#I started with days and I bristle whenever someone tries to insist you ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO DO IT RELEASE ORDER

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Obey Me Brothers as catboys or dogboys

Lucifer

- Even though he has a dog, I'm saying he's a cat. An extremely prideful asshole cat that thinks you should worship the ground be walks on

- Probably a short-haired breed but still insists that you brush his tail 100 times before bed. Secretly loves having you brush him, and always smirks like the cat who got the cream whenever you give into his demands

- He will not let you brush his hair. Why? Because one time you were doing it and absent mindedly scratched at the base of his ear. He was purring and leaning into your touch before he realized what he was doing. Promptly turned bright red and hustled away, and now refuses to let you touch his hair for any reason

Mammon

- Mammon is absolutely a whiny, needy kitty. Complains that he should be spoiled and pampered but is secretly happy with any scrap of affection you're willing to give.

- Is that cat that will curl up on your chest at night and suffocate you with his tail

- If he rolls over and shows you his belly, he's one of the rare cats that don't do this to trick you. You're the only person in the world that he'll accept tummy rubs from. He always melts and purrs and wiggles around, eventually turning to a little puddle of melted Mammon goo

- He tried catnip once and got into a staring contest with one of Levi's figurines before trying to eat Henry 2.0

Leviathan

- Honestly, I can see Levi as a dog or a cat, so we'll do both real quick!

Doggy Levi:

- A rare lazy boy that Does Not Like fetch. He thinks it's so backwards and rude! You offer a precious, beloved toy to your owner so that they too can relish in the joy that it brings, only for them throw it?! Throw away his generous offer, just to make him chase it down to offer to you again, only to repeat the vicious cycle?! No way, no how!

- Has cute floppy ears that are always a little shaggy cuz he doesn't like haircuts. They're lightweight enough to be blown back by moderate wind, and his brothers tease him for his 'majestic flowing hair'

- Eager tsundere trots up to when you get home from work, but doesn't say anything. He just kinda... stares at you, because he's happy that you're home but he doesn't know how to tell you that

- Very sensitive to rejection! Please do not shout at him or use negative reinforcement while training! It will not only make him cry, but will absolutely result in lots of sulking and pouting and passive-aggressiveness for the next week.

Now Cat Levi:

- A lot like dog Levi in that he's very lazy. Likes to lounge around with the video games you got him and... not much else

- Very elusive! Ofc there's his room, but you might find him atop the bookshelf or under the bed at random intervals

- Absolutely loves animes with catgirls in them. The Nekopara OP was his designated theme song for a 6 month period, once. You now have Shiny Happy Days ingrained into your memory whether you like it or not

- Likes jingly balls a lot! Just the little plastic ones with a cheap metal bell inside. Like $2 for a pack of three and he's the happiest cat in the block. He finds their gentle ringing soothing

Satan

- Do I even need to say it? He's a dog

...

- I'm kidding. Satan's a cat

- If like... any generic lawyer, a generic brooding angsty teen with daddy issues, like half a frat boy for childish pranks, and Capper from the MLP movie combined, you'd get something akin to catboy Satan

- What I mean is, extremely smug and occasionally obnoxious in all the way cats are, while also being very well spoken and using several big words

- He. Is. A TERROR! Demands you feed him at 3 in the morning. Pushes things off counters just to hear them crash and laugh at your frantic scrambling when you come to see what just broke.

- Probably brings you critters too, but not in the, 'I care about you so I brought you this rabbit I caught' way. More in the, 'I caught this innocent squirrel and have let it loose in your house just to watch you dance' kind of way

- THIS IS THE CAT THAT IF HE SHOWS YOU HIS BELLY, DO NOT ENGAGE. IT IS A TRAP. HE WILL HURT YOU. HE'S GOING TO BITE YOU

Asmodeus

- The perfect purebred with the longest, silkiest fur, and he just has to let it be known that He's A Purebred You Guys

- Probably a turkish angora, with the most luxurious fur you've ever felt. It makes all of bragging worth it, whenever he wiggles into your lap and rubs his head on your chest until you take the hint and start spoiling him

- He absolutely loves you, because you're the only one that gives him this kind of affection. You have the gentlest hands, and always know just the right way to pet him.

- Loves wearing the collar you got him, struts around like he's a king showing off for the peasants, because it's a gift from you so that makes it priceless

- Is the only cat that doesn't fight you on bath time. He actually really likes water, especially when it's really warm and bubbly. The fastest way to Asmo's heart is to draw him a bath and then wash his hair, praising his perfect slender shoulders and soft creamy skin.

- Likes to sleep tucked up under your arm and cuddled into your side. Tangles his legs with yours and goes to sleep purring, rubbing his cheek against you

Beelzebub

- THE GOODEST BOY

- Beel is an extremely well behaved doggy, and he absolutely lives to please. He's the most enthusiastic when it comes to training, and he really is the best. Sit, shake, stay, heel, retrieve, he knows it all

- He likes learning new tricks partially because it makes you happy, but also because he always gets treats while learning. If you teach him through his stomach, he'll truly be the best there is

- Beel is absolutely addicted to your people food. You don't let them use the oven after someone accidentally gave everyone food poisoning, so you do all the cooking. And he's always right there when you're in the kitchen, whining and drooling because he wants some!

- Begging was the one bad habit you never manage to break.

- You take one look at his begging puppy dog eyes and his tail starts wagging so fast you think he might accidentally take flight. He looks so excited that you can't help yourself from always giving him a little sample

Belphegor

- Belphie, unlike his brother, is a cat. A very troublesome cat

- Will take naps anywhere. And I mean anywhere. On top of the fridge, on the roof of your car, in the freezer on a particularly hot day, in the dryer, under your bed, under his bed, on his siblings, anywhere is fair game.

- Will come lay in your lap without warning at the most random times, and refuse to move. Guilting you with, "It's illegal to wake up sleeping kittens, isn't that what you said?" if you try to move

- Very lazy, very smug boy, that won't lift a finger to do anything if he thinks he can get you to do it instead.

- Very shaggy, overgrown fur. Hates being brushed unless you use the soft bristle one, cuz it slowly coaxes him to sleep everytime you use it.

[kcatta-wodahs]

OM Demon Brothers react to MC in a Depressive Episode

sometimes even a human wants to sleep for 16 hours in a day no big deal

Lucifer

He can’t help but wonder what has happened. For some reason, your every smile has become fleeting. A flash of gratitude, and then your face returns to the blankness that seems to have become normal.

He saw you staring out the window at noon, and walked by again at three to see that you hadn’t moved an inch.

He notices that you look at the clock more often, and once 7 o’clock hits you immediately retreat to your bedroom. He notices that you don’t talk during breakfast or dinner anymore.

When he decides to learn what has happened, he fully expects to have to kill someone. He isn’t prepared to face off the response of “this just happens sometimes.”

He insists you explain. You’re so tired, but you do the best you can. The joy that is in every day just seems so impossible to reach now. It should get better in a week or two.

Lucifer wants to fight against this unseen enemy, but it seems that there’s nothing he can do. You promise to get your chores and homework done as usual, and he has no reasonable reason to request anything more.

So he makes sure you’re still taking care of yourself. If he catches you staring at the wall for hours on end, he gets you water. He draws a bath for you at the end of the day. He provides you with headphones and music to soothe your mind. His favorite tracks for the end of a long day.

He doesn’t pressure you to return to normal, but you can be damn sure he’s watching carefully to make sure to help pull you up when you need it.

Mammon

You spend all day in your room now. Your responses to him on your D.D.D. consist of one or two words.

Has he done something to spite you? Are you pushing him away? One day, after about five full of worrying and trying to come up with the most exciting plans possible to make you want to hang out with him, he demands answers.

He knocks on your door, puffed up with indignation, ready to let you know that you have no right to ignore your FIRST 

But all of the fight drains out of him when you open the door and he sees the exhaustion on your face. The blanket that came with you to open the door, and the puffy eyes,

“Why didn’t you just tell me you were sick, you dumbass?!” 

You didn’t want to bother him. It wasn’t that big of a deal, and he wouldn’t have any fun with you in this state anyway. And it’s not like you’re sick sick. 

He flicks your forehead with a finger and glares at you. He tells you he doesn’t care about having fun or being bothered. You’re supposed to tell him when you need something. Him before anyone else.

You tell him that you don’t know what you need. You can’t get yourself to talk to anyone.

He decides that’s fine and all, but he’s not leaving your side if you can’t respond to his texts, so you better get used to your new roommate until you get better. 

You’re worried about this arrangement, worried that he’s overextending himself or upset with you, but those worries get fainter and fainter the longer he hugs you. 

Leviathan

He’s seen you stare at the TV for an hour, the background music of the Devilbox 3 playing on a loop. He’s seen you flip between game icons for ten minutes. Then you click on one, and the second the title screen comes up you change your mind and exit the game. He’s seen you do the same for anime to watch, or even taking that long to decide which app to open on your D.D.D.

He hears the long sighs that you give. The ones you don’t even notice from being so numb.

Levi isn’t a stranger to depression. He starts to figure it out pretty quickly. 

He offers things that he wanted on his worst days. He holds you and cuddles you, and tells you that you’re perfect.

Whenever your depression convinces you to refute him, he fights it back with loving words and stubbornness. You are perfect, and your brain is just wrong.

When he gets through to you enough to admit that you just don’t have the energy to invest in any games, even the ones you love, he offers to play them for you.

You think it’s a little silly at first, but eventually find that mindlessly watching him try to navigate a new platformer is far more calming than trying to decide on something to do yourself.

You curl up against him while watching him play, and for the first time in several days, you feel a bit of contentment breathe through the numbness. 

Beelzebub

Beel gets worried when he doesn’t see you at breakfast. And then he doesn’t see you at dinner. And then breakfast the next day.

For a moment, he worries that you’re actually lost and injured somewhere, but his brothers assure him that you went to school yesterday for sure, and walked home with them too.

Still, he comes to visit you when you don’t come to lunch the next day - on a weekend. 

You force a smile for him when you open the door, and thank him for the meal he brought.

He sees that your room is littered with empty snack bags.

“Is that all you’ve been eating?” he asks, gesturing to them.

You quickly apologize and start cleaning them up, trying to sound fine.

“Why aren’t you coming to meals? Did someone curse you?” he asks, bristling protectively.

You’re just not hungry, you explain. Everything is okay.

But the state of your room, the nest of blankets on your bed, that tells a different story.

Beel doesn’t know how to explain what is so clear to him. Something is wrong, but he can’t find the words. 

“Can I stay with you, then?”

You are surprised by his words, but he comes over and hugs you before you can respond.

“I’ll bring you dinner. And breakfast. Okay?”

Your heart melts right into his embrace, along with you. You can’t explain what’s going on, but you know this helps.

Asmodeus

Baby. Oh, honey. Darling. It’ll be okay.

He showers you with love and compliments and snuggles.

He treats you to a spa day, and absolutely refuses to hear any protests about how much he’s doing for you.

He insists that it's for both of you, because he would NEVER pass up on a spa day!

Having clear skin helps have a clear mind, he says. 

And taking care of yourself is the best way to prove to the world that you are worth it.

To prove to yourself.

He wants you to know that you are worth it. Every second.

And he ensures that you treat yourself.

If you can’t bring yourself to get out of bed, he will straight up carry you into the bathtub.

The way that he cares for you is so gentle and genuine that you find yourself feeling just the slightest bit better as he massages shampoo into your hair. 

He will do anything to cheer you up.

Satan

He notices that you’re distracted. You keep looking at your book, sure, but he hasn’t seen you turn a single page.

You explain that you just can’t focus, but it’s okay. This happens sometimes, because you have depression.

He tries to correct your grammar, saying “You feel depressed. Unless you’re talking like Levi’s cheeseburger cats?”

That forces a laugh out of you, even if it’s short. Then you go searching through the shelves sorted as “unread” until you find a lovely thick DSM edition hiding in the psychology section.

You turn to the page with your symptoms, and point to it. Major Depressive Disorder.

“I have depression.”

He stiffens as he reads the symptoms, and looks at you with concern. “You.. feel this way?”

“Most of it. Sometimes,” you shrug.

“What can I do?”

You really don’t know, though. That’s the hardest thing about this.

He spends the whole day going through the list of symptoms and trying to come up with ways to support you through each one. 

The amount of care he takes--, making sure to explain that he’s currently working on improving your anhedonia, for example -- doesn’t make it go away, but it does make you feel safe. 

Belphegor

He just Gets It.

He's been there.

He will stay in bed with you as long as you want.

But he'll remind you to take care of yourself. He'll tell you to take a shower, or eat something.

He'll be pushy about it too, because he knows that it helps even when you really really really don't want to

If you start feeling self-conscious or like a burden to him, he will tell you to stop listening to your depression brain. 

He fights your every insecurity with stories, memories, and firm reminders. If any of this were true, would he be here with you, now?

He never pushes you to lie about how you're feeling, and is honestly probably one of the best people to have around during this time.

He reminds you that it will pass. It’s okay.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

The Love Yet Known Part 3

Summary: Tommy Shelby needs to make sacrifices to ensure the safety of his family. So he concocts a plan to marry off his sister to the one and only Alfie Solomons.

             Late that summer after everything was settled with Luca Changretta, Tommy invited Eliza and Alfie to visit Arrow House in Warwickshire. Since Tommy was the one who initiated it, he figured it would be a nice, quiet few days. Charlie clearly missed his aunt dearly. The little boy was used to always having her around to entertain him. He always asked after her and became cross when Tommy said she was married, that’s why she didn’t live with them anymore.

            “Well, when is she not going to be married?” Charlie would ask.

            Tommy just chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t think there will ever be a day when that happens, my boy.”

            No one was blind to the growing affection Eliza and Alfie had from their wedding day on. In fact, it was quite a sight to see when the two were together. Such a shy thing like Eliza had a calming effect on Alfie, who rarely seemed to be in a sour mood when she was around. Likewise, he seemed to bring Eliza out of her shell a little bit. She had many friends in Camden and found herself more active in the community than she ever imagined she would be.

            Tommy never gloated, well he tried not to, but he liked to boast about how he made the match between Eliza and Alfie.

            Still, Arthur and a few of the other Peaky boys were having a hard time accepting Alfie into their sacred spaces. They considered him their sister’s husband, not a brother-in-law. They had a petty habit of writing to Eliza and addressing it with her maiden name. Arthur felt sick to his stomach if he saw his dear sister’s name next to a name like Solomons.

            Alfie wasn’t very hospitable either. He wouldn’t let go of old habits of trying to rile Arthur up. He only ever invited a few of Eliza’s family members to visit them in Camden. None of them even knew the married couple shared a beachfront home in Margate. Alfie would shudder to think if the Shelbys got an idea of inviting themselves over for a holiday.

            But all things considered, life was going well.

 ~~~~~~~

            Alfie helped Eliza out of the car. “This place gets bigger every time I visit; I swear it does.” He muttered.

            His wife laughed softly. “Well, hopefully, you don’t get lost.”

            Charlie came running outside to greet his aunt. “Auntie Liza!”

            “Hello!” Eliza beamed and stooped down to pick her nephew up.

            “Oh, love, be careful.” Alfie winced. It was a good thing Eliza wasn’t easily irritated. Because once Alfie found out she was pregnant, he became overprotective. He insisted on carrying things for her, let her sleep in as long as she liked, and had someone come in to take over any housekeeping duties that she might’ve done. Not that Eliza was keen on keeping anything clean anyway. Alfie knew he was being annoying, but he wanted to make sure that his child and the mother of that child was well kept. He felt it was his duty to ensure their safety and health.

            Charlie gave Alfie a side-eye. “Hi, Uncle Alfie.” He said in a less jovial voice.

            “You well, Charlie?”

            “Mhm.” The little boy shrugged.

            Eliza set him down and reached for her suitcase but Alfie stepped in. “I’ve got it. Go on ahead.”

            She gave him a kiss on the cheek and followed Charlie inside to find Tommy.

~~~~~~~~~ 

            At dinner that night, it was just the four of them. Tommy, Lizzie, Alfie, and Eliza. They chatted casually about things, nothing too consequential. Then, during dessert, Eliza felt it was a good enough time to tell them.

            “So, Alfie and I have news.” Eliza reached for her husband’s hand under the table and gave him a smile.

            “You’re pregnant.” Tommy finished for her.

            Alfie’s brow furrowed. “And what on Earth gave you that impression?” He snapped. He knew how important and special it was for Eliza to tell everyone about the baby, so Alfie was a bit ticked off that Tommy had affectively ruined the moment.

            Tommy glanced up from his whiskey glass. “Am I wrong?”

            “Well…no.”

            “But how did you know?” Alfie asked again.

            “Because of the way you’ve been acting around her. Anyone could tell if they’ve known you long enough, Alfie.” Tommy answered casually. “I haven’t seen her carry anything at all today.”

            Eliza just chuckled. “Well, I didn’t know we made it that obvious.”

            “You and I will have a lot to talk about then,” Lizzie spoke up.         

            “Why? Oh…oh really?” Eliza’s eyes lit up. “You’re pregnant?”

            The two sisters-in-law got up to hug one another. Surely it was special knowing there was someone else walking a similar path. After all, it’s not like their husbands knew what it felt like.

            “Well, seems we’ll be coming around much more often then, Tom.” Alfie sighed. Well, if his wife was happy, then he would drive her back and forth from London to Warwickshire as many times as she liked.  

~~~~~~~~~

            Lizzie gave birth to Ruby when Eliza was still seven months along. Seeing and holding the baby girl in her arms was such a lovely occasion. It was almost like a hint at what was to come. It would be much more surreal though, that’s what Lizzie told her.

            “It’s so strange holding her. All of a sudden, you’ve got this little life. One you’ve waited so long to hold and she’s yours to care for and love. It’s really overwhelming.” Her sister-in-law tried to explain as best she could.

~~~~~~~~~~~

            Now all there was to do was wait a little longer. The nursery was all set up and ready. Meanwhile, the midwife was on call whenever the first signs of labor came.

            In the blistering cold of February, Eliza was due any day. Alfie started to work from home just in case she went into labor and he needed to be there for her. He didn’t get out of bed as early, but he was awake much earlier than his wife on most mornings.

            It was a peaceful time where he could just bask in the warm feelings of holding his beloved wife close to him, all cuddled up in bed. Cyril keeping their feet warm at the end of the bed. His soft breathing sometimes syncing up to Eliza’s heartbeat.

            Alfie would wrap an arm around her waist, resting a hand over her swollen stomach. There, he could feel his child kicking. The emotions that overcame him when he felt that little pressure against his hand were indescribable. He was thrilled, excited, nervous, afraid. He didn’t know how he would measure up as a father. Didn’t know how his line of work would impact the life of his child.  

            Every possible worst-case scenario had run through his head since Eliza told him she was pregnant. His worst fear was losing her and the baby. Or losing the baby and having to cope with their shared grief. Or losing Eliza and having to be a single father while grieving his wife.

            The possibilities kept him up at night, practically driving him mad with anxiety. But then there were the good thoughts. The joy he would feel when he first held his child. The pride of seeing every milestone from first words to first steps.

