#So every three years I draw something. I can hardly believe it myself

[orange-foxes]

Neil Josten, post-game interview

[regret-breathing]

she lives on a farm with her sheep, her chickens, her goats, and a number of other creatures. she keeps pet rodents and spiders in terrariums. in the two story house there are multiple rooms of just her taxidermy collection, almost all her own work. she wears her hair long, her wide, haughty features complimenting her playful eyes and beautiful skin perfectly. shes like a queen, or a witch. but shes a macrobiologist. she doesnt live anywhere near me. i want to wrap her in what little warmth i have and learn how she takes her eggs. i want to learn to live with her five dogs, or rather, learn how much benadryl i can take before i get too loopy to love her how she deserves. she’s always warm, even though she texts like she’s ten years older than she is. i’ve only heard her voice one time. i want to listen to it for at least six hours daily. i don’t know what it is about her that hit me like a truck but now i’m just happy to be roadkill.

i’m awkward over text, especially with people i can’t help but love. she’s hard to talk to because i get too in my head. i feel like she’s going to slip away before i get to tell her how much she means to me. we’ve known each other less than three months but i want to cook at least 400 meals for her. i wish it were acceptable to tell someone that. to tell someone you only met recently that you think you could spend forever learning new ways to make her smile. her house sounds like heaven. i don’t normally like dogs. but for her? five sounds doable.

she says when she dreams she has wings most of the time. when i asked what her wings were like she told me, black and bright blue almost like a blue jay, but with color placement like an owl’s. my knees buckled a bit and i could hardly breathe for a second. she loves dragons, draws them all the time. i save every picture of a doodle she sends me. but still her wings have feathers. she says she dreams so vividly that she can feel the breeze in every one of them as she catches the wind. i don’t know how to tell her that’s what it feels like when she tells me something new about her.

she painted a door in her house, blue mostly with strips of colors in every hue. when i told her it looked like the bark of my favorite tree and showed her some pictures, i couldn’t believe my luck. i cant help but picture seeing that door every day and thinking of that little bit of serendipity.

she says not to get too attached to the ram. i’ve never seen him in person but i don’t think i can keep to that. he’s so sweet, and soft, and named like my best friends brother. sometimes, she says, he tries to escape the pen, and she has to wrangle him and sit on him. she’s stronger than people think, she says. i can’t imagine underestimating her. i think if i was honest with her about myself, about everything inside me, she might not get scared off. she talks like there’s a lot she doesn’t tell everyone also. she talks like she would understand. but still im scared to tell her i feel so strongly for her so soon. if i miss my chance i might regret it forever. but i keep seeing posts with that quote, don’t die not knowing, and thats starting to scare me more than losing her.

i think i need to wait a little longer. to wait until her car is fixed and we can see each other for real. i want to make her something, but i don’t have any blue yarn. i want to make her gloves, because they’d go so nicely with her tattoos. i want to learn new stitches, so i can make her something really pretty. i haven’t taught myself any new ones since i was a kid, but what i can make now isn’t good enough. i know that’s not how it works, that a gift from a friend is perfect by nature of its existence, but she deserves the world, and even if i can’t give it to her, i can at least give her something in stockinette.

[thesaltyace]

Personal anecdote below the cut, just wanted to type it out somewhere.

Spouse was entering final grades last week, both of us sitting at our desks in the room we use as an office, and they stopped for a moment to sit back in their chair. I noticed the change out of the corner of my eye, but kept working because they often stop to think on something or watch something on their phone as a mini-break.

The change continued longer than usual, so I finally looked over to find spouse staring at me. After a short pause, they blurted out, "I'm sorry I don't have my pronouns in my email signature." It took me a moment to process, but it was obvious that spouse wasn't apologizing to me... they were apologizing to themself. And it kind of broke my heart.

I added my pronouns to my signature about three or four years ago, when I worked in an office I knew wouldn't be openly hostile about it but which I was sure wouldn't approve of it either. I added it because I felt like it was important for me to be visible to the students I work with, so even though I was worried about potential fallout, I did it anyway.

And since then, spouse has brought up several times how they'd like to put pronouns in their signature. The problem is, they don't feel that they can be authentic to themself while also being safe. Spouse uses any/all pronouns. But in a professional setting they only use he/him because that's what others expect based on their appearance.

They don't feel safe enough to put "he/they/she" or "any pronouns" in their signature. It would almost certainly draw attention and questions from other faculty that they're not yet prepared to deal with. And because hardly anyone at this institution puts pronouns in their signature, it's doubly attention-drawing.

Spouse thought about putting "he/him" as their pronouns because the simple act of including pronouns at all can signal to a student that you're at least aware of gender outside the binary. But they feel that misrepresents themselves, and they don't like being assumed/perceived as a cis man, period. They gently push back on that assumption all the time, and putting only "he/him" pronouns out there would probably make that worse.

So spouse just doesn't put their pronouns in their email signature at all. And every now and again the anxiety and stress of not being able to be openly themself builds up to a snapping point and results in sad moments like the one I began this post with. And with the political climate in Texas right now, I suspect spouse won't feel safe being more publicly open anytime soon.

Sometimes spouse skirts close to openly discussing their gender identity. So far it's small pushbacks or vague comments that no one seems to take as applying to spouse themself.

But spouse is on the physics roadshow this week with their student org and apparently made the most blatant statement yet. Today is their "fun day" to break up the week of shows and also reward the students volunteering to do these shows in the first place. Two students, both women, decided they didn't want to do the planned group activity and instead wanted to hang out with Spouse and the other faculty member (also a woman). One of the students exclaimed in excitement, "It'll be a girls day!" to which the other student said, "Yeah! But Dr. ___ is a boy..."

And Spouse replied, in their usual friendly tone, "I don't believe I've ever identified myself as a boy." 😏

So spouse messaged me about it and I was so pleased for them and proud of them. I asked how the students and other faculty member responded...

And Spouse fucking left me on read.

I know it's because they're probably taking the students to lunch right now and can't reply but I'm over here like

The suspense is killing me. Like, I'm sure it's entirely underwhelming or possibly even went right over their heads, but I WANT TO KNOW, DAMN IT! 😅

[mercy-burning]

Your Favorite — Part 1

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: When Y/N comes home from college for the summer to meet her mom's new boyfriend, she finds herself in a rather tough spot when she can’t stop thinking about him— And it seems he feels the same... Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Adults w/ age gap, masturbation (female and male), minor exhibitionism kink, oral sex (male receiving), penetrative sex, breeding kink (kinda? i think? 😅) Word Count: 7.3k (do you see now why I had to make it a miniseries? alsdjfdk)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | MASTERLIST

DISCLAIMER: In this story, Spencer is dating Y/N’s mom while also having a sexual relationship with the reader herself. Because of that, there are obvious undertones of cheating, alongside some perv-y tendencies when it comes to a partner’s daughter. That being said, Spencer and Y/N’s relationship is consensual. However— If any of what I just forewarned is something that you think will make you uncomfortable while reading, please do not read! If there are any more disclaimers you think I may have missed, don’t hesitate to tell me! There is another post I made HERE with some disclaimers as well if you want to know more about what this story will entail.

NOTE: This intro is already too long, so I’ll just get this out of the way: you can find visual nsfw inspirations for this story over at @mercy-midnight, I’m working on a playlist for this story on my Spotify @/mercyburning, and I don’t know when part 2 and 3 will be out, but you can assume they’ll be here within the next few weeks.

———

JUNE 5th

I hate my mom's new boyfriend.

For the past three months she'd been telling me about this new guy who's "The One" as if "The One" hasn't been like four other guys in the past two years.

And as much as I'd love for my mom to find someone to spend the rest of her life with, I don't believe she'd ever find Mr. Perfect at this rate. Unless she spent more than a few months with them at a time before dragging me home from college for a weekend to meet them, I really don't see it happening.

It just sucks. Because every time she does this, every time I return home, I see the glimmering hope in her eyes and the diminishing spark in his, and I know. I know it won't last, and her heart will be utterly broken within the span of a few months.

I always thought maybe she just had terrible taste in men.

But this time around, when I begrudgingly walk through the door of my childhood home for the summer and see my mother clinging to a man who returns that glimmer in her eyes, I know she's picked a good one.

And I hate him.

His name is Spencer Reid, and he's a retired FBI agent who teaches full time at local colleges now.

He greets me with a bona fide, radiant smile, unlike all the others before, and it sets my insides on fire. And when we sit down for dinner, he's polite (but not in a fake way,) and he seems genuinely curious about my studies and my personality and my relationship with my mother. And when dinner is finished he offers to clean up while Mom and I settle in the living room.

I see the way he looks at me as I leave, a gentle, closed-mouth smile and eyes that linger a little too long on my exposed legs before averting, a glint of shame pooling within them, and it only spreads that fire in my belly.

Maybe I'd been imagining the whole thing, because deep down I wanted him to look at me the way he had... But it's hard to tell when my brain is mostly setting off sirens, blaring "THIS IS WRONG! THIS IS WRONG!" on a loop with blinding lights.

And they're even louder when my mom wraps her arm around me and lays her head atop mine. "Well, what do you think? He's great, huh?"

She's so lovesick, it hurts. It hurts even worse knowing that all I can think about is his big hands wrapped around my throat while he fucks me into the squeaky twin-sized mattress in my bedroom upstairs.

But I can't tell her that, obviously.

And so I decidedly hate him. And I have no choice but lie to her face, embracing her joy and hoping that I'll be able to survive this summer.

"Yeah, Mom. He's really great."

JUNE 19th

It's been two weeks and I can barely stand to be in the same house anymore.

I try to keep myself busy by going outside, to the beach or for long walks in the park; but it's too hot for my liking, and our town is so small that unless I want to spend my time in the grocery store or one of the three bars on Main Street...

I'm stuck either outside where it's hot and uncomfortable, or in the house where it's also hot and uncomfortable.

We have air conditioning, of course, but that's not the problem.

It's Spencer.

I thought by now my little crush on him would have gone, but the longer he hangs around the house, the stronger my feelings for him grow. They're not romantic—nor do I think they ever could be given the fact that if anything serious really were to ever happen between us, my mom would disown me for the rest of my life and murder Spencer with her bare hands—but that doesn't make it any easier on me.

Every day he just exists, right in front of me with that tug-able mop of hair, those warm honey eyes, and his hands that never stop moving. I swear, it's like every time he breathes, his hands are breathing too, challenging me to try and stop them.

But I refuse to touch him. Because I know the moment I do, all will be lost. I won't be able to control myself anymore. And if I don't drop to my knees and try sucking his dick at the dinner table, I'm sure I'll blurt out how I can't handle it anymore and that I need him, and either way I'd be royally fucked.

Right now he's in the dining room, teaching my mom how to do a disappearing card trick. She thinks it's utterly charming that he can do it at all, but mostly that he's patient and willing enough to teach her. And normally I'd agree, but I can barely look at them without wanting to waltz over, grab his wrist, and suck his fingers into my mouth.

It's truly pathetic.

So I try to focus on the television just a few feet away. It's one of those rare instances where I wish our house was bigger, because while I don't mind having less wall-space between rooms, I do mind not being able to watch TV without the kitchen table in my periphery at a time like this. And I think about going up to my bedroom instead for a moment, but I'd have to go past the kitchen, and I just know Mom is going to ask if I'd want Spencer to teach me his magic trick.

And I most definitely do not want that.

In another life, maybe, where he isn't a hot professor and rather an average-looking dude who's way too into fantasy football... But not in this lifetime.

So there I sit, concentrating so hard on Family Feud that my face hurts.

When I hear a flutter of cards and joyous giggling from the other room, it's more than my face that hurts.

It's also my chest, churning and tensing at the hands of the green devil.

Fuck!

I barely even know this man... I haven't really talked to him because I'm afraid that if I try to hold a conversation I'll snap. He's literally just some hot older guy who's dating my mom, and still, my whole body twists and aches with envy when they do anything together, and it fucking sucks. Not only because of the jealousy, but it's also the fact that my mom deserves to be happy.

This time it's different. This time, she's really found someone who returns her every loving gaze, who makes her laugh, who's kind and genuine and not a total douche. She's happier than I've seen her in years.

And the one time she finally finds "The One", every waking second of my life is spent longing for him fuck me.

But it's only been two weeks.

And it's also been nearly two years since I got laid, so maybe that's just my issue...

I figure it can't hurt, so in a spur of the moment decision, I turn the TV off and sprint towards the stairs, right past Mom and Spencer before they can ask questions.

———

I hardly even register the dimness of the light inside the house by the time I glide up the steps, fumbling with the key and trying to make my entrance as quiet as possible. Though, because I'm so used to the dark by this point, the light—no matter how dim—nearly blinds me. The door shuts louder than I'd have liked, and I cringe inwardly, pausing as if that will keep anyone from seeing or hearing me. Not like it'll matter, considering Mom and Spencer are the only ones that are staying here and they'd also been the only ones aware of my plans for the evening.

Well, somewhat, anyway. I told them an old friend invited me out and I probably wouldn't be home until late.

Regardless, that instinct of trying not to get caught coming in late at night is stronger than common sense. Throw a little cheap beer and some shots into the mix, and it almost feels like I'm a teenager again.

The only thing different now is that I have a pool of some stranger's cum soaking my underwear and a man in front of me who stands like an angel. An exhausted, almost scruffy-looking angel more like, but my point still stands.

"You're up late," Spencer observes. It's a simple enough statement— not really judge-y, but I can tell that regardless of his knowledge of my coming home late, he seems shocked to see me coming through the front door right now.

And it's hard to look away from him. Just like it has been for the past two weeks. Still, I try, just barely avoiding his eyes as I cross my arms and fight the urge to clench my legs together. "I'm a whore. What's your excuse?"

Maybe not the best thing to say. But like I said, common sense? Gone.

"O—oh... Umm..." Spencer stumbles through his words, obviously stunned by my response, and the look in his eyes kind of makes me want to curl up in a ball and die from embarrassment. Still, I stand my ground and wait for him to continue.

He settles on a short, "I can't sleep," and then there's nothing else.

"Ah," I express. One syllable. I don't draw it out, I don't exaggerate it... This is the first real conversation I've had alone with him, and I've made it extremely awkward, so I sigh and take a few steps forward, trying to walk past him. "Okay. Goodnight."

I only make it a few steps before he stops me, his hand reaching out to tap my shoulder. "Wait—"

The touch makes me jump, and he pulls it away immediately as I turn to face him. My heart is racing at the speed of light, my panties are soaked through, and if I'm not careful that whole 'no common sense' thing is going to bite me so hard in the ass I won't have one left.

"Can I talk to you?" His voice is barely audible, and the gentle rasp it has to it seems to make me even more wet.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

"Look, I um... Your mom has been totally transparent with me about her relationships, so I know that she's been through a lot of them in a short amount of time... And I know that must be a little difficult for you. Especially now that I'm here... And you've been... distant. And I know that I don't know you that well, so forgive me if I'm assuming anything, but I just want you to know that I don't have any intention of making things difficult for you and your mother."

Too late, pal, I think bitterly, the gentle authority in his tone setting my insides alight. I'm positive that voice could get me to do so many things...

That's the alcohol and sex talking, Y/N, just shake it and move on...

He starts again, but I cut him off with a short wave of my hand. "Look, I... I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I had a really long night, and I'm exhausted. I just wanna shower and go to bed."

I expect more resistance, but Spencer only nods. I still can't bring myself to look him in the eye, though this time I catch his hands clenching at the bottom hem of his shirt. "I understand. Sleep well."

Without another word I turn on my heel and walk a little faster towards the stairs, and I'm about to take my first step when I realize he's followed me. His voice calls out my name softly from a few feet behind, and it stops me in my tracks regardless of my desire to get out of there as fast as I can. And then I turn around and finally look directly at his face.

Big mistake.

His eyes are on my legs again, trailing slowly upwards until he reaches my face. The light over here is dimmer, barely noticeable at all, though I swear I can see red forming on his cheeks.

"I like your dress," he says softly. It's almost meek, like he'd been afraid to say it but took a chance anyway.

It's such a random, small compliment, but with the alcohol and endorphins flowing through my body after the night I'd just had, it nearly makes me quiver.

It also makes me incredibly stupid.

An amused, almost sensual grin forms on my face as I make eye contact with him, and I feel myself throb at the way I can just barely see his throat move. He looks like a deer in headlights, afraid to make one sudden move.

"Turning to flattery to try and win me over, are we?" I say slowly.

I almost think he'll stumble over his words once more, but again he surprises me with a full answer. It's only three words but it's clear, and his voice is deep, and I want to fucking jump his bones right then and there.

"Is it working?"

This has to be the alcohol making me imagine things... I swear I didn't even drink that much tonight, but it has to be an obvious lapse in judgement. The drinking mixed with the sex mixed with the dirty thoughts I've been having about this man lately have to be what's making this feel real. It's all culminating into this one big fantasy (or delusion, more like), and all I need is to shower and sleep it off.

That has to be it.

So because there's no other reasonable explanation that my brain can conjure up, I take a chance and throw Spencer a wink before turning and sprinting up the stairs.

And it's that same seemingly undeniable reasoning for this illusion that doesn't keep my hands from wandering in the shower. Even though those warning sirens in my brain keep blaring, telling me that the common sense is still there for me to utilize, they're drowned out by my thrumming heartbeat and the repetition of Spencer's soothing, authoritative voice, guiding my movements.

Keep rubbing your clit for me, baby... Just like that, nice and slow...

Warm water cascades down the front of my body as I lean back into the wall of the shower, but that's not why I'm so warm. This heat radiates through my insides, spreading like wildfire and bringing out small whimpers and mewls that I know I'll have to contain in fear of waking my mom from her bedroom right next door.

But then the thought of her hearing me next door as I cry out her boyfriend's name only excites me more. I keep it quiet still, but just knowing that someone else is in the house while I'm having these thoughts right now (one of them being the object of said thoughts) is what finally brings me over the edge.

I finish my shower on weak legs, definitely overstimulated now, but also feeling even more tired. I know that the moment I lay down on my bed, I'll be pulled into the sweet, soft surrender of a deep sleep.

Nothing else has ever sounded so pleasant.

———

When I woke up that morning after, I was feeling surprisingly calm. Realistically I knew that my whole 'this has to be an illusion' montage had been less truth and more inebriated babble, and the longer I sat on it the more I thought it'd all turned out for the better.

