhausted as soon as they made it down the three flights of stairs, How does Nemona live like this? Patch panted as they walked a mud room, then a living room, then a dining room. How does anyone live like this? Finally, they made it to the kitchen following the tantalizing scent of fresh pancakes and maple syrup. There Nemona’s mother cooked at the stove, while her daughter sat at the table. The Torrezs had made Patch feel so at home since their arrival in Paldea. Moving to a new region was never easy. But the Torrezs treated the unovian with so much hospitality, that it was like they were already part of the family. 

Patch noticed that Nemona’s Lycanroc, Pierce, sat at her little table. It was furniture made for toddlers albeit a very ornate-looking set. There the maroon wolf chowed a bowl of Pokémon kibble with a pancake on top. Patch smiled, their dogs back in Unova would never be pampered like this. They gave Pierce a scratch above its white mane and were thanked in the form of delighted bark.

Patch sat down, where Mrs. Torrez set a plate down with a stack of pancakes and some rawst berries on the side. With a knife and fork, they took a good chunk out but they were met with a very crunchy texture.

Nemona turned to Patch smiling, “So how is it?”

“Dry…” Patch cleared their throat, “almost chalky.”

“That’s because Mami uses her secret ingredient,” Nemona happily explained, “right, Mami?” 

Patch turned to Mrs. Torrez, who was standing behind the countertop, and nodded while pouring spoons full of protein powder into her coffee. The two women were nearly identical in appearance, nature, and taste. Both were copper-toned in complexion with jet-black hair and bright tangerine eyes. You could only tell them apart by Mrs. Torrez’s plump figure and Nemona’s few strands of green hair coming out of her hairline.

“First day!” Nemona clapped her hands together, “how do you feel?”

“Honestly a little nervous,” Patch sheepishly admitted. 

“About becoming a trainer?” Nemona furrowed her brow. 

Patch lowered their chin, “I’m starting my trainer career ten years late. And most people have already caught a Pokémon by the time they were five!” 

The young adult was now twenty, they wanted Pokemon of their own for as long as they could remember but something always got in the way. It was always finishing grade school, their parents being too overprotective, or being too young to travel. Most of the kids in Patch’s town left once they caught their first Pokemon, while the wanna-be trainer stayed behind.

“Pfft,” Nemona rolled her lip, “better than to start at this point, younger trainers don’t even make it past their third gym.”

“Bzzzzzt Btzzzzzt!” A sudden ringing occurred, it came from Nemona’s Roto Phone which flew out of her pocket. The backside was flashing a blue light around its bezel. 

Nemona’s eyes dilated, “Ah! La Prisa! We should get going, the director is going to arrive any minute!” 

“Wait? Now like right now?!” 

Patch thought the director was coming in an hour, did they waste all that time drawing?

“Well…. you finish up,” Nemona stood up, “Pierce and I will be outside! Come on, Pierce!”

“Rooowf,” the Lycanroc called back to her. 

Pierce knocked over her chair and scurried off with her trainer toward the main entrance. While still at the table Patch coated their pancake in syrup, sugarcoating the powdery taste. They scarfed down as much as they could and got up to clear their plate. Once their plate was fully rinsed they crept to the fridge and retrieved a leftover sandwich they made for themselves yesterday. They left the kitchen with their backpack leaning on their shoulder and made their way towards the front door. Once again getting lost in an array of extra, unnecessary rooms.

Patch finally made it to the front door, recognizing the frame of green-tinted stained glass. They took a moment to admire a painting hung on the side of the wall; a liney, abstract painting of supposed blue Pokemon. They appreciated the Torrezs’s sophisticated taste in art and hoped someday they could achieve a similar artistic quality. Patch opened the door, the overwhelming gleam of the Paldean sun nearly obscuring their vision. The pathway of the front yard was paved in rich sedimentary stones. The grass was a lush emerald color. The palm trees grew past the rooftops and stalked out stems of ripe Acai berries.

Right off the front yard was a plastic paved court for Pokemon battles. There Nemona and Pierce were already engaged in a training session, with the wolf Pokémon gwawing at a green Pokemon doll. She held the toy in her jaws, swinging it back and forth, then threw it across the yard.

“Alright, Pierce! Stone edge!” Nemona commanded. 

Patch felt a light tremor by their feet, taking a safe step back. At that moment tall, jagged stones rose from the ground tearing the Pokémon doll by the foot. 

“Awoooooo,” Pierce howled with pride. 

Patch looked at Nemona with envy, Won the league at 15, became a teacher at 17, and now she’s 2 years older than me and she owns a mansion. Nemona Torrez was not only a well-accomplished trainer, but a champion-ranked trainer of Paldea honor that many could only dream of receiving. Patch was starstruck when they found out she would be their host family. She carried herself with such confidence and finesse. Nemona makes it look so easy.

They imagined themselves in an intense gym battle, spouting commands to their imaginary Sableye as they fought off a rampaging Bouffalant. As soon as the Bouffalant charged the Sableye would be dead because of Patch's incompetence. As they were lost in their mind, Patch draped their beanie over their eyes, maybe I should stick to just studying Pokémon.

“Ah, Nemona!” a man’s voice called out.

Patch shifted back to reality, where an old man dressed in purple entered Nemona’s yard.

He approached Nemona with a delightful tone, “It means so much that you would take in our new exchange student while we prepare their living arrangements. How are they finding Paldea?” 

“Oh, they’ve been loving it,” Nemona replied, “ I wanted to take them to the seven sights but I guess they’ll need to see it for themselves.”

“Well then?” The old man turned to the soon-to-be trainer. 

Upon a closer look, Patch recognized the old man’s snowy white hair and color-coordinated glasses. It was Clavell, director of Uva Academy! In a desire to appear professional, Patch anxiously straightened their necktie. 

“You must be, Mx. Callune,” the director smiled, “how wonderful it is to meet you in person finally!” 

“Uh likewise,” Patch responded, Gotta brush up on my formal words.

Clavell scratched his chin, “I assume you’re well-adjusted to our region’s climate. Though, might I ask why the hat?”

Fuck, he has a policy against hats! They began to panic but kept trying to keep their composure, “I never leave home without it. It’s not a problem for me to wear hats in school is it?”

Patch should’ve known this, Uva was the most prestigious trainer school in Paldea. Of course they would have a strict dress code! 

But Clavell only laughed, “Of course not, as long as you wear your uniform on school grounds you're free to accessorize!”

Patch sighed, their heart refusing to race. They were safe… for now. 

“Onto more important matters…” Clavell adjusted his glasses, “Mx. Callune, on your student application you checked off that you weren’t planning on catching any Pokémon before your arrival.”   

“Oh yes,” Patch replied, only because global transport is hella expensive.

“Since you’re a newcomer to our region, I want to accommodate you with one of three Pokemon that are suitable for a beginner trainer,” Clavell exclaimed.

Patch’s heartbeats heightened, but this time with intrigue. Accommodate me? 

 Their purple eyes widened, “Wait, are you-”

“Suprise!” Nemona bounced with glee.

Patch struggled to find their words, they thought they were just going to catch a wild Paldean Pokemon to start with. 

“Are you giving me a Pokémon?!” 

“Of course, it’s much safer to have a Pokémon beforehand as I always say!” Clavell reassured them.

Patch couldn’t hold it in, they began to flap their hands like a Herdier wags its tail. A Pokemon as a gift, just for them!

“Sweet Arceus! When do I get to meet them!?” They shouted.

Clavell took out three common Pokeballs from his pocket, “Right now!” 

He threw three Pokeballs toward the sky. Then one by one they admitted streaks of dim, blue light. The lights took strange shapes, one grew four legs while the other two stood on a single pair. Once the Pokemon materialized there stood a green cat with a fluffy tail, a white duck with a blue crest, and a tubby, red reptile with a white face. 

“You’ll find that the Pokémon selected for you have the same typing as the starter Pokémon offered in Unova,” Clavell said, placing his hand on Patch.

“Among them are…” Clavell began to announce, “Sprigatito, the grass cat Pokemon!”

“Spur-nya,” the cat mewed, clawing at a nearby leaf.

“Quaxly, the duckling Pokémon!” 

“Weh,” the duck whimpered, shielding its face with its wings.

“And Fuecoco, the fire croc Pokémon!”

“Cro-ko!” the reptile chirped while looking at the sun. 

Patch was so charmed by the three creatures, “Holy shit they’re so cu-”

Patch slapped their mouth, regretfully wishing they said something different. Their face became a new shade of red. Their fingers curved like claws as they pressed them against their cheek. They just swore in front of the director! 

“Eh!” Patch murmured, Nice going jackass! 

Clavell’s eyes widened with astonishment while Nemona couldn’t help but crack up. There was no way Patch could ever take that back.

The soon-to-be ex-student remorsefully stammered, “Mr. Director, sir! I didn't mean to I-I slipped my tongue!”

Patch was so stuck in their emotional mind, that they didn’t realize they were overstepping their vocal volume or physical space. 

Clavell took a step back and waved his hands, “Woah- it’s perfectly fine!” 

“I’m not in trouble?” Patch whimpered on the brink of tears. 

“Don’t worry, I’m cool like that! “Fresh” as you kids call it!” Clavell confidently flipped his hair.

Nemona was at a loss for words, all she could do was still laugh. Patch sighed with relief and wiped their tears. They brought their attention back to the three starters, all three of them were off on their own devices.  

Clavell stood next to Patch, “So, do you know which one you want?”

Right, I can only choose one, they reminded themselves.   

“Not yet.” 

“Of course, I understand this is a sudden choice. Take plenty of time!” the director nodded, “these three have been cooped up in their Pokéballs all morning. Why not take them for a stroll to get to know them better?” 

Along the Torrezs garden, mauve anemone flowers filled the air with a gentle sweet aroma. The Sprigatito leaped into the flower bed but was graceful enough to not step on a single stem. The Quaxly and Fuecoco followed Patch down the path as the brown-haired human kept thinking to themselves. The surprise was sweet and all, but I wish I didn’t have to deal with choosing a Pokémon. Especially my first Pokémon, what if I make the wrong choice? They looked back at the duck and crocodile, overwhelmed by their adorableness. 

Patch thought back to they’re childhood dreams, I always wanted a Snivy back home so maybe Sprigatito? 

They turned to the cat who was pressing a white feather against the ground with its claws, he noticed Patch and gave a hiss. Somehow it made them feel nervous. Then again cats are so much different than snakes…

Patch pondered the idea of choosing Quaxly, Many trainers recommend water types, after all, they are strong against so many other types. Plus, they help you get around oceans and lakes!

 The Quaxly’s fluffy white down ruffled as the human observed them. Maybe not.

Patch felt guilty, it seemed like they were passing down their surprise. But they also knew that the director wouldn’t set them up for failure, one of these Pokémon had to be a hidden match. Then there’s Fuecoco… The soon-to-be trainer looked around for the little crocodile; it was nowhere in sight.

“Fuck, I lost one of them!” Patch blurted aloud. Nice going Patch! 

They frantically shook, wanting to check the rest of the yard for the missing Pokemon. In an act of impulse, Patch attempted to carry the remaining starters. A big mistake, as the two Pokémon didn’t take kindly to being held. Out of their emotional distress, Patch left the two to their own devices and ran toward the aligned trees making up the border of the open yard. 

They scanned them until they found a spot of vermillion popping against the viridity of the grass. 

“Thank god,” Patch sighed. 

 While Patch was winding itself up, the Fuecoco lay on its belly bathing underneath the warmth of the sun.

“Fuecoco!” Patch called out to them.

 They approached the reptile with caution, under the assumption they could be just as stubborn as the other starters. 

“Coco?” the Fuecoco tilted its head.

“Don’t just run. off like that!” Patch exclaimed already out of breath, “let’s… stay close together.” 

The fuecoco got up with a yawn, its opened jaw revealing two extra fangs. As it hopped closer to Patch, they noticed the fire croc’s eyes were half open. The sun’s rays clearly made Fuecoco comfortable, unlike Patch who was melting with sweat. Patch took a moment to remove their beanie but accidentally dropped it. At that moment, Fuecoco curiously sniffed at the beanie, nudging it with its snout. I’m not getting that back, am I?

Patch carefully reached for the beanie, but couldn’t help but notice that the Fuecoco held it close to its chest, hugging it.  

“Fuey” the crocodile happily gargled. 

Patch recognized the Fuecoco's coziness, “You like the feel of my hat too huh?”

The Fuecoco’s relaxing vibe began to rub off on the human, and soon slowly they held out their hand towards it. Please don’t bite! To their surprise, its snout was pressed up against the Patch’s palm. Their scales were dry yet soft and a little bumpy. Being a fire type, they felt they were naturally warm. Patch admired the crocodile, yep you’re the one! 

Patch got up and lifted their soon-to-be Pokemon, the Fuecoco was a little heavier than the other starters but not too heavy to carry. They ran back to their director with, the other two starters in tow.  

“Director Clavell, Director Clavell,” they called to out until they properly reached him, “I’ve chosen, Fuecoco for my partner, sir!” 

“Splendid, Patch,” the director clapped his hands, “do you have a name in mind for him?”

Patch looked down at their new Pokémon, cozy with so many ideas and possibilities they could share. His name had to be perfect, but the bright tufts on his head made him look like… a fruit.

They held up the Fuecoco towards them, “What do you think of the name Tamarind?”

“Co,” the crocodile smiled, holding out one of his claws in approval.

Clavell handed Patch his Pokeball and Nemona approached them, she was just as excited as they were. They placed Tamarind down to mingle with Pierce. 

“Feeling nervous now?” Nemona playfully asked.

“Not really,” Patch replied. There’s a good chance I’ll feel it later though. 

They couldn’t help but notice that was looking Nemona away from them, she had her eye caught on the other two starter Pokemon. 

“Hey, Clive?” Nemona spoke, “I know that these Pokémon were meant for Patch. But since they’ve already made their choice, do you think I can take one?”

Clavell scratched his beard, “You, Ms. Torrez?”

“Plenty of my Pokémon are high level, I was thinking having a newbie level would help my battle strategy students with some hands-on lessons,” the Champion explained.

Patch knew that as a Champion, Nemona’s Pokemon were jacked. They wouldn’t dare challenge her, or any other trainer for that matter.

“That seems like a good reason,” Clavell remarked, “which one would you like?”

Nemona crouched, and held her handout to the Sprigatito, “I’ll take this little chiqui!” 

Patch placed their hand on the scratch mark, Nemona are you sure?

To their surprise, the ferocious kitten allowed Nemona to hold him. Patch was left confused, it was like his personality had shifted. As the Sprigatito purred in the champion’s arms, the novice trainer reached to pet him. Only for the cat to revert to aggressive as the pupils in his magenta eyes drew back into diamond shapes. Patch looked at Nemona, how? Clavell gave Nemona a Pokeball and retrieved the unchosen Quaxly. 