            It was overwhelming to think about and it didn’t help that the wait was making him even more anxious.

 ~~~~~~~~~

            But finally, the day came when Eliza gave birth to a healthy baby boy. It was a relief to hear that his wife and son were both going to be perfectly fine. As Alfie climbed the stairs to see them, he felt his hands trembling with anxiety and anticipation.

            What if he did something wrong?

            What if Eliza thought he wasn’t a good father?

            What if he just wasn’t enough?

            All the self-deprecating thoughts seemed to vanish into thin air when he saw his son swaddled in his mother’s arms.

            Eliza gave her husband a tired smile. “He’s beautiful, Alfie.” She whispered with tears in her eyes.

            Alfie walked over to the bed and peered over. “Fucking hell, look at all that hair, aye?” He chuckled with tears welling up in his eyes as well. “Look at him, he’s about as perfect as you can get, ain’t he?” He kissed Eliza’s forehead. “I can’t ever repay you for giving me such a perfect gift.”

            “I think you can with a few dozen nappy changes.” She teased back.

            “Done deal.” He grinned and gently cradled his son’s head.

            “You can hold him.”

            Alfie’s nerves pricked at him again as he sat down on the edge of the bed. Eliza gently placed the newborn in his arms, looking over him with such fondness.

            “There you are.” He said softly. “Been waiting quite some time for you, mate.”

            Eliza rested her cheek on her husband’s shoulder as he spoke to their son. “What should we name him?” She asked.

            They had passed around a few names over the course of her pregnancy but none of them particularly stood out to either of them.

            “How about Asher?”

            “Is that Jewish?” Eliza asked.

            Alfie nodded. “Means blessed. Was one of the twelve tribes of Israel, back in ancient times.”

            She smiled. Truly, she felt blessed. Not just by the birth of her son, but by everything. She had found her soulmate, fell in love with him, married him, and now produced such a beautiful little boy. Her heart felt so full in her chest. “I love it. I think it’s absolutely perfect.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~         

            A month after Asher was born, Eliza brought up the idea of bringing him to Warwickshire to meet her family. Tommy was apparently arranging a dinner to bring the whole family together. That way they could catch up on things without being busy with work and the children could all see their cousins.  

            Alfie bristled at the idea. It was one thing to spend a couple of days with just Tommy and Lizzie. But to be around the whole Shelby family, it was not a pleasant thought. He almost felt as if he’d be alone, surrounded by people who didn’t quite trust him. People he didn’t really trust either.

            “Won’t be a pleasant trip, tryna get there with a newborn.” He thought of the mistake on the fly.

            “It’ll be fine, it’s not too far and I’m sure Asher will sleep the whole way there. If he doesn’t then it isn’t the end of the world.” Eliza assumed her husband was just concerned about the baby’s sake.

            “Dunno…”

            “Then maybe we invite everyone here. It’ll be a little crowded but we’ll make it work.” She suggested to eliminate the idea of traveling.

            Having the Shelbys in his space, his territory was an even worse idea. “Tommy’s place is big enough, we ain’t gonna have that many people over here.”

            “So…” She looked at him. “Then we’ll go to Tommy’s.”

            Alfie didn’t want to outright say he didn’t want to be around her family. He was afraid it might break her heart. But he wasn’t going to pretend that it was a joy to be around them either. He stifled a groan, feeling backed into a corner for sure. “I mean…if it’ll make you happy, love.”

            “I want to see Ruby and I want everyone to meet Asher.” She replied, able to hold her ground against him when she chose to. “So yes, it would make me happy.”

            There was no arguing that. His wife’s happiness was one of the few things that mattered to him. “Alright then, we’ll go. I won’t be a bother about it.” He promised, earning a smile and a kiss from him.

~~~~~~~~~~~

            Asher slept through most of the car ride over to Warwickshire. Eliza appeared happy to be seeing her family and to introduce them to her son.

            The sun was starting to set as they entered the estate. Alfie felt on his guard as he walked in beside Eliza, already hearing the colorful language coming in from the parlor. There was laughing and yelling coming from upstairs, most likely the children playing with one another.

            Polly saw them coming in first and rushed over to embrace her niece. “Look at you. Motherhood suits you, my dear.” She turned to Alfie who was holding his son. “And there he is. Looks very healthy. You must be very proud, Alfie.”

            “Yeah.” He smiled slightly. Leave it to Polly to get on his good side even when he was tense. “He’s a lot of work, ain’t he, but it’s rewarding.”

            Polly could see the hesitation in Alfie’s eyes. He was holding Asher protectively to his chest, his eyes scanning across the room almost looking for potential threats. She decided he would have to warm up to the idea of handing his son over for anyone to hold.

            Eliza didn’t appear to catch onto her husband’s discomfort. “Alfie, I’ll take him.”

            “S’alright, love. I don’t mind.”

            “Well, let Polly hold him for a bit.” She suggested.

            “It’s alright,” Polly replied gently to her niece. “You two make yourselves at home. I’ll get you a drink, love. Alfie would you like something?”

            “No, thank you.” He replied a bit relieved that Polly hadn’t pushed the matter.

            But then Arthur swooped in and gave his sister a bear hug. “Glad you came, chey.”

            Eliza giggled and hugged him back. “Hi, Arthur.”

            “Good to see ya. Now, where’s the little one, aye?” The eldest Shelby’s eyes settled on Alfie with a look of slight distaste.

            Eliza stepped in to try and keep the atmosphere light and festive. “This is Asher, he just turned a month old.” She reached over to adjust the little cap on the newborn’s head. His dark hair was sticking out from underneath it.

            “A month already.” Arthur shook his head. “Well, wish we could’ve been there earlier.” He gave his brother-in-law a stern look. As if Alfie was purposefully keeping Eliza hidden away in Camden Town to keep her away from her family.

            “Arthur…” She sighed. But it was too late. The powder keg had already been lit.

            “Well, mate, it weren’t the easiest delivery. Eliza had to take a bit of time to recover.”

            “If Pol had been there like she wanted then maybe it wouldn’t have been so difficult.” Arthur wasn’t standing down from the challenge. In fact, he welcomed a reason to argue.

            “Arthur, that’s enough.” His aunt interrupted. “We’ve had this discussion before but it’s over. The baby’s already born.”

            But neither man listened to a voice of reason. “She had the best midwife in Camden Town there. Are you insinuating I wouldn’t get the best for me wife?”

            “I’m saying you’ve been keeping our sister from seeing her family.”

            “She’s got a mind of her own, mate, she can go wherever she wants whenever she wants.” Alfie crossed his arms over his chest.

            “Please, will you two just stop?” Eliza begged.

            “Did she have a choice when Tommy sold her off to you?” Arthur’s voice raised and Eliza knew she had to step in before the rest of the party started to take notice of the brewing storm between her brother and husband.

            “Alright, enough. You two are making a scene and it’s ridiculous.” She took Asher from Alfie’s arms when he was caught off guard and handed the baby to Polly. Before her husband could protest, she grabbed his arm and dragged him into another empty room of Arrow House.

            “You’re just going to leave him?” Alfie spat.

            “With my aunt who I trust with my life? Yes!” She snapped in an exasperated tone. “What on Earth has gotten into you? I thought this would be a nice visit, I didn’t think I had to tell you to be on your best behavior. But apparently, I should’ve because you’re acting like a child!”

            “Your brother started it!” His normally soft-spoken wife gave him a death glare. Alfie backtracked when he realized the childish response was exactly what Eliza was talking about. “I’m sorry.” He mumbled. “I just don’t like him treating me that way. Like I’m some monster who kidnapped you.”

            “Oh, Alfie.” She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him close. “You know Arthur and you know that’s not true. You’ve given me everything and I’ve never been so happy. But we can’t make them see that. If they don’t see it then that’s their fault.” She kissed his cheek. “We know the truth.”

            He grumbled. Of course, she was right, seldom was she wrong. It just didn’t help that when they went back to the party, Arthur would still be the same. “M’trying, love.”

            “I know you are.” She smiled. “They’re difficult. But you are too.”

            He chuckled. There was no arguing that.

            “But now Asher is sort of a buffer. You just have to let them hold him.”

            Alfie looked disgruntled. He knew intuitively that none of the Shelbys would bring harm to the child. But there was still that protective instinct that he could never totally shake. If he let his guard down, bad things happened. The only time that wasn’t the case was when he was alone with Eliza and Asher. That quiet space where everything good in the world seemed to line up. Nothing outside of their warm home mattered.

            “Alright.” He relented. It seemed reasonable that if he played along, the sooner they would be out of there.