Turns out, tipsily masturbating in the shower to thoughts of your mom's hot new boyfriend was a surefire way to get it out of your system, right?

Wrong.

It really had been okay at first. I thought about Spencer almost immediately, and yeah, he was still hot as fuck—But there wasn't this overwhelming desire within me to jump his bones when I saw him that morning, his hair messy and his hands clutching a cup of coffee while Mom made breakfast behind him.

But that good feeling I had about all of this? It lasts only about a split second.

Because the moment he looks up and sees me, the mug falls out of his hand and shatters to pieces. His eyes stay glued to me, even as my mother darts over to pick up the pieces of the ceramic that are scattered about the table and the floor. And when she turns back to grab a paper towel, he still stares at me, once again at my legs.

It takes me all of four seconds afterwards to remember that not only did I talk to him briefly last night, but I also flirted with him after he complimented me.

That whole part seemed to have slipped my mind when waking up, and now that his gaze is bringing me back to that moment, that 'this has to be an illusion' montage is starting to become larger than I'd remembered.

It isn't until he finally snaps out of it and starts to help my mom clean up the mess that I snap out of it, too, going back upstairs to clear my head and cool the heat radiating over my skin.

———

There's a knock at my bedroom door about an hour later, and it sounds different than my mom's usually quick two-knock succession. That means it's someone else, and unsurprisingly, my stomach tightens at the thought of seeing him again.

"Yeah?" I call out, turning in my desk chair and meeting Spencer's figure in the doorway. He's changed, a rather nice pair of slacks and a white button-up shirt clinging to his limbs.

"Can I come in?"

"Mhm," I say. I still don't know if I entirely trust myself to say anything more than a few words to him, and as he enters the room and sits on the foot of my bed, I wonder if he can tell.

He tries, really tries, to look me in the eye, but I know that it's hard. I've been in the same spot. And then he takes a deep breath before folding his hands in his lap.

"Y/N, I want to apologize... When we... talked last night... It was kind of weird, and then this morning wasn't really any better..." He can barely get out the words 'talk' and 'last night'... And then he avoids my gaze altogether, staring at the floor and trailing off, trying to put his thoughts together it seems.

And that's when it starts to click into place.

There's one thing that both last night and this morning have in common, and I've noticed it almost every time I've caught him staring at me. At my legs. It's happened almost daily since I've met him. And then, the night I come home clearly having just been fucked, waltzing past him, entertaining his fascination with my legs and then masturbating to thoughts of him in the shower, he finally starts dropping mugs.

He must also really feel something here. Something similar to my own feelings. And really, that should be a red flag, because he's my mom's boyfriend, and it's a goddamned fucking mess...

But fuck, it excites me.

I'm still wearing my pajama shorts, silky and lavender in color, and I use them to my advantage, slowly crossing one leg over the other and just barely gaining Spencer's attention back.

"Yeah, what was that, anyway?" I ask him, amusement dripping off my tongue.

I can tell from his reaction that he wasn't expecting me to ask. A few times he opens his mouth to speak and then closes it , stumbling before panicking. He's been pretty good so far at coming up with answers and explanations, so the fact that this time I finally seemed to have broken him down makes it all the more clear.

He must have heard me in the shower.

Right?

I'm almost completely positive that's what this is about. And there's one way for me to get the confirmation I'm looking for.

"So you heard me, huh?"

I try to keep my voice as plain as I can as not to give away my motives, and with my luck Spencer is so flustered that he probably wouldn't have even noticed it at all. He looks up at me, his eyes desperately trying to find something he can use to make up a lie, but in the end there's no use.

I've caught him. And he knows it.

"Yes," he whispers. He looks exhausted, guilty, and also a little like he wants to cross the barrier and kiss me.

Okay, maybe that part's just in my head. I really can't tell. But I do know that hearing me call his name out in the shower last night is what brought him to this point of severe distress. As much as that excites me, though, it also embarrasses me a little. Maybe if it hadn't happened we could have avoided further destruction.

It must read on my face, because Spencer perks a little. "Oh! Y/N, I'm not... I'm not mad or anything. I really didn't mean to overhear and invade your privacy... Really, I-I'm sorry."

The fact that he's apologizing to me right now, rather than acting all grossed out that I even did it in the first place, tells me he either feels guilty for not being able to help himself from hearing me, or he's just a good guy who loves my mom and doesn't want to ruin it because of a little mishap.

Either way, it's frustrating, because I don't know what to do.

Well, I know what I want to do, but I don't know if I should hint at it.

But then he does something. It's small, and no one would have noticed, but I've been fascinated with his hands since the moment I met him, so my eyes are instantly drawn there.

They're clenched so hard, his knuckles are nearly white.

He's nervous.

To ease his mind a bit, I hold off on poking the bear harder (though it's really tempting to see what will happen if I don't) and nod, trying to make myself look as apologetic and small as possible.

"It's okay... I... I won't make it awkward if you won't?"

His shoulders slump, and his body seems to relax. "Y–yeah. Yeah, deal."

He gets up off the bed and blurts one final apology before heading for the door, but that part of me that wants to poke the bear further makes me stand up and follow him.

"Spencer?" I call out.

He freezes and turns to face me, and I don't think he quite expected me to be as close as I am. I have to tilt my head up to look at him, and the angle gives me an added layer of this innocence I'm trying to achieve.

"I'm sorry, too..."

No the fuck I'm not.

Whether he can sense my lie or not, he doesn't show it. But I think he at least knows that I'm pitching my voice a little higher on purpose, and if that doesn't give it away, the way I'm staring at him sure should.

Still, he only nods and retreats.

All there's left to do is see what happens.

JUNE 25th

For someone who agreed not to make things awkward, Spencer sure can't keep his eyes off of me.

To be fair, I have tried to keep things fairly normal. I only really interacted with him if I had to, I kept my distance, and I saved my skimpier clothing for the strangers I was regularly going out to see almost every weekend.

My lustful feelings for him aren't as strong now that I've been getting some on a semi-regular basis and keeping myself occupied. I've been doing my part.

But I still can't shake him entirely.

Whenever he spends the night (which is surprisingly most nights), the occasional wet dream about him gets me frustrated when I know he's just down the hall and sleeping soundly next to my mom. On those days I try to cut as much interaction with him as I can, though it doesn't keep me from seeing the occasional stare he throws my way.

I wish I could say that I hate it.

But I don't, and it increasingly gets worse. It's only been a week, so there's still time, but honestly, I don't think there's any shaking him.

Today especially is one of those days where it's hard not to give into the incessant need to tease him and coax some stronger reaction out of him.

I talked to Mom earlier this morning about getting some new clothes, and she had this brilliant idea to have Spencer take me. "It would be a good chance for you two to bond a little, don't you think?" she insisted, nudging him in the side and silently pleading with her eyes for him to agree.

I could tell from the look on his face that he really wasn't ready to be alone with me again, but that only excited me.

"Yeah, I think that's a great idea," I piped up, positively beaming.

Mom was so excited for us to 'bond' and also that I was gladly inclined to go through with it that Spencer couldn't have said no to her even if he wanted to.

And I was pretty sure he didn't want to.

Yet here we are, sitting in the car, the air conditioning so strong it's blowing some of my hair into my eyes. I think it had been his way of punishing me for choosing today to wear a short skirt, something I usually refrain from nowadays unless I'm going out, and it makes me smile. I can't help it.

I also can't help the way my fingers play with my skirt, dying to tease him some more. I just want to see, to know for sure that I'm driving him mad.

"No offence, but you seem weird today... Is there something wrong?" I ask him, lifting my skirt just a smidge. The air from the car blows the fabric in waves.

"You're acting this way on purpose."

Well, I hadn't been expecting that answer... All this time he'd hardly been confrontative, and now he's full-on calling me out. It's plain to see that he's finally snapped, and I would have felt sorry about it if I didn't find it extremely sexy.

"What do you mean?"

"Y/N..."

My name on his lips is a warning. He's clearly annoyed, exasperated, and I'm loving every second. "Don't act oblivious. I'm not stupid, and neither are you. I don't want to make you hate me or anything, but you have to know where I'm coming from. I was willing to let the shower thing slide... And you said you were too, for that matter, so I don't know what's changed, but it has to stop now. Understood?"

Oh, all I want is to argue with him. I want to point out that none of this is really my fault because he's the one who hasn't been able to stop staring at me all summer so far. I want to tell him that if he wants this to stop he has to make it stop.

But that isn't going to give me any of the answers I'm looking for or further proof of my theory that he wants me just as badly as I want him. And I am not going to fuck this whole situation up by making a poorly-timed move on him.

I have to know for sure.

So, I fold my hands neatly in my lap, sigh, and look dead ahead. "Right... We said no awkwardness. I'm sorry."

Spencer seems to accept my apology and continues down the road.

When we make it to the mall I think he's calmed down. At least, he seems a little more comfortable around me, and honestly I'm okay with it. As much as his spiel in the car turned me on, it also exhausted me to the point of silence.

Even as we walk around each store in the mall, I just lead and he follows, not saying a word when I pick out a top or a pair of pants or whatever else I need. And when it comes time to pay, he takes the basket from me and pays for it with no question.

Near five bags of clothes later, I figure I could get used to this new dynamic.

But then we pass a lingerie store, and I remember that the main thing I'd needed was new underwear. I start to turn into the store, but stop suddenly, pausing awkwardly and deciding to go straight ahead instead.

"You don't want to go in?" Spencer asks.

I shake my head. "No, it's fine. I can just pick some up later, it's not a big deal."

He sighs then, nodding his head towards the sign. "If you need to go in, you can... I'll just wait out here if you're uncomfortable."

I really want to call him out, ask him if he's the one who should be worried about being uncomfortable. But so far this afternoon has been pretty decent, and I really don't want to make things any weirder than they have to be.

Besides... If my theory is right...

"Sure. Thanks. Uh, how am I gonna pay, though?"

"O—Oh... I'll uh... I'll just watch the counter and come in when you need me."

"Orrrr, you could just give it to me?"

This time I get a laugh out of him. "Not a chance. Go in, I'll wait."

I smile at him and hand him the bags to hold onto while I leave, and it fills me with absolute amusement that he'd just given me one more ounce of proof that I'm right.

He's gonna have to come inside and pay for what I bought. He could have just given me the card, and maybe he truly doesn't trust me with it (which I don't know why he wouldn't honestly), but he chose to come inside all the same.

I browse happily then, going through the displays and picking out things I need, but also things I know Spencer will like.

Specifically, I stumble on a pair of lavender panties, embroidered with flowery trim up top. The pattern from the outside is lace, but there's a thin layer of cotton underneath designed to be more comfortable to wear.

I've noticed that he can never seem to look away when I'm wearing anything, really, but it's more intense when I wear one of two things. Florals, and any type of purple. And these fit both of those bills perfectly.

Now there's just one more bill to take care of.

I stride over to the counter and turn around, finding that Spencer's caught my eye immediately. Either he truly had been paying attention to the counter the whole time, or he'd been watching through the glass, following me with his gaze to the best of his abilities. Either way, he blinks a few times and looks like he's gathering the courage to go in before actually taking any steps.

I laugh to myself, eager to gauge his reaction to this next step.

Surprisingly, he holds up well. The air between me, him, and the cashier is obviously awkward, but he doesn't say anything and barely looks at what she rings up. (I say barely because he tries extremely hard not to look at the purple pair I picked out, inadvertently adding another checkmark to my list of proof.) She tells him the total, he hands her the card, and within a minute, everything is in our possession and we're leaving the mall entirely.

I don't think there are any more steps to my plan today once we get in the car and I tell him thank you. (To which he responds a short and simple, Sure thing, and turns the radio on.)

But then there's a note taped to the front door, and it instantly gives me another one.

My Sweethearts,

I got called in on a work emergency and won't be back until 7. I would have called but I figured you were having a nice time and didn't want to interrupt! I'll bring home dinner, and then maybe you can tell me about how your day went. Can't wait to hear it!

XOXO,

Eve/Mom

I check my phone, seeing that it's almost 3.

Perfect.

But I don't want to give myself away too quickly, so I thank Spencer again for taking me out and tell him that I'm going upstairs to make sure everything fits right. He nods and lets me go, though not without lingering eyes. I can feel it.

The smile never leaves my face as I try all my clothes on. Once each article has been fitted, I throw it in a laundry basket and move to the next, until I get to the last piece.

The lavender panties.

As expected, they fit perfectly, and as I look at myself in the mirror I picture what Spencer would look like when he sees me wearing them.

That's right. When.

I throw back on my earlier outfit and grab the basket, acting as bored and normal as possible to find him sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book.

"Hey," I greet him, setting the basket in front of me once I reach the bottom of the stairs. "Everything fits good, I just need them washed now. Could you run these down to the laundry room for me? I think I'm gonna make something to snack on before Mom brings dinner."

It doesn't surprise me to see him look at my legs before my face, even if it is brief. I want to smile, but I hold back, watching him nod with a tight smile of his own.

"Sure."

He disappears and then I wait.

One...

Two...

Three.

I sneak as quietly as I can to the laundry room once I hear the washer door open. I hadn't specifically asked him to put them in the washer for me on purpose, and it looks like now he's doing exactly what I thought he might.

My head peeks around the corner, barely in his range of sight as I watch him empty the basket. He takes one item of clothing at a time and throws it in the washer, and halfway through the basket he stops, just to place a pair of my new underwear on the dryer beside him.

My heart races faster the more I wait for him to get to the end of the basket. Once he does, he pauses again, and I think I know exactly what he's looking for.

Still, he sets the basket aside and picks up the stray pair of underwear, a simple black cotton pair that I'd been getting for years, and drapes it over his hands. My thighs instantly clench, and I try so hard to remain where I am so I can see where he takes this.

He takes it straight to hell, apparently, tentatively pulling his dick out of his pants and gripping it firmly. I can barely see since his back is partially turned, but I see enough, and god he's so fucking pretty. My underwear dangle from his left hand while the other works slowly over his erection, a soft sigh falling from his lips.

I fight to let one of my own slip as my hand sinks down the front of my body, past the lavender cotton and lace that I know he just wishes he had right now.

And then, a few seconds later he's already coming, using my brand new underwear to catch each rope of it, and the sight nearly has me on my knees.

And because I want to catch him in the act, I quickly draw my hand away from myself and step into the room, barely giving him time to recover.

"You come fast."

Spencer looks utterly devastated when he turns to see me standing in the entryway to the laundry room, arms crossed and an amused smirk adorning my face.

"Y/N... I—I... I'm so sorry, I didn't... I..."

"Don't worry about it," I say, taking a step towards him and shrugging. "You heard me, and now I heard you... We're even. Besides, I... figured you might be looking for these."

He's still stunned, but he looks down all the same, watching my hands slip under my skirt and glide the lavender panties down my legs. I step out of them and hold the garment up on one finger, a soft smile still on my face.

"I picked 'em out just for you, you know," I tell him, tossing them past his face and into the washer. "I've noticed that you like purple."

This time he's quick to respond. "Y/N, we... We can't... This isn't right."

"Says the man holding my underwear soaked in his cum..."

He looks panicked again, extremely guilty, but if this isn't going to end in a total disaster, then I have to reassure him that I'm okay.

"Spencer, I'm not mad..." I take another step forward, and it feels much like trying to approach a wounded animal. I can see in his eyes and in his posture that this conflict is killing him, so I decide to show some rapport. "And I know... I know this is messy... I love my mom... And I'm sure you care about her a lot... But are we really going to ignore this? We tried that, remember? And now look where we are."

"I..." He swallows, shaking his head and trying to avoid my eyes. "I can't stop thinking about you... I can't..."

My hand finds his arm, and the light touch has him sighing out, an incredulous, breathy laugh escaping him. "Y/N, please... Don't."

"Don't what?" I ask softly, praying he won't turn me away. If he does, we're just back to square one, only the square is jagged, sharper than ever before, and in serious danger of injuring someone.

When he meets my eyes, I see nothing but a desire for something he knows he can't have. "Don't want me."

Now it's my turn to laugh. My knees start to wobble as I go down, keeping my eyes locked onto his, and I swear I see them dilate fully. I scoot in closer, sliding my hand up his leg and finding the words in my heart to finally say out loud.

"It's too late for that..."

My face moves closer, and the hand of his that doesn't currently hold my underwear flies down to gently tug at my hair, keeping me in place.

"If you do this... God, Y/N, I won't be able to stop myself..."

A smirk dances over my lips as I lean in, breath fanning gently over his exposed skin. "Don't."

He swallows. "Don't what?"

"Don't stop yourself."

I barely get the words out before his hand is completely pulling me towards him, and the second my lips press against the silky skin of his hard cock, he loses it completely.

His fingers thread through my hair as I kiss and lick my way softly up to the tip. Once I'm there, I swirl my tongue out and taste the small beads of cum that had remained after he came, a low, satiated hum radiating through my body and making him shiver under my touch.

And then I wrap my lips fully around the head of his dick, and there's no stopping the most beautiful sound I've ever heard come out of his mouth. It's a broken, desperate whisper of my name. The crack in his voice when he says it spurs me forward, and I take him deeper into my mouth until he hits the back of my throat.

That's when he tosses my underwear in the washer and uses both of his hands to grab my head, roughly guiding me along his cock and fully taking control of my actions.

The fire in my belly doesn't ease up, not even once he's decided that he can't take it anymore and pulls me off of him harshly.

And that's only because now he's fully turned over, finally given into these desires that have been plaguing him presumably from the moment we met.

"I want you stripped and in your bed, on your hands and knees within the next five minutes."

I get up off the floor and walk up to him until our bodies are flush, my arms reaching up to wrap around his neck.

"What are you gonna do to me, Spencer?"

He searches my eyes, and his own grow dark with the purest form of sin I'd ever seen. And when his hands come up over the back of my legs, and under my skirt to grab my ass and pull me even closer to him, I can't help the little mewl that slips past my lips.

He smiles, and if it hadn't been for the grip he held on me, I would have fallen to my knees. "Little girl, when I'm through with you, you'll have to come up with some excuse to your mom about why you can't walk straight... Is that what you want?"

The mention of my mom should send me running in the opposite direction, but his threat only prolongs that fire in my veins and makes me want him even more.

I tilt my head up and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Do your worst..."