“Now that that's settled we should be on our way to campus,” Clavell stated.

Down by the stairs of the pathway, a fancy black car awaited them. Patch began to make their way but felt a heavy hand on their shoulder. 

 “Could you let me hold on to Patch just a little bit longer?” she asked, “I thought I could teach them the ropes of catching wild Pokémon.”

Patch’s purple eyes beamed like stars, they flapped their right hand with excitement. Oh please Clavell, say yes! 

He nodded back, “As long as Patch makes it back to the academy by sunset, that’s fine. Just be mindful of your time!”

<- Prologue - Chapter 2 ->

[tabswrites]

Ch 1 Update

I have finally finished my rewrites for draft 1! The story should flow a lot more smoothly now, so I am hopeful I can keep to a regular update schedule. Ch 2 will be updated later today on Ao3.

If anyone would like to be added to a tag list please let me know so I can cry!

Summary: (Sneak peek below the cut!)

Adrin Valik reluctantly commits himself to the High Guard of Rothar, a city devoted to keeping magic in the past. He is haunted by memories of his sister’s tragic death, which may have something to do with his animosity towards the guard and its leadership…

Meanwhile, an exile sneaks into the city in search of the very text that she was banished for reading three years ago.

Adrin stared at the reflective glass that hung on his bedroom wall. It hung slightly crooked, but instead of setting it straight he simply tilted his head to the right. He dipped a finger into the jar of flaxseed oil his mother had boiled down for him the night before and brushed some into his hair. For a guard in training, it would have been much more convenient for him to keep a shorter hairstyle, but it would have been yet another thing that made him look like everyone else, and he already felt like a stranger to himself. If someone had told him long ago that he was to be sworn into the High Guard, he would have thrown his head back and laughed. His father, Antoine had tried in vain to encourage even a flicker of enthusiasm for the job, but Adrin had caved only out of weariness and a desire to please.

Blonde hair now slicked back against his head, Adrin secured a heavy white cape around his shoulders. As he turned on his heels and strode out of the house, it trailed gently behind him. The city’s crest, a large tree with bare branches, had been embroidered on the back with black thread. The roots dangling beneath the tree were in the shape of lightning to symbolize how their founders had purged the land of magic.

He paused at the end of the dirt path, turning to look at the massive oak tree that embraced his house in its shadow. A high-pitched ringing in his ears replaced the sound of the soft breeze. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His sister’s smiling face appeared to him, but was quickly replaced by a look of sheer terror. Her pale skin turned sickly gray, her yellow hair dripping with blood. He opened his eyes and found himself on his knees at the base of the tree and pressed his ear onto the rough bark as if he could hear a heartbeat. His eyes drifted down to the long grass that dampened the knees of his trousers with the morning dew. It was almost impossible to tell someone had been buried there now.

With a hand almost as white as the cape he wore, he plucked a meadow violet from the ground and tucked it safely into the cloth bag tied to his waist. He had doomed her the day he joined the High Guard, and in doing so had doomed himself. It seemed only fitting he carried a reminder of where his heart belonged–in the weeds, decaying alongside the only person who truly understood him.

[hydra-collector]

Luke 18:14 (Good Omens Fanfiction)

"The seed which fell among the thorns, these are the ones who have heard, and as they go on their way they are choked with worries and riches and pleasures of this life, and bring no fruit to maturity." Post S2-Crowley makes some reckless decisions, thinks about Aziraphale. I like to think that mystical demon powers and drugs would have some unique interactions sometimes.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49877530

Alcohol was getting a little boring. Crowley began opting for the various stocks of hard drugs he kept in his flat’s bedroom. Currently he was driving back to the bookshop (which he claimed was more interesting to dissociate or hallucinate to, but for the most part he was quite lonely and the bookshop was homey) with a small Ziploc bag that contained a few grams of a crystally, powdery white substance. It had been ages since he’d gotten it. He couldn’t quite remember exactly what it was and didn’t bother checking.

He pulled up to the bookshop and all but fell out of the car like a hostage from a plane. He unlocked the door with a key, only because Aziraphale had given him one a few decades back, for emergencies.

“Muriel?” he called tentatively, because the last thing he wanted was to talk to an angel. No response. Good, they were out, probably examining ugly trinkets in a pawn shop. He entered the small “kitchen” and rifled through the drawers for a straw. There was a reasonably good metal one, albeit a bit old. He was sure the only reason Aziraphale had it was for because it was special, as a gift or that it had belonged to someone important. Whatever. It would work fine.

He didn’t bother measuring, just stuck the straw in the bag and sniffed until it seemed like enough. In a cabinet was a rather old bottle of wine, which he took to drink. He may as well. He took a swig as a dizzy feeling began to kick in. He climbed upstairs in no rush, focusing on every step. The first door he found led to Aziraphale’s bedroom. He wouldn’t have had one, except that he felt as though he should appear more human to any visitors, and Crowley had recommended that he try sleeping sometime back in the 1890s. He had indeed tried, and felt fairly neutral about it. He did it once or twice more, but decided that he preferred to use his bed for reading, as it was quite comfortable.

The room was well-organized, neatly arranged with a subtle but respectable layer of dust settled on just about everything. An impressive king-sized bed was set against the back wall. The headboard was large and intricate, connected to a bulky wooden frame engraved with lions, wings, and pretty swirls. The sheets were white, gold, and blue, with red accents here and there. It was expertly embroidered in floral patterns, and on top was a frankly ridiculous amount of pillows. On the far side, there was an equally gorgeous dresser next to the window’s velvet curtains. There was a large rug–all sorts of pretty colors, upon which were a number of small dressers, chests of drawers, and other containers for trinkets and books. (Aziraphale had also found that the extra room was quite useful for storage as he collected things over the years).

Crowley noticed none of this, except for the presence of a large bed and a framed picture on the dresser. He picked it up, collapsing onto the bed and taking a gulp of wine that did its very best not to spill on the exquisite sheets. Crowley watched the dust he’d kicked up drift slowly around the room, a small shaft of light from the window curtains illuminating the particles.

He had maybe done a little more than he should have. He felt himself slip away, almost, the long-term memories in his brain glossing over. He felt it all through his body, a complete detachment from the light, the sheets, the sounds of cars outside.

Crowley examined the picture.

It was… it was… he almost had it, but his capacity for remembering slipped out from underneath him.

It was, in fact, the picture that Aziraphale had slipped into his sleeve in 1941, and kept in a precious frame for decades in his bedroom. Crowley was not able to understand what it meant at the moment, but out of it emanated a terribly strong feeling of love and caring, so he clutched it to his chest. He drank more, and sat up to lean back into Aziraphale’s luxurious pillows. He held it up and stared, and kept staring. He stared for the better part of an hour, until he wasn’t so much working it out, as he was just about to actually work it out, or figure something from it, at least.

He set it down on the nearest night table and snorted more from his bag. He felt empty inside having put down the picture. Well, not empty, per se, but filled with something that was hollow.

It was about now that Aziraphale’s search for Crowley led him to the shop. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to come here, because between Muriel taking care of it and it being his primary residence on Earth, it was only a matter of time before Heaven would realize he wasn’t coming back and pursued him as a traitor on the run. The shop would be the first place they look. Nevertheless, he needed to find Crowley, so he began poking around and calling his name, only hoping the response wouldn’t be angry.

But there was no response, so he went upstairs and found his bedroom door ajar. When was the last time he’d used it? No matter. Tentatively, he opened it to find a small, unmoving figure curled up on his bed.

Crowley had not heard Aziraphale call, and would not have thought to respond if he had. He wasn’t thinking all that much at the moment. What he was doing was feeling–and currently he could feel a wonderful warmth sink down beside him and pull him closer. Inside it was a great deal of love. Far more than the picture had provided, so he leaned closer to it, and with his inadequate ability to think, wrapped his arms around it through instinct.

Aziraphale held him tightly, almost fearing that Crowley would Fall back down to Hell should he let go. He had never seen him so vulnerable, sober or not. He gently took the half-drunk bottle of wine and the bag in one hand, sliding them into his nightstand drawer. They laid like this for a few minutes, and Crowley didn’t stir. He was entranced by the rhythmic heartbeat, not pumping out blood, but love, pure love.

“Do you think you could sober up, Crowley?” said a voice from his left.

“Sober up,” another voice repeated absently, the source of which was suspiciously close to Crowley’s ears. A hand cradles his chin, tilting it upwards. Crowley’s eyes contained a hunger that an astronaut could have seen from space, if they were looking. He was gazing at something absolutely beautiful.

Aziraphale repeated his question, but Crowley couldn’t answer. He sighed, tucking the demon’s head under his arm again, and watched his chest rise and fall for almost an hour.

Finally, Crowley lifted his head, ready to come back and face his angel. Aziraphale guided him upright, though he didn’t really need it.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said. “I’m so, so sorry.” He didn’t know what else he could say.

Crowley still felt a bit woozy, so he urged some last few grains of powder back into the bag he got them from, and a larger bit of wine back into the bottle.

“You kept it?” he asked. Aziraphale looked at him in confusion, so he retrieved the framed picture from the other nightstand.

(What Crowley wanted to do is say: “Let’s take another,” and fish through Aziraphale’s drawers for a camera that may or may not have ended up in there. “Something to remember the darker moments by.” And guilt would flood Aziraphale, because he knew that he had created the darker moments, no matter how good his intentions were.)

But he didn’t, and Aziraphale told him lamely: “Well… I thought–it was a nice memory.” It was a token of them. It was about them being an us. It was a promise that Aziraphale never made, and didn’t keep.

Crowley chuckled, low and unconvincing. Aziraphale could practically feel the pain Crowley harbored. “Don’t worry about it.” Crowley gestured absently. “The whole Heaven thing. Finally let me get some alone time.”

“On ketamine? I seem to remember hard drugs don’t interest you unless you are exceptionally bored or, more commonly, miserable.”

“Is that what it was? Ketamine?” Crowley flashed a strained smile.

“And I rather think I will worry about it, dear,” Aziraphale leaned closer to him. Crowley looked away.

He was a demon, and he had lied. Aziraphale knew it as well as he did.

“I’ll make it up to you Crowley. I promise. For now, though, I think we’d better get a move on. Heaven will be looking for us.”

[peninkwrites]

A Patchwork Powder Keg - Ch 14 of 14

Jack is an unsung hero, Tubbo and Tommy have a sleepover.

(CW: mild descriptions of injuries)

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 13

Part IV

Mafia AU masterpost

~ Jack & Niki & Tubbo ~

Jack is driving through the darkened city streets a little before midnight still trying to process what Tubbo said, like somehow now that he’s awake, the words will change.  “Jack, it’s Tubbo.  My house is on fire, come pick me up,” is pretty fucking succinct.

Jack approaches Tubbo’s street and swerves to avoid a figure lying face down in the road.  He slams on his breaks, eyes wide, heart racing.  He doesn’t want to turn around.  He doesn’t want to see Tubbo dead in the street.  He glances at his rearview mirror, adjusting it sharply.  The figure is too big to be Tubbo.

“Jesus fucking christ…” Jack presses his forehead against the steering wheel as his terror settles.  He decides not to overthink it any longer.  He can smell smoke.

Jack stops right outside the front door, which is open, heat pouring out, flames lashing the windows off of the main hall.  “Tubbo!” Jack feels weak with relief at the sight of Tubbo standing there with a duffle bag.

Tubbo doesn’t reply, he throws the bag outside, and Jack thinks he says, “just a second!” Before he runs up the stairs to the second floor of the burning house.

“YOU’RE GOING BACK IN?!” Jack screams after him, but Tubbo doesn’t turn around.  “Tubbo!”

Jack paces from foot to foot, frantic, staring around the darkened street like somehow he’ll see a way to solve this that doesn’t involve running into the smoke.  “Oh, this is the stupidest shit–” He turns around, goes back to the car, and grabs a white towel embroidered with B.H. and ties it around his face.  He hesitates for another moment, before sprinting up the steps before he can turn into a rational human being and back out.  Jack’s eyes are narrowed as much as he can, smoke thick in the air by now, he makes it to the landing before he hears a sharp crack as the wooden doors of the living room crumble and the flames begin to rapidly eat the rug in the entryway.  Alright, not going out that way, then.

Jack stumbles down the hall in the direction of Tubbo’s room, half stooped over, trying to keep below the smoke, and even then he almost trips over him.  Tubbo is collapsed in the hall, a green bandana tied around his face, and something shiny clutched in his fist.  Jack would probably shout at Tubbo if he weren’t so focused on breathing.  If you don’t go right fucking now, you both die.  Jack grabs whatever Tubbo was holding, shoves it in his pocket, and then grabs Tubbo’s arm, pulling it around his shoulder, dragging the kid further down the hall.  The front of the house is a sheer face before hitting the concrete.  Not a good idea.  Jack takes a gamble, there’s nothing else he can do right now but gamble both of their lives on somehow there being something in the back alley to cushion their fall.  Jack drags Tubbo into the other bedroom across the hall, shutting the door behind him, here the smoke is less thick but it’s not exactly easy for him to keep going.

Jack rips the blinds off the back window, pressing his face to the glass desperately.  He opens the window, warm air and smoke rushing out the moment he does.  If there’s nothing to land on, at this point it doesn’t matter.  There isn’t time to turn back.  Jack grabs Tubbo around the middle pulling him over to the window, almost startled enough to drop him when Tubbo weakly holds onto his arm.  He’d love to snap at him, oh, now you’re awake? but he’s barely breathing as is.  Jack glances behind them, and then back to the window.  If he pulls Tubbo onto his back and jumps out first, okay, he breaks both of his legs, but Tubbo will be fine.  Except he’s barely conscious as is, and you clearly need fucking help.

Tubbo is pulling on his sleeve still.

“What?!” Jack snaps hoarsely, punished by a ragged cough.

Tubbo is pressing something into his hands.

“A rope?!” Jack needs to stop talking.  Where the fuck did you get a rope from?!  Jack lets go of Tubbo, tying the rope tightly onto the radiator.  It’s only about fifteen feet, but it might save Jack from broken legs and instead keep functional enough to get him and Tubbo to some help.  Jack holds onto Tubbo tightly, Tubbo at least doing his best to help and do the same.  Jack closes his eyes as he slips off the window sill, not praying to any gods, but just a general threat to the universe not to fuck with him.  Jack’s right hand burns, skin torn away immediately, the rope runs out, slipping through his fingertips, and then it’s over, and Jack instead feels jarring pain in his ankles as he hits the roof of a car, the metal denting instead of his bones shattering.  Jack just barely manages to catch himself, stopping him and Tubbo from sliding off the roof.