            Eliza smiled and kissed him softly. “Try to enjoy yourself.” She said before going to return to the party.

~~~~~~~~~

            Alfie followed and found Polly was still holding Asher. But Ada and Lizzie were cooing over the baby. Tommy was sat next to his aunt, holding Ruby and smiling at his new nephew. Even Arthur was nearby smiling at Asher.

            Alfie did his best not to hover even when his son was passed from relative to relative. It seemed to make Eliza happy to see her family holding her newborn. She spoke proudly about him. The meaning of his name, his blue eyes, how much Cyril adored him, and everything else that had happened in his short life.

            After a while, Alfie began to relax slightly. Although he always kept an eye out to see who was holding Asher.

            Toward the end of the night, his son was finally placed back in his arms. Asher was fast asleep despite the Shelbys having a good time with a good amount of alcohol. Alfie gently touched his cheek with his thumb. “They can be exhausting, aye?” He murmured quietly. “Better get used to it I suppose. Don’t think they’re going anywhere.”

            Asher yawned and shifted slightly in his swaddle.

            Alfie glanced up when he heard someone clear their throat. Arthur was standing nearby, a glass of whiskey in hand. “Mind if I sit?” He gestured to the empty armchair near the sofa Alfie was sitting on.

            “Ain’t my house, mate.”

            Arthur shrugged and sat down. “So, how does it feel, aye? Must get no sleep with him. And Liza, I doubt she ever gets up. Would take a train to wake her when she was younger.”

            It was a strange olive branch but Alfie chuckled. “Yeah, it’s tough tryna get her up to nurse him. S’alright though. Never been a big sleeper myself.” He admitted.

            “Yeah, war will do that to you.” Arthur agreed after a sip of whiskey.

            They were so similar, it was a wonder that they butted heads so often. They were veterans with deep scars, liked to solve problems with their fists, hardly flinched at death, and yet fiercely cared about their kin. But bad blood was hard to wash out, especially in their line of work.

            “I’d always be up with Billy when he was that young. It’s good, keeps your mind busy.” He added.

            “They’re a good distraction.” Alfie nodded, looking down at his son. “Changes a lot of perspectives on life.”

            Arthur looked across the room to see Eliza smiling at him. Of course, she’d put him up to it, insisting that if he wanted to see more of her, he would be nicer to her husband. Arthur complained but she wasn’t hearing it. It seemed that marriage and motherhood had really taught her when to put her foot down. But sitting there with his brother-in-law, Arthur seemed to realize that there wasn’t much else he could do. Here they were, both fathers to a son, both husbands. They were too old to be the vicious fighters they were as young men. It was too tiring.

            Alfie came to a similar conclusion. They could fight about the same things that happened so long ago. There wasn’t anything new to argue about. Just the grudges they both held. Which were equally as tiring. “Here.” He held Asher out.

            Arthur looked a bit surprised but decided not to make a scene out of it. He set his whiskey glass down and cradled his nephew to his chest. “Looks like Liza when she was a baby.” He chuckled. “She had so much hair. Our mother was shocked. I hope he doesn’t cry as much as she did. God, she was noisier than John ever was.” His eyes saddened at the mention of Eliza’s twin. It felt like ages ago that they’d lost John and yet, it was still so fresh.

            “That’s his middle name, you know,” Alfie said. “Asher John.”

            Arthur got a little choked up. “He’d be thrilled if he was here.” He tried to laugh off his grief but it was obvious how much it hurt. “Don’t think he’d ever stop bragging about it.”

            Eliza came over, so happy to see the two men getting along for the first time ever. She kissed Alfie’s temple as she sat down next to him.

            A quiet lull fell over the room. The warm chatter of family radiated with the fire and drinks. Alfie felt his shoulders relax while he wrapped an arm around Eliza’s shoulders. Things could be okay if he allowed them to be. So he did.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @biba3434​ @kimmietea​ @karmezii​ @enrapturedbythemoon​ @vampgirl1997​ @tarafaithe​ @evelynshelby​

PB Masterlist

[kitkatd7]

I Hate You More

Summary: You're in love with Bucky- but he hates you. Right?

Pairing: Bodyguard!Bucky x Hydra Survivor!Reader

Tropes: Bodyguard AU - Whump - hurt/comfort

Warnings: Angst, talk of previous torture, cursing, fluff ending

Word Count: 3,883

A/N: This isn't my best work but I hope you enjoy it regardless!!! Please let me know what you think as this is a combination of about 4 things I've never tried writing before! This was written for @waywardodysseys in the @marvelxreaderfanfictionfest!!!!❤❤❤ thank you @fandomsandxfiles for beta reading it!!!!

Masterlist of Masterlists

Marvel Masterlist

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

You had walked into the Avengers Tower conference room timidly, giving all of the Avengers a shy smile and small wave- You weren’t very trusting with new people but something about them felt… safe. As if nothing could ever hurt you again so long as you were with them. It felt like you were part of the family; It felt like home.

----Two months later----

Bucky was head over heels for you; He liked everything about you since the very first day he met you. He craved your touch and loved the sound of your laughter more than anything, the way your eyes lit up when you were excited and how your intoxicating scent drew him in. And for him… that was a big issue. He wasn’t ready to deal with all of the emotions that welled within him when you were around and he definitely couldn’t admit his feelings. He told himself you wouldn’t feel the same way but deep down he knew he was just afraid. 

So he made a decision. 

God, it killed him to do it- but he made himself hate you; Forced himself to give you nothing but rude comments and cold glares at every turn. He didn’t talk to you unless he absolutely had to. 

You tried to be friends with him, you did everything you could think of; Invited him whenever you went out to the bar with Sam and the girls, asked him if he wanted to train together or watch movies- but he just sneered and turned away. After weeks of the same cold treatment you couldn’t handle all of the rejection and blatant hate you received from him, so you stopped asking him to do things with you and eventually you started avoiding him; made excuses not to go to movie night, making sure you were never in the gym at the same time as he was.

Regardless of the hate you received you couldn’t bring yourself to return it- quite the opposite, actually- You fell for him. Hard. Fell for the small smiles he gave so rarely (Even though they were never directed at you) The soft sound of his laughter ringing throughout a room and the sweet way he displayed his love for the team. His ocean blue eyes that you could get lost in so easily, the deep, warm lilt of his voice. 

Why did you have to be in love with the man who hated the ground you walked on?

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

A year later and he still hates you. 

Now you're standing in the conference room of the Avengers Tower, being briefed on your next mission by Director Nick Fury himself- Or you were being briefed before a certain tall, dark and brooding Sergeant stormed in. 

“Director, may I have a word? Privately?” He emphasizes, shooting you a deliberate glare.

“Well I would love to accommodate you, Sergeant, but as you can see I’m having an important conversation with Agent Y/L/N,” He states easily while Bucky looks at you coldly. “I’m sure whatever you have to say to me, you can also say to her as well.”

“I don’t want to be her bodyguard,” he says bluntly, switching his gaze back to Fury.

Chuckling lightly, Fury looks between your fallen expression and Bucky’s stone one. “Care to explain why, Sergeant?”

“She’s cocky, arrogant and reckless, she’ll do anything to get her way and God help us if she doesn’t- she’s stubborn and hard-headed.” Bucky regrets what he’s doing to you; He hates hurting you like this but he doesn’t know what else to do so he schools his features and presses on, delivering the final blow. “I enjoyed my time with Hydra more than I enjoy being around her,” he finishes, immediately regretting it when you flinch away from him and your mask slips, your features morphing into an overwhelming expression of pain and anguish. 

You quickly put your mask back in place, willing yourself to keep your eyes from tearing up. You subconsciously run your fingers over where you know the scars are on your forearm from when you were a prisoner of Hydra. Only Fury knows what happened to you and you’d like to keep it that way for the time being.

Sitting up, Fury starts stacking files briskly, giving you a small apologetic glance; He knows what effect the mention of Hydra has on you. “Well Sergeant, as much as I would love to help- I can’t. You are one of our best agents and she needs to be protected. Hydra wants her and we can’t let that happen. You know what they’ll do if they get her. We have bigger issues than your feelings at the moment, you may both go,” he says dismissively. 

Turning, you make your way out the door and away from both of them as quickly as possible as tears stream down your face despite your efforts to keep them at bay. After all this time his words and actions still cut deeper than any knife ever could. Why does he hate you so much? 

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

It’s been a little over a week since you were assigned your bodyguard and you're sick of it already. Why couldn’t you get a bodyguard that actually likes you? God, it’s frustrating; being tailed constantly by someone who probably doesn’t care if you live or die- especially when it’s literally their job to keep you alive. And as luck would have it, he has to go on your next mission as your bodyguard. You don’t need Bucky to go; It’s an easy mission, gathering intel from a double agent and you could easily do it by yourself. Child’s play. But Fury insists on him going with you. 

So here you are; Sitting in a club, sipping on bourbon and coke- Without the bourbon- Waiting for your contact to show while Bucky watches you from across the room. He’s trying to focus but it’s hard when you're wearing that; Form-fitting black jeans and matching knee-high leather boots, a tight, long-sleeve maroon crop-top that accents your curves perfectly. 

You usually wouldn’t wear this but tonight you're not you- you're just a girl out for a night on the town with her boyfriend- So you play your role, toying with your necklace and squealing excitedly when your ‘boyfriend’ comes and kisses your cheek before taking his place next to you. 

“So what do you have for me?”

He leans closer, whispering in your ear, “Rumlow has a meeting set up tonight, he’s bringing in another weapons shipment on the east loading dock by the river.” 

You rage inwardly at the information but keep in character, pressing your lips  to his before leaning to whisper in his ear, “What time?”

“11 o’clock sharp, he’s bringing his squad with him.” 

“Shit,” you mumble, faking a smile before standing to go to the restroom. “I’ll be back in a minute, baby,” you say cheerfully, loud enough for anyone close by to hear.

Bucky glares across the room at your contact, he knows it’s all a ruse- but he still bristles when the other man touches you, kisses you. 

His girl.

What? Where did that come from? She’s not yours, he reminds himself but he still rages inwardly.

He snaps back to reality when you stand and move towards the ladies' room. Anyone watching would have thought you looked like you were having the night of your life but he could see the energy and rage sizzling beneath the surface.

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

You storm into the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind you. You lean heavily on the counter, staring at your reflection in the mirror as you will the tears to stay down but it’s no use. Rumlow. The man who literally ruined your life. He was your captor during your time with Hydra- He’s the one who gave you your scars. You run your fingers up under your sleeve, grazing the scars gently as the tears start to fall, the only sounds are your quiet sobs of anger and the tip-tap of the leaking faucet. You yank your sleeve down quickly when you hear the door open behind you. 

You whirl around, not expecting to come face to face with Bucky.

“What the hell are you doing in here Barnes? Someone could have seen you! Or what if someone comes in? You could blow my cover!” You fume, not really mad at him but you need an outlet for your rage. 

“Calm down, doll. I just came to see if you’re okay,” He murmurs, locking the door to keep you from being interrupted. 

“I’m fine,” You tell him unconvincingly, swiping at the tears that are rolling in steady rhythm down your face. 

“You don’t look fine.”

Scoffing, you turn away, leaning on the counter again. “Since when do you care?” You spit bitterly, turning your head away from him.

“I’ve always cared…” He whispers softly, reaching out to comfort you but his hand drops to his side, his fingers curling into his palm uselessly. His words surprise you and you look at his reflection in the mirror. You don’t know what you were expecting to see there; Sarcasm maybe? An indication that he was lying? But all you see is a gentle sort of… Openness and honesty on his face that confuses you all the more. 

“What do yo-” You start but you're cut off by someone banging on the door and yelling: “Hurry up!”

Snapping out of your thoughts and confusion, you push past him towards the door; blinking back fresh tears. “I have to go.” And then you're gone- making your way through the crowd quickly without a backward glance at the man who’s calling your name. 

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

Bucky walks towards your contact, sliding in next to him casually, but he’s raging inside. “What did you say to her?” He asks quietly, desperate to know what has you so absolutely wrecked. He’s never seen you like this… He’s seen you storm out of a room with tears running down your face (courtesy of him) He’s seen you punch a man in the nose for making a pass at you- But never like this. 

"Exactly what I was supposed to. It's my job to pass on the information and I did, it’s not my job to babysit the agents afterward or keep track of where they go."

"What. Did. You. Say." Bucky spits through gritted teeth, his metal fingers digging into the bar. 

Sighing, the agent turns towards him fully. "Look, I'm not supposed to tell you this, but since she's your girlfri-"

"She's not my girlfriend."

The agent gives him a disbelieving stare; one eyebrow raised in question. "It sure looks like she is. I saw you on the other side of the room- you looked like you were gonna slit my throat for touching her."

"I'm still considering it." 

Ignoring the not-so-empty threat, he continues; "I told her about the meeting Hydra Agent Brock Rumlow is having tonight and after I gave her the location and time, she split." 

Pushing away from the bar, Bucky slips on his leather jacket. "Who’s Rumlow? And where's she going?" He asks briskly, all business despite his wildly beating heart. 

"You really don’t know who he is? Sorry but that I can’t tell you- You’ll have to ask her. And she’s going to the east loading dock by the river, Rumlow will be there in less than an hour." 

Nodding curtly, Bucky storms towards the door, people moving out of the way when they see the frenzied looking giant of a man.

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

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Bucky growls, pushing you against the brick wall in the alley that you're using for a stakeout point. You wince when your shoulder hits the wall painfully, your head tilting back to meet his anger-filled eyes.

“Staking out a dangerous Hydra operation,” You say nonchalantly.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, what are you actually doing here? Why are you going in without backup? Or telling me? What’s so important that you have to risk your life for it?” He demands, his Brooklyn accent growing thicker, expression darkening further.

Anger flashes in your eyes at his question. “Why the hell should I explain it to you? It’s none of your business, and even if it was it’s not like you would care anyway!!” You yell, heat rolling off of you in waves as he takes a step back, grip loosening as he stares at you in confusion and regret- He didn’t mean to be so hard on you. He was just worried.

“Doll-”

“I am not your doll,” You growl. “I am not some pathetic girl you can just order around like you own her and then treat her like absolute shit, so don’t start with me.”

He whispers your name as you stalk past him, heading for a better viewpoint. “I didn’t mean it like that, please…” He trails off, but you're already disappearing into the shadows.

“Damn it!” He huffs, slamming his metal hand into the brick wall before tailing you, finding another alley not far from where you are; watching the loading dock.

A little while later, Bucky curses when he sees two dark SUV’s pull up, followed by another two vans. He watches intently as ten men step out and approach each other- five from each group of vehicles. He strains to hear what they say, but even with his enhanced abilities, he can’t make out anything of use.

Before they get any farther than a few words, you spring out of the shadows close by, easily taking out three guards as Bucky swears again before racing out to help you. By the time he gets there, you’ve taken out another three- Thanks to the element of surprise and training with Natasha.

Firing his Glock quickly he takes out two of the remaining four, lost in the flurry of ringing gunshots and the sound of fists connecting with their targets. Springing onto the remaining two, Bucky tussles with them a moment before knocking them to the ground and turning to see another Hydra agent stalking up behind you as you scuffle with another, his knife drawn. Shit. He must have miscounted. Before Bucky can fire his gun again he’s tackled from behind, his gun skidding just out of reach as he scrambles to fight off his opponents. Rolling away from the first and rushing to his feet, he kicks the second squarely in the chest, sending him flying against the truck, his head lolling to the side; unconscious. Clamoring to his feet, Bucky rushes to grab his gun, firing it in quick succession, hitting his targets expertly- 4 rounds. 2 men. 1 goal. Turning quickly to locate you, he sees you straddling the last one, your knife pressed against his throat and your teeth bared dangerously. Approaching slowly, he watches as you whisper a name… Brock.

Bucky looks on in confusion as the man laughs dryly, his eyes glinting with… confidence?

You dig the knife deeper into Brock’s neck and watch as blood trails slowly down his skin, leaving scarlet trails in its wake. As Bucky steps closer, he catches the end of what the man was saying: “-You always were weak.” 

You visibly tense before throwing your dagger to the side and by the time Bucky jumps forward to pull you off, you’ve landed several well-aimed blows and Brock’s face is covered in blood.

You're all breathing hard as you struggle in Bucky’s grasp, lunging at the no longer arrogant man on the ground. “I am not weak, Brock. I survived- I survived every cruel thing you did to me; Every stab wound, every burn, every scar. Every. Single. One. And not only did I survive, but I made the most out of my life after everything you put me through; I got a job that allows me to catch bastards like you, and that job gave me a family- a family that doesn’t know my past and doesn’t care because they love me anyway. And all of that makes me strong. Stronger than you could ever be,” you growl, looking over your shoulder in surprise when you hear sirens and turn to see Fury’s black Tahoe screech to a halt, accompanied by three other black SUV’s; Agents piling out of them, guns drawn.

Bucky grabs your arm and hauls you back as agents surround Brock and you stare up at Bucky. “Did you call him?”

“I did.”

Wrenching out of his grasp, you turn towards him. “Why the hell would you do that? I was doing fine! I had it handl-”

“You mean we! I saved your ass! without me, you would be drowning in a pool of your own blood right now!” 

Snarling, you start with a biting remark when the world around you starts to spin and you stumble unsteadily into Bucky’s chest. You barely register Bucky’s arms wrapping around you or him calling your name as hot pain sears through your side. Everything seems fuzzy; Muffled. You swear you hear Bucky say your name but he sounds… panicked maybe? You can't tell, it sounds so far away and all you know for sure is your side feels like fire and then everything goes black.

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

You try to open your eyes but close them again as bright lights flash above you over and over as you're rushed to the OR. You hear voices on both sides of you but it hurts your head to focus on their words. Opening your eyes again, agony greets you as the too-bright lights worsen your headache. Everyone and everything around you looks bleary. All you can feel is pain and a large, warm hand engulfing yours. You feel like your about to fall back into the abyss when you hear another voice-

Bucky?

"It's okay sweetheart, I've got you. Stay with me doll! Please- don't leave me. You’re gonna be okay, It’s okay." You're not sure if he actually says the last part or if it’s your imagination- what you wished he would say. Hell- you're not even sure if it really is Bucky running next to your trolley or if it’s just the lights playing tricks on you.

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

When you wake up everything seems blurry. Blinking, you glance around for the source of the annoying beeping, your eyes landing on a monitor system, the tubes and wires attached at various points on your body. You shift in your bed, wincing when agony sears through your abdomen.

When you groan in pain Bucky jumps to attention, taking in your tormented frown and confusion clouded eyes.

You look even more confused when your gaze lights on him. “How long have I been here? And... why are you here?” You ask; bewildered.

“3 days. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up- I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Bucky confesses, looking up at you through his lashes timidly- Under different circumstances, it would be funny. You’ve seen Bucky many things, but never so… small looking.

Your expression furrows further, your confusion growing. “You- 3 days- Why?”

“I don’t know.”

You look back down at your lap. “Were- were you with me? When they brought me here? I could have sworn I heard you and that you were holding my ha- Nevermind.” You mumble, keeping your eyes downcast. 

“I was,” Bucky whispers, a light blush tinting his cheeks. “With you, I mean… And holding your hand,” He confesses under his breath but you hear it nonetheless. You look at him again when he murmurs your name gently. “I was really worried about you.” 

Your brows knit together, puzzled beyond belief. 

“Why do you care? I thought you hated me?” You whisper so quietly he wouldn’t have heard if not for his enhanced hearing. His gaze jumps to your face as you pick at an imaginary thread on your blanket, blaming your boldness on the drugs they gave you. 

“I don’t hate you,” he says softly, looking down at his hands.

You laugh dryly, giving him a sad, calculating look. “Really? Because It sure seems like it- Judging by the cold glares and harsh comments. We’ve known each other for over a year and you're still like this- I’m beginning to think it’s just your personality... Why do you hate me?” You try to keep your voice even but it breaks, coming out as a broken whisper.

“Because it’s easier than the alternative!!” He half yells, his face flashing between anger and something you can’t quite place. 

“What’s the alternative?” You whisper, eyes on him as he runs his fingers through his hair.

Huffing out a breath, he stares at his hands like if he does it long enough he won’t have to answer your question. When your stare doesn’t falter he scoffs slightly, shaking his head- 

At you or himself you don’t know. 

“James…”

Bucky gives a short, mirthless laugh; eyes flashing indecisively.

I have a right to know,” you murmur, hoping to coax him into telling you. “Please…” You beg, more perplexed than ever.

“The alternative would be to tell you I really really like you and ask you out but I can’t do that because I’m scared that you’ll say no so it’s just easier to hate you!” He says frantically, face flushing scarlet as his jaw clenches in a hard line to stop himself from saying more.

Your move your lips but no sound comes out as his words sink in; recognition dawning on you. 

“I- You made me think you hated me so that you wouldn’t have to ask me out? What the hell, Barnes?” You fume, watching as his eyes widen at your outburst and he ducks his head in embarrassment. “Yeah… That’s about the size of it, Doll.” 

“Do you have any idea what you did to me Bucky? How many nights I went to bed crying because of you? How many times I rearranged my gym schedule and faked being sick so I wouldn’t have to go somewhere you were? All because you didn’t wanna ask me out! And you know what, the amazing part is that I couldn’t even hate you after all of it- Even though you were a total asshole I still liked you and thought you were amazing!” You finish, breathing hard.

“You like me?” Bucky asks, his whole face lighting up with hope.

“Really? That’s all you got from that?” You laugh, quirking an eyebrow at him as your eyes glint with amusement.

“Um, yes?”

You burst out laughing at his confused puppy look, gasping when a wave of pain washes over you. "Well, I guess that's the important part," you huff playfully. 

Bucky chuckles lightly but his eyebrows draw together in a puzzled line when you stare at him expectantly. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm waiting for you to ask me out like you said you would, dummy, " you tease, the corner of your mouth turning up in a smile as his eyes light with understanding. 

"Hey, doll?" He asks, continuing when you give a low hum of acknowledgement. "Would you like to go out with me?" 

Your whole face lit up as your eyes sparkled. "James Buchanan Barnes, I thought you'd never ask."

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

Reblog with tags! Please tell me what you think!

[kaibacorpintern]

Devotion: 3, 7, 19 + 20. 19 and 20 go together this is totally like sending 3 please and thank yooouuuu

Honda: hey man. when are you going to tell Anzu you have a crush on her

Jounouchi: what, what, waht, what, what, what, waht, what, what, what, what, what, what, what, wh

this got long, it’s under a cut LOL

3. Most common argument?

Considering how many times Anzu in the manga is like “DON’T SAY THAT!!” whenever he makes a particularly callous comment, I want to say they might get into a little snit or two every now and then over a comment that’s a little too outré for Anzu’s sense of propriety and it devolves into conversations about like, tact and tasteful jokes. If Jounouchi’s having a more cantankerous and closed-off day than usual over something that went wrong, I can also see him trying to brush off her more aggressive expressions of care as “annoying” (she isn’t annoying, but he just wants to sulk for a while) when most of the time he actually DOES appreciate and value and need her gung-ho, “let’s roll our sleeves up and fix this” attitude. The other thing is that like... Anzu’s dream is to be a dancer in New York, that’s a difficult career in an expensive city; I can see him bristling against accepting financial help from her parents and maybe being a little too tied to concepts of what it means to be a “man” like “what’s wrong with me if I can’t provide for you on my OWN” and she doesn’t have his kind of pride here. she’s like “that doesn’t matter to me. Why does this matter to YOU so much?” and they have to figure that out.

7. What’s the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?

Is it possible for Anzu to get MORE defensive of Jounouchi? LET’S FIND OUT. Also, and this is my Ideal Devotionship Scenario, is that one day Anzu looks over at Jounouchi and realizes she’s almost always liked him as a person but he’s also matured SO much and he works so hard and he genuinely cares so much about all his friends and everyone he loves and his goofier jokes do make her laugh like a hyena... she starts relying on him more as a sounding board for her thoughts and feelings, and starts hanging out with him more just one on one, separate from the rest of their friends...

But really I think Jounouchi if he realizes he’s in love with Anzu he 1) starts trying to impress her more and get her attention and 2) probably has a very specific idea of the type of guy he thinks Anzu would like, and THAT Guy uses a daily planner to keep track of things (like a nerd) and doesn’t slack off on his laundry, and is cool without being a clown, so he is, for a hot few weeks, an awkward and fumbling but exuberant mess who insists on carrying her groceries and buys a polo shirt and tries to play it extremely cool but also he’s like “so... notice anything different about me?” and Anzu is like “....your hair is..... more tousled than normal” (she’s into it) and he’s like 😭 polo shirt it’s the polo shirt i am wearing a polo shirt 😭 like Jounouchi... bro... what Anzu likes about you has nothing to do with polo shirts (this is what Honda tells him after he unpacks the whole thing over text in a state of despair) anyway he just needs to chill out a little. once she realizes what he’s doing she has to laugh a little, but she also loves the effort, it’s cute

In combination, that’s how Anzu ends up texting him at 11 PM at night like “hey i’m bored do you want to go get ramen” and he is like “absolutely, see you in 10 min” so off they go for a late night walk together, and it’s raining a little and he holds the umbrella as they talk about nothing and everything. he makes a big show of helping her step or jump over every gutter puddle. he thinks he’s being suave but she just finds it kind of adorable

Eventually one of them just comes out and confesses it, and it doesn’t take long for this to happen. Probably Anzu because Jounouchi seems like the type to worry a little over the thought of getting rejected :(

19. Who tells their family/friends about their relationship first? AND 20. What do their family/friends think of their relationship?

The first people Jounouchi tells are Shizuka and Honda, of course, and Honda is just like, delighted. He loves Anzu, obviously, but he also cares sooooo much about Jounouchi and is just kind of secretly relieved that Jounouchi is dating someone who cares just as much about Jounouchi as he does, and is good to Jounouchi and good FOR Jounouchi. I’m pretty sure both Anzu and Honda would kill for Jounouchi lol. Shizuka just wants to know that Anzu isn’t into any of the freaky magic shit from Battle City, and once suitably reassured, she gets excited about the idea of having a cool big sis <3 

Anzu’s family finds him very charming and earnest. They like him. I think they trust Anzu to be responsible and have good judgment and so they’re more than happy to give Jounouchi a chance, although he is SO nervous about meeting them.

And then Yuugi... they tell him together, probably. Whether or not he has any lingering crush on Anzu, how can he begrudge his two best friends falling in love with each other, how could he NOT be happy for them? I don’t think he’s capable of being salty about it at ALL, he’s thrilled lol

Atem: by the way, jounouchi and anzu are dating now

Kaiba:

Kaiba: who?

[black-streak]

Little Pistol - Nothing Left to Say/Rocks

Chapter 11

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Aftermath of the fall of Hawkmoth. Bet you know what's happening next chapter.

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~---~

"Honey? I'm coming up now, okay?"

The trapdoor shifted, soft footsteps lifting into the darkened space. Stagnant air and dust met the intruder as she moved towards the loft bed that held a dismal little form.

"You don't have to talk about it. You don't have to speak at all if that's what you need. It's okay. I just want you to know I'm here," Sabine sat down on the edge of the bedding, hand hesitating over the blanket. Dropping it back to her lap, she lowered her head, softening her voice further, "I went ahead and formally pulled you from school before the absences could add up. You had enough credits to finish the year without this last month and it's the last thing you need to be dealing with. I hope that's okay. You can wait however long you want to take the test for next year. I know you still want to test out, but there's no rush. Whenever you're ready, honey. For now, just focus on healing."

The sheets rustled and the blanket scrunched up, but nothing of her daughter showed.

"I know you feel guilty for what happened. I know you think you have no right to grieve for him. But he was still your partner. You still went through so much together and even if he hurt you, that doesn't change the fact that he was your partner. You're allowed to grieve someone even when they did wrong by you. Even when you wanted them gone. I know you never meant for him to die and so does everyone else."

Still nothing.

"I'm going to head back down to help your father. I hope you know he's not avoiding you. He just doesn't know how to comfort you. How to help. I'll bring you dinner later on, okay? I love you, Marinette." 

The footsteps drifted back down the steps and the trapdoor nestled back into its place as the room went still.

…

It'd been a month since the takedown of Hawkmoth. The finding of Emilie Agreste's body. The death of Adrien Agreste. 

The company had collapsed under itself and Paris seemed to flip on its head in the wake of their new reality. Ladybug only appeared once more, in court the day of Gabriel Agreste's trial. After the conviction, the hero disappeared along with every trace of her existence. Only the memories and written recordings remained. Magic was an interesting beast and it protected itself the way it'd done for centuries before, by leaving its stories and nothing more. No tangible proof to be found.

The Dupain-Cheng residence, however, flowed with magic, both strong and dark, following the mood of the Guardian who held it. It drew people into the bakery, craving dark chocolate and tarts with lemon curd and tart berries, unknowingly seeking out the magic that once permeated their streets everyday that now seemed lacking.

In the upper parts of the home, a little fox sat watching the woman of the household bustle around the kitchen, the husband working efficiently by her side. As equal as they were, you could tell who took charge between the two. While it typically wasn't in his nature, Trixx felt the need to show respect where it was due.

"Madame."

The small lady sharply pivoted, surprised tension radiating off her as she turned towards his voice, only to settle upon meeting eyes.

"Trixx? Does Marinette need something?"

"Yes, Madame. She would like for you to schedule the test for as soon as possible. She'd like to get her education settled now and not wait."

"Is she quite sure? She could always-"

"Sabby, if she says she wants to take it, let her," Tom stepped in, avoiding looking at the little kwami, still not forgiving the creatures for involving his child in their problems.

"But Tom, she only just started moving out of her room. She still hasn't spoken since... What if it's too soon?"

"What if she wants to do it now so that she doesn't give up on it entirely? We can't know, love. We have to trust her judgement here," he reasoned, grimacing all the same as his wife reluctantly agreed.

"I'll let her know you've agreed. Thank you, Madame, Tom."

...

"They've agreed to the test, Kit. We'll get you freed of your restraints here soon enough," Trixx reassured, floating above their silent guardian.

"It's too soon," Wayzz tried to intervene.

"Not soon enough," Plagg whispered, curled up within Marinette's hair, the same place he'd stayed since having found out his own kitten had passed. They never stayed apart for longer than ten minutes nowadays. 

It's not that he agreed with Adrien's actions or believed him to be a true holder, but the boy had been his own all the same and for that he felt the grief of having lost him. Of being present when the strike that ultimately ended his life hit and knowing he couldn't save him. Now he just wanted to get the little lady and the rest of them out of this dreaded city.

"He's right," Tikki agreed, in her own little nesting spot of yarn, voice tired and defeated, "It's better for all of us this way. Even if I don't agree with where we're going."

"You know where we're going?" Wayzz flew up to her instantly, "She told you?"

"Not in words. But I do. Gotham City. It only makes sense. She wants to find that used to be Robin."

"Hmm. It might be more than that though," Trixx narrowed his eyes, a little smirk crawling along his face.

"You think you know better than me?" Tikki bristled.

"I know that I know her better than you. Think about it. Paris is all healed up and in no need of a hero anymore. Meanwhile she's all messed up inside. Gotham is known for being a dark, brutal place. Perfect for someone with a screw or two loose to work some stuff out, wouldn't you say?"

"And what exactly are you suggesting?" Wayzz seemed on edge now.

"He's suggesting that it'll give her something to fight again so she doesn't fall into herself. Maybe there was a time where she could live with peace, but not anymore. She needs somewhere just as dark as the storm inside her so she can scream and see that it won't back down. She needs chaos," Plagg spoke up once more, feeling the hollow pit inside the girl's chest, "She needs Gotham. If that boy happens to be there, then call it fate."

"No, she's just obsessing, again," Tikki insisted.

"You're obsessing. She tried to back down before and you wouldn't let her. You and your bullheaded, stubborn need for absolute conviction in your chosen," Trixx shut her down.

"It is not-"

"It is, sugarcube. You don't let your chosen change their minds about what they believe in, in a misguided need to push them down the path you've decided they're meant to be on," Plagg intoned in a saddened tone.

"And you don't make your chosen stick to their own word, just letting them change on the flip of a coin," she argued.

"I know," he murmured, eyes downcast, "We're both destructive to our chosen. That's why we're never out of the box unless necessary. You know this."

"... I know," she wilted into herself once more.

"I don't want to go into circulation again. Not for a very long time," Plagg admitted.

The kwamis lay still within the room, with baited breath.

"Okay," the room breathed out, "As long as Marinette's okay with it," Tikki agreed, her voice back to the same tired, defeated tone she had at the start.

All eyes went to the girl still in the bed who hadn't made a noise from the start.

…

Marinette passed the test with absolute ease, not even a hint of panic over the importance of it coming over her.

When she returned home, she told her parents the news, her first words since that dreadful day, "I'm leaving Paris."

[annzybwrites]

Rainy Days

Anonymous: u asked for fluffy snufmin prompts and I’m here to deliver!:) it’s cold and rainy and gross out so moomin convinces snufkin to stay in at moominhouse. snufkin tries to teach moomin how to play an instrument and moomin tries to teach him how to bake smth. they’re both bad at the thing which the other finds adorable <3

Annzy: I am so sorry this took so long, but I hope there’s enough fluff <3 

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

“Snufkin, can you put aside your pride for one second?” Moomin wasn’t sure if he was scolding or pleading with his boyfriend at this point. All he knew was that it had been raining for the past two days, and Snufkin had to keep moving his tent to higher and higher ground to avoid the mud, and really things would be so much simpler if he would just come stay in Moominhouse until the rain cleared up. 

“This is the last rainy day,” Snufkin argued, rolling up his tent while Moomin held an umbrella over them. “I can feel it.” 

“You said that yesterday.” 

“That was yesterday.” 

“Just come inside!” Moomin pulled at the skin underneath one of his eyes. “If today really is the last rainy day, then staying in a nice, warm, dry house until it clears up would be best. And then we can go worm hunting as soon as the rain stops!” 

Snufkin hummed, fixing his tent to the top of his pack before looking at Moomin with a small smile on his lips. “Trying to butter me up?” 

“More like trying to resist throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you to Moominhouse.” 

Snufkin laughed at that, swinging his backpack on with a small sigh. “All right, you’ve won me over.” 

“Finally!” Moomin groaned, snatching Snufkin’s hand and starting to lead him off before he could change his mind. 