———

Turns out he was very true to his word.

Sitting at the kitchen table is somewhat of a relief, but I try not to walk around as much when Mom gets home. She'd asked me almost immediately if I was okay, and I told her I was just hungry and needed to eat something.

She seemed to have bought it, rushing to the kitchen to unpack the fast food she'd ordered for us. Over her shoulder, Spencer gave me a sly smile, and it took everything I had within myself not to crumble.

Through bites of food, I only half-listen to Mom telling us about the stuff she had to do at work because most of the words I'm hearing are in my head— A loop of endless dirty talk that plants deep into the soil of my stomach and spreads out through my whole body. It infects me, like the most beautiful poison, and I never want it to stop.

"Tell me, sweetheart, you ever let a man come inside you before?"

His weight on top of me coupled together with the heft of his voice has me whining out in pleasure, each snap forward of his hips over my ass as he pounds into me from behind the most delectable burn I've ever felt.

"Uh huh," I answer happily, twisting my head to feel his cheek against my own. "That night you heard me in the shower... I walked through the door with a stranger's cum soaking my panties... And you know what?"

He grumbles, his hips hitting into me harder as he waits for me to continue.

"I wished it was yours..."

My legs clench together under the table and I take a large gulp of water.

I feel something graze over my bare shin, and I already know it's Spencer's foot, a silent reassurance of his presence and that no matter what, he'll always be here.

"Here's what's going to happen..."

He has me on my back now, my legs hoisted over his shoulders and bent back so I'm nearly folded in half. His hips are flush against mine and I can feel his cock throbbing as he comes into the condom.

"You're gonna make an appointment to make sure you're clean... You're gonna make sure you're on good birth control... And then the next time I fuck this pretty little pussy, you're gonna really know what it feels like to have a man come inside you."

Right... Like I really need a reminder of his presence.

I can practically feel it still inside me, taking up every inch of space my body could provide. And no matter how long I go without seeing him, I have no doubt that it'll always remain.

"But that's enough about me, I'm sorry." Mom's voice shifts and breaks me out of my fantasy. "So, how did your day of bonding go? You have fun?"

Spencer and I share a look, a smile spreading over his lips that makes me smile in turn.

"Yeah, Mom," I say. "It was great."

He nods in kind. "Yeah... We'll definitely have to do it again."

His foot grazing over my leg under the table cements the unwavering smile on my face, as does the way my whole body burns at the memory of him fucking me upstairs only hours before.

I don't even flinch or get sick to my stomach when Mom reaches over and gives Spencer a kiss.

———

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[storiesforallfandoms]

the type you bring home to mom ~ eddie kaspbrak;it chapter two

word count: 2361

request?: no

description: in which he finally brings his girlfriend home to his over protective mother, and it goes exactly as he thought it would

pairing: teen!eddie kasprak x female!reader

warnings: swearing, overbearing mother, derogatory name calling (i guess?), basically eddie’s mom just sucking

masterlist (one, two)

note: (y/n/p) = your parents’ names

I played with the hem of my dress as I walked up to the Kaspbrak household. I was regretting my choice in wardrobe, but it was too late to change now. I knew nothing would feel right anyways, I had already changed three times before I came over.

For the first time in our year long relationship, I was meeting Eddie’s mother. We had somehow managed to keep our relationship a secret for so long that I never felt like I had to meet her, and Eddie wasn’t exactly pushing for it either. As much as he loved his mom, he also knew she was manipulative and overbearing, and he often told me how he was afraid of his mom scaring me off because of these facts.

When the news eventually got out and travelled quickly through the small town of Derry, as gossip usually does, it got to Ms. Kaspbrak in no time. She immediately demanded to meet me, and Eddie set up a dinner at his house for the occasion.

Before I could even knock on the door, it swung open to reveal my tall boyfriend smiling down at me. Any tension I had melted away as I looked up at him, into those beautiful eyes that could calm me down whenever they were on me. He took my face in his hands and pulled me to kiss him. It was such a normal action that, at first, I leaned into it happily, until I realized the circumstances of my visit and quickly pushed him away.

“She’s not here,” he said, as if reading my worried thoughts. “She’s gone out to get some stuff for dinner.”

He stepped aside to let me step into the house. It wasn’t unfamiliar territory; Eddie and I had had many rendezvous there during the rare moments when his mom wasn’t home, but it felt wrong to be there on this occasion. I just wanted it to end already, and to go home or go for a long drive with Eddie.

“Come, sit,” he said, leading me to his living room. We sat close to one another on the couch, so close that we were just barley touching. Feeling his arm brush against mine sent sparks through me.

“How worried should I be?” I asked him, trying to remain as light as possible.

He sighed and shuffled in his seat. “I wish I could tell you not at all, but...”

He trailed off so I finished his sentence for him, “But it’s your mom.”

Eddie nodded. “But it’s my mom.”

One of his arms was around my waist. I hadn’t realized that the skirt of my dress had hiked up a little until the hand around my waist started to play with the hem, his fingertips brushing against my ass. His other hand touched my leg, starting lightly on my knee and then slowly travelling up my thigh till it stopped on my inner thigh. I shivered, wanting him to go further.

Most people who knew him would never believe that Eddie Kaspbrak, the hypochondriac, fast talking, former sheltered mama’s boy, would be absolutely mind blowing in bed, and constantly handsy whenever we were alone. I hadn’t even believed it until we got together, but man, Eddie knew how to make me feel absolutely amazing.

He leaned forward to kiss my neck, his fingers tracing circles in my inner thigh. I was shivering with anticipation and whimpers were escaping my lips. I could feel Eddie’s amused smirk against my neck as he placed another kiss there and lifted his head to look at me. He kissed my lips and his hand finally made its way further up my skirt.

Our moment was interrupted by the sound of a car door slamming. I practically jumped to the other side of the couch, touching my neck in hopes that he hadn’t accidentally left hickies there.

“You’re good,” he said, understanding what I had been doing.

The front door opened and I suddenly felt paralyzed. I wasn’t sure if I should stand up or stay sat down, if I should move even further away from Eddie or stay exactly where I was. In the end, I stayed frozen like a deer in headlights as his mom rounded the corner, arms full of grocery bags.

“Oh,” she said when her eyes landed on me. “Is this...her?”

There was a slight leer to the way she said “her”, which made me want to squirm under her intense gaze.

“Mom,” Eddie said, a partial warning tone in his voice, “this is (Y/N), my girlfriend.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Kaspbrak,” I said. “Do you, um, need any help with - ”

“No,” she cut me off. “I have it. You’re early.”

“I told her this is when to get here,” Eddie defended. “You wouldn’t tell me exactly when to invite her over.”

“Well, this is hardly dinner time,” his mother huffed. “It’ll take me a while to get dinner ready.”

“I can help,” I offered again.

“No,” she said, sharply, which told me that was the end of the matter.

I shrunk down in my spot on the couch.

“Mom,” Eddie snapped again.

She glared at me before turning to her son, trying to soften her expression for him. “I’ll let you know when the food is ready. For now...stay here.”

When she disappeared into the kitchen, Eddie immediately moved to sit next to me and took my hand in his.

“I’m okay,” I assured him. “I’ll get through it. It’s just dinner then we’re done, right?”

He nodded, but I could see the worry on his face still.

A while later, Ms. Kaspbrak called to tell us dinner was ready. She had made sure to place everything so that Eddie and I were sat at the heads of the table, far apart from one another, while she was sat between us. Eddie and I shared a look before sitting in our designated spots.

Dinner started with awkward silence besides our cutlery against the plates. I tried to keep my attention on my plate, but every so often I’d glance up at the Kaspbraks to see Eddie nervously glancing between me and his mother, and his mom just glaring daggers at me. The nervousness I was feeling took away my appetite, but I felt like I had to eat everything to make a good impression, if that was even possible.

“So,” Ms. Kaspbrak said, drawing our attention to her, “(Y/N). Your parents are (Y/P/N), right?”

She already knew the answer to this question. I had grown up in Derry, where everyone knew everyone. There was a reason she was asking, and I had a feeling I already knew what that reason was.

“They are, yeah,” I responded.

“And they’re divorced, aren’t they?”

“Mom!” Eddie groaned.

“It’s just a question, Eddie,” his mom said.

“It’s okay,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t mind talking about it. That’s kind of old news anyways. They divorced when I was 10, dad moved to the next town over and mom got full custody of me.”

“That doesn’t seem like a very stable upbringing,” Ms. Kaspbrak commented. “I’m sure it’s taken such a toll on you, you must’ve decided to rebel somehow.”

Eddie put his face in his hands, officially admitting defeat on trying to stop his mother.

“Actually it wasn’t anything like that,” I said. “Mom and dad stayed pretty civil. There wasn’t any big fight or anything, just an agreement that they’re better off not being married. When dad moved he made sure to stay in constant contact, and comes to visit all the time or I’d go to visit him. Mom always made sure I had a roof over my head and food on the table. They both love me unconditionally, even if they’re not together.”

Ms. Kaspbrak sat back in her seat, a sour look on her face. “Well...regardless, it’s just not right to be raised by a single mother.”

Feeling a bit brave, I raised an eyebrow at her. “Eddie was raised by a single mother.”

“That’s different. My husband died, he didn’t decide to abandon me and Eddie.”

“My dad didn’t abandon us, he’s still very much a part of our lives.”

She ignored me and continued to eat. I looked across the table at Eddie to see him avoiding all eye contact with either of us as he pushed his food around on his plate. As if feeling my gaze, he looked up at me. I gave him a small smile to try and indicate that I wasn’t upset with him. I wanted him to know everything was going to be okay, even if I didn’t fully believe it myself.

“How many boys have you had sex with, (Y/N)?”

The question caught me off guard and I nearly choked on the food I had just put in my mouth.

“Jesus Christ, mom!” Eddie snapped.

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vein, Edward,” his mother chastised him.

“You can’t just ask something like that, mom, that’s none of your business.”

“Of course it’s my business. I need to make sure my son isn’t dating a slut. I remember you were friends with Beverly March before she moved away, and trust me, I heard all sorts of stories about her. Anyone who would hang around with her must be somewhat similar.”

The mention of the untrue bullshit that used to be spread about Bev made the anger within me bubble over. I was seeing red as I looked up at Ms. Kaspbrak, and I was ready to pounce.

“Actually, your son took my virginity, and I took his,” I told her. “And we have sex quite a lot, sometimes upstairs in his bedroom when you’re not home. Although, for someone who says he was a virgin I don’t know how much I believe it. Eddie has done things that I don’t even think the most experienced of people could do.”

If he was upset with me for saying all of this, Eddie’s face didn’t show it. He was sipping on his water, trying to hide the smug smile that broke out across his face.

Ms. Kaspbrak’s face turned blood red before she rose from the table. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

“Gladly,” I said, abandoning my dinner to quickly leave the shitty situation.

“And don’t you dare come anywhere near my son again, or else I will have the cops on you!” she threatened.

I stopped and turned back to face her. “For what? For dating your son? For showing him that there’s someone who actually cares about him without manipulating him? For finally cutting the cord that you’ve had wrapped around his neck since he was born? Ms. Kaspbrak, I understand that you’re afraid to lose your son the way you lost your husband, but being a manipulative bitch who forced him to think he had illnesses he didn’t have for years and insulting his girlfriend in front of him is not the way to keep him around. Eddie is 18 years old, he’s an adult. He can do whatever he wants, which includes dating whoever he wants and leaving this hell hole that you have the audacity to call a home. The day that you finally accept that just might be the day that Eddie finally considers you to be an actual mother.”

And with that, I decided not to overstay my welcome and left.

I was only a few feet away from Eddie’s house when I heard him calling after me. I slowed my pace just enough that he could catch up with me, but didn’t completely stop. I wanted to put as much distance between myself and the Kaspbrak house as I could.

“I’m sorry,” I sighed as he fell in step next to me.

“For what?” Eddie asked. “I should be the one apologizing to you.”

“You warned me on how she would be, and I still let her get to me,” I said. “I probably made having to live there a whole lot harder.”

“It was hard to begin with, (Y/N). Nothing could make it harder than what it was,” he told me. “What you said, it was all true. Mom needed to hear that. Doesn’t mean she liked hearing it, or that she’ll actually accept it, but she needed to hear it none the less.”

“I guess I could’ve said it nicer,” I said. “Or at least not included details of our sex life.”

Eddie awkwardly chuckled. “Yeah, could’ve done without mom knowing I’m a sex god.”

I gave him a look and playfully nudged him. “I never said you were a sex god.”

“Eddie has done things that I don’t even think the most experienced of people could do I believe were your exact words.”

“I only said that to make her more upset.”

“So you’re saying I’m bad at sex?”

I pushed him again. “Eddie!”

He laughed and put an arm around my waist. “I appreciate the compliment either way. And I hope you know how much I love you.”

I smiled up at him and leaned into his touch. “I love you, too.”

We walked in silence for a while and, before I knew it, we were at my house. We stopped and turned to face each other.

“Want to stay over tonight?” I asked. “I figure going home isn’t exactly the best option right now.”

“It’s not,” he agreed. “Will your mom be okay with it?”

“Of course she will, she loves you. She’ll probably even cover for you if your mom calls.”

“I take it back, I don’t love you. I love your mom.”

“And I take back my offer. Go sleep on the streets.”

I took off for my front door with Eddie hot on my trail. I tried to open it and lock him out before he caught up to me, but of course his long legs gave him an advantage. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me away from the door, both of our laughs ringing out through the otherwise quiet neighborhood.

[subbing-for-clones]

The Sound Of Your Voice On My Skin

Crosshair x Reader Soulmate AU

Word Count: 2.25k

WARNINGS: FLUUUUUUUFFFFFFF as a treat because that last episode broke my soul apart

Prompt: Anything you write/ draw on your skin appears on your soulmate’s.

      It was out of fear of punishment that Crosshair had never dared to take ink to his own skin. He had heard whispered rumors from the other braver cadets that risked the wrath from the Kaminoans but after years of teasing and beatings from the normal clones he had developed an anxious complex and kept his mouth firmly closed around anyone except for his three other brothers. It was in the locker room shower after training that he strained his ears for any ounce of the forbidden information.

“I don’t understand. Every time I try to write my name or Kamino it’s like my hand spasms out and I scribble all over myself,” he heard a ‘reg whisper in agitation, “I can write it all down on flimsy just fine right before or right after but I can’t tell her.”

“Well that would make it easy wouldn’t it? I don’t think it’s supposed to be easy,” another ‘reg mumbled.

“Guys, stop. One of the trainers will hear you and we’ll get in trouble.”

    The Kaminoans had forbade any cadets from attempting to connect with their soulmates because they believed that it would inspire desertion or distract them from their duties. They were right of course. Why would anyone want to risk their own life, natural born or not, when they could be with the person they were universally linked to?

    Crosshair turned the water off and toweled himself off, preparing to meet his brothers in the mess for supper. When he met up with the rest of his batch, he could hardly focus on them talking about their prospective training. They had taken on specialized training years ago to better compliment each of their enhanced abilities. His being heightened eyesight, precision and focus. At the moment all of his focus was directed towards an incredibly valuable piece of contraband laying on the floor over by the trash cans. He had watched the pen fall out of one of the trainer’s pockets while they dumped their tray and now, something priceless sat rolled half underneath the bin.

    His hands twitched thinking about the faint ‘hello?’ that had appeared on his wrist months ago. One singular reach into the void made by his own soulmate, one he hadn’t been able to answer. He scarfed down the rest of his meal as quickly as he could; earning a raised brow from Hunter before standing and trying to keep a casual pace. He purposefully dropped his cup so he had a visible excuse for reaching down. He grabbed the pen and tucked it into his long sleeve in one fluid motion.

    That night as he lay in his sleeping pod with the internal light dimmer turned to the lowest setting he stared at his blank wrist, pen in shaking hand. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. All he had to do was write hello. Five simple characters. He knew he could wash the ink off before anyone could see. He inhaled deeply and brought the tip of the pen to his skin.

    Minutes passed staring at the letters he had written. He stared at them so long they started to look strange, almost alien; like when you look at your own reflection too long. He sighed and rolled onto his side, just as he was closing his eyes, he felt a slight tingling. He saw more writing appear below his own greeting. He watched each letter as it was being written in real time and his heart pounded in his chest when he read ‘you’re really out there?’

He jolted upright hitting his head on the ceiling of his chamber, cursing silently to himself.

‘Yes.’

‘I was starting to think you didn’t exist.’

‘I couldn’t answer before. I’m sorry.’

‘That’s okay. Is it night or day for you right now?’

    He was already running out of room on his arm so he rolled up his shirt and started writing on his stomach as small as he could, ‘it’s night, I’m supposed to be sleeping.’

‘Me too. What did you do today?’ He wanted to say more but he needed to keep space so he simply replied, ‘marksman training. You?’

‘My dad builds blasters and mods for them, he’s teaching me. Are you going to be a solder?’

‘Yes.’ His heart was pounding in his chest. He could fire a blaster his soulmate built one day.

‘Are you scared?’ He paused to think about his reply. He wasn’t actually scared of going into battle. He had been preparing his whole life for it after all and he would be graduating and sent off to fight next year. He had been mentally and physically prepared for it.

‘No. It’s what I’m meant to do.’

‘I’m sorry it’s very late and I have to be up early. Can I talk to you tomorrow?’

‘Of course. No arms though, I’ll get in trouble.’

‘You will?’

‘Yes, they don’t want us to meet our soulmates.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll find you someday. Sweet dreams.’

‘You too.’

    Crosshair smudged as much of the ink off of his skin as possible but left ‘sweet dreams’ alone so he could see it. He thought about what his soul mate might look like, what they enjoyed spending their time doing. He fell asleep with a small smile spread across his lips and for the first time in his life, he felt hope.

    Two years droned on in a blur since the night Cross had been able to contact his soulmate. He had graduated and completed dozens of successful missions with his batch. He was only able to carve out a few minutes a night to write to her. He learned that she had been contracted by the GAR to work as a weapon specialist. Pride and excitement had swelled in his chest at the time, more so when he got to brag to his brothers about it. Despite the fact that they had never been able to exchange their names or their locations, he held out hope that he would meet her before the war ended.

“Cross, I know you have a grudge agianst the ‘regs and that’s fine but you have to play nice. This is our fourth transfer this year. They’re running out of places to send up for repairs and refuels.”