“Oh my god!” Jack gasps.  “Oh my god, we’re not dead!”  And with that, he scrambles off the hood of the car, still struggling to pull Tubbo along with him.  Jack almost falls over.  He needs to take a minute, because holy shit that sucked.

“Jack…” Tubbo is still trying to tug on his sleeve.

“What?!  What is it?” Jack turns back to Tubbo, and in the dim streetlights, his stomach drops at the shining red burn up the side of Tubbo’s face.

“No…” Tubbo says weakly.

“What?!”

“No hospitals… unless…” Tubbo conveniently passes out.

“Unless what?” Jack shakes him.  “UNLESS WHAT?!”

Tubbo does not reply, but from Jack’s shaky assessment, he’s still breathing.  Jack looks around the darkened alley.  He can still hear the flames eating away at the house.  He’s so fucking tired and more than a little confused, but he can’t stop now.

“Alright then, pal, we’re not going to… to a bloody hospital…” Jack puts his arms under Tubbo’s, dragging him backwards towards the car, irritation keeping him moving steadily.

There's only one place Jack can think to go, and he's more confused to find the lights on upstairs at Niki’s place as he goes up and knocks on the door, Tubbo remaining laid out in his back seat.  He can hear muffled voices through the door.

The door opens, light pouring out, Ranboo’s silhouette looking doubtfully at him.  Behind him, Jack can now see Niki shouting at Wilbur.

“What were you thinking?! Did you seriously bring a boy with a head injury to me?  Why do you think I could do anything?  He needs to go to a hospital–”

Wilbur pleads back, “I can’t do that, Niki, please, he didn’t want the state to take him away, I cannot bring him to the hospital, I don’t think he’d ever forgive me–”

“He’d ever forgive you?!  You don’t– You don’t know him Wil–” Niki spots him, staring, wide-eyed at her friend stained with smoke.  “Jack.”

Jack smiles sheepishly, already knowing he is not going to be well received.  “So, Tubbo is… passed out in my back seat, and could use some help–”

“Ugh!” Niki throws her arms up exasperatedly, “not you too!”  She storms off down the hall.

“So, um, does someone mind giving me a hand getting him up here?” Jack asks awkwardly to the other two present.

Wilbur looks grim, glancing at Jack.  He nods.  “Fine, I’ll–” He nods, “yeah, fine.”

“What… what happened to Tubbo?” Ranboo asks softly.

“Give us a sec, Ranboo,” Jack says.

“Right, right, I’ll– I’ll make a spot for him,” he hurries off down the hall.

“Ranboo, move Tommy to my room, put Tubbo there too!” Niki shouts from the bathroom where she is furiously getting out a first aid kit she’d just put away.

Jack doesn’t exactly feel it’s appropriate to make small talk, but he can’t help but ask as he opens the back seat, “uh, what happened to Tommy, then?”

“Almost got blown up,” he says icily.  “Thanks for the heads up, man.”

“Wait–” it catches up to Jack.  “Why were you and Tommy still there?!  I literally told you to go!”

“I didn’t know you were gonna set off a fucking bomb!  Maybe a little warning next time?!” Wilbur snaps.

“I didn’t bloody know either!” Jack shouts back a little shrilly, voice raw from the smoke.  He stops with a grumbling sigh, “just– Just help me move the little terrorist upstairs, will you?”

“He–”

“Yes!   With good reason!  Stop staring, and grab his fucking legs!” Jack snaps.

Wilbur doesn’t offer any more complaints.

“O-Oh my god–” Ranboo stumbles back as they enter.  “His– His face, what happened, why is he-?”

“I’ll explain after,” Jack almost growls.

Niki, eyes wide, jaw tense as she holds back any other comment, motions for them to place him on the right side of her bed, Tommy now placed on the left.

“Why didn’t you take him to a fucking hospital?!” Wilbur huffs.

“You’re one to talk–”

“Quiet, both of you!” Niki shouts.  She sighs.  “Okay, I am going to call Eret, or maybe try to get ahold of H, and see if he can get in touch with Ponk.  And when the boys wake up, I am going to ask them if they want to go to a hospital or not, am I clear?”

Two mumbled yes’s and nods.

“Actually, um, Niki, HBomb is at home, so,” Jack offers.

“He is?” Niki gives him a puzzled look.

“I’m… I’m staying there, right now, see.  In between jobs, sort of, or, well, in between paychecks, hopefully.”

Niki gives him a look.  “You know you can always stay here-”

“Well, Wil is here right now, and HBomb’s place works, so,” Jack shrugs.  “I mean, it’s a bit cramped, but could be worse.”

Niki sighs, waving him off, before going into the hall to get the phone.

“What happened to Tubbo?” Ranboo asks quietly, holding Tubbo’s unburnt hand.

“Er, his house was on fire, dunno why, and he…” Jack doesn’t know if he should mention Tubbo running back into the burning building, that feels like something for Tubbo to share if he so chooses.  “I got him out.”

Ranboo nods, the severe scar across his face made sharper by his worry.  “Thank you.”

“Er, don’t mention it, man.”

Tommy is the one who stirs first, a little less than a half hour later, he groans, covering his eyes.

“Ow…”

“Tommy?!” Wilbur had been nodding off in the seat by Niki’s window, but now he jolts awake.  “Tommy, you alright, man?”

“Obviously fucking not…”

Wilbur laughs, weak with relief.

Tommy squints in the dim light of the lamp.  “What… Holy fuck, never mind about me, what happened to Tubbo?!” Tommy sits up probably way too fast.  “Ow, ow, ow fucking shit–” Tommy clutches his head, the room spinning slightly.

“Take it easy there, Tommy, how do you feel?” Wilbur stands, hesitating, unsure of how to help.

“Like ass… someone… someone tell me what’s wrong with Tubbo,” Tommy stares blearily at his best friend, shaking his unburnt arm slightly.  “Tubbo?  Tubbooo?  Wake up, bee boy, I wanna… I wanna talk to you.”

“Hey, hey, don’t do that,” Jack cuts in.  “He’s clearly injured!  We’re– Niki is getting Ponk over here to look at you both.”

“Why’d they need to look at me?”

“Maybe because you got hit in the head by like, a chunk of sidewalk or something?” Wilbur says dryly.

Tommy gives him an unamused look.  “And?  So fucking what?  I’m Tommy Danger Innit, I don’t get thrown off by some measly fuckin’ rock,” Tommy swings his legs over the edge of the bed, moving to stand, and promptly falls face first onto Niki’s rug.  “This is… this is an exception,” he mumbles from the floor.

Jack and Wilbur exchange exasperated looks, pulling Tommy off of the floor and all but forcing him to lay back down.

“Right, I’m… I’m tired anyway…”

“Sorry, Tommy, I don’t think you can go back to sleep,” Ranboo returns, looking apologetic.  “Not until Ponk says you’re not… concussed.”

“Concussed… you’re concussed…”

“...No?”

“Come over here, you will be…” Tommy stares grumpily at his friend, swinging weakly at the air.

“Yeah, also no.”

“Is Ponk coming?” Jack refocuses.

“Um, yeah, Niki said Foolish is going to bring them over,” Ranboo nods.  “It’s gonna be like, a half hour, I think.”

“Don’t need some shady fuckin’ doctor, ex-doctor, whatever, to tell me what’s what…” Tommy mutters.

“Would you prefer a hospital?” Wilbur says pointedly, in part hoping his point will be vindicated.

Tommy continues to pout.  “No,” he admits.  “This is why I don’t get injured or sick!”

“Oh, you have a say in that, do you?”

“Shut up, Jack Manifold,” Tommy glares at him.  He looks over at Tubbo.  “Why’s he not waking up?”  His brash tone falters, poorly buried worry slipping through the cracks.

“Probably smoke inhalation,” Wilbur points out helpfully.  “I think he needs oxygen,” he gives Jack a pointed look.  “You know, like, from a hospital.”

“Stop acting like you did any better!” Jack snaps.

“What if he doesn’t, then?” Tommy asks.

Jack hesitates, “if he doesn’t wake up soon, I’ll take him to the hospital.”

“Right… good,” Tommy sighs.  “Tubbo’s eighteen so they can’t give him any shit…”  He closes his eyes.

“No, sorry, Tommy, you can’t go back to sleep until you get looked at by a doctor,” Wilbur says quickly.

Tommy groans dramatically.  “Who says Ponk is a doctor?  Do we know they still have their medical license or whatever the fuck?  I feel… just dizzy, other than that I’m…”

“Which is why you can’t sleep,” Wilbur pulls Tommy up, propping him on a pillow so he has to sit upright.

“And honestly, if Ponk lost their medical license, that doesn’t mean they can’t do their job, at least somewhat,” Ranboo points out.

All present, save Tommy, jump when the phone rings.  Ranboo hesitates, preferring to stay beside his two injured friends, down the hall, Niki calls back, “I got it!  But if Ponk comes to the door make sure you grab it!”

Niki makes her way to the phone in the kitchen, she assumed maybe Ponk would be calling, maybe they couldn’t come anymore.  “Hello?”

“Niki?”

That voice is not who she expected.  “O-Oh, hi.  Phil,” she glances at her bedroom door, for some reason thinking it’s best Wilbur doesn’t hear this.  “It’s been… it’s been a while, huh?  Wait– Wait, actually, oh my god, why are you calling?  Did something happen?  Do I need to get Wilbur?”

“So he’s alright, then?” Phil asks, a note of desperation ill-buried.

“Wilbur– Yeah, he’s… he’s fine.  Phil, it’s not that I’m sorry to hear from you, but why are you calling me at this hour?” Niki frowns, leaning against the counter, twirling the cord through her fingers, heart beating just a little faster.  She cannot take any more hurt friends tonight.  “Are you okay?”

“Sorry, shit, Niki, I didn’t think about it, the time difference, it’s… well, actually, it’s not that much… I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.  Sorry, mate.  I’m okay.  I was just…” Phil trails off, hesitating in some way.

“Do you want me to get Wilbur?”

“No!  No, I… No, I don’t think he’d… I don’t think he’d appreciate that,” a weary laugh.  “It’s been too long, Niki.  I’m sorry I’m only calling when I get worried, I just, well, some of my crows in the city reported an explosion, one of Schlatt’s boys got shredded, and, well, this is going to sound a bit insane, but you know Wil, the wreckage, there was…” Phil laughs a little nervously.  “There was a car door that said… it said… cunt?” Phil sounds almost apologetic.  “So, I thought… well, I’m sure you can see the dots I connected.  I got worried Wilbur might’ve… might’ve found trouble again.”

“No, well, he did, sort of, but that wasn’t his doing, I don’t think.  He’s here, at my place, and he’s not hurt,” Niki thinks it over carefully.  Wilbur had been avoidant when asked about his father, but Niki knows him well enough to read the tension.  “How’d you know to call me?”

“Well, when he ran off, obviously, I had my crows keep an eye on him, and someone said he came back to… to the city and, well, I assumed he’d go to you first.”

Niki smiles.  “Yeah.  He’s been staying here.  I’m keeping an eye on him, Phil, don’t you worry.”

Phil sighs again, and Niki can imagine his quiet, worried irritation.  She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed her old guardian.  She continues when the silence lasts too long.  “And you’re sure you’re alright, Phil?”

“What, me?  Yeah!  Yeah, I’m alright.  You know me.  I’m… I’m doing okay where I am,” Phil’s words are careful and a bit guarded like always.

There’s a knock at the door.  Niki jumps, Ranboo giving her a curious look as he goes to answer the door.  She waves him off, indicating vaguely there’s nothing to worry about.

“Phil, I’m sorry, I have to go, are you sure you don’t want me to tell Wilbur-?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t tell him I called at all, if you don’t mind.  I think… I think he wants some space.”

Niki turns away as Ponk and Foolish’s voices fill the small apartment.  “Alright, well, if you’re sure.  But you can call any time, alright, Phil?  It was good to hear from you.”

“Good to hear from you too, Niki.  Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” Niki is quick to hang up and focus on her present company, but she’s a little rattled, in a good way as well as a confusing one.  She hasn’t heard from Phil in years.

“Hey, Niki!” Ponk says.  “I’d say we missed you at the funeral today, but considering it got a bit busy, maybe not, eh?” They laugh.

Foolish, towering over them, gives an awkward wave.  He’s carrying a leather bag and a tank, clearly Ponk’s things.

“That’s… That’s an oxygen tank,” Ranboo says blankly.

Jack, who had gone into the hall at the commotion, is equally baffled.  “Where did you get that?  Did you just have that somewhere?”

Ponk’s expression remains calm and cheerful, they waver over their words for a moment, settling on, “...don’t worry about it.”

“Fine, fuck, I mean, good on you, I guess,” Jack shakes his head, “come on, the lads are through here.”

Ponk follows him into Niki’s room.  “Two of them!  Right, who was in a fire?”

“Obviously, Tubbo,” Tommy says scathingly.  He generally quite likes Ponk, especially when he can sell particular stolen goods to them, but Tommy does not like or trust doctors, so he’s a bit torn on the matter at present.

“Nice to see you too, Tommy,” Ponk says teasingly.  “Nurse, give oxygen to the patient,” they say to Foolish.

Foolish doesn’t seem to mind the title, sleepy but otherwise pleasant, he sets down the oxygen tank.  “Right, I would love to do that Ponk.  I have no idea how.”

Ponk gives him a weary look, before instructing him, once confident that Foolish can manage on his own, he turns back to the others.  “And how long as Tubbo been out?”

Jack thinks it over, “er, maybe a little over a half hour now?”

Ponk doesn’t look pleased at this.  “Oxygen should help.  If it doesn’t, that might mean this is beyond me and we’ll have to get him to a proper hospital ASAP.”

Jack nods, feeling a bit nauseous.  He is at least a little terrified that he’s fucked up by not bringing his friend straight to a hospital.  Tubbo had, deliriously, vaguely, asked him not to, but Jack isn’t above questioning that judgment.

“And, Tommy, I see you hit your head!  How long ago did that happen?” Ponk turns to his conscious patient.

“Dunno.  A while,” Tommy shrugs.

“He was sort of in and out of consciousness all night, it happened like, earlier this evening, not sure exactly when,” Wilbur steps in, hovering anxiously.

“Can I look at it?” Ponk nods to Tommy’s forehead.

Tommy wants to keep dragging his feet and complaining, but grudgingly, he huffs, “fine.”

Ponk pushes back Tommy’s hair, assessing the cut.  “Won’t need stitches or anything, that’s good!  Foolish, can I have my flashlight?”

“Uh, yep!  Yep, sure thing, doc,” Foolish fumbles for a moment before passing it to them.