~~~

Moominmamma wasn’t usually too strict when it came to messes and dirt. But at the sight of Snufkin with dried mud in his hair, on his legs, and stuck on the ends of his tunic, she insisted he take a warm bath while she washed out his clothes for him. Thankfully they had a worn-in outfit that Snufkin considered acceptable to wear for brief periods; a plain, mustard yellow, cotton frock. 

“It’s so weird to see you in anything other than green,” Moomin commented when Snufkin entered his room. He’d spent the time idly doodling some flowers, but he was happy to put it away for awhile. 

“Is it?” Snufkin brushed out the fabric, chuckling a little. “How would I look in red?” 

“I can’t even imagine,” Moomin shook his head, happily padding over with a smile. “Well, what should we do for our rainy day adventure? Play a board game? Act out scenes from a book? Oh! Let’s bake something!” 

“Bake?” Snufkin was already looking forward to whatever sweets Moomin was in the mood for. He’d become quite a fantastic baker over the years.  

“Yes!” Moomin was already walking out of his room and down the stairs. “I can show you how to make a rhubarb pie!”  

“Oh…” Snufkin hesitantly followed him down the stairs. “Aren’t pies rather hard to make?” 

“Maybe at first,” Moomin admitted. “But I’d say they just take more time. Especially if you want the lattice covering on top, but it just looks cuter, don’t you think?” 

“If you say so.” Snufkin tried not to feel too nervous. If it was a rhubarb pie, he could just help prepare the filling and let Moomin worry about the rest. He absolutely hated working with pastry dough; it always turned out lumpy and stuck to his hands or his utensils whenever he tried. 

At first his plan worked out well; Snufkin washed and cut the rhubarb while Moomin started mixing the flour, sugar, and butter together into a nice, large ball of dough. But once Snufkin was done preparing the rhubarb, Moomin called him over to the table, insisting, “Rolling out the dough into a big circle is the best part.”

“Oh, is it?” Snufkin kept a smile on his face despite his heart leaping into his throat. 

“Oh yes!” Moomin separated the ball into two, smaller spheres, handing one to Snufkin. “I’ll let you use the rolling pin; a little easier than using your hands.” 

“I’m sure.”  Snufkin nodded, acting like he knew what he was doing as Moomin handed him the rolling pin. He stared down at his ball of dough, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Moomin was already making good progress with flattening out his own ball with his hands. With a deep breath, he pressed the pin into the center and started rolling, hoping it would work out and that he wouldn’t look like a goon. 

He should have known that was too much to hope for. 

With each new roll, more and more of the dough started sticking to the pin, and Snufkin was quickly becoming frustrated with just how often he had to peel it off and lay it back down on the table. “A little easier than using your hands” indeed. He was so absorbed with his struggle that he didn’t realize Moomin had already finished flattening and rounding his ball of dough. 

“Snufkin.” Moomin was clearly amused, and when Snufkin turned to look he saw a playful gleam in those baby blue eyes. “Need some help?” 

“Oh, no.” Snufkin shook his head, trying to roll out the dough fast, hoping it wouldn’t stick. No such luck; if anything that made it worse. “I have it all under control, thank you.” 

“Ah, I see.” Moomin nodded, obviously stifling a large grin. “Then I’ll start mixing the filling together while you finish… that.”

“Yes, I’d appreciate it.” 

Moomin nodded, chuckling a little as he began gathering spices from the cabinets. Snufkin watched him for a moment to make sure he wasn’t looking before returning to the menacing pastry. The dough looked more like a lumpy, cracked plate rather than a nice circle, so he began rolling it into a ball again before starting over. He put the rolling pin aside before digging in with his hands, since that had seemed to work for Moomintroll just fine. Except, just like before, all that ended up happening was the dough sticking to his hands rather than the rolling pin. 

“How’s it going?” 

Snufkin felt the fur on his back stand on end as he turned to look at his grinning boyfriend. “It’s going.” 

Moomin chuckled, tactfully sliding the flour to him. “A little of this should take care of that stickiness you’re struggling with.” 

“Right, of course.” Snufkin tried to smile nonchalantly, hoping his cheeks weren’t red as he reached for the flour. A little sprinkle later, and the dough was finally behaving properly. Now all he had to deal with was the fact that he was apparently incapable of flattening it evenly; some parts were thin as paper while others were little, thick pockets. 

Snufkin bristled when he heard Moomin start to laugh, and he quickly turned to glare softly. “You’re enjoying my suffering?” 

“Sorry!” Moomin covered his mouth, shoulders shaking with his laughter. “It’s just such a rare sight to see you like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like…” Moomin paused, trying to think of the best way to word this. “Like someone who doesn’t know everything?” 

“I never claimed to know everything—” 

“But you do act like it sometimes,” Moomin pointed out, grinning wider. “With all your grand stories and wise words. I’m just saying, it’s nice to see you failing at something.” 

Snufkin pouted at him, certain his cheeks were at least pink as Moomin continued laughing at him. “What use is dough-making for a tramp?” 

Moomin shrugged, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against Snufkin’s cheek as he pushed his hands away from the dough. “Just let me take care of this, all right? You can be adorable somewhere else.” 

Snufkin tensed up from the casual way Moomin said that, a warm shiver running down his spine. “What, you—my struggling is adorable?” 

“Very much so, actually.” Moomin was thoroughly enjoying himself as he rounded the dough for the third time that afternoon, picking up the rolling pin and humming away as he easily levelled it into a perfect, little circle. “And there we go.” Moomin grinned at him again, pointing towards the counter. “Can you get me a knife so I can cut out the lattice?” 

Snufkin huffed quietly, stepping over to fetch him his knife while embarrassment sat heavy in his stomach. He really didn’t like looking like a fool, but at least it was only Moomintroll who saw. And to be called adorable on top of it all! How completely undignified. 

“Thank you, Snufkin.” Moomin beamed as he took the knife from him. “And just so you know, you look even more adorable with that pout on your lips.” 

Snufkin was sure his entire face was red as he covered his mouth with his hand. “I am not pouting.” 

“Oh, you’re not?” 