    Crosshair simply huffed and rolled his toothpick between his teeth bringing up his rifle and resting the broken barrel across his shoulders behind his back, brows furrowed. Tech piloted the Havoc Marauder into the base and landed in a hurry that sent every worker running for cover, “and that means you have to stop flying like a crazy person Tech!” The genius of the batch simply responded with a snicker making the silver haired sniper smirk.

“Tech, see about repairs with the lead mechanic here. Cross get your rifle fixed and Wrecker,” Hunter turned to his largest brother who was still looking guilty for snapping the end off of Cross’s blaster, “try not to break anything. While you’re not breaking anything, resupply the munitions.” The three bothers gave a lazy salute to their oldest brother and sergeant before exiting off the ship and going their own separate ways.

      You wiped your forearm across your brow to try to keep the sweat beaded there from dripping down into your eye while you listened to the ARC trooper before you plead his case as to why he deserved first dibs on the new blaster modification you were working on. The sight of a tall silver haired man walking into your blistering work room tore your attention from the clone momentarily.

“I’m one of the best you know. If you give me the mod, I’ll be able to show off your work to the higher ups and it’ll make me the best ARC in the GAR. It’d be a win-win.” You sighed and rolled your eyes, you liked Fives well enough but he bristled you. He was a fun drinking buddy when you were in the mood but gods above, he was too high energy to talk to sober for more than a few minutes at a time.

“Fives, I’ve told you before. This is a sniper modification, allowing the shooter’s bolts to be significantly less bright so their position isn’t as likely to be compromised. Therefor it’s not fitted for the DC-15S or your DC-17,” Fives lifted a finger and opened his mouth to rebuttal but you lifted your hand, trapping his words in his throat. “No, I will not attach it to your DC-15A rifle either. You hardly use it. Come back after it gets approved for production and maybe we’ll talk,” you slapped the face shield to your welding mask back down and waved your hand at him in a shooing motion praying he’d get the hint.

    Much to your relief he sighed dramatically when you lit up the torch and turned on his heel to leave. He smiled brightly at Cross before chuckling and pointing his thumb over his shoulder in your direction, “careful with that one, she’s the best but she’s fiery as all seven hells,” Cross grunted in acknowledgement before moving from his position leaned against the wall, watching the ‘reg leave with a scowl on his face.

    He made his way over to your work table, watching as you worked on a rotary canon. The barrels had melted to the rare point that they had to be cut off with a torch. It didn’t take you long to separate the melted barrels from the receiver. Cutting off the fuel to the torch and lifting the shield on your mask you turned your attention back to the lanky trooper you had never met before. You breathed out heavily while you removed your gloves and slapped them on the table, “how the fuck did they even manage to get rounds coming out of that thing long enough to melt it that badly?”

“Perseverance,” he snarked casually, bringing a genuine chuckle from your lips.

“What brings you into my humble little shop trooper?” flashing a wide smile that reached your eyes. He took the tooth pick out of his mouth and flicked it into a nearby trash bin before setting his rifle down onto the table that separated the two of you. You picked it up an examined it closely.

“Holy shit. This is a 733 Fire Puncher,” you grimaced at the fact that it was missing half of its barrel, “what did you do to it?”

The man crossed his arms across his chest defensively, “my brother used it to prop open the jaws of a Nexu after I drew my side arm.” Your eyes widened before doubling over in a boisterous laughter. “Can you fix it or not?” “Pffft can I fix it? That’s cute,” you fitted it in a vice and used a large wrench to start unscrewing the barrel so you could attach a new one. “My father works for Merr-sonn Munitions inc. y’know, the people who make this blaster. I’ve been working on them long before the war started, back when these were just concepts.”

    Cross froze and peeled his eyes off of your working hands to look up at your face. He knew someone whose father worked for that manufacturer. His tongue was frozen in his mouth as the possible realization lapped in his chest like gentle waves. Could it be?

    You discarded the remaining half of the barrel into your ever-growing pile of scrap and walked into the back room to find another. When you came back, new barrel in hand and a wistful smile on your face his heart started hammering in his chest. You were stunning. Nerves taking hold and seemingly stopping the flow of his blood. He watched as you threaded the barrel and used your wrench to screw it into place. He was already searching his pockets for a pen.

    You lifted the rifle to your eyeline to look down the barrel, ensuring it was straight, “I know someone who wields one of these beauties,” you stated proudly. “You are the first I’ve met though that has one that’s...” you felt a familiar tingling on the top of your hand and looked down to see frantic randomized scribbles appear on your skin, “… part of the GAR…” you looked up to meet the eyes of the man in front of you and watched as he scribbled nonsense on his hand with gleaming eyes and a faint smile.

    You almost dropped the blaster but managed to set it down somewhat gently before rushing around the table and taking his hand in yours and compared the markings. They were identical, you finally had him, right here in front of you. You looked back up to his eyes and watched how they softened under your gaze, twin smiles slowly growing over both of your faces. You jumped up to wrap your arms around his neck while he held you tightly to his chest spinning you around twice in joy and relief over finally meeting you.

“It’s really you,” you didn’t ask but acknowledged as shock wrang through your body. He grinned down at you before planting a soft and firm kiss to your lips, “yeah cyare.. it’s me.”

[cooliogirl101]

From a very young age, Obito's grandmother had cautioned him to guard his heart.

"There is nothing more dangerous than an Uchiha in love," she warned him. "If you're not careful, caring too deeply will destroy you, drive you to madness."

For a five-year-old Obito, all it took to fall in love were three words, coming from a girl with sparkling brown eyes and the brightest smile he'd ever seen.

"Hey, nice goggles!"

~~

Obito, as a general rule, tried to avoid thinking too much about Hatake Kakashi. As far as he was concerned, stupid Bakashi already had too many people thinking about him. It felt like Obito couldn't go five minutes without hearing the whispers of "prodigy" and "genius" and "future-Hokage" trailing Kakashi everywhere he went (and what really stung was that they probably weren't wrong-- what Obito worked at for hours upon hours to accomplish, Kakashi managed in minutes without breaking a sweat).

Obito thought he'd been doing a pretty good job of ignoring Kakashi all things considered, despite the other boy's annoying attitude and annoying hair and annoying voice and annoying mask and annoying everything. He didn't even care (much) about Kakashi's annoyingly large number of fangirls-- up until he noticed that Rin had also started watching him.

He lasted three days before he confronted her about it.

"Why're you watching Kakashi?" Obito blurted out. He'd considered straight up asking her if she had a crush on him-- like half the girls in their class, he thought bitterly-- but had chickened out at the last moment. He wasn't sure what he'd do if the answer was yes--probably something that would land him in detention again.

"He's walking home alone again," Rin said quietly, gaze still fixated on Kakashi's departing figure. "It's been weeks now."

"So?" Obito asked. "He walks home by himself all the time."

Rin shook her head.

"Only when his father's on a mission. Which he might be, I don't know, but given what happened--" Her voice trailed off. Obito didn't need her to complete the sentence, anyway. Everyone in the village knew what had happened on Hatake Sakumo's disastrous mission.

"We're going to follow him," Rin decided. That got Obito's attention.

"What? Why?" He wasn't whining. He wasn't.

"Because something's not right here. And until we figure out what it is, I'd feel better watching over him to make sure he's safe." She glanced at him and grinned. "Besides, this will allow you to practice your stealth skills. And my Henge skills. Think I can make a convincing bush?"

~~

Through some miracle, because Rin did not make a convincing bush-- bushes didn't move for one thing, nor did they have legs-- they managed to follow Kakashi back to the Hatake Compound undetected. The moment the compound came into sight, Rin jolted, her henge dropping away completely.

"Oh," she whispered, eyes widening. Obito swallowed, feeling rather sick to the stomach himself.

The wall of the compound was completely covered by graffiti. Obito clenched his fists, mouth going dry-- there were words on there that would make Obito's grandmother scrub his mouth with soap if he even thought of saying them but worse than that were the words scattered between the cursing and insults:

Failure

Disgrace

Weak

Monster

Shameful

Your fault

Your fault

Your fault

"Obito." Rin's voice was strangely calm.

"Y-Yeah?" Obito cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away from the Hatake Compound. Kakashi didn't deserve that, he found himself thinking. His dad didn't deserve it either. No one deserved that.

Rin glanced at him, eyes hard.

"Do you think your grandmother would be okay with you sleeping over at my house tonight?"

Obito blinked, then slowly began to smile.

"I think I can convince her."

"Great." Rin folded her arms across her chest. "How are your painting skills?"

~~

Of all the things Sakumo expected to find outside his house in the middle of the night, two kids wearing badly-made face masks painting his wall was not one of them.

"What are you guys doing?" Kakashi demanded, looking like he wasn't sure whether to be angry or confused.

"What does it look like we're doing, Bakashi?" The kid in the orange eye-mask retorted. "Everyone calls you a genius, figure it out."

This night was getting weirder and weirder, Sakumo thought bemusedly to himself.

"You're...vandalizing my house. At two in the morning," Kakashi replied. It looked like the confusion was winning out over the anger.

"It's not vandalism if it's done with good intentions," the girl in the purple eye mask said primly. Sakumo resisted the urge to rub at his eyes.

"Friends of yours, Kakashi?" Sakumo asked, and received an immediate flurry of responses.

"No, I hardly even know them, they're just some kids from my class--"

"Friends with Bakashi? No way, I--"

"Not yet at least."

Sakumo let them talk over each other, gaze drifting back over to the half-completed paint job. They'd...done a surprisingly good job, actually. He could barely see the words underneath anymore.

He held up a hand, causing all three kids to go quiet.

"Why?" He asked finally, addressing the two kids who apparently weren't friends with Kakashi and yet had gone to the trouble to do all...this.

"Why not?" the boy said defiantly, jutting his chin up. "We felt like it and your wall is messed up, so we're painting it to look better."

The girl remained silent for a beat longer, before turning to look him in the eye.

"Because you deserve better," she said. Sakumo's mouth twisted.

"I'm not sure I do," he murmured, almost inaudibly. He blinked as the girl suddenly narrowed her eyes, brandishing her paintbrush at him like a kunai.

"Don't say that," she hissed, glaring fiercely at him "Don't you dare say that! The first thing they teach us in the Academy is that your teammates always, always come first. You acted according to that and the fact that people are treating you like a monster for it is wrong."

"It's not that simple--"

"It's not your fault that Konoha is on the brink of war,” she interrupted sharply. "If you didn't trigger it, someone else would have. You don't teach five year olds wartime tactics if you're not expecting...if you're not preparing for a war. People don't want to admit that, so they look for someone to blame-- but that's their problem, not yours."

She turned around, re-coating her brush with paint.

"I can't make you believe me, Hatake-san. But what I can do is cover up this wall of yours. At the very least, Kakashi-kun doesn't deserve to look at this every day."

At that, Kakashi straightened up, scowling at her. If his glare seemed rather halfhearted, no one pointed it out.

"I don't need you to do it, I can do it myself," he grumbled.

"Great," the girl said without missing a beat. "While you're here, you can settle a debate between me and Obito-- hypothetically speaking, would you prefer snakes painted on the wall or dragons?"

"C'mon Rin, dragons are so much cooler, what kind of person would prefer snakes--"

"Obito, neither of us can even draw a dragon and besides, they summon snakes--"

"What? No we don't! We summon dogs!"

"Oh. Really? But your dad is called the White Fang. That wasn't a reference to snake fangs?"

"No!"

"Huh. Who summons snakes then? Someone summons snakes."

"Forget the snakes, is there a dragon contract I can sign?"

"They'd take one look at you and eat you, dead last."

"Shut up, Bakashi!"

Sakumo felt his lips twitch. He turned around to walk back inside, feeling lighter than he had in weeks.

And to think, he'd been worried about Kakashi making friends.

[sagefzy]

PART FOUR: POPCORN AND GREEN TEA

perfectionism | prev | next

You tapped your foot on the pavement, anxious to finally meet the eyes of your old friend. The feeling of excitement was almost overwhelming all your senses, the only thing you could focus on was the plain, faded brown door in front of you. Quickly, you sent Suna a text to let him know of your arrival, however in the corner of your eye, you suddenly noticed two figures approaching. You shrugged it off, thinking that it was just two guys passing by on a walk, but rather than walking past the house, they stepped up the driveway slowly drawing near you.

Hearing Ennoshita's words in your mind about being aware of your surroundings, you discreetly glanced back observing the two. But, much to your surprise, it was the exact two guys who bombarded you at the supermarket yesterday. Well, actually, more like the one blond who smashed a shopping cart into your heel, blubbering apologies and looking away, while the other one stood there and watched the whole incident play out.

You watched them for what seemed like forever. Could they possibly be Suna's friends? No, the whole thing seemed too coincidental, surely that couldn't be the case. Not willing to take the chance, you took out your phone once more in hopes to get Suna to clarify that those were, indeed, not his friends. Unfortunately for you, it appeared that the universe had decided to make you a pawn in its game because the two of them were, indeed, his friends.

You let out a heavy sigh, you could already tell that the next few hours would be nothing but awkward stares and embarrassing conversations. Not wanting to ruin your one day of freedom- the one day where you didn't have to listen to your dad's constant yells, telling you how much of a disappointment you are- the one day where you didn't have to sit in front of the piano all day just to feel some sort of gratification. It was then that you decided to just ignore the situation, and pretend as if the blond wasn't the reason that the back of your foot was wrapped in a bandage. For all Suna knew, this was you guys' first encounter, so be it.

Right as the door opened, your eyes were drawn to the tall green-eyed boy who you used to spend every day with as a young kid. "Y/N, so glad you're here!" Suna smiled, as he went in for a quick hug. "Those two behind you are Atsumu and Osamu." He introduced, pointing to the two that were now directly behind you. The blond looked absolutely horrified, stealing brief glimpses at the bandage that hugged your heel, the other one, however, stared back with a nonchalant smile. "They may have almost the same face, but the one with the ugly piss-colored hair is Atsumu, and the normal looking one is Osamu."

You grinned back at the two, showcasing your brightest smile, hoping that they'd get the message to not bring up the fact that this was not your first encounter. You were going to introduce yourself to the two, but the blond seemed to beat you to cut. "How come Samu is the normal one?" He whined.

Suna snickered, "Because Osamu doesn't act like a dramatic brat who needs his hand held every damn second of the day."

Suna's blunt words made you softly chuckle, there was something in friendly banter that just made it so pure and innocent. You looked up at the two, noticing that the blond's expression had softened after hearing your giggles. With the brief moment of silence at hand, you decided to take this as the moment to introduce yourself. "I'm Y/N, it's nice to meet you Atsumu and Osamu."

"Well now that we got introductions out of the way, why don't we go inside and find something to do," Suna suggested.

"Rinny, can we watch a movie?" You asked excitedly. The last time you had watched a movie was when you hung out with Nishinoya, Tanaka, and Ennoshita before leaving Miyagi, and your dad hardly ever let you engage in anything other than school work or piano, making it a rare treasure.

Suna nodded, "Watching a movie it is."

As all of you entered the house, you couldn't help but hear the blond, Atsumu mutter to his brother, "If I called 'm Rinny I think he'd punch me on the spot."

A smile quickly reappeared on your face as you heard his brother respond, "I don't know, I'll give ya one thousand yen to put it to the test."

"No, I think I'll choose life," He giggled.

You found your way to the couch and swiftly pulled out your phone, eager to let your friends know your current situation. The whole scene sounded like something straight out of a book.

You clicked your phone off and turned your attention to the aroma that seemed to be emerging from the kitchen. The familiar scent, caramel popcorn and green tea, jogged an almost forgotten memory of your childhood. An unlikely duo, yet even as a child you couldn't get enough of the weird combination. No one would've ever thought to put the two together, but it just worked.

You almost laughed at the sight. Suna walked out of the kitchen juggling three bowls of caramel popcorn, three bottles of energy drinks, and, of course, your mug of green tea. Since he had such little grace, you got up and lent a helping hand. "No, no you're my guest and you're injured go sit back down," Suna scolded.

"Well it's too late, I'm already here, so I'll just take some of that off your hand," You said while grabbing the mug of tea and the three energy drinks. You walked over to the twins and handed them each their bottle.

"Say what happened to yer foot over there?" Osamu asked with a smirk on his face.

"Oh yeah you never told me what you did to your foot, Y/N," Suna added as he placed the remaining bowls on the side table.

"It's not a big deal I just scraped myself with glass while unpacking," You blurted. You hoped that the lie was convincing enough, but to be honest, scraping yourself with glass sounded way more believable than being run over with a shopping cart.

"I see, sorry to hear that," Osamu responded in an almost surprise-like manner. You thought that maybe he expected you to call out his brother, however you decided to stick with your initial decision of ignoring the situation to save your night from awkwardness. His expression only got more surprised as he realized the unusual food combination you were eating. For only eating caramel popcorn with green tea, he looked as if you were committing a crime against food.

"Green tea with caramel popcorn?" He asked.

With no shame you nodded your head. "Don't knock it until you try it, it's my favorite combo in the world. I can never get enough of it."

Suna sighed, "Yeah, it's no use to convince her otherwise it's been more than a solid seven years since i last saw her and she still likes it."

The night ended almost as quickly as it started. Although you were initially worried about it being awkward, your worries were soon rested once Osamu started explaining his love of cooking. You both talked endlessly about all sorts of sweets and savory foods you both enjoyed indulging in. However, his twin, on the other hand, barely talked as he aimlessly played around with his phone.

Your eyes noticed the time on the nearby clock, the numbers displaying that it was near midnight. Your stomach instantly knotted, if your dad wasn't asleep, you for sure were going to get an ear full when you arrived home. You picked up your phone, and smiled at Suna and Osamu who's chest softly rose up and down as they slept.

You stood up quietly, getting Atsumu's attention. You didn't expect him to do or say anything since he'd been quite dull the entire night, but it seemed like this was a night of surprises. "Yer not planning to go all the way to the bus stop by yerself now are ya?" He asked.

"Well I'm not waking either of them so they can escort me if that's what you're asking," you responded "But, you're more than welcome to join me if it'll put your mind at ease." You fully expected him to not care, however he grabbed his jacket next to him and stood up, walking over to where you stood by the front door.