“This won’t be super fun, but I gotta make sure your eyes are dilating,” Ponk warns.

“Think I can’t take a little light? As if,” Tommy scoffs.  He still grits his teeth as Ponk shines the narrow beam into his eyes.

“And eyes are dilating.  That’s also good!  Have you felt dizzy at all?  Nauseous?”

“No,” Tommy broods.

“Um, he tried to get out of bed a bit ago and fell over,” Wilbur says pointedly.

“Snitch.”

“I’m not a cop, Tommy.  Do I look like a damn cop?  We’re not gonna take you out back and shoot you if you’re not fighting fit, man,” Ponk says scoldingly.

“Fine… I’m a little dizzy, I guess,” Tommy mutters.

“That’s not necessarily concerning, but if it doesn’t go away over the next few days, have Niki track me down again,” Ponk doesn’t even try to say Tommy should go to an actual hospital.

“So, do you still have your medical license?” Tommy asks.

Ponk is suddenly quite busy putting away their little light.  “I don’t see why that’s important.”

“Huh,” Tommy says, almost appraising, like the possibility that they have had their medical license revoked makes him more inclined to trust their judgment.

“Tubbo?” Ranboo has been hovering beside him ever since Foolish got him set up with the oxygen and is the first to notice when he begins to stir.

“Oh, thank god,” Jack feels weak with relief.  He was really starting to get scared Tubbo wouldn’t be okay and it would be his fault.

Tubbo doesn’t reply, fumbling to pull away the oxygen mask.

“You gotta keep that on, Tubbo,” Ponk says quickly.  “Take a minute, mate, you still don’t have enough O2 in you.”

Tubbo yields, still out of it.  He stares around the room blearily, turning from Ranboo to Jack to Wilbur to Foolish to Ponk to finally, Tommy.

“Hey, bee boy!” Tommy says delightedly.  “Welcome back to the land of the living!”

Tubbo quickly looks away from him, trying to sit up.

“Whoa, whoa whoa, slow down, man,” Ranboo anxiously reaches out to stop him.

“Tubbo, just, lie down a second, alright?” Jack says.  “You got pretty messed up back there.”

Tubbo gives up, still not looking at Tommy.  He does his best to focus on Ponk, who begins to ask him yes-or-no questions about his condition so Tubbo can just nod and focus on breathing.

“Burns are some first degree, and… some second degree.  I don’t think there will be any lasting deep tissue damage, but you’ll have… you’ll have one hell of a scar to show for it!” Ponk tries to give it a cheerful spin.

Tubbo nods.  He doesn’t care about the burns.  He’s more scared of Tommy right now, to be honest.  Scared of Tommy and what he has to, or at least should, tell him.  He doesn’t want to lose his best friend, but he hurt him, so Tommy deserves to decide that for himself.

“D’you need anything, Tubbo?” Ranboo asks gently.

Tubbo shakes his head.

“You sure, man?” Jack leans in.  “Hey, d’you want me to call Big Q?  I could get him over here no problem–”

Tubbo shakes his head more fiercely at this.

“Alright,” Jack raises his hands passively.  “Don’t worry, I won’t, up to you.”

“I think it’s getting a bit crowded in here,” Niki pokes her head in.  “Most of you, come out here please, let Ponk work.”  There’s a brief pause as each of them considers themselves to somehow be essential, until Niki continues, less gently.  “Ranboo, Jack, and Wilbur, out here.  Foolish is helping Ponk, you three are not.”

Grudgingly, the trio withdraw to the living room.  The bedroom is quiet for a time, mostly Ponk instructing Foolish to act as they only have one good arm, Foolish bumbling his way through dressing Tubbo’s burns.

“Tubbo, you might want to go to a hospital, not gonna lie.  Even if just to get some shit for the pain.  I mean, I might have something I could give you, but a proper prescription would be best,” Ponk says once they’ve decided Tubbo and Tommy are relatively treated.

“Thanks, Ponk,” Tubbo says.  He hasn’t said a word to Tommy, and Tommy upon noticing his rambles had gone unanswered got quiet too.

“No problem, not like I had any other plans tonight,” Ponk says brightly.

“Um, how about sleeping?” Foolish says.  Ponk punches him in the arm.  “Got it, point taken.”

“And I can sleep, right?” Tommy asks.

“It’s been… yeah, over three hours, you can, but I might tell Niki she needs to wake you up every four hours, just to make sure your brain isn’t turning to mush,” is how Ponk puts it in their professional opinion.

“Got it, thanks, doc,” Tommy says dryly.

“You’re so welcome, Tommy,” Ponk teases back.  They make their exit, followed closely by Foolish, passing along instructions to Niki.

“And, Jack, you’re all sooty too, you alright?” Ponk asks.

“Me?” Jack almost seems startled by their concern.  “Yeah, I’m fine, really.”

“You were limping carrying Tubbo in,” Wilbur points out.

“Ah, well, jump out of a second story window, shit happens,” Jack shrugs, trying to give off an aura of swaggering calm.

“Alright, sit down.  Let me see if you’ve shattered your ankles then,” Ponk says pointedly.

Jack sits.  “Fine, fine, I mean, now that you mention it, my right ankle has been hurting like hell all night…”

“Yeah, ‘cause you sprained it,” Ponk says matter-of-factly.  “You’re lucky you didn’t do something worse to yourself.”

“Ah.  Yeah, yeah that’s fair.”

“Nurse, can you wrap Jack’s ankle, please?” Ponk says to Foolish.

“Yeah!  Actually, I know how to do this one,” Foolish says delightedly.

“Of course you do,” Jack sighs.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Foolish gives him a look.

“I mean, you’re like, a jock, you’re big and strong and shit, you probably… played a sport, right?” Jack fumbles for a reply that won’t insult someone twice his size.

“Yeah!  I did!  Lots of sports.  I was a swimmer for a while, but I’m not really built for it, y’know?  I mean, I was pretty fast, still, but not really, er, aerodynamic?  Ended up doing some more Olympic stuff.  I am great at the javelin toss,” Foolish continues to chat as he wraps Jack’s swollen ankle.

"And, Jack, your hand is all bloody," Niki frowns.

"Oh, that too, yeah.  Rope burn, eh?" Jack shrugs, almost sheepish.

"Nurse-"

"I got it, I got it," Foolish waves them off.

“Jack, you should go home after this, get some rest.  We can look after them,” Niki says.

Jack hesitates, looking toward the room with Tubbo.  “I… I mean, can I not stay here?”

“And sleep where?” Wilbur points out.

“I dunno, I could take the floor,” Jack shrugs.

Niki puts a gentle hand on his shoulder.  “We’ll make sure he’s okay.  Promise.”

Jack pauses, staring down at his bandaged hand.  He's tired.  Finally, with a weary sigh, nods.  “Give him this, will you?” He hands Niki one of the objects Tubbo had almost killed himself for; a watch with a little bee on the crown.  “He really wanted it,” is all Jack says.

“Yeah, I will,” Niki nods.  “Now go home, Jack.”

Finally, Jack gives up.  He stands, tentatively putting some weight on his wrapped ankle.  “Thanks.”

“Niki, you take my room, I can take the floor,” Ranboo offers.

“Nah, it’s your house, man, you take the couch, I’m good on the floor,” Wilbur says quickly.

Ranboo shrugs, “fair enough.  I am too tired to argue.”

“Thanks Ranboo,” Niki puts a hand on his shoulder, pulling him down until he was stooped over, he follows her lead with well versed habit.  She kisses his forehead, mussing up his hair for good measure, before poking into her own occupied room.  “If you boys need anything, I’m right across the hall, but maybe bother Wilbur and Ranboo first,” she says teasingly.

“Right, thanks for letting us crash here, Niki, you’re a real one,” Tommy nods solemnly.

Niki giggles.  “Thanks, Tommy.  Good night.”

“‘night, Niki,” Tubbo says quietly.  He burrows under the covers, for a moment optimistic that he will be able to sleep through the night without having to confront his own guilt, but Tommy isn’t tired yet.  He keeps his silence for all of two minutes before he can’t stop himself.

“What’s going on, man?  Why’re you so quiet?” Tommy asks in a poor attempt at a whisper.

“It’s been a hard day, Tommy,” Tubbo says.

“D’you want to talk about it?” Tommy asks.  He’s for once so careful, so worried for him, and Tubbo can’t take it anymore.

“Y-You got hurt, because of an explosion,” Tubbo stays rolled over, staring at Niki’s nightstand without really seeing it.  He doesn’t want to look at him.

“Er, yeah?”

“You could’ve died.”

“I guess.  I mean someone did die, it was just that prick that shot Big Q,” Tommy shrugs, still sitting up, staring at the back of Tubbo’s head like he’ll be able to glean his expression from that.

“I did that, Tommy.”

Tommy laughs.  “Did what?”

“I set off the bomb.  I set it up to kill that man, even though I knew it was a public street and there could be civilian casualties.  I don’t know why you were there, I didn’t know you were, but anyone could’ve been too close, and… and I’m so sorry it was you,” Tubbo says, voice measured and a little empty.  He’s expecting it, he thinks he’ll have to let go of his best friend.  He already lost Big Q, he might as well destroy this for himself too.

Tommy laughs again, a bit more unsure.  “No, no you wouldn’t do shit like that.  You wouldn’t.”

“But I did–”

“No, no you can’t have, it’s got to be different, that’s like– That’s something Schlatt would have done.”  Tommy seems to be scrambling.  “Where would– How the fuck would you even have a bomb?  It doesn’t–”

“You’re right.  It is something he would’ve done.  I got it from Schlatt,” Tubbo’s remains too flat, too close to calm.  “The bomb.  A-And after Big Q was shot, I had Jack follow him, while I went home and got it.  I wanted it to kill him.  So I wired it into the man’s car ignition, and that is why he died and that is why you got hurt.  You can’t actually believe I’m lying.  Tommy, how could I lie about this?”

Tommy struggles to wrap his head around it, desperately searching for an alternative.  “But… but that was… that could’ve killed someone, someone else.  That could’ve killed me.  And– And you can’t have, you can’t, because you are not one of the bad guys.”

Tubbo holds onto the blankets, hands balled into fists, like somehow he can anchor himself in that.  The burns across his shoulder and up his neck ache underneath the bandages.  “Maybe it’s more complicated than that, Tommy.”

“Or maybe it isn’t,” Tommy snaps back.  “You’ve– You’ve got to by lying or– or confused or something.  Otherwise… I mean, that would mean you’ve killed multiple people now.  That’s–” Tommy’s chest feels very tight.  He cannot cry over this, he shouldn’t need to because his best friend isn’t like the others in this stupid city, his best friend is a good person.  Tommy cannot see it another way.  This is not Tubbo placing unwarranted blame on himself, it’s not Tubbo’s bitter habit of feeling responsible for his father’s brutal legacy; Tubbo told him exactly what he did, and Tommy is still trying to find away around it.  If this is something he has to accept as truth, it doesn’t mean he can let go.  Instead, Tommy looks at the impossible fact that Tubbo is becoming the sort of person Tommy has spent his whole life hating, and he cannot help but love him anyway.  It doesn’t feel like a choice.

The weighted pause extends, but Tommy knows Tubbo is awake, waiting for him to say something, to reject him, to hate him, so instead Tommy’s voice remains soft, and he tries something else.  “Tubbo… d’you remember when we were little? Or… not little, but younger.  A-And we made a plan, d’you remember our little plan?  I… I didn’t want to leave the city before, I mean, this is after Eryn left without me, but then I met you, and…” Tommy pauses, warding of the tremor in his voice.  “And… and I said I’d be okay leaving, if you came with me.  D’you remember that?” Tommy looks over at him.

Tubbo almost doesn’t reply, he’s almost scared to, but quietly, with a tremor he cannot bury, he answers, “yeah.  I remember.”

“And I said we could run away, and get out together.  We’d– We’d find some place, maybe on the coast or something.  And you’d have your bees, and I would have a garden and… and a cow, and… we’d have everything we’d ever wanted.  And you said–”

“We’d have everything we care about,” Tubbo finishes for him.

“Yeah.”

Tubbo doesn’t know what Tommy wants from him.  He doesn’t know how to tell him that those plans had only ever been a daydream.  He’d learned a long time ago that he couldn’t run from this.

Tommy doesn’t know what to do.  He’s not scared of Tubbo, but this isn’t something either of them can go back on.  The threshold has been crossed, and neither of them get to stay the same.  Tommy hates it.  “I wish we’d done it.  I wish we’d left then.”  Tommy lays back down, facing away from him, and he pretends his eyes aren’t watering.

Maybe it had only been a daydream, but Tubbo had wanted it so badly then.  He still wants it now.  “Me too.”

[styxtrixmix]

It's Days Like Today That Remind Me I'm Part Of The Team

A Volleyball AU Young Justice short story, based on real events.

Thad smiled as he stared up at the ceiling, laying spread out in a soft bed in a pleasantly cool room with a blanket tossed lazily over his lower half. Today was a good day, in his books.

It had been a while since he'd been accepted by the Allens. He refused to change his last name, and he was certainly stubborn about changing his whole persona too quickly. But it was days like today that reminded him that it was okay. He didn't need to be reformed overnight, because the people who accepted him won't turn away. They'll continue to accept, and they'll help.

Thad raised his hands over his head, looking at the soft scrap of cloth in the colors of the high school he'd been sent to once he gave up the whole evil villain thing. His smile felt permanently stuck onto his face, and he made no attempt to remove it. The night was in full swing, most of the house asleep. Bart snoring on the bunk bed above Thad.

The cloth he held had a patch with his school name, a white volleyball, his number, and his name embroidered onto it. Beside him, on the bedside table that him and Bart shared for no good reason in particular, was a bag of treats in a Halloween themed bag. As was the season. It had been given to him by Cassie's mom after the game today. The last game of regionals, before they moved onto state should they win. Thad remembered the pure rush of adrenaline and joy he felt, watching that ball hit the ground at lightning speeds on the other side of the net. He hadn't been the one to hit it, hell he hadn't even been the one to set it or even receive it that rally. But the buzz he felt in his limbs afterwards made it feel as if he had.

To the right of the Halloween treat bag was a framed photo of the whole team. Standing side by side, some crouched in front, with a white banner patterned with the school's logo as the background. One of the other reminders Thad got that he was actually part of the team, and not just there to fill the roster. Sure, he may be spaced a bit awkwardly. Too far off to one side, with his arms stuck stiffly into his pockets. And a face mask hid the dopey, too-toothy grin Thad remembered vividly had been on his face. But it was special to him. He'd almost not been in the picture, expecting to be the one to take one of the rest of the team. But they'd insisted, and he'd obliged.