“Absolutely. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be in the living room.” Mamma could use some company as she knitted, anyway. 

~~~

The pie turned out beautifully, and the whole family came to the kitchen to enjoy it. Pappa complimented them on their perfect, flaky crust, and Moomin couldn’t help but laugh a little until Snufkin gave him a look. He didn’t say anything, of course; he didn’t want to embarrass Snufkin. No, he’d rather keep the image of Snufkin glaring down at the dough with flushed cheeks and a frustrated pout all to himself. Maybe he’d try and sketch it out later in his journal, just for posterity’s sake. 

It was still raining after they finished their rhubarb snack, so Moomin and Snufkin went up to his room to stare out across the cloudy skies and damp valley. 

“What should we do now?” Moomin asked. 

“Hm.” Snufkin tapped his fingers twice against the windowsill before pushing himself towards his pack. “Let’s make some music. Rainy weather is perfect to compose to.” 

Moomin brightened, happily going to sit on his bed. “I do love your songs.” And it would be so exciting to hear him compose something in real time! 

“I’m glad.” Snufkin pulled out his trusty harmonica before going to sit next to him on the bed. He blew through it once, as if to check to make sure it still worked, and then he began to play. Short, brisk notes, as if to imitate the pitter-patter of the rain, but sudden and loud enough to make Moomin’s ears twitch occasionally. He stopped after a few moments, turning to Moomintroll with a small grin of his own. “Actually, would you like to learn how to play?” 

“Me?” Moomin’s eyes widened as he pointed to himself. “Oh, I don’t know how good I’d be.” 

“Give it a try.” Snufkin handed the instrument over. “Can’t be any worse than me with pie dough.” 

Moomin couldn’t help but laugh at that, covering his mouth again as he did. He was glad that Snufkin wasn’t too sore about earlier; he’d wondered if he’d gone a bit far with his teasing. “You have a point.” He took the harmonica, simply staring at it for a few moments before blowing into it experimentally. It was surprising how loud it was, but he supposed it was bound to sound louder to the one playing it. 

Snufkin began trying to explain two different ways to isolate one note on the harmonica. One involved puckering your lips into a small oval shape, while the other involved using your tongue to block some of the other holes. 

“You put your tongue on this thing?” Moomin interrupted. 

“Sometimes.” Snufkin shrugged. “To get a certain sound. It makes it easier to add in or take away chords, too.” 

“And you’re sure you want me to play this?” 

“You’re clean enough, aren’t you?” 

“That’s not really the point.” 

“I don’t mind, Moomintroll.” Snufkin shook his head, a fond smile on his face. “Go on, try and play something. Just search until you find the note you want.” 

“All right.” Moomin swallowed nervously, staring into the daunting holes of the harmonica before holding it up to his puckered lips and giving a cautious blow. It did take a bit of practice to play just one note, and whenever he tried to find a new one he found all sorts of unpleasant sounds coming out of the instrument before he got to where he wanted. After only a few minutes, his mouth was already starting to hurt and he stopped to rub at his lips. 

“How do you play this for hours?” 

Snufkin laughed, taking the harmonica back as he explained, “Well, for one thing, you were moving your mouth too much. You should move the instrument with your hands, not your lips.” 

“Oooh.” Moomin groaned. “That makes sense.” 

Snufkin chuckled for a bit longer, wiping the instrument down once with his sleeve. “I know what you meant earlier now,” he spoke up, eyes twinkling with mischief as he teased, “You also look adorable when you’re struggling.” 

Moomin felt his fur stand on end as heat travelled down his body. “Oh, hush.” Moomin gently pushed at his shoulder, smiling a little at the joyful laugh that came out of Snufkin’s mouth. “Let’s just agree that we’re both adorable, all right?” 

Snufkin paused for a moment, thinking that over. “Only if you agree that you’re the most adorable, being so large and fluffy.” 

Moomin snorted, leaning in to nuzzle Snufkin’s forehead. “Deal.” 

[m-austinbooks]

Dear @midqueenally​, Merry Christmas from your Secret Santa! When I was reading through the list of AUs you liked, I saw “superhero” and went “ahhhh”. So here you go, a Modern Westeros!AU where Jonerys are a badass superhero duo and Christmas inexplicably exists.  I also wrote a little <2000 word drabble, which is kind of fluffy but with dark undertones(???). I hope you enjoy!

The Dragon Queen and The White Wolf

Daenerys had become a nocturnal creature. The night was where her enemies lived, darting into the shadows at the sound of her wingbeats. It was where Jon was strongest, stalking those enemies through Flea Bottom alleyways and catching them in his claws. It was when their baby son found his voice, wailing loud enough to raise those who still existed in the day.

The night before Christmas offered no break to that pattern. She and Jon curled up together on their favourite window-seat, watching the skies instead of the festive lights, leather and lycra peeping darkly from beneath their warm wools. It was hard not to watch her husband too, admire how the moonlight played over his handsome face. It scattered like a thousand stars in his night-black curls and turned his skin to scarred marble. His dark eyes flickered away from the glass when their son began to cry, and they rose together, smiling, sighing, fingers entwining as they crossed the room and looked into Aemon’s cot.

‘Aye, aye, we hear you, pup,’ Jon murmured, the low rasp of his voice settling deep in Daenerys’s stomach. He scooped their boy up, arms that could rend limbs from torsos cradling Aemon so gently. ‘Hush, little one.’

‘Like father, like son it seems,’ she teased, ‘howling at the moon.’

Only when Aemon’s crying had faded to sparse whimpers did her husband reply. ‘What’s this, Dany?’

‘That’s what you wolves do, isn’t it? Howl at the moon, hunt in the snow, sniff each other’s … hindquarters.’

Jon snorted where once he would have bristled, ‘Only at family reunions.’

Dany chuckled, rooting around in the cot for something for Aemon to chew. He was teething, and the canines that were coming through were already sharp as a Stark’s. The grip on the lion teething toy she gave him was supernaturally strong. Despite inheriting the star-bright hair of the Targaryens, Dany’s blue-green eyes, the wolfblood was strongest in him.

Jon seemed to map the path of her thoughts. ‘He’s a dragon too.’

‘In name only.’

For the other great superhero families, Stark and Tully, Lannister and Tyrell, power was a shared bond, but the blood of the dragon was something to bear alone, only kindling in the womb of a Targaryen mother after the previous Dragon died. It had been a lonely path to master her flames, her flight, poring over her long-dead brother Rhaegar’s notes for clues on how to control her gifts. But Rhaegar had died young with his observations incomplete, awaiting a revision that never came.

‘It’s not just about the powers,’ Jon insisted. ‘Otherwise, what would I be?’

Dany was feeling stubborn tonight. ‘Still a Stark. You have the wolfblood.’

Raising his eyebrows, Jon summoned a perfect sphere of ice and balanced it on the tip of his finger. He rarely acknowledged it, this strange twist to his Stark heritage: an unknown mother and ice powers.

Aemon gurgled in delight, grabbing at sphere with his tiny fingers. It was too cold for him, and he cried out when the shock of it went through his arm.

‘Yes, shiny, but cold bad.’ Jon passed the baby to Dany, whose skin was always warm.

‘I suppose he prefers the heat,’ she allowed, watching Aemon curl into her with a cheek-aching smile.

‘So do I,’ Jon’s low rumble was behind her, then tucked into her neck. Wrapping his arms around his family, he kissed up her face, paying special attention to the black scales that emerged at her temples whenever she stoked her inner fire. ‘How couldn’t I?’

Dany sagged back into him, admitting to herself that she preferred how fresh and cool he always felt. ‘You know, it seems pretty quiet out tonight. After we put Aemon back to sleep, we could…’ She reached back and slid a meaningful hand down her husband’s thigh.

‘Aye, we definitely could…’

The warning blare of their phone cut him off immediately, not the normal handset she kept for social calls and dentist appointments, but the one with their police liaison waiting on the other end, ready to disclose which of Dany’s enemies had scuttled out of the shadows this time.

‘Of course,’ she said, kissing Aemon on the top of his curly head before lowering him back into his cot.

‘Bet it’s the Hero Flayer.’ Jon shrugged out of his jumper, slipped out of his jeans. ‘Only he would be enough of an arse to start something on Christmas Eve.’

‘Don’t validate that stupid name.’

‘What should I call him then? Pinkie? Creeper? Git we should have pegged as a murderous psychopath from the first day of Hero School?’

‘The last one,’ Dany murmured as she picked up their work phone. Jon searched the room for his personal mobile, and an eyeful of the back of him in his skintight super-suit made her miss Missandei’s first words.

‘Sorry, Missie. Dragon Queen is ready to go. White Wolf is also on standby. How can we help?’

Missandei’s voice was oddly terse. ‘We have a hostage situation at the Wall.’

‘The Wall? That’s Stark territory, and very far for us here.’

‘The Starks are there, but the situation requires Team Winged Wolf’s specific talents.’

‘Who is it? The Mountain. Crow’s Eye? … Hero Flayer?’

‘Someone new, unlike anyone we’ve ever seen before. He can summon blizzards wherever he goes. And there's something else, though this has been harder to verify. Something about … corpses … reanimating.’

‘Corpses?’ She tried to match Missie’s sober tone and imagine an opponent formidable enough to summon her so many leagues north. But all vague thoughts of danger dissipated in this warm room, where her family was safe and Jon played with his son’s feet as he made his own phone call.

‘It sounds … fantastical, but there are hundreds of eyewitnesses and almost as many casualties. The number is growing. Dragon Queen, the Starks – in their full capacity as wardens in the North –  have declared a state of emergency. They need your flames. Please, hurry.’

‘Understood, we’re on our way.’ She set the phone down with a heavy click.

Jon approached, reclaiming her attention. ‘Gilly answered. She promised to drag Sam up to our floor in a couple of minutes.’ The look on her face was enough to make him pause. ‘How bad is it?’ he asked.

‘Trouble at the Wall, we need to be quick.’

‘The Wall?’

‘I’ll tell you on the way.’

They donned the rest of their armour with practised efficiency: gloves, boots, masks and, in Dany’s case, a rich, red cape. Sam and Gilly arrived quickly, still in their pyjamas, their own little boy sleeping in his mother’s arms. And knowing that their son was watched, they took the stairs up to the roof.

On the rooftop, despite the tapestry of Christmas lights unfurling far into the distance, she noticed the dark most, the dark and the bitter cold. The idea of undead creatures held a little more power out here.

‘And so do I,’ she reminded herself, letting her flames spread within her, then without. Jon sighed beside her, drawing closer to her heat despite his indifference to the cold. ‘My love, we’re about to face something a little different today. Something in the North is waking the dead. Your family are fighting, but they need us.’

There was no doubt from him, no smirking scepticism. He just stared at her with those dark, wolf-wild eyes and nodded, ice collecting in his palms. ‘All right, let’s go,’ he said.

Dany was and would always be the only dragon in her lifetime. She had grappled with her gifts on her own, spent long, lonely years fighting to suppress them before she could even bring herself to accept, explore and master them. But she had found her match in Jon, the man who never flinched from her flames. The man who could follow her off the edge of rooftops, skating through the sky beside her on rivers of ice. The man who stood with her when Goldcloak searchlights stamped dragons and direwolves across the blackening sky, mask on, claws out, as hungry for the blood of his enemies as she was. And when the fight was over, he was the man who could melt into her arms without hesitation, who would hold the little dragon-wolf they had made together with the gentlest hands. With Jon at her side, she could do anything.

 The last of her fear slipped away. 

The Wall glimmered on the horizon long before they reached it, and the dark, formless mass that churned beneath it, she saw that too. Her rage burned hot. How many lives had already been stolen tonight? How quickly could she end these enslavers of the dead? Could she defeat them all in one night?

As they sped closer, she took a deep breath, running through the plans she and Jon had tossed between them on the flight over, picking the ones that best fit the situation sprawling beneath them. Jon called out to her, catching his siblings roving along the top of the Wall. It was nowhere as tall as it was once claimed to be in hyperbolic, semi-historical textbooks, but it was a great vantage point to slash at the undead citizens that climbed up to kill them. Unfortunately, they were not alone up there. Strange, tall creatures encrusted in ice stalked them along the Wall, taking their time, waiting for the Starks to tire themselves out. 'They’re like the White Walkers of old,’ Jon whispered. ‘I heard stories about them as a child. I thought they were just stories.’

‘Let’s see what fire does to them,’ she said.

‘Give them all the seven hells,’ Jon growled.

She dove towards her goodbrothers and sisters like a silent spear. Jon’s family were giving the Others a wide berth, but an uncontrolled strike could still hit them, burn them, kill them. Still Jon had sent her off with nothing more than a vicious smile, his trust absolute. The knowledge gave her power, precision and just a little spark of joy, despite the bleakness off the night.

‘Dracarys!’ she hissed, and the frozen world before her bloomed with fire.

[galahadwilder]

We Are Miraculous, Ch. 4: Full

This chapter was sponsored by @alexseanchai. Sponsor a fic chapter here!

We Are Miraculous Archive

AO3

With thanks to @alexseanchai and @paganinpurple

*

When Adrien comes back from whatever it was he had to do so urgently, he seems a lot calmer. Nino's glad—he's just watched two of his closest friends have barely-averted meltdowns over a vicious op-ed directed at someone else, and he's not sure how to help either of them. Oh, he can put on a happy face and try to cheer them up, sure, but it doesn't change how useless he feels. And how little he thinks it's going to work.

He misses his bubbles. He used to carry a bubble wand everywhere he went—now his hands shake every time he even looks at one, and he can barely even muster the energy to hate Hawkmoth for taking them from him.

"Doing any better?" Nino says as Adrien trudges down the steps of François DuPont, hands in his pockets. He's standing straighter than he was when he left.

"Yeah," Adrien says with a small smile. He isn't rocking anymore the way he was in class, and when he speaks he actually manages to meet Nino's eyes, so... that's a good sign.

"Dad stuff?" Nino says. He wants to put his arm around Adrien's shoulder—physical contact usually helps the dude, he gets so little of it in his everyday life—but Nino knows from Chris and Mari that sensory overload usually responds poorly to extra stimulation. (He's been doing a lot of research into mental health since Enzo... well, since Enzo. He tugs on his hat. He's surprised that he didn't react much to Caron's diatribes. But, then again, not that surprised.)

Adrien shakes his head. "No, not—not this time," he says. His lips twist, and Nino waits for him to elaborate further, but he says nothing.

Nino nods. "Come on," he says. "I'm taking you to Marinette's and we are going to stuff you with sugar until you forget all about what's bothering you."

Adrien perks up at that, a glint in his eyes, and Nino's heart lifts a little at the sight.

*

Every step towards the bakery, Adrien relaxes a little more. Nino’s not sure who he called—he hopes it’s a therapist, because sweet turtle god does he need one—but it definitely helped.

Adrien pushes through the door first, all nervous energy, half-excitement and half-fear, while Nino trudges after him. The lunch rush is in full swing, so the bakery floor is packed, but Sabine still catches sight of them as soon as they walk through the door.

”Hello, boys!” she calls over the crowd with a welcoming smile.

”Hi, Sabine,” Nino says.

Adrien waves nervously, shrinking imperceptibly toward the outer wall. Too many people.

Nino catches his eye. “I’ll order,” he says. “Your usual?”

Adrien swallows and nods.

Waiting in line doesn’t take very long, not that Nino minds. He’s not particularly hungry and he doesn’t really think about inconvenience; as long as Adrien’s okay, it doesn’t really matter. (He is going to have to eat, though. Doctor’s orders.)

He gets to the front of the line and places his and Adrien’s orders just as Tom comes bustling out of the back with a tray of sticky buns. “Oh, Nino!” he says. “We missed you at Mecha Strike last week.”

Nino shakes his head with a rueful smile plastered on his face. “Sorry, dude,” he says. “Other commitments, you know how it is.” He feels guilty for the fib, and guiltier for being unable to drag himself out of bed to see his friend. But that was last week.

”The girls are having lunch in the park,” Sabine says conspiratorially as she hands him a paper bag with his and Adrien’s lunches in it, as well as two cardboard cups. “I’m sure they’d love for you two to join them.” She adds a small wink as she presses the button on the register to process his (heavily discounted) meal.

”I’ll be sure to do that,” he says, feeling a brief spark of mischief light up his brain before burning out.

He pushes through the crowd and the jingling door to find Adrien waiting outside at the patio table. “Hey, dude,” he says, handing Adrien his hot chocolate. “Feeling better?”

Adrien nods, taking the hot chocolate in both hands and sniffing the steam. “Nectar of the Gods,” he murmurs with delight.

”Sabine said Alya and Mari are having lunch in the park, if you want to join them,” Nino says. He hopes Adrien agrees. He still needs to check on Marinette.

”Yeah, I’m down,” Adrien says without looking up from his drink.

*

“Oh! Adrien!”

Nino doesn’t miss the way Adrien deflates at the sound of Lila’s voice. He’s not sure why Adrien dislikes her so much—as far as he can tell, Lila’s a perfectly pleasant, if a bit overenthusiastic, person. But she makes Adrien uncomfortable and as far as this goes, that’s all Nino really needs to know.

”Hey Lila!” Nino says with more cheer than he feels, putting a hand protectively on Adrien’s shoulder. “Adrien and I were just having a little guys’ lunch.” He tries to emphasize the word guys, tell her ‘leave us alone, please.’

”Oh!” Lila says. “Mind if I join?” She latches onto Adrien’s arm before either of them can speak, and Nino glances at Adrien—he’s gone tense, frozen. He’s not gonna say anything and if Nino does he might freak.

”Sure,” Nino grumbles. “Why not.” This is not good—Adrien’s rarely this nonverbal for this length of time. Whatever peace his call at the beginning of lunch had brought him, Lila’s just shattered, and Nino has no idea how to make her leave. He wishes she knew how uncomfortable she makes Adrien, but she seems a bit too oblivious to catch on.

”Can you believe that Caron piece?” Lila says as they walk into the park. “It was so uncalled for!” She purses her lips and shakes her head. “I told Ladybug that video might be a bad idea, but she insisted it was important to her.” She sighs dreamily. “She’s so brave.”

Adrien grunts, and Nino flinches at the sound. But then he spots Alya and Marinette on a picnic blanket nearby, laughing and sharing croissants, and he relaxes a bit.

Alya’s head pops up, and she brightens when she sees them. “Oh, hi guys!” She says. “Come join us!”

”Of course!” Lila giggles, dragging Adrien after her and yanking him down to the blanket. Nino doesn’t miss the way Marinette bristles, and all he can think is, please don’t start this again.

“Oh, Lila, I have something for you!” Alya says, reaching into her bag. She flips open the top and produces... a bottle of mouthwash? She presents it to Lila with a proud flourish. “Here you go!”

The whole group falls into utter silence as Lila stares at the green bottle in Alya’s hands. “I—what?” the Italian girl says, weakly. Her face is pale and she looks like she’s about to puke.

"Oh, I thought...” Alya’s face falls. “Nevermind. Sorry.” She turns to stuff the bottle back into her backpack.

Lila’s face blanches further and she shoots to her feet. “I—I just remembered,” she says. “Mama needed me home today for—we’re, we’re organizing some charity work, so I need to go—”

”Of course!” Alya laughs, waving. “Good luck.”

Lila bolts.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Alya’s genuine grin turns savage. “Should’ve taken the mouthwash,” she growls. “Maybe it’ll clean the aftertaste of the bullshit you’re spewing.”

Marinette covers her mouth and giggles, her face red, and Adrien stares at Alya before collapsing into his back. “Thank god,” he says.

”Uh,” Nino says. “What was that?”

Alya sighs and rolls her eyes. "Remember how I told Marinette to fact-check Lila?"

Marinette winces at the words.

"Yeah?" Nino says. Ugh, he doesn’t want to have this discussion again—

Alya twists her lips and wraps her arm around Mari’s shoulder, pulling her in close. "Well, she did,” Alya says. “And now I feel like an idiot."

Nino blinks, an ember of dull rage sparking in his chest. She was lying? About—about everything?

Lila was—Marinette has always been someone he trusts. He may not understand why she's so insistent on hiding the anxiety attacks she has whenever there's an Akuma, and her excuses are getting ridiculous, but he grew up with her—she's never been someone who lied before. And he always knew Lila was kind of a flake. But the person Mari’s accusations posited couldn't possibly have existed—she'd painted a picture of absolutely comic pettiness and villainy—on level with Adrien’s dad. And Lila is actually like that? He can barely believe someone like that exists at their age.

Much as he's wanted to, he hasn't really been able to care about the Basielberg connection after that first day. But he's not the only one Lila hurt.

He glances at Adrien as a number of things start to click in his head. “Is that why you’re so uncomfortable around her?”

”She hurt Marinette,” Adrien says without picking up his head. Nino can tell he has more to say, but he doesn't seem to want to.

Marinette looks down at her sandwich, steadily reddening. “She hurt you too, you know,” she whispers.

”And nobody gets to hurt either of you again,” Alya says, lightly punching Marinette’s shoulder.

Marinette winces, laughing, then her laugh slows and she goes back to a small smile, laying herself across Alya's lap. "I've missed this," she says.

Nino looks around, sees his friends, how comfortable they are now for the first time since Lila came back to school, and thinks, so did I.

We Are Miraculous Archive

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[writing-yj]

Kid Flash x Reader: My Hero

@cas-backwards-tie : what about 40 & 48 with Wally West? or Dick Grayson idc.

40: “Only I’m allowed to see that much of your skin.”

48: “Don’t call me ‘babe’.”

Word Count: 2193

Warnings: Gets a little heated ;), someone gets punched, no means no is not understood

A/n: Alrighty, I tried my bestest, but in my opinion... it bad. I hope you like it, thought

“The party should only last two hours at most, Wally.” You said into the phone, using your shoulder to press it against your ear as you grabbed your coat. “So I can’t guarantee that I’ll be here by the time you get back.”

You heard your boyfriend sigh on the other end of the call. “Just don’t get into any trouble, alright?”

“That word isn’t in my vocabulary.” You said and went back to holding the phone with one hand.

Wally could almost hear your smirk. “I beg to differ, but if you say so. I’ll see you later, babe.” 

You exchanged loving goodbyes, and then you hung up to hail a taxi. It was a very busy street and the sidewalks were crowded; it was hard to not get pushed into the road and to stop other people from stealing your cab. 

After an annoying journey to your friend’s house, one that could qualify as a mansion, you were shocked to see that what was supposed to be a small, normal birthday party had turned into a huge party with music so loud that you could already feel the bass from outside.

‘Oh no.’

Big parties weren’t your favorite. You knew for sure that almost every person there would be a stranger to you and you hated that. So you stood there in her driveway, seriously and deeply contemplating if you should actually attend this party. There were so many attendees, she probably wouldn’t even notice your presence.

“(Y/n)! There you are!” Just as you were about to turn around, (F/n) leaned out of her front door with a smile. “Come on in! I was waiting for you to show up.”

“I thought you said this was going to be a small party?” You asked nervously, taking small steps at a time.

She simply shrugged. “I invited one person, but I couldn’t invite them without this other person, and word just kind of got out and here we are.” (F/n) previously acknowledged your anxiety when it comes around to large crowds of people, but very rudely never took it into account.

But she invited you and looked very happy that you came, so you reluctantly went into her home and you were immediately shocked at how many people there were.

‘Jesus Christ, there are dozens of people h- are they grinding!?’

You rapidly dodged them left and right to find a place to keep your coat. Her normal coat hangers were either knocked over or disappeared. Five minutes went by, so you gave up and you put it far back in the soup cupboard.

If you had known it was going to be like this, you wouldn’t have worn the dress you put on. It was a form fitting, slightly low cut, and thigh-length royal purple dress. It showed a lot of skin, but you weren’t prepared for this ‘accidental’ event. Now that you thought about it, (F/n) probably was planning a big party in the first place, but didn’t bother to tell you.

‘I need to drop her ass...’

You tried to dance for a mere two seconds before you needed to leave the room. It was exact opposite of your ideal environment, so much so that you speed-walked through the halls in search of a quiet room. You were wringing your hands together and frantically looking left and right.