He quietly opened the door, careful to not make a creaking noise. "After you," He said as he directed you out of the house. The crisp winter air hit your face, your whole body jolted from the sudden change of temperatures. "Don't suppose yer cold now?" He asked, probably noticing your shivering. You replied by shaking your head and continued on the trail to the bus stop.

The rest of the walk was mostly silent, neither one of you knowing what to say. This was definitely uncharacteristically of Atsumu, anyone who'd even slightly know him would expect him to be chatting your ear off with overdramatized commentary. However, things seemed to be different in this situation, there was an eerie feeling about you that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Of course, it didn't help that your first encounter with him was him, in fact, running a shopping cart into you, but it wasn't just that. Maybe it was the way you presented yourself, in an almost sickening sweet-like manner. It all felt artificial, like a facade.

"Well this is it," you said, snapping him out of his thoughts, "Just in time for the last bus, thanks for walking with me." You turned around to enter the vehicle but before you could, a hand made its way to your arm. You immediately flinched at the contact, pulling away at the light hold he had on you.

"I'm sorry I just- i um," He started, trying to find a way to word what he wanted to say. "I wanted to say that 'm sorry for yesterday, it was kind of a shitty thing to do, and 'm also sorry for not really talking all that much today, ya seem really nice and I'm usually not this bad when it comes to meeting new people. And, I totally ruined the night by ignoring you I-"

You lightly laughed, "It's alright, plus any friend of Rin's, is a friend of mine, and you didn't ruin tonight at all, I thought it was perfect." You both smiled back at each other, not saying anything for a moment. You cleared your throat, "Um, I'll see you around, have a good night, Atsumu."

He watched as you entered the bus. A small smile made it on his face as he watched you wave goodbye from the bus window. He waved back and muttered under his breath, "Good night, Y/N."

The bus ride was only about ten minutes. Anxiously, you opened the door to your house, hoping that by some miracle your dad would be sound asleep. The old door slightly creaked, you peaked inside and all your worries flushed away as you saw your dad passed out on the couch. Granted he was passed out drunk, at least that's what you gathered by the four bottles of empty beer that laid at his feet.

Even for you, life wasn't as perfect as it seemed. As much as you wanted it to be, as much as you led people on to think that it was, it just wasn't. The worst part of it was that deep down, you felt accountable for it all. Maybe if you would've been just a little better at piano, you could've achieved your perfect life.

You reached your bedroom and exhaustedly plopped down on your bed. You glanced at the picture of your mother on your bedside table. Her long hair glided down her lavender dress, her face gleaming with a smile. In one hand she held her violin and the other held an award deeming her the best violinist in the nation. She was talented, beautiful, intelligent, and made your dad happy. She was absolutely everything you weren't, and your dad made sure to remind you everyday.

Life before she died was perfect. You could never recall a memory of you being sad around her. Before you closed your eyes, you whispered, "I wish I was perfect like you."

fun facts !

Whenever Atsumu doesn't know how to address a situation, he just goes on his phone and plays angry birds.

If you're ever bored, Osamu will talk forever about all the different ways you can cook the same recipe.

Suna can never stay awake during a movie night, he always falls asleep somehow.

Before getting into volleyball, the twins' mother tried to get them into violin, however that quickly failed once Atsumu broke his bow on the second day of lessons.

perfectionism ©

smau written by @sagefzy

tagist: open just send an ask :)

[earthfire-75]

You Send Me Flying

Chapter Two:

Author’s notes: co-written with @nature-and-music, beta’d by @lady-jane-revisited. Based on The Dirt movie as I still don’t have the book ☹️ not smut…yet.

Vince came back after a few minutes and found us still in the kitchen. “Hey, guys, listen, she wants to go home-“

“What? No way! We still have to practice!” Nikki spoke up.

“Jesus H. Christ. If I wasn’t fed up with her shit before, I am now. That woman fucks with my nerves and doesn’t bother with a courtesy reach-around. She can take a cab, for fuck’s sake, or call her daddy.”

Nikki points over at me. “I like her, she can stay. Your girlfriend on the other hand…”

Vince sighs. “I’ll see what I can do.” He leaves to go talk to her again and we can hear her yelling through the door. It takes longer, but Vince does eventually come back in. “Ok guys, she’s gone.”

Everyone gave a sigh of relief at that announcement. For the remainder of the day, the boys continued with playing more songs until the sun began to set. We were all feeling a little peckish and so we decided to call in a phone order for Chinese food. After the food arrived, we sat round the coffee table to eat, Nikki passing out notebooks and pens to Tommy, Vince and Mick.

“Ok, so here’s my theory,” Nikki begins, “if we wanna knock people on their asses, then we gotta give ‘em a show. The Punks, they’re doing the minimalistics, so let’s take it in the exact opposite direction. I’m…I’m talking like stadium shows in the clubs, man. Like costumes and lights-“

“And pyro! With flames and explosions and shit!” Tommy interrupts, turning his can of hairspray and lighter into a makeshift torch.

“Exactly, exactly! Look, it’s a fuckin’ war out there, and the only way we win is by showing these kids something they’ve never seen before.”

“So what do we call this thing?” Vince asks.

“Here…” Nikki picks up his notebook and starts flipping through the pages. “It’s all about being larger than life!” He finally holds up his notebook for us to see a pentagram with X Mass under it.

“X Mass?” Vince asks.

“Yeah…”

“On a scale of one to ten…I give it a one point nine.” Mick intones, making the other three laugh.

I shook my head in feigned anguish, “That’s harsh. Accurate, but harsh!”

Mick just shrugs.

“It’s a play on Christmas! You know, you can use all the Christ imagery and shit! It’ll piss people off and make people think, you know?”

Tommy makes a face and I could tell Mick still wasn’t convinced.

“It’s got shock value…”

Vince shook his head.

“Yeah, I’m shocked by how much it blows.”

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Mick has some wicked wit. Which, by the way, does nothing to cool down my attraction to him as we sat around the table.

Nikki tossed the notebook down, “Alright, assholes, you give it a shot. But make it big!”

Everyone picks up their notebooks and a pen or marker. Vince looks like he can’t come up with anything, and I find myself entranced by Mick’s look of concentration, but Tommy is quickly scribbling in his. When he’s done, he turns it around. I couldn’t believe what I saw. Tommy’s childish giggle was enough to confirm I wasn’t seeing things. Vince laughed and Nikki scoffed while Mick rolled his eyes.

“Still have the mind of a twelve year old, I see. As well as the body.”

“Ouch…and she says I’m the harsh one.”

“The Foreskins? Really? Tommy?”

“Yeah! Cause we’re gonna fuck the audience in the face every night, dude!”

“Yeah, but…but can you see that shit on the marquee above the Forum?!”

“Yeah, ok, you’re right. I’m out.”

Vince holds up his hands, indicating he’s not even gonna try. But Mick starts to write something down thoughtfully. The guys seem impressed when he turns the notebook in his hands. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this day.”

“Alright,” Nikki says, taking the notebook from Mick and adding to it, the dots over the O and changing crew to Crue with the dots over the U. Mick smiles with satisfaction. It’s the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen and damn if I wouldn’t fall head over heels if I stuck around. And yet…

“Hey, you were talking about costumes before. Does that include makeup?” I asked Nikki before I could stop myself.

“Yeah! Yeah! All that shit!” Nikki enthuses. “Why, you know someone who can do that?”

I just smile and point at myself.

“No shit?”

“Yeah,” Vince pipes up, “she’s getting her makeup artist license. She’s perfect for the job!”

I smile, “Well I do need a job, and based on what I’m hearing, I am getting a few ideas in mind as to how you could all dress. I mean, if you’re interested in what i have to say.” I grabbed the notebook and pen to create a quick sketch of possible outfits or makeup. The guys were interested, some even suggesting to add their own ideas as to what they could wear too. Talks of leather, tight pants, belts, and a bit of heavy make up were tossed around, “Nikki you said that you guys want to go all out? This is how you do it.”

Mick rested his chin on his palm as he looked over the drawings, “That’s pretty wicked actually.”

I felt my cheeks becoming warm after hearing his compliment, and who else but Tommy proceeded to tease me with a schoolboy-ish tone, “Oooooh!”

“Fuck off Tommy!” I shouted, hitting him with the notebook, although that hardly affected his immature outburst when he made a puckered up kissing face. “You’re such an asshole!” I stood up and headed towards the balcony to cool off. Once I was out there, I took out my lighter and pack of cigarettes. The stupid thing wouldn’t light up, it had to be low on butane. I chucked the lousy device into the street and rested my elbows onto the steel bars, letting out a frustrated huff.

The night was warm, typical of most any night in the City of Angels. The street lights were already glowing bright, except for one near the end of the street that’s blinking. The light’s trying its very best to burn bright this evening. The sound of approaching footsteps are of no concern to me, instead I kept my eyes on the concrete ground below me. A clicking noise caused me to turn around, there’s Mick with a lighter in hand, the flame burning bright. He brought it close to my cigarette and, after inhaling the harsh, familiar taste of tobacco in my mouth, I thanked him.

“You alright?” Mick wondered, standing by my side.

I simply shrugged my shoulders, “It’s whatever, Tommy’s always been like that for as long as I’ve known him. I don’t really care anymore.”

“You sure about that?” he asked nonchalantly.

I scowled at him and spat back, “Why do you care?” I took another drag and puffed out a cloud of smoke to him.

He raised an eyebrow and then headed back inside. A part of me was kicking myself for responding back at him like that, yet I was reminding myself that I had more important matters to focus on. Quite frankly, he shouldn’t have been one of them.

@nature-and-music @lady-jane-revisited @mickmarstookmyheart @gothicfuneralsblog @sophiazeppelinchick

[jelly-pies]

Dancing From Now On

Read on AO3

Pepper remembered their first dance. Contrary to public knowledge, it had not been at the annual Stark Industries gala.

Tony and Pepper's first dance took place months before that, alone at the mansion, late after a long day of work. The music had been Pepper's idea, to relax. But the dance had been Tony's.

"Getting better, Potts." Somehow cheerier than usual, he spun her slowly around the workshop. "Nobody will ever know you had two left feet. Hardly believe it myself, if my toe wasn't still throbbing."

Pepper huffed. "Not all of us could afford dance classes, you know."

"Well, it's not that hard, see? We're just swaying." Tony pulled her in, an inch closer, meeting her eyes. And for one moment, Pepper was purely dancing with the friend she was secretly in love with—not the boss who depended on her, or the playboy whose one night stands she escorted out of the mansion every few weeks. Just Tony. "Just dancing."

Their casual flirting was one thing. But this was getting dangerously close to something else—so Pepper ended the moment. JARVIS stopped the music, and when Pepper looked back after collecting her things, Tony suddenly looked away as if he'd been caught staring.

Maybe he had.

"So, you're good?" Tony asked casually, hands fiddling with some tools he picked up. "No stumbling over anybody's feet at the next gala?"

"We're good." Pepper matched his light tone. "Thank you, Mr. Stark."

"You're very welcome, Ms. Potts."

"And Tony... " She paused at the door. Did she imagine that expectant look he sent her way, or was it just the lighting? "Um… that contract you still have to look over. Don't show up tomorrow without it."

"Which one?"

"Tony."

He chuckled. "I got it. Have a good night."

Maybe it was just the lighting.

"Good night," Pepper answered, and exited the room with deliberate steps.

She turned back before the landing. Tony was facing away, bringing up holo-screens, flexing his hands—and suddenly she remembered the feel of those calloused fingers against her own, drawing her closer.

Tony looked up. Pepper turned away, determined not to be caught staring.

But maybe she had.

Pepper remembered their first dance. And she remembered how it led to much, much more.

-

Their second dance, that one was at the Stark Industries Firefighter's Family Fund benefit. A backless blue gown, a little banter, an almost-kiss on the roof. Another moment Pepper ended before anything could begin, even though she half-wished something  would begin—had been wishing it those dreadful three months of Tony's disappearance.

As Tony left to get them drinks, Pepper turned away to hide a growing blush. She didn't see the way he looked back at her from the door.

Tony reentered the building, and didn't see the way Pepper looked after his retreating back, either.

-

Years later on another rooftop, after a disastrous Stark Expo, the kiss became real.

They even had a witness, who deadpanned, "You guys look like two seals fighting over a grape."

Tony put his arm around her as they faced Rhodey, and Pepper couldn’t help thinking how that gesture must make them look like a real couple. She found she didn’t mind. All of a sudden, plans of her resignation as CEO didn't seem so urgent.

Tony turned back to her as soon as Rhodey left and challenged, "How are you gonna resign if I don’t accept?"

Pepper laughed, letting the action release her anxiety and near-death stress and girlish romance. "I…" And Tony was leaning close. She stopped him with a finger on his lips. "Tony, if I don't… we can’t…"

"Come on, it’s us. We’ll figure something out." And there was that look again. Pepper wasn’t so quick to blame the lighting this time. "Ms. Potts?" Tony took both her hands. "Pep?"

It was too late to stop this moment, and Pepper knew it. But the doubt must have still shown on her face because Tony took one look and continued, "Remember when we danced? The first time, Malibu? You crushed my toes about a hundred—"

"Please let that go."

"—but we made it work."

Pepper took a breath. "We did."

Tony smiled, eyes shining—that's how Pepper could always tell if his smiles were real. She could also tell that both of them were done holding back… whatever this was.

"We are pretty good at dancing," Pepper replied.

Tony couldn't see her face as they embraced, but if he did, Pepper was sure he could tell her smile was real, too.

-

A private night at Stark Tower after the New York attack, that was the third dance. Or fourth, or fifth, maybe. Pepper wasn't sure she needed to count anymore.

She was only sure of two things. Swaying together in their home, with JARVIS playing soft music overhead, her arms around the love she had almost lost—and had accepted she would come close to losing, over and over again, for the sake of saving the world—Pepper was only sure of these: that she wanted herself and Tony to have a thousand more dances to come.

And that she could never know which one would be their last.

-

They danced that night on yet another rooftop, after the events with the Mandarin.

They didn't dance after Ultron.

Or for several months after that.

But the next time Pepper and Tony finally held each other in their arms, they held on tighter, and neither let go for a long, long time.

-

This wasn't how Pepper imagined it, for several reasons.

Tony’s smile was different. There was a sadness in them that lingered like ashes, but he smiled anyway, holding her close—which was a feat with Pepper's growing belly, but they made it work.

There were fewer guests. Several seats they left vacant on purpose, scattered around the lakeside like lonely souls. Some people held the belief they were there, in spirit, and that's what mattered. Pepper wasn't so sure; pure sentimentality had prevailed on her to leave the seats out.

Apparently sentimentality ran high this evening. The band played the song she and Tony had first danced to, oh so long ago, in a mansion long since blown to bits, by an AI, a friend, long since gone.

There was no publicity in what had once been anticipated as the event of the decade. A single ray of sun through gray clouds instead of all-around sunshine, in what was supposed to be the happiest day of Pepper and Tony's life.

But the people they loved—those that were left—celebrated with them, and that was enough. A simple reception at their new house, and the wedding was over.

After the lake grew quiet and the stars came out, the newlyweds slow-danced through the night, just the two of them.

This wasn't how Pepper imagined their new life would start. But start it did, with a dance.

"Getting better, Potts," Tony whispered beside her temple, their heads pressed together.

"Not so hard without the floor length gown. I know that was my idea, but God, don’t let me do anything like that ever again."

Tony chuckled and spun her slowly until she faced away, then wrapped his arms around his wife, their four hands interlocking on top of her belly.

Pepper had long lost count of their dances. But she knew this was one she would always remember.

It was Tony who broke the silence. "You guys still here? Scoot."

Pepper turned where he was looking: Rhodey’s wedding presents on the mantelpiece, staring at them—two plushie seals. And she laughed. Tony could always make her laugh.

“Fighting over a grape?” Pepper recalled.

“I never really got that image, to be honest.”

“Hm.” She turned back to Tony, cupped his cheek, and leaned in. “Let’s see about that.”

-

"That’s it! You’re doing it!" Tony spun their daughter around until the song ended, and Morgan collapsed in giggles on the floor. Tony scooped her up and tickled her with his stubble, making the giggling grow louder.

"Dad!" Morgan laughed. "Mommy, save me!"

Pepper swiftly rescued the toddler, only to drop her on the couch and blow raspberries on her stomach a second later. "In this house—" another tickle, and Morgan squealed— "nobody—escapes—dancing!"

Morgan finally succeeded in pushing her away as FRIDAY started the next upbeat song, and soon all three were back on their feet.

-

“Not that it's a competition.” Tony walked in. “But she loves me three thousand.”

“Oh, does she?”

“You were somewhere on the low… six to nine hundred range.”

Tony could always make her laugh.

Even the night after the Avengers came to visit. The night their new life, that Pepper knew in her heart could never last long, started to melt away.

Tonight there was no music, no dancing. Only the crackle of the fireplace, the weight of the future, and Pepper’s words hanging in the air— "But will you be able to rest?"

Tony didn’t answer her. He didn’t need to.

But Pepper held his hand, and Tony kissed her cheek. And when they finally went to bed, they held each other tighter.

-

Tony held her hand, and Pepper kissed his cheek. "You can rest now."

Tonight there was no dancing.

-

Two cylindrical compartments stood along the garage wall, one of them forever to be empty. In the other, Pepper put her Rescue suit away by herself. Crossing the room, her fingers couldn't help lingering over Tony's reserve helmet—Tony's desk—Tony's tools—Tony's presence. She could always feel it in his workshops.

Their first dance had been in his workshop.

The memory jolted her, pulling Pepper's eyes back to the last gift Tony left: her Rescue suit slumped in its compartment, looking as battered as she felt. Pepper remembered what it was like to take the suit to battle. To fight side by side with her husband, gauntlets firing in sync, guarding each other's back. A team to the end.

Did that count as a dance? Because otherwise, Pepper realized, she didn't remember the last time she and Tony danced.

She remembered their first, though—would always remember it. JARVIS’s song, their wedding song, strained in her ears—she could almost feel Tony's calloused fingers around hers—dancing in his workshop late at night.

But in this workshop, on this night, Pepper could only cry.

-

Pepper still danced.

She danced with Rhodey, and they leaned on each other, the way they had learned to do long ago.

She danced with Happy, bouncy little head bangs as they cooked Christmas dinner together, and for a moment the house was full of music again.

She danced with Peter, years later at his wedding, whispering "We’re so proud of you" in his ear.