Thad sighed as he set the cloth down next to the photo, rolling over onto his side and pulling the blanket up to cover him fully. He felt a sense of contentment fill him as his eyes drifted closed.

It was days like today, moments of being recognized and included, that remind Thad that he wasn't just an evil clone anymore.

He was part of the team.

[writingwrittenwriting]

The dragon story in full

To keep track of things for myself.

At first I could only stare at the beat up little creature that had fallen to the floor of my lair. It didn't look like the usual humans that fought their way into my home. No shiny armour to salvage, no sharp weapons glowing with magic edges, nor belts of shimmering liquids to give them new life. It was a strange little thing, wearing clothing of cotton and flesh, a stringed instrument strapped to its back.

I couldn't just leave it on my beautifully tiled mosaic floor, that was for gold and jewels, not stinky little humans. I considered picking it up with my great claws and depositing it elsewhere, but I found myself curious of this stubborn little wretch. Why in the many realms would it fight its way here, only to pass out at my gloriously clawed feet?

After a moment of thought, I took my human form. Shining ebony scales smoothing to soft vulnerable skin, glowing golden eyes dulling to mere whisky and honey coloured irises. Scooping the pitiful creature up, I carried my unlikely guest behind the many mounds of gold. I held them cradled to my warm chest, past my collections of shiny armours, weapons with magic edges, and shimmering liquids to a crystal and gold filled crack in the mountain. I'd stored the wonderous furniture I had acquired over the centuries there. Honestly, any dragon that claims they don't hoard soft squishy couches is a liar. Such a delightful creation of those foul little human beasts.

Settling the human on one of my less treasured settees, I stared at it. It's skin so grotesquely pale, marred with dirt and red marks from brushing too close to the stone. How could such sickly looking creatures survive.

Digging through its bags was of some amusement, I wont lie. It's always fun to see what treasures one might discover. A few worn gold coins to flick onto my pile, a small gem hardly worthy of being plucked, embedded in a band of copper. This one I kept on my finger for amusement. Some empty bottles that once held the shimmering liquids those insufferable knights used to keep themselves able. Though these bottles didn't smell as potent... I tossed them aside and let them roll among the crystals. Small portions of dried unpleasant food, and some basic survival equipment made up the rest of their belongings. The worn gold coins were the most valuable things this pitiful creature had.

Growing bored as it continued to sleep, I investigated it further. Pulling back its eyelids to see a strange blue, like the daylights sky. Its hair was delightfully golden, lightly coloured like bright morning sun upon white marble. Almost redeemable in tone... Perhaps its golden hair could prove a unique addition to my hoard. But what to do with the rest of the sickly looking thing... So distastefully pale. Like a fledgling without a mother to feed it, nor fire to warm it.

Humans apparently take quite awhile to recover, as its slumber stretched through the night. In my growing boredom, I cleaned up its wounds. Hopefully that would help speed its healing. I discarded of its ugly coverings, its dirty cloths and distasteful dried flesh. As an established dragon, I of course had many fine collections of various lovely materials. Not wanting to look at this repulsive creatures sickly body, I draped a sheet of embroidered silk over its form. Humans may be irritating, but their art was so lovely. So much easier on the eyes.

I was still lurking in my human form, taking the time to adorn my form with gold and silver, when the human let out a jarring croaking sound. Was it dying? My eyes rolled in irritation, of course it would wake to make such disgusting noises. Returning to its side, I knelt down to move its face, causing it to squeak in pain. It would almost be cute, if it weren't coming from such a scrawny beast.

"Awaken, you've rested long enough." I flatly informed it, causing its eyes to fly open. So strange, to see the skies in its eyes. The little beast scrunched up on the settee, looking around frantically.

"The dragon! Have you seen it?" Such a stupid creature. I stared at it, the brows of my human form raised in an unimpressed expression.

"For what reason? Do you fear it shall roast you alive? Eat you? Or do you believe you could attempt slaying such an immortal monster with your little stringed instrument?" I was honestly slightly amused by this little thing. Perhaps I had been inside my lair for too long. Its hands went to its back, then it grasped the silk to its chest while turning red.

"My clothes! Where are my clothes?!?" Were they embarrassed about their lack of clothing? I never quite got the purpose of them myself, I looked down at my own form, adorned in jewels and gold but no cloth, I considered the social implications that might be had when the human noticed. No great loss, my body was stunning. Rich vibrant tones of obsidian and the darkest topaz, brushed to strong muscles capable of great strength, yet with the softness of a mate perfect to hold warm at night. Delightfully ideal.

Compared to this sickly creature, I was a god. Perhaps they were ashamed to compare their body to mine? Something I could understand. I wouldn't want to present a frail body of bony, fish bellied flesh to a god either.

"Your cloths and dried flesh were distasteful. I graced them with the mercy of my fire." This human stared at me, its eyes looking into mine, then roaming my form. They turned an almost forgivably vibrant red upon spotting my vibrancy, obviously this creature was attracted to those of the male persuasion. Grinning was impossible to hide as I amused myself with its shame and embarrassment.

"You are the dragon..." The human stated with enough awe, I forgave the statement of the obvious. And perhaps abstaining from making a joke of how they recognized my form to that of my dragons.

"Indeed, I am. And you are a nasty little intruder who dared to pass out within my hoard. For what reason are you here?" I had to wonder, what would push this pitiful being to struggle through all the troublesome barriers I had placed to keep people out?

Strangely, the human relaxed upon my comfortable couch. Holding the silk close to their chest, they seemed to struggle with their words. Absolutely unprepared to explain themselves. While they tried to formulate their words, I sat upon the end of the cushioned seat. Ah, that vibrant red once again. That was far more tolerable to look upon.

"I wanted more." Were their eventual words. Once again, my brow was raised, but more so in curiosity this time.

"And pray tell, what caused you to believe you might discover that here?" What new legend was spun among the mortals now? Promises that I'd grant wishes? Rumours I'd share my riches if a riddle were answered? How lovely the rumour of my granting youth, beauty, and immortality upon mortals for a mere few gold coins had been.

Struggling again for words, the human began fiddling with their fingers while they thought, twisting them in disturbing manners and bending them upon each other in barely natural ways. Finding it unpleasant to watch, I set my hand upon theirs. Mine warm and strong, theirs cold and trembling. To my surprise, they ripped their hands back and jolted away from me. How dare a mortal deny my comfort! However, this time the human spoke before I.

"S-sorry! I don't like. I don't like being touched. No one can touch me." Their words were shaky, stammered. But my anger subsided, they weren't spurring me, rather they just disliked all touch. Bobbing their head as though the words were hard to say, their gold hair floating in light little fluffs . Something about their mannerisms struck me. They weren't like other humans, but I was unsure what was wrong with them. It was hard to make a comparison when I usually only held interactions with knights, leaders, royalty and gallantry.

I imagine I looked concerned as I stared at them, studying their movements. Their hands flitting about and their face red to the point of apparent discomfort. Their fingers curled and pulled back repeatedly, strumming an invisible instrument.

"You are strange, little human. For what reason are you here?" I kept my voice in a calm and even tone. For some reason, I felt as though I might scare this human, and strangely I didn't wish to do so.

Their hands flitted and tugged at the silk, they bit their lip and rocked back and forth a little like a hatchling soothing itself, further cementing my suspicions.

"I couldn't live with them any more. I used to live in the barn, with the animals, caring for them and learning medicine for animals, but they decided I needed to be married and start a family and I couldn't. I couldn't let him touch me, I didn't want to be married. I didn't want to live life as a mother and have to play wife to a man I have no feelings for. I didn't want to leave the barn or share a bed or-" Quickly spoken words, a flurry of panic. As they spoke they became more distressed. It was... Well, even though it was such a revolting little creature, I felt pity for it. Becoming so wrapped up and terrified by simply reciting their problems.

I began to consider what I was witnessing. The movements of their hands, their distaste to touch. That they had lived in a barn with the animals instead of a house with their own kind. How they either spoke swiftly in poorly connected sentences or slowly in carefully constructed and clumsy words. How they bobbed their head softly, and rocked themself for comfort.

It became clear to me, this human was what their kind once called changelings. The ones they refused to accept as their own. Humans born with strong connections to animals, many with aversions to sounds and textures, to their own kind even. Once, I asked a fey about these myths. Offended by my question, the fey told me that the humans simply disliked that they could make children so different from themselves, and lived in such a way that tortured these beings. On occasion, the fey would take pity on these "changelings" and take them away.

Now I was presented with a decision as I stared at this sickly creature. If it were to only now be presented with marriage by its kind, then it must have recently become an adult. Still quite young... A young lady fearing for a future where her life was not her own. A changeling among those who did not understand her, living in a community that made her suffer to such desperation, it sought a dragon for sanctuary.

And if I were to grant it? Care for it, provide it home, warmth and food? Allow its pale sickly form to reside alongside me as it regained its health? What was I to gain? Very little... But I had nothing to lose either. And I had grown rather bored with my quiet home as of late. I was watching this human, staring down at her hands, twisting her fingers and causing me to wince.

"Wait here." I instructed them, leaving to my piles of treasure to both think and fetch something. I knew where everything in my great hoard was, and soon I returned with a spherical astrolabe of gold and fine design. Her sky eyes were confused as I held it to her hands.

"You cannot keep it, but you may try twisting its parts about instead of doing so to your fingers, you're going to damage your hands." She took the navigational tool with trepidation, but took to it like a hatchling to a flame, twisting it about and visibly relaxing as she watched its parts move. With the human calming down, I found myself able to do so as well.

"I am unsure what to do with you. Unsure of what you want, however you may stay here while I decide what I wish to do." She looked up at me again, relief clear on her face. I retrieved her bag from beneath the settee and tossed it beside her. She had food for now, but I'd have to hunt for this creature now.

"I suppose you will wish for clothing, you expressed distress upon your loss of your material. If you do not wander from this area, I will retrieve some items for your comfort. But I cannot stress enough, do not leave this area. This crack within the stone is safe for you, I do not wish to see you wandering my treasures." Her enthusiastic nod was encouraging, and again I left her to rest upon my treasured squishy couch.

Over the centuries, I have collected many different treasures. I easily found what I had in mind, a carriage I had plucked from a road to a castle. A rather glorious carriage of nacre, the gold sidings were what had caught my attention but I adored the way it shone. I had left the luggage upon its roof, but I knew what was within the great cedar chests. I love digging through things after all. Dresses suited for a princess, shoes, grooming equipment unsuitable for hair as glorious as mine. I had only taken the jewellery from the chests, leaving the rest there as organization.

Retaking my great form, I seized the carriage in my wicked claws and flew back to the crack, setting it down between the piles of gold that hid the split. I took my human form and fell to my feet, easily grabbing and dragging the carriage into the crack while the human watched in awe and curiosity. Seeing my strength, my impressive form, I had expected her to express fear. Her reaction was a surprisingly pleasant change of pace, and I brought the carriage nearer the settee.

Showing off a touch, I jumped onto the roof of the carriage and grabbed the chests in turn, tossing them down with ease. Once I was down again, the sickly human was on her feet. Moving clumsily with the silk wrapped around herself. She threw open a chest and stared in surprise at the preserved clothing, silks, gossamer, lace, embroidery, velvet, satin. I knew it was extravagant, they had sent three well trained knights to retrieve it. They roasted well within their armour.

I found myself smiling as she dug through the clothing, neatly placing it around herself in folded piles while humming happily. Unlike the naive idiots the fey had described, she seemed simply easily pleased. Not simple minded, perhaps emotional and impulsive, but it made sense for her to be expressing her happiness in sound. Us dragons do similar. The fey are just easily annoyed by anything that isn't themselves. Some may consider it rude that she didn't immediately express gratitude for my efforts, but her humming and demeanour spoke volumes.

While she sorted the clothing, I studied her messy fluffy hair. So fine and delicate, unlike my thick hearty mane. Perhaps this is the type of hair those grooming supplies were meant for? She settled on a velvet dress, struggling to get it onto her form.

"Hold still, I'll touch only the cloth." I informed her, and surprisingly she obeyed, allowing me to pull it down over her head and correct the arrangement of it. There were fine little latches in the back, which I quickly fixed up as she adjusted the sleeves. It fit large upon her, meant for someone who had their health about them, but it delighted her. Rubbing little circles upon the soft velvet, she gently swayed side to side.

"It's lovely" She hummed after a moment, looking over her shoulder to me with the warmest smile for such a cold creature. I felt my heart heating up, and I decided. I'd protect this human. I could use some company, and she was so much calmer than those who came in search of fight or gain. I resisted the urge to smooth her fluffy knotted hair down, smiling in return.

"I take care of my guests, my dear. Now tell me, what is it you plan to do while you are here?" She paused in silence as she thought of that, fingers picking strings that weren't there. I nudged the astrolabe to her, which she instinctively scooped up to fiddle with.

"I didn't think I'd get this far. I assumed I'd die before I made it here. Either way my problems would be solved..." Since when had humans gained the ability to sound so... introspective? To hold such deep wells of pain? It was such a shame she'd come to that conclusion, but alas she was safe in my care now.

~

She listened quite well to my requests, staying within the crack of the cave. Not fiddling with my things without permission, nor attempting to clean my belongings. Occupying herself by playing her little stringed instrument and singing nonsensical yet beautiful words.

Her first conscious night was pleasant enough. She had taken to the carriage, so I let her have it as a personal space. All ladies need their personal space, dragon or human. After exploring the inside, she had discovered a way to prop a plateau up between the seats, allowing her to rearrange the cushions and turn the whole inside of the carriage into a bed. Such a clever little creature my human was.

Of course, I was right about the grooming supplies being for hair such as hers. With her permission, I had spent hours meticulously untangling her knots of fine hair, brushing them out until they fell like fine silk. Every time my hand brushed too close to her skin, she'd twitch and cringe a little, prompting me to assure her she was safe. Was this response a result of her being a "changeling" Or had she been abused by her own kind? If it weren't a sign of discomfort, I'd find it endearing...

Her hair was of such an unusual texture, I came to wonder where this human had come from. Surely a great distance to look so unlike the ones I regularly saw in settlements around my home. Their skin like a young fawns sandy fur, their hair thick as mine, many with energetic curls and kinks. Was this pale human in such a state from neglect? Or perhaps an unusual birth, I'd known dragons to have fledglings never growing into their colour, staying pale as though sickly despite decent health. Perhaps she was like that. Strange inside and out.

As I adjusted to her presence, I came to learn more about her. I had assumed her weak upon our first encounter, but she had proven to have quite a great deal of strength for a human. Claiming it was from working with animals, she didn't struggle replacing the ceder chests atop the carriage. Honestly I found myself rather impressed. She told me stories of delivering foals, of carrying injured sheep great distances, and climbing rough cliffs to find lost goats. Such a vibrant human, with a great love for the animals in her care.