The fast clack of heels hitting the hardwood floor approached you from behind; you correctly guessed who it was. “Where’s the fire, (Y/n)?” (F/n) laughed and grabbed your arm. “We’re about to play spin the bottle! Come on!”

She tried tugging you to the living room, but you didn’t budge. “I have a boyfriend, (F/n). I’m not playing spin the bottle or anything like that.” You told her firmly.

“Oh I’m sure he won’t care! Hurry up, the game will start s-”

“Are you out of your mind!?” You shouted, grabbing the attention of other party goers. “Do you really think that my boyfriend wouldn’t care if I willingly kissed another guy at a party!?” This had to be her most stupid idea yet. “I am not going to cheat on my boyfriend for the sake of a simple party game!”

Her pale blue eyes narrowed into a glare that didn’t disturb you in the slightest. “Then feel free to leave whenever you want. Wouldn’t want to have a wet blanket at my party, would we?” (F/n), a friend of nearly three years, is telling you to leave her birthday party just because you wouldn’t cheat on Wally?

How ridiculous.

You roughly pulled your arm out of her bruising grip and stalked down the rest of the hallway. Your intended destination was the back door; and you didn’t care about your coat; it was a poor quality coat and it was a gift from her anyway. The least she could have done was get you a better one, seeing as how much money her parents make.

The chilly air was only a little unpleasant once you stepped outside onto the patio. It was absent of people and the string lights gave off a peaceful glow. (F/n) had you come over a few days ago to decorate a little, but that didn’t go very well. The only decorated area was the one place the party wasn’t occupying, and that’s the last place you wanted to be. A party-free space is something you could face.

You slid the door shut and sat on one of the outside, and conveniently cushioned, chairs and looked up at the sky. The stars twinkled back at you, as if they sympathized your current situation. You wouldn’t be surprised if they did. 

‘Since when has cheating become a trend? Hasn’t it always been a bad, shitty thing to do?’

You went rigid when you heard the door slide open and then shut; you knew it wasn’t going to be (F/n), obviously, and you had yet to see anyone else you knew. It wasn’t going to be Wally or Dick, or anyone else on the team.

You slowly turned your head, ready to argue or fight, but there stood a guy who looked your age. “Hi...?” You greeted cautiously.

“I saw what happened in there...” He sounded like he was going to scold you.

And you were not in the mood for a scolding, and you weren’t the one who needed to be. “I think everyone did,” You said with a not-so-nice tone. “Listen, if you’re here to tell me I-”

“I’m not here to get after you for it, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He said and walked closer to your chair. He was starting to make you uncomfortable. “I’m Martin, but my friends call me Marty.” Martin held out his hand, and you warily took it.

“Uh, nice to meet you, Martin...” You didn’t call him Marty; he said his friends called him that, and you weren’t his friend. When he asked why you didn’t use his nickname, you made it very clear as to why.

He gave you a toothy grin anyway. “Ah, you don’t really know me yet. Well, I can’t imagine what it would be like to be kicked out of my friend’s birthday party, so I came here to give you some company.” The way he said ‘company’ made your skin crawl.

“That’s very nice of you, but I think I’ll be fine. I’d like to be alone.”

“Please, I insist. It’s not healthy to bottle up your emotions.”

“I’m not ‘bottling up’ anything! I just need some room to cool off and that’s why I’m out here.”

Suddenly, he grabbed your arm in a way that would leave brutal bruises and pulled you out of your chest so you were pressed against him. “I think something different will help. Has anyone told you that you look absolutely stunning in that dress?”

You tried to shove him away, but he was a lot stronger than he looked. “Get off me, creep!” You knew how to defend yourself; you were a part-time vigilante, but you didn’t want to severely hurt him. Yet. “Or else I’ll-”

“Come on babe, don’t be like that.” He chuckled and his hot breath on your shoulder was very disturbing.

“Don’t call me ‘babe’!” You growled and you went to break out of his grip...

But he was gone before you could even attempt to. He was suddenly on the ground, clutching his side with one hand and covering his bleeding nose with the other. “What the hell, man!?” Martin cried out, and Wally was standing above him.

“Get your filthy hands off her!” Wally snarled. He turned to look at you and he saw the marks Martin left when he grabbed you. The hair on the back of his neck bristled and his hands curled into fists. “Did you do that!?” Wally pointed at your arm.

After he yelled the question again, Martin nodded slowly. With no hesitation, Wally lifted him up by the collar of his shirt and gritted his teeth. “You wanna know what happened to the last dick who hurt my girlfriend?” Technically, the last dick to hurt you was when Dick accidentally gave you a paper cut. All Wally did was put a band aid on it; didn’t even get mad at his best friend... But he wasn’t referring to names.

“Depends on if she was wearing that dress or not. Might want to tell her to not to wear something that sexy if she doesn’t want-” It was like he wasn’t even phased by Wally’s fearsome display of protectiveness. 

Your lover cocked his arm back to swing but you stepped in front of him to stop his fist. “Babe, don’t. Please. I’m fine, let’s just go home.” You said, and you made the saddest but most pleading look possible.

Wally reluctantly let go of Martin’s shirt and stepped back. “Are you sure you’re okay, (Y/n)?” 

The moment Wally moved, you lunged forward and your fist hit Martin’s jaw with a loud crack. “That’s what happened the last time a dick laid his hands on me.” You were sure you fractured his jaw. Martin’s response came out as a slurred set of words before he was out cold. You didn’t originally plan on punching him, but after that comment, he sealed the deal.

Without a single word, Wally picked you up and ran home like the speedster he is. You could tell he wasn’t happy. He definitely wasn’t happy at all with Martin, but what if he was mad at you, too? All you knew that what he was feeling was intense.

You stood in the living room a few short seconds later, and I was silent. All you heard was you and Wally breathing, but no words were exchanged. You simply looked up at his green eyes and you saw... Worry? Lust? Pride? You couldn’t tell; it must have been a mix of the three because you were pulled into a bear hug.

“Why didn’t you defend yourself?” He asked. Wally more more worried than he let on, but relieved just as much.

“I didn’t want to send him to the hospital; assault charges have never been my best friend.” 

His worry melted away faster than he could run, now that he remembered how hard you socked him. “Could’ve fooled me. You did quite a number on him.” He pulled back to look at you. “It was pretty hot, actually.”

“Apparently, so is this dress. I was perfectly okay until he made that comment about it.” You scoffed and some leftover anger stirred in your stomach.

A quiet gasp left you when you felt Wally’s lips graze your neck. “I love this dress. You look absolutely amazing in it,” He kissed his way up to your jaw and you bit your lip. “I’m not telling you what to do or ordering you around, but sometimes I feel that only I’m allowed to see that much of your skin.” He fiddled with one of the straps. 

“I was hoping you’d like it, actually.” You chuckled and you slowly ran your hands up his chest. “Just didn’t think the night didn’t end as planned.”

“I, personally, think that this new plan is going great.” Wally’s hands rested on your waist. Heat radiated off his body; it was more prominent, now. “We can come up with the rest of it as we go, is that alright?”

“Are we going to ‘wing’ it?”

Wally gasped dramatically. “You did not just use Dick’s pun, or am I going insane?”

“Yeah, insane for me.”

He blinked several times in mild shock. “Wow... That was pretty good.”

“I learned from the best.”

I apologize.

[shaniahnoel]

Buttercup Pt 8/?

Word Count: 3164

Warnings: Maybe swearing?

Master List

“Sweet Pea! Stop!” Sophia yelled, shoving her hands into his chest.

“Nope,” he smirked, attacking her sides once more. Her protests gave way to laughter as she writhed under him. Sweet Pea inhaled sharply as her foot flailed between his legs. Grunting, he rolled onto his side while Sophia sat up horrified.

“Geez, you coulda just said stop.”

“Y’know what? I don’t even feel bad, you deserved it.” She glared playfully as his lips curved into an easy smile.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you dare start again,” she commanded the Serpent who slithered towards her.

He tackled her, pressing her softly into the carpet. His large hands easily captured hers, pinning them above her head. Rolling himself gently, he crossed her hips with his own, keeping her legs behind him. The annoyance slipped out of her eyes as they met his playful expression. Silently he dared her to try and stop him. She relaxed under him, the apparent submission causing him to loosen his grip. Sophia pressed her advantage and rolled him quickly. Now she had his hands over his head, staring triumphantly into his shocked eyes.

“Right,” he muttered, “my girlfriend is a self-defense guru.”

“Nope. You’re just not as strong as you think you are.”

The familiar bristling that crept up at her joke was all too easy to subdue. It was pleasantly strange for him to find how calm he’d become in the few weeks since that night at the Wyrm. He was determined to be the person that Sophia deserved, and her voice echoed in his head whenever he felt that he wasn’t. If life were Harry Potter, he may have considered her his Patronus, a happiness that clung to his every fiber. He still got into just as many fights, so few people of the South Side realized the beginning of this transformation. Of course, none of them saw him like this, giggling like a four-year-old and stealing forehead kisses as if they’d run out. Well, except Fangs and Toni.

“Could you get a room? We wanna watch the game!”

“No one’s stopping you,” Sweet Pea said smugly, settled over Sophia once again.

“Well, I’d like to see what’s happening and your head is huge,” Toni quipped as she settled onto the loveseat behind them.

“For you, Topaz.” Sweet Pea conceded, pulling Sophia to her feet and throwing her into Toni’s lap in one quick motion. “Whoops”

“Sweet Pea!” They yelled in unison while Fangs joined him in laughter.

“You’re a child,” Sophia rolled her eyes as he crammed his way between them, throwing an arm around both.

“An overgrown child,” Toni chimed in.

“Truer words have never been spoken,” Fangs muttered, prompting the girls to launch throw pillows at his head.

“You’re just as bad, Fogarty.” Sweet Pea smirked.

Rachel came to stand in the doorway, chuckling softly as the scene before her. Fangs sat in the worn armchair, arms raised to deflect the pillows that headed his way while the other three looked comfortably squished into the too small loveseat. It reminded her of why she’d joined the Serpents years ago, why she stood by her husband now—the Serpents were family and here was part of the next generation. She’d always worried about Sweet Pea, fearing that the anger of her son’s best friend would be the death of him. Her smile grew as she looked at him now, smiling easily and relaxed with her niece under his arm. Sophia looked happy, too, it was the happiest Rachel had ever seen her. The four teens groaned in unison as the flash on Rachel’s phone went off. Shrugging at their protests, she sauntered back into the kitchen.  After the game, Sophia resumed her studying for the exam the next day.

“Ugh, how am I supposed to tell everyone that I’m dating a nerd,” Sweet Pea groaned, throwing himself back on the bed dramatically.

“The same way I’ll own up to dating a child, now leave my socks alone!”

Sweet Pea snickered, backing away from her flailing legs. He was attempting to behave himself, but she was too cute when she studied and even cuter when annoyed. It didn’t help that he knew she couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes. On cue, her eyes softened, and she let out a sigh.

“Why aren’t you studying for calc? Everyone says Lewell’s tests are the worst.”

“Eh, it’ll average out to a D.”

The pencil that she’d been absentmindedly twirling spun out of her hand. The perfectionist within was having a heart attack, and she was confused.

“You’re not a D student.”

“This’ll be my third year, I’m big on commitment.”

“You committed to becoming a D student?”

Sweet Pea burst out laughing; Sophia’s voice and face both indicated that he’d just admitted to kicking puppies as a hobby.

“Well, not exactly. I just decided I’d be what the lovely educators at South Side High thought I’d be the day I came to school with this.”

He gestured to his neck carelessly, the Serpent partially obscured by the hoodie he wore. Sophia could detect the slightest hint of anger in his voice. It was an old wound, clearly, but she could tell it had never healed quite right. She replaced her bookmark and snapped the book closed. Sweet Pea looked up eagerly, expression falling slightly when he saw her face.

“Yesssss?” he hissed, playfully encouraging her to say whatever was on her mind.

“Why would you wanna prove them right?”

“I’m not jumping through hoops. It’s all stupid. I’ve seen Serpents try and they get accused of cheating or get a bunch of lectures about wasting their life away with us. It’s just easier to coast.”

“You could do so well though!”

“I’m not concerned about that.”

“Don’t you wanna go to college?”

“Nope.” He popped the “p” and watched her face. Shock flickered across it.

“Why?”

“What do I need college for? Nothing on the South Side requires it.”

“So, you just want to stay in the South Side, forever?”

“What’s wrong with the South Side?” He challenged, working harder to subdue the frustration. Sophia sighed.

“Don’t make this something it’s not, P. I’m just saying it’s nice to have options and with a mind like yours, you could have so many.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Sophia stared at him, but he averted his gaze to the ceiling, practicing his deep breathing. She bit her lip and opened her book again. Sometimes it was best not to push. While she flipped through the pages searching for key phrases that might be on the exam, Sweet Pea stared a hole into the ceiling. Finally, he sighed and threw himself gently onto Sophia. He supported most of his weight, but she still felt the pressure of the 6’5 Serpent. A gentle kiss on the back of her neck was his apology and she rolled under him to accept.

“I don’t want to make you be something you’re not. I just want you to be all that you can be.”

“I think we have different opinions on what that looks like,” he said as he leaned into her hand on his cheek.

“I’ll try not to push,” she promised solemnly, but they both smiled knowing that she could never resist pushing if she believed it would help.

School buildings must exist outside of the realm of time, Sophia was absolutely sure. Second period dragged on as the teacher discussed math formulas that she’d already memorized. It wasn’t necessarily that she was smarter, just that her prep school had been more academically rigorous. Rather than focus on the lesson, she began drafting up a song. The lyrics had floated around in her head for weeks putting into words what the South Side made her feel. It’d been months since her hands had tickled the ivories, but it’d have been a cold day in hell before her mother allowed her to have their piano, and the South Side had no true music program. Her heart ached as she considered the hours that she and her brother had spent together, him patiently teaching her how to let her fingers flow rather than rigidly strike.

When the bell rang, she decided to skip her third period to find a piano. Surely there had to be some instruments somewhere, it was a high school after all. Ten minutes later she found herself outside of a door with a peeling sign on the window identifying it as the music room. The door swung open easily, but the lack of use was apparent. The music stands, and instrument cases were covered in dust making the disconformity of the bare patch on the floor even more uncomfortable as Sophia tried not to consider the other uses of this room. In the corner of the room sat the piano looking as desperate to be played as Sophia was to play it.

Sliding back the cover, Sophia straightened her back and let her fingers go to work. She started simple, going back through her paces. It was something her brother had always insisted upon as an exercise of humility. After progressing through her scales and warming her fingers up, the music inside bubbled out. The keys told a story of darkness giving way to light and hope bubbling forth. She thought of Sweet Pea and the music became light and airy with a deeper beat resounding through. By the time she finished, her heart was beating loudly. For her, music was always an emotional experience and she’d been so engrossed in it that she hadn’t heard the door close as someone else entered the room.

“That was beautiful.”

Sophia stifled a scream, whirling around on the bench to find herself face to face with Jughead.

“Jug you can’t do that to people!”

“You’re right. Too many compliments and everyone will think I like people.”

“Ugh, Serpent boys are the bane of my existence.”

“That lie aside, seriously that was amazing. How long have you played?”

“Since I was six months old.” Her serious and pompous manner lasted mere seconds before she lost it at Jughead incredulous face. “Okay, okay, if you’re counting when I started slamming the keys every time my brother tried to play, it’s six months. If you’re not, I formally started learning when I was five so nearly twelve years.”

The bell rang again, and she scrambled to grab her belongings. Jughead shook his head in amusement as he watched her realize that she’d skipped class for the first time. He threw an arm over her shoulders and pulled her along to lunch, assuring her that her Mrs. Phelps probably hadn’t even noticed. As they walked through the lunch room doors, Sweet Pea’s head turned. His eyes narrowed slightly at Jughead’s arm, but Fangs elbowed him in the ribs. Jealousy was still his weak spot, but he was learning to relax. It didn’t help that their relationship wasn’t explicitly public and, so he had to endure the scum of the student body try to woo his girl. Every time he brought it up, Sophia reminded him that it was his idea to keep the relationship quiet.

“Fangs did you know your cousin is basically Beethoven?”

“Oh, yeah, her last concert was amazing. I mean, I hated the music, but the way her fingers flew was insane.”

“You were there?” Sophia’s eyes were wide.

“We scrammed before you came off the stage, so your mom wouldn’t ruin your moment.”

“I had no idea. Thanks,” Sophia replied, emotion constricting her throat. Sweet Pea leaned forwards.

“I didn’t know you played?” There was note of jealousy in his voice, probably spawning from his interest in Jughead knowing before him.

“That’s ‘cause I haven’t since I came here from the prep. I, uh, I actually skipped last period to track down a piano and played.” Her face reddened despite knowing that all of them skipped class, sometimes entire school days just for the heck of it.

“And of course, I had to investigate the possibility of Mozart being resurrected in the midst of South Side High.”

Sophia rolled her eyes, but flushed under Jughead’s praise. She’d missed playing more than anything. While her joy in it came from the feeling of creating something beautiful, it helped that her mother considered it an appropriate hobby. When she played, her mother would sit and listen and until the last note sounded, it felt like they were connected. She blinked back tears as Sweet Pea’s hand found hers under the table. Maybe playing had been a mistake.

“Play for me?” The Serpent whispered in her ear. She raised her eyes to his, their warmth flushing out the sudden chill.

After the final bell rang, Sweet Pea and Sophia made their way to the music room. She waited to the side of the door as he unceremoniously booted a couple from the room. The guy turned halfway out of the room, but Sweet Pea crossed his arms and hardened his face and the protest died in his throat. When they left, Sophia went to the piano while Sweet Pea hovered uncertainly. Only ever allowing her brother to join her on the bench, she directed him to a nearby chair.

Sweet Pea sat quietly as she began. The start up was basic, things he could probably play if he wanted to. He realized that she was only warming up as her fingers flowed into the true piece. The music she played was light and delicate, a stark contrast from what he was used to. It was even more surprising because she listened to, and said she liked, all his heavier music. Music moved him, but he’d never been moved like this. Instead of feeding his aggression, this music was calming and happy. He moved to stand behind her, resting a hand gently on the small of her back, watching as her fingers danced.

She was beautiful. Her eyes were closed, relaxed as if she were asleep. He could tell she’d played the next piece thousands of times and could play it thousands more. The movements were effortless, and the sound was hauntingly delightful. Any mistakes she made were apparent only in the smallest of creases in her forehead which quickly smoothed over as she pushed herself on. Time passed without notice as Sophia continued to play, Sweet Pea lost in the beauty. The key changed, the music slowed, and suddenly he realized Sophia was crying. She stopped playing and put her head in her hands as he quickly straddled the bench to hold her.

“What’s wrong? You did great.”

“N-nothing. I just, I had started playing one of my father’s favorites.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Sophia chuckled at the puzzled concern in his voice.

“No, it just… It’s been so long since I’ve been allowed to play it.”

“Allowed?”

“Not here,” she muttered into his chest.

Without a word he stood up and took her by the hand, leading her out to his bike. He cruised through the street lazily, taking the longer route. The bike had made her nervous at first, but now it was something immensely relaxing for her. They finally ended up at their place—the park where they’d first really talked. As before, Sophia took the only swing while Sweet Pea flopped on the ground. This time, he sat up straight, arms around his knees loosely, and looked at her expectantly. She took a deep breath, playing with her fingers.

“My dad was my best friend. I’ve told you a little about him, I think. He was a doctor and he wanted either my brother or I to follow in those footsteps. I actually hated that.”

“I thought it was your dream since you were five?”

“Sort of. I first decided that when I was five because that’s when dad got sick. He told us that he hoped he would live on through one of us becoming a doctor, and I took that statement very literally. My heart wasn’t in it though, not like Marcus. He wanted to be a neurosurgeon. Anyways, my dad went into remission, but the cancer kept coming back. Mom started to act different. She was testier, more concerned about appearances. She wanted us to be the best, the absolute best, in whatever we were doing. In some ways, that was great. In others it was overwhelming. That’s when Marcus’ anxiety really started to take off. Then, when I was 9, I caught my mom cheating on my father.”

Sweet Pea’s fists clenched as he looked up to see tears falling freely down her face. Her hands were curled into tight balls, and her teeth sank into her lip. He wavered, uncertain of what to do. Sadness still wasn’t his forte. If it were him, he’d be punching something right about now to cope. Her next words came out, shaky with tears.

“She told me it was none of my concern and not to tell my father. I didn’t know what to do. A year later, he left. Before he left, he told me that he knew that I had known, but that it was okay. He understood my dilemma. I didn’t understand why he left us with my mother until a few months later when he died. The cancer had come back, and no one had told me or my brother.”

At this, Sweet Pea was on his feet. He wrapped his arms around her as she sobbed. The hate that he thought he’d had for her mother was nothing, nothing at all, compared to this. Betrayal of trust was an unforgivable sin for Sweet Pea and in his mind, she had failed both her husband and children in that regard. Reflexively his arms tensed around Sophia. They sat like that for a while, Sophia sobbing and Sweet Pea fuming. Eventually, she was able to continue.

“That’s when everything really changed. Mom became a dictator. I think the affair made her feel guilty. Anything that called her character into question had to go. Eventually that meant Marcus. He overdosed on a mixture of alcohol and pills and that was it. My dad was never to be brought up: my doctor goal was gone, his favorite pieces forbidden.”

“I’m so sorry, Soph,” Sweet Pea whispered, pressing his lips to her temple.

“It’s okay. I’m away from her now. I can be the doctor my brother wanted to be, fulfilling my father’s dream. I can play freely again. There are good things in my life that weren’t there before.”

She unconsciously stroked his arm as she spoke. It was such a strange feeling. No one had ever considered him a good thing in their life. Nor had he met someone so fragile and strong. She had lost her father, was missing her brother, and her mother had taken everything from her, but she was still fighting. It was so frustrating. He could fight his way through anything, but he couldn’t fight this for her.

Taglist @serpentsweetspea @reinadelaserpiente Here’s a late Christmas gift for you, I hope you enjoy!! Feedback is always welcome! <3

A/N: Obviously I don’t own any of the Riverdale characters, but Sophia and her relationship with our beloved Sweet Pea are my personal creation as well as the plot lines herein. There may be some basis on events currently happening in Riverdale, but not necessarily.

[lightsaberss]

The Meaning of Death Chapter 10

It’s done! Huzzah!

AO3/FF.NET

It had been hours, but she could still feel the pressure of his lips on hers, and the ghost of his touch lingered on her skin like a memory that wouldn't fade even as she tried to distract herself. She kept thinking about his hand on her waist, and in her hair, the way his lips moved beneath hers, and the feel of his body as she tried to get closer. They'd broken apart, and moved away from each other before things could get out of control. As if they weren't already out of control. As if kissing on the bathroom floor wasn't already ridiculous and the last thing they should've been doing. As if neither of them would be thinking about what had just happened, and where it could have lead.