She danced with her daughter. Morgan always pulled her to her feet whenever a lively song came on the radio— "In this house, nobody escapes dancing!" And they laughed. And they danced.

Pepper still danced. Just not with the one person she most wanted to dance with again.

-

When years had passed, and Morgan was grown, and the house was quiet most hours of the day, Pepper developed the habit of sneaking out on the balcony on clear nights, and looking up at the stars.

Some of her favorite dances with Tony had taken place under the stars. Like the rooftop. And their wedding.

Pepper didn’t remember which dance had been their last. But she remembered the first. And the second. And the thousands that came after that. Maybe that was enough.

In the quiet of the lake house, with only the strains of their wedding song echoing in her ears, and the stars above her, forever her witness—Pepper danced.

-

-

- "Ang Huling El Bimbo (The Last [Dance])," The Eraserheads

Lahat ng pangarap ko'y bigla lang natunaw

Sa panaginip nalang pala kita maisasayaw

(All of my dreams are suddenly gone

Only in dreams can we dance from now on)

[sagewritesmore]

PART FOUR: POPCORN AND GREEN TEA

perfectionism | prev | next

wc: 2108

You tapped your foot on the pavement, anxious to finally meet the eyes of your old friend. The feeling of excitement was almost overwhelming all your senses, the only thing you could focus on was the plain, faded brown door in front of you. Quickly, you sent Suna a text to let him know of your arrival, however in the corner of your eye, you suddenly noticed two figures approaching. You shrugged it off, thinking that it was just two guys passing by on a walk, but rather than walking past the house, they stepped up the driveway slowly drawing near you.

Hearing Ennoshita's words in your mind about being aware of your surroundings, you discreetly glanced back observing the two. But, much to your surprise, it was the exact two guys who bombarded you at the supermarket yesterday. Well, actually, more like the one blond who smashed a shopping cart into your heel, blubbering apologies and looking away, while the other one stood there and watched the whole incident play out.

You watched them for what seemed like forever. Could they possibly be Suna's friends? No, the whole thing seemed too coincidental, surely that couldn't be the case. Not willing to take the chance, you took out your phone once more in hopes to get Suna to clarify that those were, indeed, not his friends. Unfortunately for you, it appeared that the universe had decided to make you a pawn in its game because the two of them were, indeed, his friends.

You let out a heavy sigh, you could already tell that the next few hours would be nothing but awkward stares and embarrassing conversations. Not wanting to ruin your one day of freedom- the one day where you didn't have to listen to your dad's constant yells, telling you how much of a disappointment you are- the one day where you didn't have to sit in front of the piano all day just to feel some sort of gratification. It was then that you decided to just ignore the situation, and pretend as if the blond wasn't the reason that the back of your foot was wrapped in a bandage. For all Suna knew, this was you guys' first encounter, so be it.

Right as the door opened, your eyes were drawn to the tall green-eyed boy who you used to spend every day with as a young kid. "Y/N, so glad you're here!" Suna smiled, as he went in for a quick hug. "Those two behind you are Atsumu and Osamu." He introduced, pointing to the two that were now directly behind you. The blond looked absolutely horrified, stealing brief glimpses at the bandage that hugged your heel, the other one, however, stared back with a nonchalant smile. "They may have almost the same face, but the one with the ugly piss-colored hair is Atsumu, and the normal looking one is Osamu."

You grinned back at the two, showcasing your brightest smile, hoping that they'd get the message to not bring up the fact that this was not your first encounter. You were going to introduce yourself to the two, but the blond seemed to beat you to cut. "How come Samu is the normal one?" He whined.

Suna snickered, "Because Osamu doesn't act like a dramatic brat who needs his hand held every damn second of the day."

Suna's blunt words made you softly chuckle, there was something in friendly banter that just made it so pure and innocent. You looked up at the two, noticing that the blond's expression had softened after hearing your giggles. With the brief moment of silence at hand, you decided to take this as the moment to introduce yourself. "I'm Y/N, it's nice to meet you Atsumu and Osamu."

"Well now that we got introductions out of the way, why don't we go inside and find something to do," Suna suggested.

"Rinny, can we watch a movie?" You asked excitedly. The last time you had watched a movie was when you hung out with Nishinoya, Tanaka, and Ennoshita before leaving Miyagi, and your dad hardly ever let you engage in anything other than school work or piano, making it a rare treasure.

Suna nodded, "Watching a movie it is."

As all of you entered the house, you couldn't help but hear the blond, Atsumu mutter to his brother, "If I called 'm Rinny I think he'd punch me on the spot."

A smile quickly reappeared on your face as you heard his brother respond, "I don't know, I'll give ya one thousand yen to put it to the test."

"No, I think I'll choose life," He giggled.

You found your way to the couch and swiftly pulled out your phone, eager to let your friends know your current situation. The whole scene sounded like something straight out of a book.

You clicked your phone off and turned your attention to the aroma that seemed to be emerging from the kitchen. The familiar scent, caramel popcorn and green tea, jogged an almost forgotten memory of your childhood. An unlikely duo, yet even as a child you couldn't get enough of the weird combination. No one would've ever thought to put the two together, but it just worked.

You almost laughed at the sight. Suna walked out of the kitchen juggling three bowls of caramel popcorn, three bottles of energy drinks, and, of course, your mug of green tea. Since he had such little grace, you got up and lent a helping hand. "No, no you're my guest and you're injured go sit back down," Suna scolded.

"Well it's too late, I'm already here, so I'll just take some of that off your hand," You said while grabbing the mug of tea and the three energy drinks. You walked over to the twins and handed them each their bottle.

"Say what happened to yer foot over there?" Osamu asked with a smirk on his face.

"Oh yeah you never told me what you did to your foot, Y/N," Suna added as he placed the remaining bowls on the side table.

"It's not a big deal I just scraped myself with glass while unpacking," You blurted. You hoped that the lie was convincing enough, but to be honest, scraping yourself with glass sounded way more believable than being run over with a shopping cart.

"I see, sorry to hear that," Osamu responded in an almost surprise-like manner. You thought that maybe he expected you to call out his brother, however you decided to stick with your initial decision of ignoring the situation to save your night from awkwardness. His expression only got more surprised as he realized the unusual food combination you were eating. For only eating caramel popcorn with green tea, he looked as if you were committing a crime against food.

"Green tea with caramel popcorn?" He asked.

With no shame you nodded your head. "Don't knock it until you try it, it's my favorite combo in the world. I can never get enough of it."

Suna sighed, "Yeah, it's no use to convince her otherwise it's been more than a solid seven years since i last saw her and she still likes it."

The night ended almost as quickly as it started. Although you were initially worried about it being awkward, your worries were soon rested once Osamu started explaining his love of cooking. You both talked endlessly about all sorts of sweets and savory foods you both enjoyed indulging in. However, his twin, on the other hand, barely talked as he aimlessly played around with his phone.

Your eyes noticed the time on the nearby clock, the numbers displaying that it was near midnight. Your stomach instantly knotted, if your dad wasn't asleep, you for sure were going to get an ear full when you arrived home. You picked up your phone, and smiled at Suna and Osamu who's chest softly rose up and down as they slept.

You stood up quietly, getting Atsumu's attention. You didn't expect him to do or say anything since he'd been quite dull the entire night, but it seemed like this was a night of surprises. "Yer not planning to go all the way to the bus stop by yerself now are ya?" He asked.

"Well I'm not waking either of them so they can escort me if that's what you're asking," you responded "But, you're more than welcome to join me if it'll put your mind at ease." You fully expected him to not care, however he grabbed his jacket next to him and stood up, walking over to where you stood by the front door.

He quietly opened the door, careful to not make a creaking noise. "After you," He said as he directed you out of the house. The crisp winter air hit your face, your whole body jolted from the sudden change of temperatures. "Don't suppose yer cold now?" He asked, probably noticing your shivering. You replied by shaking your head and continued on the trail to the bus stop.

The rest of the walk was mostly silent, neither one of you knowing what to say. This was definitely uncharacteristically of Atsumu, anyone who'd even slightly know him would expect him to be chatting your ear off with overdramatized commentary. However, things seemed to be different in this situation, there was an eerie feeling about you that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Of course, it didn't help that your first encounter with him was him, in fact, running a shopping cart into you, but it wasn't just that. Maybe it was the way you presented yourself, in an almost sickening sweet-like manner. It all felt artificial, like a facade.

"Well this is it," you said, snapping him out of his thoughts, "Just in time for the last bus, thanks for walking with me." You turned around to enter the vehicle but before you could, a hand made its way to your arm. You immediately flinched at the contact, pulling away at the light hold he had on you.

"I'm sorry I just- i um," He started, trying to find a way to word what he wanted to say. "I wanted to say that 'm sorry for yesterday, it was kind of a shitty thing to do, and 'm also sorry for not really talking all that much today, ya seem really nice and I'm usually not this bad when it comes to meeting new people. And, I totally ruined the night by ignoring you I-"

You lightly laughed, "It's alright, plus any friend of Rin's, is a friend of mine, and you didn't ruin tonight at all, I thought it was perfect." You both smiled back at each other, not saying anything for a moment. You cleared your throat, "Um, I'll see you around, have a good night, Atsumu."

He watched as you entered the bus. A small smile made it on his face as he watched you wave goodbye from the bus window. He waved back and muttered under his breath, "Good night, Y/N."

The bus ride was only about ten minutes. Anxiously, you opened the door to your house, hoping that by some miracle your dad would be sound asleep. The old door slightly creaked, you peaked inside and all your worries flushed away as you saw your dad passed out on the couch. Granted he was passed out drunk, at least that's what you gathered by the four bottles of empty beer that laid at his feet.

Even for you, life wasn't as perfect as it seemed. As much as you wanted it to be, as much as you led people on to think that it was, it just wasn't. The worst part of it was that deep down, you felt accountable for it all. Maybe if you would've been just a little better at piano, you could've achieved your perfect life.

You reached your bedroom and exhaustedly plopped down on your bed. You glanced at the picture of your mother on your bedside table. Her long hair glided down her lavender dress, her face gleaming with a smile. In one hand she held her violin and the other held an award deeming her the best violinist in the nation. She was talented, beautiful, intelligent, and made your dad happy. She was absolutely everything you weren't, and your dad made sure to remind you everyday.

Life before she died was perfect. You could never recall a memory of you being sad around her. Before you closed your eyes, you whispered, "I wish I was perfect like you."

fun facts !

Whenever Atsumu doesn't know how to address a situation, he just goes on his phone and plays angry birds.

If you're ever bored, Osamu will talk forever about all the different ways you can cook the same recipe.

Suna can never stay awake during a movie night, he always falls asleep somehow.

Before getting into volleyball, the twins' mother tried to get them into violin, however that quickly failed once Atsumu broke his bow on the second day of lessons.

perfectionism ©

smau written by @sagefzy

taglist: open just send an ask :)

@shephard17895 @art-junkie-13 @vhsryuu @qualitygiantshoepsychic @everytimeswift @kritiiiii

[madfantasy]

شكرا..

Even between the constant nudging feelings of being unable to create something relatable, to be noticed, or understood. The silence, the diminishing digital numbers, and the constant wondering if I'm doing something wrong or if it simple life effects, fall out of interest, vague differentiation of cultures and shifting tides. Being out of luck, or the faint wrestle of fandom-ic opinions, moods and sides. And between my reality at home, being told on daily basis with colorful variety that my art isn't feeding me as such, its not important, and my efforts are stupidly wasted.

I am thankful

For those special ones who I met and left me a memory to revisit, brief our encounters were or graciouslly still flourishing, I'm grateful for the time and every word and support you've bestowed upon me, allowing me to treat myself and remain connected to my only window to the world and haven- online. When I could, I have saved in treasuring manner your messages and reread under the blanket of white noise, almost unconsciously and tirelessly running my sight across the lines, for being such wonderful spiritual excursion I could hardly believe I'm deserving of and can't get enough of. And grateful for those who follow my trail silently and faithfully with every new burst of randomness that leaves me, and welcoming those who came to company my wavering drawing journey, even if my words don't reach you

Used to having the concept of time as meaningless almost my entire life, but now dears came to inhabited its space, I couldn't help but count every second. Three years now amongst you, witnessing humanity I've never tasted before, grateful for to have the fortune of it happening in my life

Loving to mention personally who comes to mind at the moment, regretting who I'm forgetting already (im sorry

@suffer-my-displeasure Tinni, so thankful to have you as the wonderful talented witty kind hilarious person you are. Thank you for the art you do, for the inspiration and the tickling thrill to rush and draw as to match the passion you give. Thank you for simply the vibrant times in doing art and complaining about it lol

I treasure our art adventures and always wish you the best and look forward to everything you do, don't keep us waiting :"

I still love this drawing we did on Magma studio, wish to do more :"

(Guys remind me to interduce you to it, so we can maybe draw together some time!)

@thepomegranatejuice Pom, thank you for the release of the exhilarating imaginary side of language; the poetic flow of words you smoothly relay along side the stokes of my brush, like the gentle grace of a passing wind on a shuddering clear mirror of water, reflecting their joint wonders. Thank you for your beautiful perception and the motivation you cause me. I wish you always the best of things, you amazingly warm-hearted soul

@snapecentric my dearest Katt, thank you for everything. Thank you for your much needed nudging encouragement in me using Ko-Fi for the first time, thank you for helping me overcome my embarrassment in advertising and explaining my situation. Thank you for the luscious killer use of words and creative awesome input, and your immense kindness to others. You're a miracle in my life, and I'm sure in other's. Bless your soul my dear, may your always filled with the joy you give

@willmoanbutdonothingtochange Ali, thank you dear for always making giddy with your appearance that blessed my notifications board. Your way with words, your thoughts, compassion and utter sweetness overwhelms me, an angel you are, bless your bones

@omgverybouquetkoala deary, thank you for being an extension to family, thank you for everything you've shared, all your little stories and craft, I love your bookmarks, wish you all the best my dear

@snapessexual precious dear, thank you for all the fire and the excitement you bring me, with your wizarding way with editing vids and bringing pictures to life, all the love

Also would love to thank my top supporters, according to ko-fi hehe

Blessing me with their commissioning

@kaboom-eye with his awesome daring fic scenes and saving me from a tight spot of disappearing from online, @friedgreenpickles all the lovable sev as you are @snapelynn with your cute Althea and teeny Sev fanfics <33

And everyone's generosity in supporting me and commissioning me @its-itsjustice-love , @kirasnapeaddict @sherrasama , @francis-sinbin , @rose0jam , @sluthyrin , @gcgraywriter, and those who I'm sorry that i don't know their handles; Mantra, Nyara, BronzeWool, Gruselnudel, Naomi

Thank you for all the dear that bare with me and make my heart flutter @mybianca112 lovvve uu dear , @lovewithmidnight قُتلت خلاص، قلبي ماع You're so wonderful 😭 @clowne-depot u PRECIOUS and everybody, Salem, Harry,,,,

I want to thank all the writers and artists that have tickled my fancy and were a joy to spot on the feed and remembering some;

@deathdaydungeon , @alinearthp @blog4snape , @myobscureimaginarium , @lo-pizzaeater

Also thank you for dears who mentioned me, who also supported me and I adore their art mizzadamz , capysnapeart , hpprincealice

May your year brings you the joy that you deserves, and the fortune your heart desires, despite all the odds 🙏

Have this Kaka from Mani

3.1.2021

[dottiechan]

Tempest (Pt. 5)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Read on AO3

Pairing: Ava Du Mortain x f!Detective

Wordcount: 4048

Warnings: mourning, mentions of death and torture, smoking

Summary: The private detective must work through the sudden and unexpected disappearance of Ava - quite literally, as she embarks on solving her greatest mystery yet. But she is not the only one who's been busy...

A/N: This chapter is a rather long one as there's much to unpack at this point of the story, and there is much to explain. Sorry for the long wait, and thanks for being so patient and supportive of me!

The Private Detective’s Office, London, 1898

5 months after Ava’s disappearance

The key turns in the lock with ease. The door creaks as it gives way to the dark office. The lights flicker in the corridor outside, and the entrance gapes like a mouth ready to swallow her whole.

She steps inside, unaware of her fingers skittering across the glass pane that has the name of her detective agency painted on it. Some have great bloodlines to look back on, and nobles and kings to proudly call their ancestors. Her legacy is this stuffy little office, her sigil is a hand painted business logo. But her ancestor - her father - was a warrior too, noble of heart, even if not of blood.

She hangs her coat and hat, and proceeds to smooth down her hair before locking the door and switching on the lights. The old pieces of furniture that would have been regarded fashionable 20 years ago are dimly illuminated, and the sight of them makes her heart ache. They belonged to her late father, and in a way he lives on through them. The dent in the cushion of his chair where he always used to sit, the scuff marks on his desk he carelessly carved into the polished surface with books and folders, the medical and law tomes he hoarded lining the bookshelves that hug the dark green walls... As a child, she was afraid of coming here in the evenings - something they often did after her mother passed away and her father tried his best to raise her alone. The heavy nailhead leather armchairs looked like hunched monsters in the dark, the looming mahogany desk with its long curving legs resembled a giant spider, and the serious wallpaper enveloped this macabre scene like some sinister forest. “The real monsters are in here, my darling,” her father would ruffle her hair affectionately, pointing at the files he came to pick up.

It is late, but the office no longer feels scary. Her rational mind knows she should have gone home to her empty bed and her unread books and the cold supper awaiting her. And yet she’s here because hardly anything matters anymore. Because no place ever really feels like home ever since her father left. Well, her small house felt like home for a while when she was still here. But she left as well, and with her she took the last tattered shreds of joy the detective had somehow managed to cling to. She is submerged in saturnine reticence now, and ironically it helps her stay focused, even though it makes her more and more like the person she tried to thaw out. More and more like Ava.

One should only embrace the iciness of a statue if they’re willing to risk turning into marble themselves.

The Commissioner would be lucky to have a detective such as myself, she thinks bitterly as she glances down at the neatly kept files piled on her desk. Most are petty cases, even she has to admit - cheating husbands, unanswered invitations and letters, and the likes. But she takes all the work she can, and she prides herself on her ability to solve them with the proficiency of a man. Ava used to praise her for that. Now she whispers praises to herself even if the words turn sour in her mouth, because she will not let anyone ruin her. She will not. (Even though Ava has, because the world feels different without her in it.)