Encouraging her to explore the small crack I allowed her to reside in, I wanted her to feel comfortable in my lair. I watched in amusement as she immediately flitted over to my collection of enchanted books and scrolls, all neatly organized upon the most elaborate shelves I could acquire. Her fingertips ran across the magic braced backs of the books, her excited hum matching her smile. When she found a book with the silhouette of a cat upon it, she tenderly pulled it out and opened the pages, flipping through those of only words to find the pictures within.

"The drawings! They look so beautiful! In the books the I saw, the pictures were simple skeletons of animals with their form outlined to help me learn, these pictures look like someone loved these animals!" Finding her glee infectious, I stood near her side and looked upon the book, recognizing it as one used by the rare humans with magics.

"This book is about familiars, animals that are bonded to a human. They're far more intelligent than their average counterparts, and work with the humans to advance their magic abilities." Explaining my cursory knowledge to her delight sadly assured me she could not read the words. The title of the book was simply "familiars". Had no one taken the time to teach this young lady how to read?

"You may look through the books as you please, however I must request you be gentle with them." Those eyes of sky were bright as a morning without clouds, teaching her to read would surely open her world so much. Why did I find myself aching so terribly to teach her? For what reason would I wish to trouble myself for her benefit alone? Her happy hum as she returned the book to its place answered my question. I had become lonely, and this wretched little creature had somehow nestled in my home.

"Some of the books contain stories, would you like me to read one to you?" To offer my time to her, my energy and attention. She had no idea how lucky she was. She nodded in excitement, her fingers once again plucking invisible strings. A habit I noticed when she felt great emotions, typically excitement, glee, stress, or her little bursts of energy.

"Yes please! I haven't heard a story in so long!" Such a sad statement, all creatures with minds and memories need stories. Stories seasoned the soul, sharing teachings and emotions. Dragons love to share stories, stories of acquiring odd items, or terrorizing kings. Stories of history, of family so old they no longer existed in this world. Such a pitiful creature, to live without stories. Selecting a book, I gestured for her to return to the settee she now used as a designated spot. Always gravitating back to where she first woke.

Once we were both comfortably seated, I began to read to her. Watching her hands flip the astrolabe out of the corner of my eye as she listened. I read her the story of a wolf who wanted nothing more than to live in a warm house on the mountain. But every time the wolf built its house, increasingly strange events would destroy its house. Each house would become stronger, more clever in design, more elaborate. Until finally, the wolf built itself a castle that even a great king couldn't conquer! Only to be slain by the greedy king who wanted it for himself, sneaking into the castle like a coward and slaying the wolf in its bed.

She hung on every word I spoke, paying much more attention than any human I had ever met. Eyes focused on my mouth as I spoke, expressionless until the end, when she became quite upset, twisting and bending her fingers until I patted the astrolabe.

"That poor wolf... All his hard work, but he doesn't get to enjoy it." She was so upset for the wolf of the story, I couldn't help but find it endearing. A human who cared about more than themselves and what they could take.

"Yes, the wolf suffered in the end, but he learned so much along his journey, and made something magnificent before he died." This didn't seem to comfort the human however, and she looked down at her hands in thought. Curious of what she was thinking, I gave her a moment to formulate her thoughts before I asked.

"What do you think of his legacy?" She looked to me with sadness in her eyes, like a fledgling hearing a disheartening story.

"The wolf died alone, no one will know he built the castle except for the greedy king, and the king doesn't care. The wolf doesn't get to be remembered as clever or skilled, and no one misses the wolf. That's so sad. To die so lonely." Her words were unexpected. I had expected her to be upset at the injustice of the wolfs death, or of the wolf not getting to enjoy the fruits of its labour. Perhaps anger at the greedy king even. But no, she simply felt pity for a lonely creature. Perhaps that spoke more of herself than the story I had read.

Setting the book aside, I offered her my hand. Knowing she didn't like touch, I gave her the option. Comfort among dragons is physical, I was offering the best I could at the moment.

"You're right. The wolf was probably very lonely, alone in its castle and alone at its death. Now you can remember the wolf, so the wolfs spirit doesn't have to be alone." My words comforted her, and with a fair bit of hesitation, she placed her hand upon mine. I was still surprised by how cold she was, but she pulled away soon after and wrapped the silk sheet around her shoulders like a cape, looking out at the mountains of treasure.

"Are you like the wolf? Alone in your treasures?" I watched her in contemplation, her thoughtful expression honest and gentle.

"A king will not slay me." was my answer. To which she leaned against my shoulder, resting her head with a soft sound of comfort.

"I'm glad." She hummed, remaining in that position. My heart warmed, she had felt comfortable enough to rest upon me. A great deal of trust from this creature. I stayed still for her sake, looking down at my newest treasure. I wouldn't be like that wolf. I was no longer alone in my castle.

~

My little sickly creature was taking so well to her new life. I'd been trying to find tasks to entertain her, imagine my amusement when I discovered she adored polishing silver. So much of my silver had became tarnished, and the reward of making them shine again brought such joy to her. Not to mention how much she loved her repetitive tasks, and detailed work.

I had been shining up a silver bauble with spinning little parts for her when she noticed my task. She watched my hands working, at first I thought her entranced with how dexterous my fingertips were with the fine details. Once I finished shining it up however, she held out her hands in request and I set the now gleaming toy within them.

"You made it shine so brightly! How did you do that?" Her sky eyes looked up at me with excitement, fingers already flipping and spinning the rings of the strange device.

"You know how dust settles heavy over time, and turns to crust? A similar occurrence happens to metals, I've used a polish and brushes of various textures to remove that crust and restore its gleam." Her attention went to the various jars of polish I had on the cluttered desk, each one varying in ingredients to provide steadily finer finishes or slightly different purposes.

"Can I try?" So much excitement in her request.

"You have hands that work, so I suppose you can." I teased her warmly, returning her dull little ring to her. She looked surprised upon seeing it again, but switched her attentions quickly to the polish. I had slightly different polish forcopper than for silver, but once I showed her how it worked, she took to it like a fledgling to a flame. Polished ring now finished, with every tooth that held the meagre little gem to its band now sparkling, she presented it to me.

"You've done an admirable job, you have skill for it." I praised her, to which she pulled her hands back, then thrust them back out with the ring.

"I want you to keep it. For your treasures." Her words surprised me, her only little treasure (I hadn't returned the coins) And she wanted to give it to me. Of course I accepted, it would be rude to do otherwise, and slipped the ring up one of my empty braids, settling it on the thickest part to keep it from falling.

"I shall treasure it always." She turned such a lovely red at my words, scampering off to find something to polish.

Since I'd shown her how to polish the silver, it had become her favourite hobby. Of course she still enjoyed learning her letters, and spent a great deal of time drawing the shapes with chalk on the floor and walls. To the point the crack was filled with little three letter words. But shining up my treasures brought her smiles just as bright as the silver. I allowed her to leave the crack, only as far as she could go without losing sight of it, to retrieve dull items. Once shining again, she placed them on my desk so I could put them back where they belonged.

Gathering new items, my little humans footsteps danced around just out of my sight. I was lounging on a couch, lazily considering a nap, when I heard her scream. Already on my feet and running, I ignored her rule of touch to pull her behind myself, which she accepted. Apparently I had earned the right to touch her in emergencies.

"What happened?" I asked in more of a growl than I'd intended, looking out around us for any signs of danger. My teeth were bared, pointed fangs and sharp canines forming in place of the human illusion. She held up her hand, a small bite mark on it beginning to bleed. A tunnel goblins mark, my warning system. Horrid little creatures that fled at any sign of danger and often scuttled across my hoards, creating noisy slides to alert me someone was in the final chamber before my first room.

Worry gripped me, another visitor, but now I had something more fragile to protect. I didn't wish for her to witness a fight, or rather a murder. Such an unpleasant business, as routine as it had become for me.

"Go into your carriage, lock the doors, don't come out until I come get you." Her sky eyes were filled with tears as she nodded, holding her hand to her chest as she ran off to the crack. How she had made it through all the challenges to get to me I couldn't fathom. To dodge all my vicious little monsters with nothing but a stringed instrument upon her back.

Storms of anger lifted my wings from my back, my form growing, to magnificent height, shifting into my larger proper shape. Great claws scrapped the tiles as I took flight and met the intruder at the first entrance, my gold eyes filled with the promise of death. My snarl reverberating in the tight space of packed gold.

"Stupid human, what makes you think you may enter my home?" I seethed with more rage than I had in decades. I had more important tasks at hand!

"I have come with a gift from a mighty sorcerer, prepare to meet your end, beast!" Wonderful, another fanatic simpleton armed with magic, challenging me. I didn't have time for this, my poor little changeling was injured! Opening my mighty jaws to roast this irritating creature alive, I was stunned to feel something pierce through the the top of my palate. It was driving upwards, piercing my flesh with a freezing poison.

Fire erupted in the hottest plume I'd breathed in centuries. I let out a mighty roar and shook my head, trying to get the sword to dislodge. It stuck in my mouth, freezing cold spikes radiating from it. I left the burnt remains of the wielder on the floor, fleeing back to the crack. Unfortunately my claws were not meant for removing swords, the primitive weapons never breached my glorious scales, but inside my mouth? I couldn't fit my massive form into the crack, so I laid down beside it. Trying to shift my forms didn't work, the blade only pushing deeper as I tried to shift.

Pain and discomfort were clouding my mind, along with the anger at someone using such a ridiculously sleazy tactic to gain the upper hand. I started trying to wrap my tongue around the blade to pull it out, but spikes on the guard dug into the muscle with cursed magic.

My angry grunts and hisses must have worried my little changeling, as I felt her hand upon my chin. Freezing in place, I stared down at her. When had she approached me? She was touching me of her own free will? Without time for me to protest, she stepped into my great maw. Every muscle of my body was tense, my golden eyes wide as I processed what was happening. No! She did not belong in my mouth!

I tried to push her out gently with my tongue, which earned me a disgusted shriek and a smack to my gums. Pushing forward, she grasped the guard of the blade. I could feel my cartilage trying to move with her until a searing pain filled my mouth. Clattering metal told me she'd thrown the sword out, and now she was holding some form of cloth to my wound to slow the bleeding.

This time, I succeeded in forcing her out of my mouth with my tongue, shifting to my human form and kneeling in front of her. I kept my head down, hand in my mouth to stop the blood. Why wasn't the wound healing?

"What happened?" Her soft voice questioned. She knelt down in front of me, the skirt of her dress soaked in my black magic blood. Not wanting to speak much with my fingers in my mouth, I let out a soft sigh and let my head droop more. Sword removed, I could relax now. It had been so brief, such a short period of time from her scream to my injury, I was worried it might be too much for her.

Receiving no verbal answer, she hummed softly and looked around, wanting to help. Spotting the sword, she dragged it over and set it between us.

"It's magic, right? That's how it hurt you? Your fire scorched it. It's all blackened now, you're still stronger than it." Was she... She was trying to give me a pep talk, thinking I was sad from being injured, and not simply in pain? Her odd train of thought in this situation made me chuckle. Yes, the changelings and their inability to understand emotions properly. Understanding them to a degree, as though through a warped lens.

"Never change, little thing." I tried to say, my words coming out oddly from my thumb holding the blood in. I started to laugh at how absurd I sounded, my laughter putting her at ease.

"You make no sense, let me go fetch a healing potion from your pile." Those shimmering liquids, she knew how to use them. I nodded to her as permission, and she took off running. Seeing her sprint to fetch medicine for me, I chuckled some more. How had I ended up with an nasty little sickly human caring about me so much? My precious little changeling.

Upon her return, I stared at the bottle in trepidation. Would this concoction even work on a dragon? Alas, what had I to lose? A strange wound was refusing to heal, a strange solution could be the answer. I drank the bitter liquid, shuddering as the last grainy scum of it slid down my throat. To my astonishment, the wound patched over immediately. I smiled at her, fingers clear of my mouth.

"Such a clever girl, that did the trick!" I praised her, so tempted to ruffle her fluffy golden hair. She beamed with pride, cradling her hand to her chest in such a fashion I realized she had forgotten of her own injury.

"Lets get you fixed up now, did you grab a bottle for yourself?" Her silence answered my question, prompting me to get up to my feet and stretch.

"I'll go grab it for you, no need to worry."

"Thank you"

She was the one who deserved thanks, I'd give it to her in abundance later. When I returned with the bottle, she had shifted back to her usual settee, her designated spot, and was trying to wipe the blood from her hand onto her skirt. I sat beside her and offered her the bottle, which she promptly drank. She seemed to face no issue with the bitter flavour, a surprise as they fey had specified how changelings often struggled with foods of strong tastes.

Hand healed over, she wiped the blood away one last time, then stared at her hand in confusion. curious, I glanced at the bite to see each little tooth prick had turned black, like a tattoo almost.

"How strange, their bites don't fester..." I commented in confusion, tilting my head. "We'll keep an eye on it, do you feel alright?"

Sky eyes blinked as she regained thought and nodded.

"I feel better than alright, that was a strong potion. I feel like I could lift the carriage!" She laughed, earning a chuckle from myself.

"Good, I'm glad. Please don't try to lift the carriage, you might hurt yourself." Her fingers strummed their invisible strings, and I smiled truer than I had in awhile. Reaching down to grab her astrolabe, I was surprised to feel her hand settle on my shoulder.

"Can you turn into a dragon again?" She asked in curious wonder. Handing her the device, I tilted my head.

"I suppose I could do so, for what reason?" I was already getting up and stepping out into the open. She got up, pausing when the blood soaked dress clung to her legs. I recognized that expression. Bad texture. I smiled and flitted my hand at her.

"I shall do so, go change your clothing, you're a mess." She took off gratefully to go change. I shifted my form and laid down next to the crack, closing my eyes and I curled up in comfort. I had spent quite a long time in my human form with her, it felt nice to be myself again. All snug with my tail wrapped around myself-

I opened my eyes in surprise and moved my head to look, she had a pillow and blanket with her and was climbing up onto my tail. She sunk into a nook between my tail and my arm and settled in, looking quite comfortable where she was. Tucked up against my warm smooth scales...

"You couldn't cuddle with me as a human?" I asked her teasingly, but she just patted my tail and nodded.

"Yup. Feels strange."

"Laying upon a dragon feels normal to you then?"

"More like comfortable. It reminds me of the barn."

"Many giant lizards in your old barn?"

"Shush" She hummed out a soft hush and snuggled in, peacefully relaxing against me. I felt at peace as well, tucking my head back down and taking a deep breath. This was nice. I could be myself around my little changeling, and apparently she could do so around me as well. When her breathing turned into soft little snores, I let the peace settle over me. Now was a good time for that nap.