Riza had wondered if they'd done that before, if they'd given into their feelings in a moment of weakness, or if that was the first time. In the end, it didn't matter if it was the first time or the thousandth, they shouldn't have crossed that line. She shouldn't want to do it again and again, she should be focusing on trying to get her memories back, and not daydreaming about how Roy would feel beneath her.

To distract herself from fantasy, she'd poked around the house some more. Her old bedroom was almost the same. Cleaner, with a new coat of paint on the walls, but the small bed was still against the far wall, under the window, and her old clothes still hung in the wardrobe. Old dresses and tops that she couldn't wear after the tattoo, for fear it would poke out of the top and reveal her fathers secrets to the world. Now she couldn't wear them because she wasn't sixteen anymore, and even if she wanted to, she was fairly certain they wouldn't fit.

Her desk still stood in the corner, books would have been piled up on it when she was younger, a mixture of indulgent fiction and books for school that she'd brought home for the holidays. She'd have put them on the bed whenever she needed to do her homework, she'd have chosen to hide away in her room from her father and his apprentice. Times had obviously changed. Riza opened the desk drawers, there was a half empty bottle of whiskey next to a couple of dozen sealed envelopes, all with her name scrawled on them in Roy's handwriting.

"Oh Roy…" She whispered to herself, and closed the drawer. Even with his grief locked away and out of sight, it weighed heavily on her. Riza didn't know Roy like she should have, like she had before, but she knew him well enough to know the half empty bottle wasn't the first, and that the letters came later. After the determination to get her back (there must have been some, surely?), after the rage, and after the drinking, then there would have been the private sadness. The grief he would have tried to keep hidden, but would have taken him over completely.

Riza knew him well enough to know that's what probably happened, and his grief weighed heavy on her. Maybe she wasn't the only one confused and distracted by the kiss they'd shared. Maybe he was fighting his own emotions just like she was fighting hers. There was little point in mentioning her discovery to him, he could keep his personal grief to himself, it was his to share with her if he wanted to. It was enough to know it existed at all.

She closed the bedroom door behind her, and headed downstairs to be in his company. Yes, he was distracting, and it tempted her to cross a line that she shouldn't have gotten so close to, that she shouldn't have pressed her lips against. But maybe he needed to have her around, to be reminded of her presence. That she was here. That she was alive.

Riza was halfway down the stairs when the lights went out.

***

Another day, another safe house. Rebecca's face and head throbbed painfully, but she wasn't about to be left behind as if she was some kind of damsel in distress, no way. She stuck a plaster over the cut on her head after she wiped away the blood, and then helped the boys bundle Weird and Creepy into the back of the car Breda had borrowed from work. Once he was secured in one of the rooms, cuffed to a chair with Breda, Ed, and Al keeping watch while Fuery hooked up recording equipment, Jean dragged her off to the bathroom.

"Sit." Jean ordered. Rudely.

Rather than sitting on the edge of the bath, like she would have if he asked nicely, Rebecca folded her arms in front of her chest and gave him her best incredulous What Did You Just Say To Me? Look. Instead of baking down, which any sensible man would have, he mirrored her pose, only infuriating her more.

"What's your problem?" Rebecca asked, her annoyance seeping into every syllable.

"I don't have a problem, but I need to clean that cut." At least if he was annoyed, he didn't sound it.

"Well you don't need to order me about like I'm Hayate."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you - are we really doing this right now?" Rebecca asked. "While there's a perp downstairs and we have bigger things to deal with?"

At the mention of Weird and Creepy, Jean bristled, and turned away from her to the bathroom cabinet and dug around until he found the first aid kit. When he turned back to her and jerked his head in the direction of the bath, to get her to sit on the edge, she refused and took a step closer to him.

"I'll stand." She said defiantly.

Rebecca was directly in his personal space, and glaring at him, but he kept whatever was bothering him in his head, for a change, and went to work on treating her wound. It was smaller than she thought it would've been, but head wounds always bled a lot, and she hissed in pain as he cleaned it.

"Ouch."

"You okay?"

"Yeah, it just stung a bit." Rebecca said, and Jean nodded before he placed a fresh plaster over the cut.

"I think you'll live."

"Probably." Rebecca agreed. "So, you gonna talk about what's eating you, or do I need to start guessing until you open up?"

Jean was close enough that she could smell him, cigarette smoke, sweat, and aftershave. She could reach out and brush her fingers against him, she could lean in and kiss him, she could hold him in her arms, and if he got stupid and annoying, he was close enough for her to slap.

"He could've killed you, Becca," Jean whispered. It was as if the idea had entered his head and floated around in it, eating away at him, until he was forced to speak it allowed. Rebecca softened, the tension fell from her shoulders and her annoyance seeped away as if it had never been there. Of course he would get worried and idiotic about what had just happened.

"Well. Yeah, but so could training with the guys from Briggs, but we still do it." She pointed out, and slid her fingers between his. "I'm okay, Jean."

"I know." He wrapped his free arm around her and pulled her close, so her body was flush against his, and she felt him kiss the top of her head lovingly. "But I can't help-"

"Stop it." Rebecca insisted. She looked up at him and dragged her hands up his arms - Rebecca loved his arms - and wound them around his neck. "I'm okay, Jean."

"But what if he'd just shot you instead of trying to kidnap you or whatever?" He asked, a note of panic rising in his voice. "I love you, Rebecca, I can't lose you like that."

Rebecca smiled warmly, and stood up on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his gently. "I'm okay, Jean." She assured him. "Now, let's go and get this guy to talk, so we can go home and I can show you how alive I am."

Jean chuckled, and kissed her heatedly, passionately, it was a kiss with promise for much, much more later. It didn't last long, but it left her knees weak and her skin flushed with desire. It left her wanting his hands on her skin, and his mouth on hers, preferably in a comfortable bed while wearing absolutely nothing. "Promises, promises, princess." He mumbled against her lips.

"I always keep my promises." Rebecca said. "Now let's get this guy to talk."

***

Ed leaned against the wall and looked at the captured man. He was blonde, which wasn't really shocking considering how many people in the country had that hair colour. In fact, the man looked completely unremarkable. There was no way, in Ed's mind, that he'd been responsible for any of this bullshit. A pawn? Sure, he could see that. But a mastermind? Ed was pretty sure masterminds didn't get knocked out after going to try to kidnap people.

Not unless they were really shitty masterminds, and someone that kept Riza Hawkeye locked away for a couple of years wasn't going to be a shitty mastermind, there was no way they would've been able to keep her that long if they were this stupid. So, he had to be a henchman of some sort.

At least it was a lead, he had to remind himself. An unconscious lead, sure, but that wouldn't last forever. Soon he'd wake up, and then he'd have to talk.

The clock ticked by, and eventually the guy groaned. Show time.

***

Rebecca sat next to Fuery, ice pressed against her face in a vain attempt to stop the bruise from forming. He'd given her a headset to listen in on what was going on in the other room. Breda and Ed playing good cop/bad cop. Or, well, really it was bad cop/worse cop. It didn't take long for the guy to break and start spilling secrets. About how he'd helped target Riza in the first place, how his boss had told him to, how they'd try to brainwash her into fighting for them (although he was a bit hazy on who exactly 'them' were), how she'd resisted. How she'd fought. How she'd battled against them every step of the fucking way until they'd tried to wipe her memory to start again.

Maybe if she didn't remember a life before, she'd be more compliant. Instead, Riza had ran, like a scared animal, she'd fought and battled her way out of there and straight into Jean. So they'd followed her, to make sure she didn't remember anything about them.

It all seemed fruitless, now that he was spilling his guts to them.

She took off the headset, proud of her sister in arms, but unable to listen to anymore about her confinement or their plans for her.

"Has anyone been able to get a hold of Mustang and Riza?" She asked the others in the room; Fuery shook his head, as did Al and Jean.

"They're out in the sticks and it's late. Might be that they're busy-" Jean waggled his eyebrows, and Rebecca rolled her eyes. "-Or it could be that the phoneline's out. It happens more out in bumfuck nowhere than in the city."

"We should keep trying. They need to know all about this." Rebecca insisted.

"Don't worry, baby, we are."

***

Roy came back into the house, and took his ignition gloves and shoved them into his pocket. "Nothing out there, must just be a powercut." He explained, and Riza felt the tension disappear. From the second the lights had gone out she'd been worried that someone had cut the power, that her captors were here to take her back, but it wasn't that at all. Just a power cut out in the country, not unusual, and not remotely noteworthy.

Riza nodded, "Do you have candles?" She asked.

Together they gathered up some candles, stumbling into each other occasionally in the dark, his hands rested on her waist to steady her and Riza had to remind herself to step away from him, and not towards. It was harder in the living room, surrounded by nothing but candlelight, not to slide up to him and kiss him tenderly.

While Riza sat on the couch next to him, her feet tucked up under her, she tried not to sit so close that temptation would become too great. Even if it was always there. It was getting ridiculous, this desire for him that she was trying to keep under control.

"Why did you decide to restore the house?" She broke the tension, and the silence, between them.

"Penance." Roy admitted. "I got the idea from rebuilding Ishval. It's not the same, obviously, but I lost you and nothing I could do would change that. I thought that maybe rebuilding this place with my hands would make losing you easier."

Nothing could make losing her easier, was what went unsaid. It would always be painful, and hard, just like the thought of losing him took the air from her lungs and turned her blood to ice. The thought was unfathomable.

"What were you going to do with it?" She asked. "Retirement out to the country isn't your style."

"I thought about giving it to Havoc and Catalina if they ever got married." Roy admitted. "Or giving it to someone that needed it. It doesn't matter though, because it's yours."

"I don't need a house out in the country, Roy." She said. "My place isn't here. It's never been here."

"So where is it?" He asked.

"With you," Riza said. "Always."

Roy's hand brushed against her leg, and she leaned closer to him. Their lips touched, and this time it wasn't sweet or gentle, it was needy and hungry, demanding proof that she was alive, and here, and in his arms. There were thousands of reasons why she shouldn't have kissed him back with enthusiasm, but there was a good reason that beat all of them. She wanted to.

Riza wanted to kiss him, she wanted to pull his shirt off of him and run her hands over his skin, she wanted to bask in him, and she wanted to love him, and prove to him that she was here and whole and alive. She wanted his mouth on hers, and his hands on her thighs and her breasts, she wanted him. Right then, everything else was inconsequential.

"Riza... " He moaned against her neck before kissing it. "Are you sure you want-"

"Upstairs." Riza interrupted, making her intentions very clear. "We should go upstairs. To a bedroom."

Roy nodded, and they extinguished the candles before going to his bedroom together.

[drxcodormixns]

Reasons

Remus Lupin x Reader

Prompt: “I said you couldn’t fall in love with me, but I didn’t say I couldn’t fall in love with you.”

Y/N runs her hand over the clothes hanging neatly in her closet. Nothing seems right for the occasion - a date (dare she call it that?) with her best friend. “Lils, I need your help,” she shouts, and the girl immediately materializes at her side.

“You’re overthinking this. He’ll like you in anything. Even if it’s nothing. Especially if it’s noth-” Y/N scoffs at that and pushes a laughing Lily away, finally grabbing something to wear.

“Very funny,” Y/N says, her voice slightly muffled by the dress she’s slipping over her head. Studying her form in a mirror, she purses her lips, letting out a small sigh. “This feels weird. Should it feel weird?”

Lily glances up from her spot at the vanity. “Of course it should. Now stop worrying and let me work my magic.” She advances on her best friend, brandishing mascara and lipstick, and Y/N laughs.

Ten minutes later, Lily leans back, inspecting her work of art. With a click of her tongue, she smiles and pushes Y/N to the door. “You’re ready. Now go before you’re late!”

With one hand on the doorknob, Y/N glances back, eyes full of gratitude. “Thank yo-”

“GO!”

She descends the stairs, listening to the sound of her own laughter bounce off the walls. Her anxiety, pushed to the back of her mind while she was getting ready, starts to resurface. Gnawing on her lip, Y/N pauses at the entrance to the common room - mere steps away from where Remus must be waiting - then, with purpose, takes a deep breath and makes her way in.

“Hey Moony!” Y/N’s voice sounds much too high, and she cringes slightly at the sound. Thankfully, Remus doesn’t mention it when he turns around. Shooting a smile in her direction, he makes his way to the portrait hole and pushes it open.

“Shall we?”

The Three Broomsticks is crowded. In any other scenario, this would have bothered Y/N to no end - but on this specific day, she can’t help but feel a little gratitude for the high volume of the chattering first years surrounding her table.

“No - no, right, of course.” The words escaping Y/N’s lips sound forced and tight, but she can’t bring herself to rectify that. “I completely understand.”

She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand why, after all the prodding from their mutual friends and Lily’s insistence that Remus feels the same way as her, just a couple words from her best friend can shatter her heart and make her feel absolutely mortified.

Y/N glances down at the drink she’s clutching in her hand, numbly registering the fact that her fingers are stinging slightly from the strength of her grip. Remus watches her with concern, a mere foot away from her, but she refuses to raise her gaze to meet his eyes. “Y/N, honest, I didn’t mean to mislead you or anything, but -”

“It’s fine, Moony!” The slightly hysterical cry escapes her lips and, yet again, Y/N thanks the powers that be for the chatter in the room. “Staying friends is probably best, anyway.”

Internally, Y/N laughs in self-loathing. Of course her best friend, her crush of three years, would want friendship rather than a relationship.

The minute Remus had led her out of the portrait hole, Y/N could tell that something was off. Remus’ usually bright grins never quite reached his eyes, and he seemed almost afraid to touch her. She chalked it up to nerves at first, the same kind that she was experiencing - but soon enough she realized they were a different kind of nerves all together. He simply didn’t want to be there… with her.

“Y/N... you know I love you, and I would do anything for you, b-but I’m just not… I guess I’m not really looking for a relationship right now…” Remus had trailed off when Y/N’s smile slipped off her face like butter. “Bloody hell, I’m so sorry Y/N, I just -”

And off he was, rambling, looking so sad that Y/N interrupted him as soon as she could get a word in.

“Should we… should we head back?” Remus asks tentatively, jarring Y/N out of her reverie. She nods quickly, wanting nothing more than to be alone in her warm, soft, comfortable bed. Downing her drink in one quick motion, she pushes her way towards the door, not bothering to wait for her companion.

Lily’s reaction is just as bad as Y/N expects it to be. Incredulous, Lily practically screams, waking up the whole room (and probably the whole castle), demanding details and answers that Y/N doesn’t have.

“I don’t understand! James swore that Moony likes you, that absolute prat, you deserve so much better than him -”

The sight of Marlene and Alice nodding along sympathetically to Lily’s rant only serves to make Y/N feel that much worse. “Lils, I’m tired, okay? I’m going to bed.” Without waiting for a response from her still fuming roommate, Y/N jumps into bed and buries her head under her pillow, willing dreams to take her away.

After that fateful night, life in Hogwarts doesn’t change in any perceptible manner. Y/N and Remus go on being best friends, neither ever mentioning that anything out of the ordinary happened, much to Lily’s chagrin.

“You should actually talk to him about it. Get some answers! Why did he actually reject you? Aren’t you curious at all?”

Y/N bristles at that. Of course she’s curious, but, as she repeatedly tells Lily, what’s to be gained by rehashing uncomfortable subjects?

Nobody seems to agree with her, not even Sirius, who has a talent for avoiding uncomfortable subjects, so she simply tunes everyone’s unsolicited advice out. That tactic works rather well until, whilst studying alone in the library, she hears the Marauders moving towards her with their usual lack of grace.

“Moony, you should tell her!”

Sirius’ loud exclamation draws her attention, and she slowly raises her book to hide her face, straining her ears so she can catch the rest of their conversation. “You know her so well. Just ask her out - you know she’ll say yes.”

Narrowing her eyes, Y/N glares at the table. She can just imagine Remus at the moment - bright red and embarrassed, trying to cover his eyes and hide the truth. What girl knows him better than she does - what girl does he know better than Y/N?

Shaking her head, she lowers her book with a thud, smiling to herself when the voices falter. Dipping her quill in ink again, she tunes out the rest of the world for another hour, finishing all her homework - and doing some extra work, too.

She’s about to clean up her materials when she notices someone familiar standing by her table, staring at her. Looking up, she sees Remus, his bag slung over his shoulder, a soft smile on his lips. The minute their eyes meet, his cheeks turn slightly pink, but he moves closer anyway. “Did you already finish the potions essay?” he asks, whipping out his own. “I was having a little trouble with mine - do you think you could help me?”

Y/N gives him a strange look but nods anyway, pulling his parchment closer. She tries to concentrate, but for the life of her she can’t register any of the words in her best friends’ familiar scrawl. All she can focus on is the prickle on the side of her head - the uncomfortable feeling she gets whenever someone is watching her.

She looks up irritably and snaps, “What?”

Remus’ grin falters a little but her doesn’t avert his gaze. “Nothing, it’s just - you look really pretty today.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N ignores her heart’s little jump in her chest. “Oh, bugger off. Reckon your girlfriend won’t like that.”

“Wait, what?” His confused expression irritates Y/N more. Though she feels a slight tinge of regret for bringing this topic up, she can’t make herself stop talking.

“Oh, no, I’m happy for you. Really, I am!” Remus grabs Y/N’s hands, making her look down in surprise.

“Y/N, I don’t know what you heard, but it’s not what you think.”

The startled feeling that made her pause disappears and she clenches her teeth. “You know, you said you didn’t want a relationship, but it’s clear that you just didn’t want me.”

“Y/N -”

She blows through his interruption, refusing to listen to any explanation he could pull out of his arse. “You could’ve just said so instead of lying, and -”

“Wait, Y/N, I -”

“- honestly, made me feel awful. Maybe if you had just told the -”

Remus finally succeeds in cutting Y/N off. Not with his words, though - instead, he presses his lips to hers.

All of Y/N’s anger quickly fades away, her attention dwindling until it’s only focused on her best friend’s soft lips pressed against hers. Her eyes, as wide as saucers just a second ago, flutter closed, and she moves as close as she can without falling out of her chair, intent on making the most of this -

And then Remus pulls away. Y/N wrenches her eyes open, staring at the boy in front of her, looking more vulnerable than she’s ever seen him.

“I said you couldn’t fall in love with me,” he whispers, “but I didn’t say I couldn’t fall in love with you.”

With that, he leaps out of his chair and hightails it out of the library, leaving Y/N more confused than ever.

[leatherjacket-lovesong]

julian - echolalia (ongoing)

It starts with Russell Barker. Three weeks into first term and he's got little Peter Finch — bespectacled, freckly, owner of a constant runny nose he never has any tissues for — backed up into one corner of C-block's corridors, growling. You don't know what the altercation's about, you're lining up outside the art room with the rest of your classmates, minding your own business — or should be — but you can see a lot of jaw jutting and head cocking, and snotty-nosed little Finch is shaking so hard you're surprised he hasn't pissed his pants. From your position down the hall, Barker is a thirteen-year-old, five-foot-six brooding wedge of brutally shaved head and crumpled un-tucked shirt, and you'd be lying if you tried to pretend you have no idea who he is. He's been strutting around with a chip on his shoulder since he turned up lugging a JD sports bag full of Benson and Hedges on day one. You don't think he's made any mates yet. Tommy Harlow tried to talk to him during lunch the other day and ended up down the nurse's office with a bloody nose. You're fairly certain that's precisely where Finch is headed too. On your left, Edward Posenby leans into your shoulder, crunching a spearmint Polo against your ear. "Bet you a fiver Finch starts bawling his eyes out." To which Bobby Summers, craning in from your right, breath all lemon ice tea, counters, "Bet you a fiver he doesn't." And you're not sure whether it's because your friends are trying to capitalise on someone else's misery, or because poor snivelling Finch really does look like he's about to burst into tears, but for some bizarre reason you find yourself stepping forward. Twenty-six pairs of watchful eyes follow your every step down the corridor. Twenty-six lungs instinctively hold their breath. Edward Posenby starts taking more bets. Drawing closer to Barker and Finch, your heart pounds. But not because you're afraid. Because, really, you're not. But for some other, still-to-be-discovered reason. Unfathomable in all of it's namelessness to you now. And as you draw closer you can hear him. Snapping teeth in snapping jaws and voice like an oncoming freight train ready to run you down.

"Was you lookin' at me?! Was you?? Was you lookin' at me, ya mong??" He's interrogating Finch, of course, but it's you who speaks up. "He wasn't." You say, folding your arms, still unsure where — or who — this mysterious bravery has been borrowed from. "But I was." Barker, leaning so far into Finch's face he's practically diagonal, turns his head, slowly. "And who the fuck are /you/, nonce??" He's got the kind of features you'd see only briefly outside of school — and that'd be when he was in the middle of mugging you outside the local corner shop. All severely scowling brows, and scarred spiteful mouth and kinda smudgy looking street summer tan that's half sunburn half dirt. He doesn't really belong here. He's not the well-thought-out, prodigious boarding school sort. (And you don't know why you immediately desire to know /more/...) "Kaminski." You tell him, holding your ground, "Julian Kaminski. It's Barker, right?" But Russell doesn't confirm your comment, just immediately swings himself round to face you, with a balled up fist, then pushes his face close to yours. "In that case, /Julie/, you wanna fuck off before I put you on the floor." He smells like wet grass and secondhand smoke. And while he's intimidating, definitely — his presence is so overbearing it makes you feel infinitely small — you're not /afraid/ of him. Not like Finch, who you can see quickly slipping away to safety in his moment of freedom. And that's why you're able to say the next words that arrange themselves into a mocking comeback. And why you don't mind so much when you're sitting in the nurse's office five minutes later, holding an icepack against your cheekbone. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, mate. You might give me a hard on." It starts with Russel Barker. The boy who's bite is most definitely /worse/, funnily enough...

---