Her sudden disappearance left her on the precipice of panic at first. Ava, along with her partner Nate, simply vanished into thin air as if they never even existed at all, as if they were a pleasant reverie she used to lull herself to sleep at night. No trace, no item that belonged to them was left behind. If not for the spare key to her house being gone - the one she gave to Ava - she wouldn’t even be able to tell the difference between reality and her mad suspicions. But oh, she was here. She was. Missing her is a malady burrowed in her heart, but it is also the testament of her existence.

She opens the file on top, and hums in bitter satisfaction. Right. The aching of her heart isn’t the only testament anymore. It took her months, but she’s finally one step closer to the solution, planting her foot firmly and holding her crumbling sanity together with a determination she didn’t know she had. Ava was probably never meant to be in the background of a photograph taken during the opening night of the National Gallery of British Art.

But she was. And it really only takes one mistake.

The private detective picks up the photograph gingerly, giving herself one second to lose herself in the whirlwind of emotions Ava’s angular silhouette awakens in her.

One step closer.

She leans back in her chair, her gaze gliding over the photograph and landing on her personal little project. The blackboard is filled with dates, locations and places with a map pinned to the middle of it - by now, it is practically a blueprint of Ava’s and Nate’s every activity over the past two years. The deeper she digs, the more unknowns she unearths about the people she once thought she knew.

But there’s still time to get to know them - first impressions are overrated anyway.

Train station, Wayhaven, 1899

7 months after Ava’s disappearance

January quickly set to work and changed the countryside. It swooped down from the heavens and gently buried the forests and the hills under a heavy blanket of snow, concealing the detective’s childhood home from her as she exits the train, the handle of her heavy bag already digging into her gloved fingers. The shapes are still visible though underneath all the snow and ice - she sees the old station with the crumbling roof, the road leading into town, the bell tower of the small church peeking out just above the treeline. She recognises them all, though she sorely wishes she didn’t.

Because with the recognition comes the inevitable sting of her memories. Faces emerge in her conscious she hasn’t seen in years. The kindness of her mother’s eyes and the curve of his father’s lips, both lost forever now, never to be seen again, cutting deeper than a knife ever could.

An old woman is prating about her insufferable nephew, a business man is constantly checking his pocket watch with a disdainful look from across the station, three young women gossip, a man is rubbing his hands together in an effort to stimulate his circulation in the cold weather. The detective tunes out the comfortable commotion of the small town station, imagining she is still in London and not here. Anywhere but here. People brush past her, the train whistles and whirs to motion, and before she knows it, she is alone, paralysed in one spot, snowflakes catching softly on her fetching ensemble of a royal blue travelling dress and matching hat.

She takes a shaky breath, almost already on the verge of tears.

“Are you alright, Miss?”

No.

“Of course,” she turns with a slight smile. “Just admiring the view. I used to live here.”

“Ah, then the gossip about you was true,” the man nods, his eyes glinting intelligently under his bushy brows. There’s an apologetic smile sitting on his lips, and a twinge of regret spoiling the beauty of his otherwise handsome square jaw and bold features. “I apologise, I couldn’t help but overhear some women on the train talking about your father. About you.”

“I didn’t know our name carried such weight,” the detective admits cautiously, one hand reaching up to fix her hat self-consciously. The man seems to notice the way her fingers linger over the hat pin, and he almost cracks a grin. It would be a highly inappropriate moment to joke, and besides, he’d rather befriend this interesting person than anger her to a point where he’d end up being skewered by the hat pin in question. After all, her friendship and assistance is why he’s here.

“Your father served in India with Sir Edward Bardford, the current Police Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police,” he adds gently. “You were betrothed to Montagu Edward Bradford.”

“How do you know about that?” the woman asks, her eyes widened by shock as she takes a step closer to him.

“Who didn’t Montagu tell?”

The strained grin the stranger allows himself seems to put her momentarily at ease. Montagu did tell everyone, God rest his soul. In a way, she could never really begrudge him for the betrothal - it was their fathers’ scheming, even if Montagu really didn’t seem to mind. She always wanted a way out, but she never wished for his death. He was in India when it had happened, and she was in London. In a way, even 9 years after, it feels surreal. She never saw the body. For years afterwards, she sincerely thought he would turn up one day unexpectedly as if nothing had happened.

He never did.

“How awfully rude of me to not even introduce myself!” he exclaims suddenly, sheepishly sticking out his hand. “Dr Van Helsing. Abraham Van Helsing.”

“I believe Mont had spoken about you,” she nods as she shakes his hand, deliberately squeezing his fingers with more force than a mere handshake would warrant. Yet another trick she learned from Ava.

“I hope so. We were... we were quite close. I know it’s been a while since he...” Van Helsing pauses as he withdraws his hand and waves it in the air before drawing it up to his ginger curls. “Please accept deepest my condolences.”

“Thank you, Dr Van Helsing.”

Her tone signals the end of the conversation, and she nods her head stiffly before turning. She knew coming back here would unearth the loss of her parents, but she is not ready to speak of Montagu yet. She bared her soul once regarding the matter, and only to one person, but she will not repeat the experience again. As liberating as it had been to tell Ava everything, she wishes to leave this heartache and guilt where it belongs - in the past.

“Please wait. We got off on the wrong foot! I didn’t come here to ask you personal questions - in fact, it is a disappearance that I was hoping to discuss with you.”

“You are a physician, not an inspector, correct?” she asks over her shoulder, not bothering to slow down her steps as she strides towards an unclaimed hansom.

“Yes, but-”

“Are you here to hire me?”

“No-”

“Then we have nothing to talk about, Dr Van Helsing. Good day.”

The driver, smelling a wealthy client who’s just arrived from London, clambers down from his seat quickly to open the door for her to get in. Just before she could disappear inside, the physician speaks again.

“I’m trying to find Miss Ava Du Mortain and Mr Nathaniel Sewell. I was hoping we could help each other out, but more importantly, I was hoping to warn you.”

“Warn me?” the detective pauses, looking back at Van Helsing with genuine shock on her prepossessing features.

“They’re not who you think they are - what you think they are.”

There’s a stretch of silence between them as her eyes assess the tall, lanky man as he stands just before the hansom, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, his breath fogging in the chill air as he looks back at her expectantly. The nerve on this man alone is making the private detective want to leave him high and dry in the snow, but her insides twist and her pulse quickens at the mention of Ava’s name. She’s all but given up hope - for months now, she could find nothing regarding the woman and her partner, or the Agency they claimed to work for. She knows virtually nothing about this man, but her need to find Ava outweighs her better judgement.

“Are you hungry, Dr Van Helsing?” she asks, scooting further down the seat to make room for the man.

“Is eating and working on disappearance cases simultaneously a habit of yours, Miss?” the physician asks as he climbs in next to her.

“And here I was trying to be nice. I suppose I will not offer to pay for your lunch then.”

“I take it all back! I am positively famished.”

Meanwhile, across the train station

Lucille Licht twirls her cane, lips pressed into a disdainful frown. Cities at least have crowds upon crowds of people to distract her, but small towns such as Wayhaven hold no entertainment value whatsoever. She isn’t here on pleasant business anyway, she thinks to herself as she sighs, pulling her fur coat tighter around the expensive suit she’s wearing. No, she is here on ghastly business indeed, even by demon standards. But the prophecy was clear - though irritatingly vague too, no doubt to account for the rather large margin of error witches have these days in their prophecies. They’re more lawyers than soothsayers by now, their profession diluted by those who hunger for nothing but profit and security, and who are willing to sacrifice quality for those two aforementioned gains. Lucille finds sordid business such as this distasteful, even in her line of work. Falling from grace is one thing, but living in the Agency’s ever growing shadow is no excuse not to have honour among thieves. Or rogues. Or both, when it comes to the social circles she frequents.

A small voice in the back of her head whispers sadly, poisoning the faux assuredness she’s lulled herself into on the train. She’s just like I was, in a strange way. Before it all happened. And now I’m about to do the same horrible things to her that were done to me.

But the private detective is the one she’s been waiting for. She has to be. It all fits - the dead father, the career, the place where she was born. Lucille can’t smell anything strange about her blood yet, but she is sure she can bring about the power that was promised to reside in her veins. She has her ways, and her old magic, and her knife. And most importantly, her determination.

It was centuries ago, when she was stripped and bound and the curse was carved into her flesh. Strange, how vividly one can remember a single terrible moment, even centuries later. Even though the ancient magic rendered her undead, she can still feel the searing pain all over her body, red lines raging like fire in the form of symbols and Echolian text. It made her immortal, but it also bound her to her creator. He is the reason why she’s on the hunt. Why she is desperate to gain power beyond what she could achieve alone. Even as a human, as a meagre farmer’s child, she was roaming the fields of her father as she pleased. She was free. It was so long ago that she can’t even remember the name her parents gave her, but her freedom she remembers.

And nobody enslaves Lucille Licht and gets away with it.

Her slow burn vendetta must be coming to an end soon. There’s only so much of the supernatural underworld she can bring under her control - what she has will have to suffice. She already runs a widespread rogue organisation, with its key leadership positions held by her loyal Daughters, as she eloquently calls the women she’s bound to her service over the centuries the same way she was bound once. A necessary evil. Pawns in the game she plays with the Ancient One. There is nothing she wouldn’t do to ensure her victory in the coming battle. I will not be outwitted again by that Echolian bastard, she thinks, whacking away at a nearby bush with her cane. Specks of snow and ice glitter where her hits land. And yet she always finds herself hesitating before turning another human.

The abhorred feeling of helplessness always comes creeping back. As well as the pain, and the panic of thinking your life is about to end. She has to push it all down. Grit her teeth and get it over with. Months of preparation leading up to the final act that barely lasts ten minutes. And then you wait, and 3 days later their pain and mortality will be but a distant memory.

But she’s slipping. She no longer only hesitates before, now the intrusive self-doubt catches up to her after the rituals too. The Ancient One is still the centre of her nightmares, but the dream has changed. She is no longer the helpless little lamb brought to the slaughter. She is one with the Ancient One, his hand is hers too as it raises the knife, their voices merging together as they chant the same curse together.

She knew this victory would cost her everything. But she never imagined the real price to pay would be stepping up to fill the void the Ancient One’s death will create.

Lucille never wanted to be like him. She only ever wanted to kill him. But it seems those two things are one and the same.

She awakens from her thoughts when the man joins the private detective in the hansom. An annoying little man, that Dr Van Helsing is, though harmless in the grand scheme of things. It doesn’t matter that he’s taken care of a Transylvanian rogue vampire with his entourage, it would take far more to stop her plans now. Lucille focuses on the woman instead, letting her will force itself into her mind. All too easy, she raises her eyebrows in an unimpressed fashion as she flicks through her thoughts as if she were reading the latest issue of The Times. She thought she would be more difficult to read. To control. But alas, she is just like everyone else, aside from the love that seems to seep out of her every thought for none other than Agent Du Mortain.

She grins, remembering her failed attempt at getting to the private detective earlier. She’s learned several invaluable lessons in those two years. One, you can’t trust dark elf mercenaries, no matter how much you pay them. Two, it’s better to divert the attention of the Agency first before you try to kidnap someone who has important connections in the London Metropolitan Police. Three, love makes people do really, really stupid things.

Thankfully, Lucille Licht is a smart woman, and an even better strategist - not to mention a quite powerful demon with telepathic abilities and her boot firmly planted on the supernatural underground’s neck - and this time, she has learned from all three of her mistakes. This time, there will be no Agent Du Mortain rushing to the rescue. (But that doesn’t mean she can’t use her name as bait, yes?)

Cemetery, Wayhaven, 1900

1 year and 8 months after Ava’s disappearance

He doesn’t appreciate being jerked around the way he has been lately, but he isn’t a man to grumble too much either. He was closest to the backwater little town, he gets to check out the possible supernatural case. Everyone draws the short straw sometimes, and he’s learned to cope with it. He has certainly lived long enough to do so.

The wind shifts, and suddenly Agent Fuller’s nostrils are invaded by the stench of magic. Things finally start looking up for him, and that thought alone is enough to make him pick up his pace, excitement coursing through his body. He lights a cigarette to conceal the smirk threatening to overtake his lips when he sees the pallid looks of the constables as they pass him by. One stops him to ask what his business is out here, but the Agency has already notified the meagre Wayhaven police force, and he is soon on his way again to the centre of the commotion. Cemetery of the commotion would be a more accurate description though - the little town was as dead in the mid-February frost as a place could get, and aside from the bored stationmaster who gave him directions, these men are the first living beings he’s encountered since his arrival.

“Name’s Agent Fuller. What can you tell me about the crime scene, constable?” Fuller asks as he exhales a lungful of smoke, turning to the least disturbed looking man surveying the scene.

“Welcome to the middle of nowhere, sir. Why don’t you come see for yourself?”

A handshake and a suppressed grin later Fuller follows the young man down a row of tombs. They take a sharp turn to the left, and immediately it is clear why he was called here. The sight is confirmation enough, but the smell of potent and ancient magic is the real giveaway.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a walker,” Fuller snorts as he crouches down, picking up a piece of the crumbled marble.

“The poor woman was buried only 3 days ago,” the constable mutters, rubbing his hands together before bringing them to his lips and blowing hot air onto them, desperately attempting to revitalise his frozen fingers. “Who could do such a monstrous thing?”

“Indeed, who could...” the agent mutters, too focused to really pay attention to the human on his right. The tomb was torn open, the coffin deserted, the body missing. It coincides with many reports made over the centuries - it’s unfortunately not rare for the dead to be taken and repurposed again for magic, but this particular pattern is characteristic of demonic rogues having too much time on their necromantic little hands. He will need to consult a few colleagues to confirm it, but the 3 days and the apparent magic hanging in the air is all the evidence he needs right now.

He stands, the lapels of his dark coat flapping in the chilly wind ominously. There’s a page typed up about the busy life of his missing body in his pocket, crumpled around the edges from being handled carelessly, but he takes it out to skim over it again. That’s when he spots the little detail about the private detective’s history with the Agency that he seemed to have missed the first time around.

‘1896-1898: under Agency protection

Threat: classified

Agents on the case: A. Du Mortain, N. Sewell’

The Agency gossips like there’s no tomorrow, and ever since Lady Ashbury’s return to the main facility, the gossip about the ‘Ice Queen’ and her pet detective have been the most fashionable thing to blabber on about. And since Fuller has been to the scene, it will be him who will have to provide all the answers when Du Mortain comes with her demanding questions, no doubt breaking down doors in the process as it is in her nature. Fuller is by no means a man who shies away from conflict or hard work, but he’s never been particularly good with emotions. Explaining to a lovesick elder vampire that her alleged lover is now very dead, and also quite probably the plaything of a very bored and elusive demon who likes to play with necromancy is not a task he would gladly carry out.

“Well, shit.”

Fuller shoves the page back into his pocket and sighs. He should retire and buy a house in the wilderness. Get a cat. Maybe try some cocaine - he once saw Heinrich Quincke use it for spinal anaesthesia before one of his surgeries, and have been meaning to try it out ever since. But he does none of those things - he never does.

He walks back the way he came, trying to prepare himself for the most awkward conversation of the century.

Needless to say, he couldn’t prepare himself for what was to come. But for once, he couldn’t feel mad about a messy situations. He just felt a little more hollow afterwards. And then he got another case as this one was closed and the woman was declared dead once more. And he moved on.

But, like with all his cases ending in death, he never forgot.

[faunusrights]

Citrus Summers (GWS AU)

just had this idea nip into my head... i really wanna do more with menagerie and the scarlatina fam but for now have this lil snapshot of velvet growing up :)

great weiss shark au, weiss's pronouns are she/her, velvet's pronouns are she/they

###

"So, what was your hometown like?"

Velvet's used to Weiss's interest in her life; they come from two radically different ends of some bonkers spectrum of lifestyles, where one end (Velvet's) is radical self-acceptance, anti-cop sentiment, and a Scroll full to bursting with communist memes, whilst the other end (Weiss's) is... well, to be honest, Velvet doesn't like to think about what that end entails, exactly. All she knows is that it was exactly what a young shark Faunus without any clue as to her heritage didn't need. So, Velvet entertains her with stories of growing up in the deserts of Menagerie, of her time running along the trash-strewn beaches of Kuo Kuana, of her years shooting up like a weed under the relentless freckling kisses of the bright and vibrant sun.

Sometimes Velvet can tell she can't quite wrap her head around how different their lives are, yet have somehow ended up on such an intersection as to be able to call each other friends. Velvet just goes with the flow about it all.

"Well, we didn't have a hometown, really," Velvet starts, attention half-drawn to sets of plans scattered about her desk in her dorm. She's got big plans to improve Anesidora's projector and fix the information compression problems; drawing a flat 2D image into a 3D projection has always been a sticking point, but she's nearly got it down to the extent that her wireframe tests very nearly reveal the dents and dings and imperfections that it'd previously ironed out by mistake. Accuracy is key, and she crawls ever closer to a perfect 1-to-1 copy each and every day. It's just really boring work, is all. "We lived outside of the nearest town by a couple of miles, but we went there pretty regularly, so I guess you could call it that."

Weiss hums, letting herself fall back onto Velvet's unmade bed, the handwoven blankets of orange and black brought straight over from the homeland and still gritty with red dirt to prove it. "What's it called?"

"Desert Sands. Very original, I know."

"You know a lot of the people there?"

"Shit, they trade us meat and gas for potatoes and carrots and tomatoes, not to mention almost everyone there immigrated in a group with my grandparents. I know that town like my own family."

"What's your favourite thing there?"

That pulls Velvet up short, and she worries at her bottom lip as she stares as a variety of absolutely godawful equations. Thank the maidens Weiss has given her something meaty to say, because she can't bear the idea of redoing all this horrible maths. "Uh, probably the inn, as everyone else who lives there would say. Can't go wrong with a good old fashioned pint and a few rounds of pool."

"Even as a kid?" Weiss says, and Velvet can hear the raised brow even though she can't quite see it.

"Even as a kid," Velvet agrees. "My mam had a couple of pints and my da flirted with the guys and I'd go out with my siblings to meet our friends and raise a little hell. Not very often, but often enough."