~

Having been nagged to go outside and get some sunlight, she finally agreed to go explore the strange forest that topped the mountain of the dragons home. Always hidden in clouds, the forest of thick spiny coniferous and bushy green deciduous trees had an eternal fog about it. Damp, and slightly cold in some places, but with an eerie energy pulsing in the air. No human dared go there, but she'd always dreamed of it when looking up the mountain from her village.

Dressed in a sleek white fur coat that buckled down to her ankles, she felt cozy and snug during her exploration. Perhaps a little too warm actually, but she promised her friend that she'd take care of herself while out and about, and that meant keeping her coat on. And not climbing every tree she thought she could scamper up. He'd be rather upset if she came back covered in scratches and cuts.

Unable to keep from laughing in excitement, she climbed a huge mossy boulder and looked around. He'd wanted her to get some sunlight, but it was so dark here! Between the fog and the heavy canopy of trees, there were few beams of golden light struggling to meet the forest. Gathering her location, she spotted what looked like a light through a winding deer path and hopped off to follow it. Perhaps there would be some pretty wild flowers growing in the light, or something else of interest!

Light boots crunched damp forest earth on the path, twigs and old leaves trampled by animals. The closer she got to the light, the more excited she became. Having been in the cave for so long now, she actually missed the sun a bit. Breaking into the brightly lit round clearing brought a smile to her face. It was as though the fog dared not dwell in this space, the grass short and soft, patterned with rings of moss and mushrooms, flowers freely throughout it all.

Careful to avoid the rings within the circle, she stepped out into the light and raised her arms, feeling the warmth of the sun making her light fluffy hair warm with a glow. Soft laughter left her as she reached for the sky, she'd have to bring him here to enjoy this light and space!

Before she'd finished enjoying the warm glow, she heard something that made her tense in fear. Sky blue eyes focused, arms going to her neck to a whistle she'd been given as protection. Somehow, a stranger had gotten to the centre of the clearing while she'd been distracted, standing in the middle of the smallest ring of mushrooms. They were dressed in a light flowing dress barely suited to be a night gown, definitely ill suited for the shifting cold and shade of the woods. Unnatural pink hair like a wild rose, strange shocking sky blue eyes much like her own, and skin as pale as a newborn piglet.

"Oh dear, are you lost?" The strange woman questioned in a sing-song voice that sent shivers up her spine. "This isn't a place for humans, darling. This is the land of strange creatures, of fairytale monsters and scheming wretched beings." How ominously this strange woman spoke, setting off the alarms in her head.

"No, I'm not lost. I wanted to avoid the other humans, it's quiet here and I enjoy the peace." Her hands weren't cold, but she fidgeted with her thin gloves, tugging at the shiny beads sewn to the tops of them. They'd probably come off if she weren't careful, but she dare not reach for the shifting pendent in her pocket.

"A human that dislikes other humans, how strange. How did you even get this far into the forest? Humans never get past the first ring of the tree line." Their voice was so smooth and creepy, unnatural and lulling. As though the stranger of the woods were trying to soothe the visiting woman to sleep. Considering blowing on the whistle, she felt nervous of this situation. She didn't want to rely so heavily on her friend, but this stranger felt so wrong. They weren't acting like other people did, speaking so strangely.

Having studied people to try and fit in with them, she was well aware of the little nuances this stranger was missing. Not trying to force eye contact, not closing the distance between them. Speaking in strange tones. Granted she struggled with the tones of voices, but the tones this stranger was using were more suited to when people were saying cruel words or telling stories to scare others.

"My friend brought me up the mountain to go outside, so my village wouldn't find me to take me back home. My friend lives in the mountain, he flies up through the forest a lot." She tried to explain herself, why she was there, that her friend was possibly nearby, or could fly overhead and see them. Finally this stranger started closing the distance, or so she thought at first. They were stepping from the circle to others, using paths through where the circles crossed. Slowly weaving through the clearing, working their way closer through an insipid dance of turns and twists. Did they memorize that unnecessarily redundant path?

Her boots shifted, shiny beads and pearls reflecting the vivid grass. She wasn't within the circles, somehow she felt that it would be safer that way. But her instincts weren't usually right when dealing with people. She grew nervous as the stranger closed in on her, swallowing her nerves as the first bead popped off her glove.

"A flying friend? Are you perchance friends with that giant lizard of fire that dwells within the mountain this forest rests upon? Such an odd being for a silly little human to befriend. What makes you so special, I wonder? Maybe your strange eyes, they are rather uncommon among the humans these days. Or your thin flat hair like dried grass. That isn't seen among the humans very much anymore either." They were too close! The stranger was far too close! But to move away would offend them, people always got offended when she moved away from them. Her brows knit and she ended up taking the gloves off, twisting them like wet rags.

"We-we're not friends because of how I look. He let me stay with him when I ran away from home. I wasn't comfortable at home, they wanted me to marry a man and leave the barn and live with him in his home and I didn't want to, so I ran to the mountain and found my way inside and he took me in. He cares about me, he doesn't talk about how I look. I'm not strange, I look different but that's okay. My mother looked different too." Her words were pouring out of her, nervous and needing to defend herself. Explain herself. Raising their brow, the stranger leaned in to them, the space between them mere inches now.

"Pl-please step back, you're making me nervous and saying rude things about me!" At that particular outburst, the stranger stepped back, hand going to their chest in shock as they gasped.

"Me? Rude? How dare you! I was simply wondering why you're so special to a dragon of all beings!" Their pink hair seemed to fluff up like an irritated cat, eyes narrowing and lips arching in a silent snarl. Her heart was thumping wildly, whatever this non-human creature was, they were mad at her now! But instead of smoothing things over, she knew her next words weren't well chosen the second they left her mouth and not a moment sooner.

"I don't know who you are and you're talking about me like I'm a freak. You're in my personal space, I can feel your breath on my face, and now you're snapping at me! You're very rude and I don't need to listen to mean people when I don't even know them!" Well shit, that'd definitely explain things to and calm down the stranger. Sarcasm. Explaining her feelings almost never fixed the situation. Steeling herself for the strangers reaction, she found herself surprised when the stranger merely huffed and crossed their arms, moving away.

"I don't mean to accuse you of being a freak. I simply meant to say that your appearances are no longer common among your people. But it appears humans are not your people. The way you torture those gloves, it's obvious you're not like them. Tell me, do they call you a changeling?"

Changeling. She remembered that word! Her friend had mentioned he'd learned the word from a fey, about how it used to be a common accusation for strange humans like herself. Humans that didn't fit in, whose hands never sat still and eyes never made contact. But that meant she was talking to a fey, and that was dangerous. Immediately on higher alert that she thought possible, she tucked the gloves into her pockets and started twisting and tugging her fingers with vigour.

"Why should I tell you anything, you haven't even given me your name yet!" Her eyes went wide. That was... She hadn't really planned what she was going to say, but this was perfect! Words the fey used! She remembered faintly from the few stories she'd overheard over the years.

"You have not given me your name either. They call me Cipher." The fey introduced themselves with a polite little bow. Biting her lip, she had to confirm.

"Your name is Cipher then?" She asked to an irritated glare.

"Yes I just told you that, now give me your name. "

"Thank you for giving me your name first." She giggled, energy bursting within her as she realized she'd actually won! She never won battles of wits! She always said something wrong! Always fucked up somehow!

"Wait, did you just… how did you..?" The fey was sputtering now, the pupils within their sky blue eyes shifting to slits, their hair parting and curving upwards until it hardened into two large horns. Their skin went a deathly white, like a cloud on a bright day.

"No I didn't, you asked me what my name was- I-" She shook her head, her smile as wide as a kid on Christmas.

"No, I said you hadn't given me your name. You thought I'd said it the normal way, but I said it your way!" She giggled cheerfully, shifting her weight from side to side, rocking with excitement. Looking pissed off as hell, the fey shook their horned head and tried to grab her, unable to reach past the edge of the circle.

"Listen, you little brat, I swear to your god-" Ohhh that was the angry tone, she held up her hands to stop the fey, her own sky blue eyes wide with adrenaline.

"You're being mean again. I've heard fairy stories, you're mad I took your name. I'll give it back if you promise me a favour. But I don't want to get into trouble or have any big problems, I was just scared you were going to trick me, and I know I'm easy to trick so I had to do it first." Now the fey looked dumbfounded. This changeling barely knew how the fey worked, knew only small stories, but called themselves an idiot and said they'd completed the feat of tricking a fey because they were scared??? Granted the fey had been off guard because they thought this woman was an idiot...

Slowly breaking into a grin, the fey nodded. They had been beat, this time, but they could work with a changeling who didn't know much.

"Alright. You mention this to no one, return my name and never speak it, and I shall give you one favour to be called in when you're ready. As well as a means to call me. Does that sound fair to you?" She smiled happily, seeming surprisingly relaxed. Dangerously relaxed.

"Only if I can tell my friend. I'll make him promise not to tell anyone else, but I tell him everything." Huffing, the fey reluctantly agreed, figuring this idiot wouldn't make the deal without that condition.

"It is agreed then. You renounce all rights to my name, and give your word that you will only tell your friend and no one else, and I shall return the deed with a favour, to be called upon when you're ready. As well as a way to reach me." She nodded to this and reluctantly offered her hand.

"We shake on it." A human custom, but it counted as well as ones word. It was a humans way of giving their word. Shaking on the deal, the fey glared at the woman before smoothing their horns back into hair.

"When you need me, draw a circle and stand in the centre. Speak my name so that no one might hear, and I shall come." Nodding, she turned around to leave, before pausing and looking back at the fey.

"The town elder called me a changeling, but my mother protected me from him. He was scared of her. If you weren't so dangerous, I'd be happy to have another friend. But you're mean and sneaky. If you ever decide to change that, friends don't hold favours over other friends heads." Leaving at that, she followed her exact path back to where the great dragon had dropped her off. A huge hole in the forest that fell into darkness, the entrance to the cave for the dragon. Telling him this story would be so exciting! But she didn't think she'd ask to explore the forest again. Gaining an extra name was lucky, the next time she went in, she might lose one. Far too big a risk.

She blew the golden whistle and peered into the darkness. It was time to go home.

~

Rainy season storms kept the intruders at bay. The main hold of the hoard was sparkling, water beading on gold as it fell from the opening high above. Silver ribbons streamed in little rivers between the mounds, draining through the lower caves and disappearing into dark cracks. A peaceful mix of sounds, soothing her mind as she sat on the elevated ground of the home crack and scribbled her words on smooth stone.

Learning fast, she was mostly working on perfecting her legibility. She remembered the letters and words quite well, but her hand just couldn't make the shapes small or precise. The calming nature of the practice was nice though, coupling well with the sounds. Laying on an oversized ottoman was the dragon, playing with the tassels that decorated it. A being of fire, he wasn't fond of the rain. It was cold and wet, it made him shiver and tarnished his precious hoard!

"Oh how I loathe this weather. How can you enjoy this cacophony of noise?" Looking up from her work, she smiled with a hint of a giggle to him.

"It sounds nice, I like how gentle it sounds, and the raindrops sounds like music. Drip drip drop, drip drip drop" She sang cheerfully, rocking from side to side with a rhythm only she seemed to hear.

"It sounds lovely coming from you, but I can't quite say I'm fond of the real sound." He grumbled, blowing a little puff of smoke between his lips in frustration. "I wish to go for a flight, but in this dreadful storm I'll surely find myself a victim of wretched weather." His long gold filled braids jingled as he rolled over. Spending so much more of his time in his human form, he'd been steadily adding more gold to his hair over time.

Setting the chalk and dusty cloth she'd been using down, she stretched her body up. Bare feet pattered across the chilled stone as she made her way over to him. Never being a fan of shoes, she'd refused to wear them with her newfound freedom! She'd even swept the small sharp stones aside to keep her feet safe in her new home.

"You go flying a lot, I want to try it." She was nervous but excited, feet bouncing as she pulled up a (gold) embroidered chair and popped down. He looked up to her with a raised brow, tilting his head curiously.

"You wish to go for a flight? Humans aren't meant for the skies, my little changeling. I wouldn't enjoy seeing you fall from my back. If I had to catch you with my claws, I could cause you injury." Nervous fit his words, but he was far more than that. Scared even. He couldn't imagine causing his little flightless friend to get hurt. He'd grown far too fond of having her around, fond of her even. He dared say he cared for her.

"What if I wasn't on your back, and I had a safe pouch or saddle to ride in?" She had been thinking about this, about making a pouch to strap around his great giant neck. Something like a harness with a pocket.

He stared at her as though she were stupid. "You wish to do what? A saddle upon such a great beast such as myself? I am no horse!" His indignation quickly melted when she shrunk back into the chair and looked down in shame, tugging at her fingers.

"My apologies, little changeling. I'm not mad at you. I'm not upset I promise you. I'm shocked is all. Surprised that a little human would wish to create a saddle and ride a dragon of all things. You're quite the strange little creature." Looking back up, she nodded, a hint of a smile returning to her with the assurances she wasn't in trouble.

"We can measure your neck and I can make a giant strap to buckle around it! Then if I tie a pouch to it, I can ride in it! It'll be safe!" Her excitement shifted to hand flapping and head bobbing, thinking she had come up with a perfect solution. Such a cute little thing, his strange curious changeling was. To her surprise, he chuckled and sat up, naked form shivering from the cold air licking his skin.

"Goddesses blast it, why must the very air be so cold?" He wrapped his arms around himself and pouted before he continued speaking.

"We dragons already have pouches, my dear. We use them to carry our fledglings and gold when we fly. I'm not certain it would be safe for a human, but with some clever craftsmanship and careful planning, we could create something to make it safe for you." Sky blue eyes lighting up, she reached forward to happily grasp his hand for a few seconds before shifting to sit next to him on the ottoman.

Briefly holding hands was her version of hugs, and the fact that this little changeling who couldn't stand her own mothers hugs would choose to hold his hand was enough to warm his skin from the inside. Smiling warmly, he tilted his head to her. Warmth erupted inside him once more when she gently nudged his head with hers. She'd taken so naturally to the mannerisms of dragons. Especially as she grew more comfortable with him.

"Can I see your pouch? So I can start planning?" She asked excitedly, watching the gold sway in his hair. A chuckle left him, eyes of honey and whisky looking down at her.

"I promise I shall show you the moment the lair warms up. All of this water running through my home, I'd rather stay in the warmth of the split, cozy among the crystals and couches." Nodding in agreement, she looked out of the warm sub cave, glowing yellow crystals that exuded heat kept the cold at bay. Outside was cold, grey. The gold glittered faintly with dulled tones. It was lovely, but from a distance.