As the bruise across your cheek fades from purple to yellow, Barker's tyrannical fist-shaped lovebite spreads like a contagion round your year group. And by the time you wake up in the morning with your reflection assuring you that it's finally gone, you're pretty sure he's stamped his blotchy swollen calling card on almost everyone. Not that you're keeping track of Barker's malicious endeavours. (You're really not.) But when you're miles from home, living among three hundred other teenage boys for months at a time, word gets around. And he's not exactly easy to miss. Not when he insists on tucking his pants into his socks, skulking round indoors with his hood up and spending every other ‪Saturday morning‬ in the bathroom maintaining the meticulous vertical lines shaved into his right eyebrow. "His dad's dead." Tommy Harlow tells you, as he skips stones across the lake, water sparking like flames in the early October sun. "His mum got loads of compensation from the army." Bobby Summers says, kicking his way through mounds of gold and russet leaves one November afternoon down the woods. "Whatcha betting he's a terrorist?" Edward Posenby whispers, leaning into your ear as you string tinsel round the assembly hall, "He's half Pakistani, you know." By the time you come back to school after spending the Christmas holiday at home, Barker still hasn't made any mates. He has, however, gained a small squadron of spineless sycophants, who follow him about, imitating his every move. You're not sure whether they latch onto him through fear that he'll otherwise batter them (or blow them up) or whether they've targeted him as something from which to leech power like parasites, but you do know that every single one of them got a pair of white Nike Air Max trainers for Christmas — just like his — and a monochrome camouflage printed Super Dry cagoule. And you do know that every single one of those suddenly sweary, suddenly swinish boys, passing round half-smoked cigarettes behind the tennis court and saying 'bruv' too much, are posh upper-middle class toffs who idolise Bach and call their parents 'mummy' and 'daddy' whenever they go home. 

Because, let's be real here, so are you. (Sans the mummy and daddy bit, of course...) So the next time you spot Barker picking on Finch, this time using his newly acquired crew to block Finch's way into the bathrooms unless he coughs up a two quid 'entry charge', it's an easy decision for you. Finch isn't a mate of yours, per-say — to be honest, you think he's a bit of a hopeless cause — you've just got a strong moral instinct and you're not quite sure why, but it appears every time you see someone in pain, whether it be emotional or physical, it somehow makes all your insides hurt. Plus, you're still not afraid of Barker. And his fake gangster tag-alongs are an absolute joke. So it's a two pound coin slipped from your own pocket into Finch's hand to get him out of the line of fire. Then you and Barker, tense, agitated, nose-to-nose. "You and all, Julie." He snaps, bristling down at you from under his hood, "Four quid for you, innit. Double or no entry for puffs." And you don't regret your response. You really don't. "Puff? Me? What're you wanting double off a puff for? Gonna come in the toilet with me and suck me off?" You don't regret it at all. Because when you look in the mirror the next morning, Barker's famous lovebite is back across your cheekbone.

---

After the number hits double digits, you start to lose count of how many detentions you and Barker are forced to sit through. And though they're punishments for situations in which you're the victim (kinda) you don't really mind them all that much. You are, after all, a flourishing academic who chose to attend boarding school for the educational benefits — and you're cheerful for any extra study time to feed your brain and broaden your horizons. Barker, however, doesn't appear appreciate being stuck in a classroom on a Saturday afternoon, while all his mates hang round the park without him, quite as much as you do. "Yer a dead man, Julie." He snorts, low, as he kicks the back of your chair, jolting the pencil in your hand. "Gon' kick fuck outta ya next time I get ya on yer own. Believe, bruv." You carry on sketching, smirking a bit into the palm of your free hand. Because his threats are empty, you've sussed out that much. Sure, his punches are authentic and all the bruises they leave behind do genuinely hurt. But unless you actually hit him /back/, he quickly gets fed up after a couple of one-sided blows. And /you/ don't hit back. Because /you/ know countering violence with violence doesn't do any good. (And okay, maybe you also kinda enjoy the way not fighting back really winds him up.) So when Mr. Peterson steps out of the room to go make himself a coffee, leaving you and Barker alone in the class, it doesn't bother you at all. It doesn't even bother you when the sound of his textbook snapping closed and chair legs scraping across the floor signify movement. And it doesn't bother you when he leans over your shoulder, the coarse velcro-like feel of his skull scratching your ear while the sharp, spiced scent of him clogs up your nose. It does bother you when he suddenly snatches your sketchbook, however. And it does bother you when he holds it high in the air while he struts to the opposite side of the room. "What you drawin', swot?" He tilts the sketchbook diagonally, head following at a ridiculous jaunty angle while he frowns, as though working out which way is up.

“Give it back." You're out of your seat with your hands on the desk, half surprised at the volume of your own voice. Because there's a foreign lump in your throat now. An unfamiliar sensation in your chest that feels a lot like a knot. And while there's nothing in there that you're worried about Barker seeing -- it's all flowers and animals and architecture. You are worried that he might do something to ruin all of your hard work. "In a minute, Picasso. Chill out." But it's hard to chill out when Barker perches on the edge of the nearest desk and in all of his brusque direct naivete begins to leaf through. And it's hard to chill out when the perpetual furrows creased into Barker's forehead begin to slowly iron themselves out and one corner of his permanently down-turned mouth begins to coyly twist up. "You gonna be an artist, or something?" He asks, coming to the last of your sketches, then immediately rewinding to flip backwards through. The question catches you a little off guard. You're poised ready to save your sketchbook from being spitefully ripped to shreds, not have a conversation about what you're gonna do when you grow up. It takes longer than it should for you to formulate an answer. And even when you do it's a shit one. "Haven't really about it that much. I'm not sure."

"Oh. Right..." He seems miffed by this revelation. As though he simply cannot comprehend why you might want to do anything else. He goes quiet for a moment. Looks like he's rearranging the furniture in his head, until, "You should, though, innit like. Like, this stuff's buzzin', ya get me? You got talent and that. Proper skills, man. I'd be an artist if I was you. Get all Banksy up on that shit." Get all Banksy up on that shit, sure. If your parents weren't constantly talking about you becoming a surgeon, or a scientist, or going to Cambridge to study law... But you don't get to explain this to Barker. You don't have the time to explain it, even if you had wanted to. Because in the next second Mr. Peterson walks back through the classroom door. And before you know it your hands are filled again with your sketchbook. And half an hour later a paper aeroplane nosedives over your shoulder, decorated with Barker's heavy handed, half-backwards scrawl. "UR DRAWINZ R SHITT PUF." 

---

When the snappy days of spring give way to luxurious summer evenings, you sit on the edge of the lake, pant legs rolled up, feet creating ripples in the warm water, feeding the mallards dinner leftovers with Tommy Harlow. Harlow's a strange hybrid of a boy, tall and leggy, in the middle of a very awkward stage of angular growth in which all the arms and legs of his clothes are inches too short, but with cherubic round, constantly pink-tinged cheeks and a head of bouncy angelic-blonde curls. The two of you share a dorm, and you'd say he was your best friend, if you were forced to name one. He's less of an opportunist than Edward Posenby, more thoughtful than Bobby Summers, and absolutely nothing like Barker's lot. He's also the owner of an extremely patchy furred, extremely well loved, stuffed rabbit named Barnaby. And so that's why, when Harlow poses the fateful question, you don't mind very much. "Jude?" "Hmm?" The tiniest gang of duckling thugs peck impatiently at your shinbones. Harlow appears hesitant. He stalls. Breaking off bits of stale cafeteria sandwiches to placate the hungry little hoard. "Are you... I mean... It's been spreading around a lot, and lots of people have been saying stuff, and I was just wondering, and thought I might as well ask... but..." You hear him inhale a breath. For bravery, you imagine. "...About you fancying other lads? ...Is it... true, that?" And then, added hastily even before you're able to fully register the first part, "Because like, it's okay, you know. If you are. It won't change anything. It doesn't matter at all. Just because of all the rumours, I thought I'd ask you, you know." Another forty-five degrees around the circumference of the lake, Barker's mates tussle among themselves, threatening to wrestle one another off the edge of the bank. While Barker himself, heavy shouldered and gently browning from the slightest of sun, stands apart from them. Staring down at his reflection, busy seasoning the water with cigarette ash, no doubt. Something in the epicentre of your chest stings. Like a grain of salt wedging into a paper cut. Surprising. But not really enough to /hurt/. 

"To be honest..." You start, turning your head to Harlow, "...I haven't ever thought about that one." There's a lot of stuff you haven't thought about, you suppose. Like, what you /really/ like and dislike. Like what you want to /do/. And maybe it's just 'cos you're not a very opinionated person. Or maybe it's because the majority of your decisions so far in life have been made /for/ you. But in eight or nine or ten years time, a boy with a scowl just like Barker's — and half the ego, to boot — will call you a coddled little spoilt cunt, and it'll be like receiving a thousand paper cuts all at once. (Because the truth hurts.) You look back across the water just in time to see Barker leaning forward, a long column of slowly oozing saliva dangling like a pendulum from his bottom lip, until it dissolves his reflection with a sudden momentous drop. With your hand on your chest, you clutch instinctively at that slightly sore spot. "I mean, I haven't thought about it, but... I don't think I do." 

---

The first time it happens, it's because of the bird. Mangy looking thing, barely half feathered, you wake up to it making distressed little chirps outside your window as it limps around the yard. It's concrete grey, like a pigeon, but it doesn't appear able to fly. Just stretches its wings out time and time again, tests out three or four ambitious hops, attempts a handful of flaps, then crumples onto its right side, head first in the dust. You watch it for a while through the glass. Heart swelling every time it flashes that hopeful wingspan. Stomach plummeting at every failed take off. Until you just can't stand it any more. The helpless despair. The will it/will it not. And you run outside dressed in your pyjamas. And deftly scoop it up into the plush folds of your dressing gown. "It's a dove." Mr. Davenport tells you, as you stand over his desk in the biology lab, holding out the bird. "In a bad way, mind you. That's a few broken bones there." He gently stretches out the injured wing. The dove squawks. "And that lack of feathers won't be doing her any good." "Can you fix it?" Mr. Davenport laughs. "Kaminski, I'm a biologist, not a veterinarian." "Please." You press him, speaking around the growing, prickly lump in your throat. "Please just try? I can help. I can do whatever you need me to. Only... she's never going to live if I just let her go." And so you spend the rest of the morning holding her still while Mr. Davenport fashions a tiny splint out of lollipop sticks which he ties onto the injured wing. And you spend lunch time foraging in the grass beside the lake for worms while Mr. Davenport punches air holes into a little dove sized cardboard box. "Let her rest tonight. Then put her out again in the morning." He says, as you crack open the lid to post a worm, still writhing, through the gap into the dark. "Sure." 

"I mean it, Kaminski. Don't go getting attached. She /has/ to go." Gotta fly high, you think. Gotta grow all those beautiful feathers back. Soar through the clouds. See every corner of this gigantic, remarkable world. "Of course." You say, tucking the box safely under your arm, then turning for the classroom door, "I know that." You just wish somebody had informed Barker's lot about that, too. Because when you and your new friend get back to your dorm, all five of them are gathered outside the door, waiting patiently for you to return. 

---

Later, when Harlow finds you curled into a ball down a deserted corner of the library, with your head in your elbows and blood on your shirt, you'll tell him you don't remember what happened. Later, when you're standing in the headmaster's office with that same blood drying brown on your collar, as efforts are made to contact your parents, you'll refuse to talk. And later, when you wake up in your lonely studio flat in the middle of the night, ice-cold sweat sticking the sheets to your back, you'll dump a quarter bottle of whisky into a coffee cup hoping the nightmares might drown. Because you're not a violent person. And you don't like it when innocent things get hurt. But humans are cruel and ruthless creatures, selfish and ignorant at a cost of every other living being in the world. And you're going to be better. You are. You are. "Wossin the box, Julie?" It'll seem like a dream when you look back. All hazy and out of focus, muffled by the abrupt panicked pounding of your heart. You're not afraid of Barker. Still not afraid of his little gang. But you worry, suddenly, enormously for the bird. You clutch the box tighter under your arm. "Nothing." The dove ruffles her feathers. Chirps. "Dun sound like nuffin' to me, bruv." You'll remember the feeling of cardboard slipping out of your helpless grasp. The surprised shouts. "It's a fucking bird!" Laughter. "Only bird he'll ever have!" And then how small and wide-eyed she'd looked clutched tight in Barker's fisted hand. And you'll remember the amusement puzzling across his face as he'd studied her. The naive ignorance as he'd pulled at her make-shift splint like a curious child. Then the pained squawk. Subsequent fierce peck. And howling "FUCK" before immediately dropping her to the floor. And you'll remember how you acted on impulse. Driven entirely by electricity and emotion and rushing of your blood. And you'll remember canting forward with intention. And the way Barker's nose cracked perfectly in the spot between your eyebrows. 

But you won't remember the bird. You wont. You wont. You won't remember the way she'd fluttered lamely around the feet of Barker's little crowd. And you won't remember scrambling about trying to scoop her back up. And when one of the dickhead's shoes comes down with pin-pointed accuracy and sickening force, you won't remember the /crunch/. And you won't stand out on your balcony, seven years later, ‪at three am‬ with a mug full of whisky, listening to the traffic and the drunks, trying desperately to erase those eternally haunting dream echoes of the sound. You don't remember what happened. You promise, you don't. 

---

Directly after the dove incident, the sickness comes. You can't explain it. You somehow don't have the intellectual ability to fathom the ailment into comprehensible words. And it's a bit silly, really, all things considered. Because your Dad is a general practitioner. And your Mum's a nurse at the local hospital. So if anyone should be able to communicate how they feel medically, it's you. But you can't. You don't know how. Because this illness, this sudden contagion that plagues you, isn't something tangible. It isn't something you can feel with your hands in the form of raised temperatures or swollen tonsils. It doesn't show up in blood tests, or saliva swabs. And there are no red, itchy rashes, or wheezing coughs. This sickness is invisible. And it morphs it's shape from day to day, week to week, month to month, so you can never really grasp it. Never really wrap both your hands around it and pin it down. Some days, it's a debilitating migraine, confining you to a solitary pitch black room. Other days, you spend countless hours completely immobile, staring stupidly at the wall. Some times, just the thought of food makes your stomach churn. Other times, you eat so much you make yourself wanna puke. Some nights, you'll sleep for fifteen hours or more. Other nights, you'll restlessly pace the floorboards until the sun comes up. 

And all the while you stop drawing. And all the while you forget about those pages Russell Barker complimented in your sketchbook. Partly because your hands shake so much you can't hold a pencil. But mostly because you just don't care any more. About anything, really... The future. The present. The past. Harlow. Barker. You. The only reason you're still breathing is because it's autonomous and you can't switch that part of your functioning off without putting in effort. Effort that requires motivation and energy that you just. don't. have. "You're just very sensitive." says your Mum. "Rest up and you'll feel better soon." "Medication." says your Dad. "The boy's had enough rest. /Medication/ is the cure." And so after two months off sick from school, you're sent back to full time boarding with a repeat prescription for one hundred milligrams of Sertraline and a doctors' note. It doesn't really help. You're not sure, honestly, what it's even supposed to do. But when your Mum calls, you lie on the phone. "Yes, I feel better." And... "No, I don't want to come back home." Not that it matters anyway. Because later, when you're older. When you wish your very last run in with Russell Barker one fateful winter night had ended any other way. And when you've survived walking out into oncoming traffic because you just don't see the point in looking either left or right any more. You find the mulberry wine at Christmas helps you to fall sleep, fast. And your Dad's whisky at New Year stops the constant pain in your chest that feels as though someones trying to smash their fist through your heart. And you decide to change your medication. And you write your own liquid prescription. And it works. And it's great. Great for you. Fucking /incredible/ for your art. And you feel better. You feel better. You promise. You do.

[gray-autumn-sky]

Start of Something New, Chapter 9

For @doqweek Day 4: Enchanted Forest; a follow up to the last chapter. Mal reluctantly voices her insecurities about their relationship.

Previous installments of this verse can be found HERE.

Regina’s eyes are heavy and she can feel herself losing the battle to stay awake; and in spite of herself and her desire to savor all of this for just a little longer, she feels herself drifting to sleep for just a couple minutes longer…

It’s their last night in Bora Bora, and they’re all stretched out in a messy tangle of limbs on the bed. It’s been a week of absolute splendor-- late nights and early mornings, waking each other with warm kisses and soft touches, sending waves of pleasure through each other. They didn’t follow a schedule or set alarms--and aside from checking in every day with the kids, they were free to do whatever felt right in the moment. It’d been so nice not having to worry, not having to wonder who they might upset or whose feathers might be ruffled by something perfectly innocent like a look or a gesture.

They’d been up all night--sipping wine and talking aimlessly on the terrace, looking out at the water when Mal fell quiet. Robin and Regina exchanged glances before looking for at her, finding her a bit wistful and lost in thought. She’d brushed it off at first; she hadn’t wanted to spoil the evening--and at first, they’d accepted that, pouring more wine as they’d watched the sunset.

But Mal hadn’t come back to them--she’d stayed lost in her thoughts, staring off in the darkness.

Regina’s fingers strummed over her knee and Robin leaned in a little and finally, in a quiet voice she’d admitted that sometimes none of it felt real. At first, she hadn’t wanted to elaborate. She changed tried to change the subject and she’d tried to move them on, but both Robin and Regina kept coming back to it--not wanting to just it go, knowing that if they didn’t pull it out of her now, she’d only blame the wine in the morning.

Finally, she’d sighed and drawn up her legs, hugging them to herself as she looked between them with sad and distant eyes--and admitted she wondered if there’d come a time when they’d move on, when they’d want to go back to it being just the two of them rather than the three of them. She’d taken a breath and shrugged, almost resigned to its inevitability as her eyes fell away from theirs and she admitted that she wouldn’t blame them , it’d be an easier life.

No matter what they said, it was difficult to reassure her--and though she smiled and nodded and said that she believed them when they said that they loved her--the doubt and sadness remained. She’d bristle a bit as she finished off her wine, shaking her head and laughing, as she apologized for ruining a perfectly lovely evening.

“Mal,” Regina cut in. “We’re not Stephan and Briar Rose. We won’t just decide that… this isn’t what we want.”

“Perhaps not,” she’d murmured, as her shoulder shrugged. “But you two are the ones with the fairytale love--soul mates and pixie dust and destinies entwined.”

“It’s never occurred to you that… maybe you’re a part of that?” Robin asked. “That perhaps you are part of what makes Regina and I meant to be together.”

The sentiment touched her--her misty eyes made that apparent--but she didn’t believe it, and she quickly insisted on changing the subject--and reluctantly Robin and Regina agreed, but every now and then, they catch her, drifting away from them--and they hadn’t hesitated to pull her back in with sweet smiled and lingering touches, determined to remind her of their love in whatever way they can...

Regina’s hand curls around Mal’s and her stomach flutters as they walk down the cobblestone path toward a tavern near the Sherwood Forest. She’s still not entirely used to it--this game that she can Mal play whenever she can sneak away from the castle, usually only when the king travels--and without an excessive amount of alcohol, she finds it difficult to work up her nerve.  But Mal tugs her along and she easily follows, anticipation bubbling within her--and she knows she’ll more than enjoy herself once it’s started.

The tavern is dimly lit and it’s just past dusk--and they’re far enough from the kingdom that she won’t be recognized. They have a drink together--and then another, and another, taking their time as they survey the room--and then finally, Regina’s eyes settle on someone.

A grin twists onto Mal’s lips as she follows Regina’s gaze to blue-eyed man sitting at one of the tables. His laugh is loud and his eyes are kind. “What do you think?” Regina asks, looking momentarily to Mal, and then back again. “He could… work.”

“Mm, yes,” Mal nods, a low laugh rumbling up from her. “He could work just fine.”

And then Regina’s smile fades a bit as she watches a woman round the table, smiling brightly as she sits on his lip. His smile broaden at the sight of her and his arm slips around her waist as she draws him into a kiss. Her fingers slide to the back of his neck, and from where she and Mal are sitting, she can see the man smiling into the kiss. “Or… not.”

“I… wouldn’t rule him out just yet,” Mal says as another man rounds the table, his hand slipping over the woman’s back. She pulls out of the kiss hand smiles up at him as he offers her his hand--and Regina’s eyebrows arch as his arm slips around her waist and he presses a kiss to her cheek, as he the other man kisses the back of her hand and grins, sipping his drink as he watches them go. “Because it appears, he just allowed his wife to go upstairs with another man.” She chuckles softly and takes a quick sip of her drink. “And you know what’s… upstairs.”

“How do you know they’re married?”

“The rings,” Mal says easily. “You know I have an eye for…”

“Anything shiny, I know,” Regina laughs and her bottom lip catches between her teeth as she looks back at the man. “So, you think…”

“I think I want to watch you seduce him,” Mal interjects as Regina turns back to face her. “It’s your turn.”

“But I’ve never…” She stops, quickly looking back over her shoulder. “It’s just… you’re usually the one to…”

“Yes, but, you like this one, so… go.” Regina’s stomach flutters as her eyes meet Mal’s and she watches as grin tugs onto her lips. “Go,” she urges. “It’ll be fun. I promise.”

Regina sighs as her eyes start to flutter and she stretches out on the bed--and suddenly she’s aware that it’s daylight. She can feel the sun streaming into the room and she presses her eyes closed, rolling over to feel emptiness beside her.

She lifts her head and she feels a bit disoriented--and she watches as Robin tucks the stuffed lobster they’d brought for Esme into one of their suitcases, as Mal folds a pair of shorts.

“How long was I asleep?”

A grin pulls onto Mal’s lips as she drops the sbhorts into the suitcase. “Quite a while,” she says, walking back toward the bed as Robin turns, zipping the suitcase. “You were the first to sleep and the last to wake.” Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she reaches out and tucks Regina’s hair behind her ear. “But, then, we did exhaust you, didn’t we?”

Robin chuckles softly as he turns to face them. “We didn’t want to wake, but… it’s almost eleven and…”

“Oh! Our flight!”

“You still have two hours, love.”

“But I need to print the tickets and…”

A victorious little smile tugs onto Robin’s lips. “We took care of it.”

“You two…”

“Yes,” Mal says, “We… managed to figure it out.” She laughs. “After about an hour.”

Regina rolls her eyes, “And you’re sure you printed out the right thing? I’d hate to…”

“Here,” Robin cuts in, unzipping a pouch at the front of the suitcase. “I’ll prove it.” Mal chuckles as Regina’s eyebrows arch, and Robin reaches in, pulling out a few pieces of printer paper, bearing the name of their airline--and then, between them is another piece and piece that catches Robin’s eye.

Regina and Mal exchange glances as Robin sets the tickets on the dresser and unfolds the paper. “This looks like one of Henry’s storybook pages,” Robin murmurs, unfolding it as Regina and Mal lean forward for a better look, and and a smile curls onto her lips as she sees an illustration of the three of them sitting at a table in Robin’s tavern, smiling and drinking together--and Regina feels a flicker of a memory, or maybe just a fragment of a hazy dream.

“I… don’t understand,” Mal says, shaking her head as she takes the illustration and looks between Regina and Robin. “This never happened.”

“No,” Robin says easily. “But maybe…”

“Maybe it was supposed to,” Regina murmurs as a warm smile tugs onto her lips--and Mal’s breath hitches in her throat as she smiles.