"You know you would feel warmer if you put on some clothing, right? Laying around naked is cold." Having found a warm furry white cloak in the trunks, she had been wearing it while writing her words. Lifting it off her shoulders, she went to lay it over his. He shrunk away like a child, leaning to the side.

"Stop squirming away! Put the cloak on!" Amusement was clear in her voice as she crawled around the ottoman chasing him with it.

"No! My glorious form is worthy of the gods, I shan't hide my beautiful body just to-" Surprising him by jumping on him, she put the cloak over him. Almost immediately he stopped squirming, eyes momentarily glowing gold before he calmed down.

"You're sitting on me." Quiet shock from the dragon.

"The cloak is warm, right?" Hummed the changeling, happily.

"Very." He snuggled into it, eyes closing in peace.

Surprising herself, she stayed sat upon him, smiling down at him, looking at all the pretty little gold bits in his hair.

"White looks so strange on you, you only ever wear gold." Having taken her moment, she slipped off him and sat next to the dragon. Tenderly, she shifted one of his braids, running her thumb across the gold band. A warm smile settled on his face, enjoying the attention.

"Perhaps I shall fetch some clothes of bright shining sunlight, so as to not look strange to you." With a smile on his face, he puffed a little flame out to impress her.

"You can get normal clothes, you're the bright shining sunlight." Not flirting at all, but it was the first thing to come to her mind. Shifting to lay next to him, she pulled an amulet out of her dress and started tracing the swirly patterns with her thumbs. Music of the rain filled the silence around them, the occasional clink of the amulets chain grabbing the dragons attention. He looked over to her fluttering hands...

Sound faded away, the world went silent as death. Her hand... Where the wretched little goblin had bit her. The black marks where the teeth had pierced were spreading in webbed veins across her hand and down her wrist. Breaking the rules, he grabbed her hand and pulled it to his face, ignoring her immediate attempts to pull away.

"It's gotten worse, when did this happen? Why didn't you show me?" Her tugging got harder and a displeased noise left her. Releasing her hand, he sat up and looked down at her. Squirming, flapping her hands and frowning intensely.

"It doesn't hurt." She insisted in discomfort, withdrawing. Shit, he'd only made things worse. He went to speak her name, to scold her, only to freeze as he realized. He didn't know her name. He'd just been calling her changeling, human, little one.

"I don't know your name." He spoke in shock, hand hovering over her, desperate to comfort her, hold her, make sure she was okay. He'd been working so hard to make his little changeling happy, and he'd never even gotten her name. She didn't answer him, laying there in silence and fraying his nerves.

"Please my little changeling, tell me your name." Pleading was no shame, wanting to know about her as though that might fix this problem. Frowning to his request, she turned on her side away from him. Tugging her fingers and making them pop uncomfortably.

"I don't want to." The chill in her voice rattled him, he'd really fucked up.

"Please, my little changeling. I don't wish for you to be hurt. I don't know if this is hurting you. I only wish to help you. Please. I wish to know your name. I wish to help you. These markings on your hand are not normal. Magic is dangerous for humans." His hand hovered over her, then settled on the space adjacent.

"Please darling. Let me help you." Pleading still, he dug his claws into the ottoman in frustration.

Finally she gave in, not liking to leave things hanging.

"I don't like my name. I want a new one. My hand is okay. It doesn't hurt, I don't feel weak." So upset, he'd upset his little changeling so badly and it was all his fault. Shifting the cloak back onto her, he eased his claws free of the material and moved away. Some space might help calm her. Looking out at the water streaming by, he sighed deeply.

"Go rest in your carriage, little one. We'll speak about this when you feel better, okay?" He felt so cold now. He'd fucked up so much. Moving to get up, she hugged the cloak around herself. Hesitating before moving past him, she returned the cloak to his shoulders and scampered off to her carriage. A small sign she still cared for him. It was a relief, and he held it close to himself for comfort.

Water continued to echo through the caves. Standing, staring out at the silver ribbons, he sighed deeply. His poor changeling. What was he going to do.

[angelharness]

I don’t know if I’m happy with how I portrayed Danny here, I wanted to make it somewhat apparent he does genuinely care for you but it kind of got lost. He does, though!

Embroidered Tea Cozy

WARNINGS: mostly fluff but implied murder

DANNY JOHNSON / THE GHOSTFACE

Work has left you considerably more bitter than it normally does. You’re already picking at the buttons of your company polo as you push through the front door. Shuffling out of your rigid work shoes, you take a moment to rub at your aching heels, freed from the creased leather.

Especially nasty customers, a foul lunch you couldn’t finish, and the onset of new pains in your back has you in a sour mood. Thinking about making dinner, even though realistically you’ll just be reheating soup, makes you grumble.

When you turn back from shutting and locking the door, you finally notice the lights in the house are on, something you’d been too groggy to observe while trudging up the front steps.

“...Danny?” you call out, almost warily. The television is on, set to the news as a reporter guides the cameraman about a neighborhood street. In the kitchen, multiple cupboards are flung open, mismatched pots stacked on the floor, silver, lopsided towers. On the counter are two or so white grocery bags, slouched over but not unpacked. Down the hall, the bathroom door is propped open by a plastic trash bin.

Danny never came home before you. He worked consistently late, something you’d grudgingly grown used to, as much as you hated your lessening time with him.

“Danny,” you call a second time, starting to shuffle further into the living room. You shrug off your coat and fold it over the back of the couch, attention directed now to the bathroom where you catch the shadow of a slouched figure splayed across the tiled, gentle yellow wall. The sound of determined scrubbing stops. A lengthy pause draws you closer, prompting the figure to shoot up.

Danny says your name, it’s a question—then, “sweetheart?”

He emerges from the restroom, only halfway in the doorway. You then notice the array of cleaning products at his feet. Bags of powder and unlabeled spray bottles, a collection of brushes and ratty sponges. He’s even fetched the bottle of white vinegar you keep above the oven. Cornstarch, talcum powder… he notices your eyes wandering and steps forward, one hand still clutching the bathroom wall, out of view.

He turns to look at a clock that isn’t in view, then settles on you, fixing a sweet smile on his face.

“Welcome home,” he acknowledges. He frantically whips a hand side to side when you step forward.

“You’re home early,” you say, attempting to peer past him, “what’re you doing?”

You take note of the glossy gloves and apron he’s wearing, the hem wet.

“You were complaining that the tub was pretty nasty, and it was starting to irritate me, too,” Danny explains, appearing shy, boyish. He goes to scratch at the back of his neck but the unexpectedly damp rubber of the gloves makes him flinch. He returns his hand to his side, before he thinks to pretend to fumble with the bow of the apron.

He’s always been prone to go on random cleaning sprees, and takes advantage of the burst of motivation to give just about everything a good wiping down.

“Ah,” you breathe out, as if relieved, and smile appreciatively at him as you nudge past towards your bedroom. After peeling your socks off and heaving your work bag up onto your bed, you walk back out into the hall, only to be rushed along by a mildly frazzled Danny.

“I was going to make you dinner…” he explains as you arrive at the mess in the kitchen. He takes a second to push cookware back into the depths of a cupboard.

“Baked penne,” he finishes a second later, straightening with a huff. He looks sheepish and young when he turns to look at you and smile smally.

“Oh, Danny…” You feel your previously tart mood sweeten a little. He’s never been a brilliant cook, but he puts in more effort than you know you have.

“I’d feel bad to make you cook for me,” you say, turning to him as he swoops you into a close hug. “‘S fine,” he smiles into the crook of your neck, crooked nose in your shoulder, then pulls away to shoo you towards the living room. (Was it always crooked? You steal a glance at his face, a waxy blue blooming under the skin of the bridge of his nose. A tenderly recent bruise.)

“Have a seat, I’ll make you some tea then finish dinner.”

He hums as he leads you along to sit, recovering the remote from the seat cushion to change the channel just as the Ghostface mask blinks on screen with a red banner of text you don’t get to finish reading. More deaths linked to Ghostface killer after—

You remark how nervous the recent murders have made you, and Danny says nothing. You hear him pad back over to the kitchen as he retrieves a kettle. The kitchen faucet croaks, sprays water, the television is playing some home renovation show. You find your eyes wandering to the window and the dark, indistinct landscape beyond, focusing on movement that’s not there. Watery, shifting blackness. Danny laughs a short laugh at your worry, apparently unbothered. He never said anything on the matter of the Ghostface killer, but seems comfortable enough still leaving the sliding glass doors unlocked no matter how much you pester him.

He returns with your tea shortly after, and to press a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

“Dinner will take a little longer,” he explains apologetically. Pauses. “Want me to rub your back?”

You snort and kick your feet up onto the cluttered coffee table. He’s serious, though, and you give a noncommittal shrug. He seems to be in a good mood now that he’s recovered from your unexpectedly early return, however. His cheeks are creased with a fat smile. He strokes your cheek as he leaves, cold skin, not rubber—when did he shed the gloves?

On the stovetop, he sets a tall pot of water to boil, then disappears into the hall. The light of the bathroom clicks off, then the hallway light, and he appears from the dark doorway like a wraith from frothy mist. It still spooks you how silent he can be.

“You gonna sit down?” you ask, feeling a little useless as you watch on from your place on the couch.

“As soon as I get this in the oven,” Danny says, popping open a jar of variously seasoned pasta sauce.

He comes back around to refill your tea. It’s weirdly domestic seeing him like this, brandishing a teapot painted with shiny hummingbirds and lilies, in an apron, juggling dinner and cleaning. You smile to yourself. As he retracts, you reach out to rub the dent in his nose, to which he stills. He lifts his free hand to touch it for himself, feeling out the bent cartilage.

“How’d that happen, Danny?” you ask, turning fully to him. Your hands twitch, wanting to take his face into your palms.

“I don’t know, I didn’t notice that,” he replies, fingertips still lingering on the area. He should’ve said he hit it on the counter, he thinks too late. He turns away and towards the kitchen, both hands on the base of the teapot. You don’t get to see his wide eyes, a tremble in his hands that disturbs the tea. The scalding ceramic sears his palm. He almost tosses the teapot onto the counter and turns over his hand, the skin there all red and irritated. He forgot to put the cozy on. It’s still in a moving box with all those hand-embroidered dish towels.

Danny manifests by your side to place an innocently-intentioned kiss at the base of your neck. The skin of it stings with goosebumps from his cold lips. Still, you lean back into him.

“You look so nice tonight, today.”

You don’t feel like it, feeling a little gross—if anything— clammy at the fingers and with sweat at your neck and forehead, but he reassures you with a torrent of kisses.

“You always manage to be stunning,” he insists as he draws back. The way his eyes stay intently on your face, you believe that he does indeed see something in you.

“Dunno how you think that,” you say, but softly and with affection. You tug him close so that he stays a moment longer.

When you finish your second mug of tea, he swoops in in an instant to claim it from you and runs it under hot water in the sink. He stays there for an extra minute, turning both his hands over multiple times under the flow of water, even as his skin stings and blushes. He picks out crusted blood from beneath a nail with a tight scowl. He worries over if there’s anything else he missed.

Dinner goes into the oven, (it’ll be forty minutes) and now he’s just gotta confine you to the front of the house. On cue, you tug at the hem of your scratchy polo and stand.

“I feel so gross,” you laugh a little, but you still manage to be unbearably pretty, he insists in his head. “I’m gonna hop in the shower.”

You start over to the hall, but Danny quickly encircles you in his arms from behind, pulling you tight to his torso. His thumb rubs circles on your belly, masking the flicker of fear as perhaps excitement to be with you.

“I’ll run a bath for you, alright? You should rest,” he suggests, and when you hesitate he strains his head over your shoulder so you can see his concern. You smile, none the wiser.

“Alright,” you give in, a pause where you wanted to say more, then slip into your bedroom to shuck off your clothes.

Danny listens to you sort through drawers on the other side of the wall as he steps into the backroom. He thought he had another hour. He’s usually not so careless, doing everything, even what was previously unplanned, on a schedule to which he is unquestionably loyal. The time change threw him off, if only he had cared to fix the clocks, he thinks bitterly as he scrubs away the rest of the lines of blood that trail to the bath’s drain. The red goes down with a spume of bath water.

The smell of so many intense cleaning products used to make his eyes water, but now he can withstand the artificial, sour lavender and coppery tang. You always complain lightheartedly when he cleans, but you don’t appear to think much more about it. He rinses the tub multiple times over before he actually draws you the bath he promised. While you’re still occupied in your shared room, he returns the supplies back to the area under the sink in the kitchen. He’ll have to wait to dispose of the gloves, now that you’re home.

Still, he feels floaty from the kill, having to force away the too-wide smile from his mouth. He sucks on the wound on the inside of his mouth from when he bit down from excitement. It’s still fresh and raw. He swallows blood. You’re attentive enough to have noticed his crooked nose, but somehow not the scratch marks on his wrist which he attempts to hide by tugging down his shirt sleeve. It will be a pain to deal with, but that’s for later down the line.

Steam curls up from the sheeny water. He pours in a cap-full of bubble bath that works instantly, giving rise to sweetly-smelling, pink soap. He stirs the water with a hand—it’s only warm, but the shallow marks on his wrist sting slightly. He could do with a thorough shower of his own. You enter and pull a suitable towel from its hook, joining him beside the bath.

He looks at you and smiles, rises, then hugs you close. You swat him.

“Wait till I’m dressed, maybe,” you chuckle, but you let him rest his head on your shoulder and trace the slope of your collarbone. You thumb away the irritated tears that wet your eyes. You don’t get how he stands the smell.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” he says, entirely earnest. He is. He loves you, he’s pretty sure. Your lips lift in a smile and you stroke his shoulder. You want to say you are too, that you’re so grateful for him, but by the time you decide on the words it feels inappropriately late.

“You’re in a good mood,” you observe, shifting so you can look at him. His smile lines have become more prominent since the two of you got together. Comparatively, he always notes how your eyes glitter more around him.

“You’re home,” he replies; his reasoning. He hugs you again, taking you in, and turns back to the tub to turn the water off just as you step in.

One careful foot then the other, then you let yourself slide down to sit. Warm, floral water foams around you. You sigh contentedly.

“I’ll set the table,” Danny says. He squeezes your hand and lifts it from the water to look it over, running his fingers along your knuckles, along the path of the lines in your palm. Then he stands and leaves.

He seizes the remote, switching back over to the news station, then sets off to claim plates and silverware. As he loops around the dinner table, straightening napkins, he watches, heart hammering, the picture of him in the mask and robes slide onto the screen. It’s taken from the backyard security camera of a home just a handful of blocks away. He stands on the back porch, mask tilted upward at the viewer, striking a peace sign in the same hand he grips a wet knife. Behind him, a body crumpled in the grass, hard to discern from the dark of the night but definitely there, he knows first hand.