Weiss goes sort of quiet, in a way that Velvet recognises as an intensive processing of what she's just heard. She wonders, briefly, if Weiss can even imagine that sort of freedom after a childhood spent locked in the same old rooms of the same old house--even when it's as big as the Schnee manor--and then pushes that thought away. If Weiss wants to ever get into all that, it'll be in her own time.

"Describe it to me?" Weiss asks in a very little voice after a few seconds, and Velvet nods. She can do that. She remembers those halcyon days like they were yesterday.

###

"Trench, I swear, if you don't repaint those window sills I'm gonna sneak down here and do it myself, asshole."

This was about as typical an entry as Taffeta Scarlatina could ever make, shouldering open the dark wood door into the Desert Sands Inn with a grin on her face and children in tow, Ash bringing up the rear and trying to pretend he couldn't see everyone turn in their seats to look to the new arrivals. It was one of those establishments with a big boxy interior and just a handful of rooms to the side, where the only three doors led into the toilets and the kitchens and the stairwell to the rooms above, and much like everything else on Menagerie, nothing ever matched; the doors had been collected from a variety of sources, the floorboards uneven and scratched and recut, the paint on the walls patchy with mismatched shades and covered with picture frames in some last-ditch attempt to hide it. No two stools matched, no three tables carved by the same hand, but that was the price of the community effort--everything you ever needed, maybe just not in the way you always expected.

"Taffeta," Trench greeted from behind the bar, turning to fetch a pair of glasses without prompting whilst making sure not to jostle the hanging bottles overhead with his great buffalo horns, split like a strange middle parting on the top of his head. "You're welcome to it, to be frank; Cinna doesn't have a clue where she's put the paint, last we saw it."

Taffeta rolled her eyes, letting go of Velvet's hand to pat her between her ears instead, the ten year old quick to laugh and duck away. "I'm sure. Not at all like I said I have some lying around the last three times I was here. You really that scared of scraping all that flaking paint off?"

"Well," Trench said after a moment, leaning under the bar for a second. "I did get some in my eyes last time, and boy, that hurted. You want your usual?"

"Pint of porter for me, and something weak for my pretty boy, lest he forget which way is up," Taffeta agreed, shooting a wink Ash's way and cackling when he blushed. "And some juice boxes for the kids?"

Trench didn't even pause, turning about to fish out a variety of colourful cartons adorned with a collection of cartoon characters, and Taffeta lifted Velvet up to plop her onto one of the few cushioned stools, Chiffon quick to use her older, longer limbs to scramble her own way up. Trench offered the drinks out freely, letting them decide between orange and passionfruit flavours, before noticing the new addition on Ash's hip. "Oh? This the newest Scarlatina?"

Satin--hardly a year old--was clinging to her da's loose shirt, dark eyes looking about in wonder, and Taffeta smiled before reaching over to brush her loose, light hair out of her eyeline. "Sure is. Gettin' real big already, so we thought it was high time to meet the folks around here. She won't be the last, though." At that, Taffeta leant across the bar, dropping her voice low. "Would you believe me if I said Ash is already askin' for the next one?"

"Slander," Ash shot back, face still pink. "I just said four is a rounder number than three."

Trench made a face, glancing pointedly away. "My girl woulda mounted my horns on the wall for that one. We had just the one and she swore off the rest before I could even consider it. Count yourself lucky."

"Cinnamon's a good kid," Ash offered, rearranging Satin to sit a little nicer in his lap. "I think that all worked out in the end."

Taffeta rolled her eyes, watching as Velvet picked the orange juice for herself, leaving the eldest to the passionfruit. "Doesn't that imply we have so many 'cause you don't think just one was good enough? Chiff's a darling, if a bit of a pain in my ass, huh, baby?"

Chiffon ignored them both to instead help Velvet punch the straw into the carton, and Ash grinned. "Just one was perfect, but you told me yourself that you don't think I know when to fold."

"You don't," Trench interjected, pouring out a pint of something dark and bitter enough to linger on the tongue. "When we played poker last year... phew. Thank the maidens it was a couple's night, else you woulda been walking home absolutely stark--"

"--drunk," Taffeta quickly interrupted, glancing towards the kids who stared back with wide eyes. "Been walking home absolutely stark... trashed. Wasted. Uh, Trench, what's on the menu today, whilst it's on my mind?"

As they discussed the menu (Taffeta eager to point out the contributions of the family crops, asking, overly sweetly, and who traded you those lovely chickens? they must have been very generous), Chiffon turned to Ash in her seat, legs swinging freely, bumping into the overly-varnished wood of the bar. "Da? Can me 'n Velv go out and play?"

"Sure can, kiddo," Ash said, though he was quick to grab Chiffon's arm before she could throw herself off the stool with the straw still in her mouth. "Woah, take that out first before you end up swallowing it. You remember the rules?"

Chiffon nodded, face cast all seriously. "Don't go outta town. Be back before dark. If someone tries to bully us, punch 'em in the nose."

"And?" Ash added, drawing his brows together.

Velvet chirped up. "Cops aren't friends!"

At that, Ash broke out into a grin, as bright as Velvet's and twice as toothy. "That's right. You go have fun, and don't eat too many snacks; we're having dinner here before we go home."

Chiffon slid free of her stool, turning about to help Velvet down too, and then the pair scampered towards the door with a harmonised yes da! before pulling it open to the main road outside, the sunlight blisteringly bright, the sky an endless, cloudless blue overhead. The paint on the windowsill peeled off and flecked away, and under their shoes, the ground crunched.

Everything tasted of oranges.

###

Weiss sits silently.

"Did you get back before dark?"

Velvet snorts, sitting back in her chair until it creaks dangerously below. "Just about, though my mam didn't look all that impressed. Still, can't do much about it; we didn't even have, like, landline calls back then, let alone Scrolls and shit."

Weiss laughs to herself, rolling over and tucking her legs up onto Velvet's bed until she's curled atop the blankets, running a thumb over the wool quietly, repetitively. Truth is, they still smell of Menagerie, of home; Velvet could wash it a thousand times, but the earthy scent of hot summers and prickling scrublands sticks like its own aura.

"I'm jealous," Weiss says simply, and then she draws the blankets up to partly cocoon herself, tight across the ribs, loose about the ankles. "Will I... would you show me it, sometime? If I went there?"

It's sweet. Velvet wishes she could travel through time and show it to Weiss from the start; she wishes she could have told her what she would have, in the future. Look, see? This is real. You can have this too. Happiness doesn't only exist for people far away; you get to feel this, too.

"Of course," Velvet says with a smile, instead. "Bold if you to think my parents don't demand they meet every single last one of my friends."

Weiss grins back, all shark-toothed and sharp, and Velvet likes how it looks on her face. It took her team months to eek it out of her more often than every couple of weeks, but now, it's practically daily. "I'm afraid the offer doesn't extend back to you."

"Thanks the maidens," Velvet says, very seriously. "Because if I ever meet your dad, I'm setting his car alight."

[psychemeanscure]

PART 27 {Uhm.. Still have audience for this? Surprise? 😌 guess another long days of next update as is. I miss you guys though.😩😙}

She needed to make sure, blinking number of times for she not need another ghosting.

But she’s not as there he is, Jang Taeyoung in his simple summer polo attentively approaching on her way from afar. The moment she least expected has finally come to light. The man she’s been looking forward to yet the very reason now she’s backing out. And yes, she is. Turning her way at the opposite side, denying things isn’t true like usual. Shutting eyes, clenching fist, interchanges she had to do. Strength she needed to overcome. Walking as far she can be.

He was abashed. For a while, he has to process his women’s behavior. Sung Eunyoung on her back, turning on the path opposite to him. He obliged to stop his tracks, prying the sight of her retreating figure from the glaring sun as he has to use a hand to protect his eyes.    

“Sung Eunyoung!”

The voice that made halt her steps a bit till she continued. Stupidly scolding her own. “Mierda, Sung Eunyoung. What on earth are you doing? You’re running away, seriously?”

“Sung Eunyoung.”

He’s following, she can tell for his voice is getting nearer with her still whispering on her own, shaking head. “No. This isn’t true. He isn’t true. It’s alright. You’re doing the right thing, keep moving.”  

But she wasn’t allowed to go further as the words of the man towing her finally make her stilled. “Don’t make me repeat myself woman, or you would not like what I’ll do next.”

Few more steps and she can already feel him behind her. Feeling the bazaar breath, she had not felt from the past three years. She’s tempted. “I’m here.”

His baritone vocal that had always fill the depth of her systems. She urged to be silent. She may not still see his actions yet she can picture his questioning look, tilting head, both hands intact in its pant pockets, waiting for her to turn to face him on her own accord. Suppressing himself not to give a single contact on her, but she didn’t for the only thing she did is to gulp an invisible lump in her throat, not even a peek was executed.

That’s how he decided. He’ll give in. Comprising their first touch after a long time. He missed her. Jerked by his sudden action, she can only stare of nowhere, riveting by the caress who had always given her goosebumps. Now, just a turn and will be meeting the reason again.

He longed for this. He realized that having the thought of feeling her tenderly, anticipates him like forever. His calloused hand that maneuvered the points of her elbow, he itched her to face him and she did.

She wanted to refuse but her body doesn’t want to. She’s moving how he wanted her to do. “There you are.”

Yet her consistence went through. Cannot attain to face him besides her lips parted in bewilderment, orbs staring so blankly at the expanse of his collarbone while gentle wind blowing the plain fabrics of his summer shirt. She ain’t still ready to look at him. “Hey, allow me to see you. Please?”

The drawing circles by her elbows and the softness of his plead isn’t helping either for she instantly became a hypnotize prey obliged to follow orders of her predator, not realizing how her actual reaction did to him.

“Why with that cold stare?”  

By chuckling, he responded as anything doesn’t matter because she has always been the perfect image for him. An Aphrodite anyone cannot judge with flaws. That’s his girl. She is, well except that she’s not speaking to him still. “It’s me, Sung Eunyoung.”    

Another try of pushing yet for another avoiding. She ignored his sight as she shifts by her side direction instead. “Talk to me, can’t you?” putting his most substantial voice which only made her gulp with no choice. “So you’re alive and flesh after all.”

Guessing her knowing words, he concludes. “You’re mad at me, I see.”

Feeling accused, she defended herself like a bulldozer instantly moving to its tracks stomping every rigid rocks that gets her way. So it did, the moment she finally faces him, word attack by words. Argument between arguments. They began each other’s impulsiveness.    

“I didn’t say that.”

“Indeed, you didn’t but it seems you do.”

“Are you mocking me now, Jang Taeyoung?”

Straight as she wanted it, she felt proud all of a sudden. Even surprised by how she reacted, different to how she expected. Like the Sung Eunyoung he always knew, not the other way around. Not the vulnerable her now.

Yet for Jang Taeyoung, nothing was a defeat for it is accomplishment. Coy smile appearing as he was bestowed by the retort he’s been waiting with. “Finally. It’s been a while, Eunyoung-ah.”

There he expected air will go on light but seeing her unceasing coldness, he knew she’s being serious since. “If this was just all jokes for you Jang Taeyoung, then we should haven’t met all along.  Everything about this meeting just became useless. “

In a snap, the coyness in him faded away as he watched her turning deportment. Passing by his sturdy stance, he decided to reveal swiftly.

“I was in coma.”

“What?”

Looking back like a flash, waiting by the shutters of facts she desired to hear right there and then. “Did I heard you right? Coma, you say?” shaking her head, she refused to believe. “I tell you Jang Taeyoung, if this is another of your schemes I swear I rather---“

“Left posterior cervical region of the neck, above and medial to the scapula.”

“W-what?”

Taken aback by how she has been given a quick medical terms, she urged to listen. Eyes which had bow down on the ground was now heading up to meet hers. “I was shot from that vital parts as it wasn’t surprising for my brain to be affected. I never intended to but except for your blur images, I can’t remember the rest of you Eunyoung.”

She was tongue-tied. Eaten by her own words, absorbing every details he inexplicably confessed. “I… I’m not following, loco.”  Eyes bulge in more skepticism. “I have forgotten about you. That’s what I’m saying, Sung Eunyoung.”

Now she regrets everything she said. Wishing to withdraw even its already impossible. “I-I’m sorry… I didn’t know.” Words she can only utter almost unheard for it was her turn to meet the grounds. He comprehends. Tending the remaining steps between them, he softly lifts her chin up to face him again. Giving his very gentle response only for her to see. “Don’t be please. Hm, Sung Eunyoung?”

From her chin, he traces the side of her neck as she can only feel the warmth of his touch, friction of their frons. “I have never, once thought of you being sorry because of me.” She can only close her eyes to comprise the earnests of his every word. “You’re no fault. I want you to know that. You can, right?”

The curls of his brows, reassurance of his orbs. She knew, it will always be the death of her vulnerability. For only cascaded into her eyes was the blurry tears she wanted to show off since and when the trembles of her chest met his composed ones. The lenient embrace letting out each other’s yearnings at last.

“Guess, gathering back my memories of you wasn’t as bad after all. You were still stunning as I can still remember.  My dazzling volatile bulldozer. I have missed you.”

A gentle peck by her eyes, a caress on her back. They stayed on that position before he finally decided to pull away, wiping her tears and cup her cheek. An eternal frustration of him back from the past years not given a chance to savor while a crazy dilemma she always been missing for. “S-stop it. I’m s-still mad at you.”  

The airhead incoming smirk that had never failed to distort her, right then she knew. He has redeemed his coyness for she needed to find a best unfished excuse to hide her uncommonly embarrassment. “You’re blushing? Just like that, I’m not even half way of doing so?”

Being peeked by her obvious state anyway. Yes, she’s definitely hating herself right now. “Shut up.”

Crunched by her messed up terms, she walks out instead. Stomping through the fine smoothness of sands. She had finally manage to brought back her usual self even when the result isn’t what she pictured. Being followed by the overconfident loco who’s annoyingly laughing behind her.

“Stop. Teasing me, will you?”

Emphasizing her every word. She did mean all she said. Swiftly taking her wrist, he compromised. “Hey, I just miss doing it with you. I’m sorry? Forgive me, hm?”

~

There’s something different. 

She can’t seem to figure it out well, except for one thing. She’s facing the soft Jang Taeyoung she had never imagine before. Giving up otherwise as she let him obtain what he wishes.          

Funny how one moment they’re defending each other’s arguments but then here they are, ended lightly. He liked it. The feeling of their twist and turns, she opened the door for him. “C-Come in. Not a bit spacious like my usual though but anyway, soothe yourself well.”

Finally, her next word from the last compromising talk they went through. Indeed, they have been muted the whole time of their walks. The raging silence that field both them. She’s unable to create a topic except being quiet while he decided to go along. He waited and it did. Quite an interval but ‘whatever’ that’s how he thought, he doesn’t care anyway for her presence is simply enough for him. Not when their hands he hardly managed to intertwine would go in halt though.

Sighing, he halfheartedly let go, giving her intended nuance to get her keys and open her home. A by the shore abode he did not expect coming from her. Gone the luxury of a Sung Eunyoung for he has been introduced by the prim and modest today. Hurriedly stuffing things, she left disorganize. He urged to sit by a near settee, eyes cannot stop scanning her whole place, feeling new about everything.

For her, it was a disturbing one. She cannot even dare to meet his eyes which she knew he already notice as well. She can only thank him for not doing his usual teases. “Sorry, a bit messy. U-uhm. Want something though? Drinks in mind?”

He has a lot say actually, but he chose not to other than staring at her. She felt it, yet she can only act like heedless. She’s troubled. Or rather, she simply doesn’t know how to start over. “Anything will do.”

He took the simplest instead while swiftly answered by her nod. “O-okay. I’m going to get you one for a second then. You wouldn’t mind waiting?” as it was also his turn to nod over a small smile ahead. Palms starts to sweaty the moment she reaches her kitchen, becoming nervous all of a sudden.

“Mind if I look around?”

His permitting question from the living room, answered by her roaring dumbfoundment. “As… as you please!”

“Mierda. What the hell is happening with you, Sung Eunyoung.” For she can only share a pissing whisper on her own. Jang Taeyoung in the other hand, serenely let himself to look around just how he’s permitted as it did take a second for her to serve him refreshments. She found him standing by the displays of her achievements, putting off the tray on the living room table, she gets his attention clearing her voice.

A regarding look he has to show contemplating between something he wanted and what is needed. She notices, so she questions. “Is there something wrong?” A glint of diminishing response, he chose the latter. Simply moving to her pace instead, sitting back as he pay attention to the serve she offered. “Tea?”

Nodding, she answered. “Mint. Though I’m not quite sure if it’s one of your preference, knowing yo---“

“I’m learning. Thank you for this, Eunyoung.”

“—liquor has always been your best option. I’m pleased. Good for you then… Jang Taeyoung.”

Surprised indeed for she almost can’t hear her own words. Change. Time isn’t the only thing changes after all for it also the person she least expected. Talking with manners with a Jang Taeyoung never been on her list. She can swear on it.

But if not because of his chuckle and grip to her wrist, she could have still stuck in her position standing above him whose actually ready for his sensible bicker. “Guess my neck will definitely face his destined rigidity any minute. So will you sit for me now please, Eunyoung-ah?”

~

‘She’s spacing out.’

That’s the thought he could only think of. Even if he doesn’t like doing it so soon, he needed to. He has to give the time she seems requesting. Because from the moment she seated like what he wanted to, not a single flex conversion happened other than blandness, as if a simple questionnaire seeking for its straight answer which ends up in awkward silence instead.

It had never been a thing between them since, so why now? A kind of consequence from their releasing attraction, is that it? F*cking then. Yet even all of the cursing he wished to banter, he still chose to give it one more try. “Eunyoung, ask me anyth---“

Just to be halt by a phone call, yes.  For that’s it! He’s close of deciding. Winced from the sudden call this time, it was her turn to be hesitant to ask for permission. “U-uhm. Would you mind if I take this call for a moment?”

He can only approve a nod on her. Standing up as she moves few steps away from him, she can only bite a lip by her own indicative excuse. To be honest, she can actually decline it easily, learning it was simply her nosy colleague Judy who called. But her retreating thought of chance avoiding him gave her the idea. Using it at least as a breathing break from their unhelping state. Screw herself for doing so!

“You’re leaving?”

She almost missed Jang Taeyoung quietly exiting without her knowledge. If not with her fast reflexes she surprisingly thanked afterwards. She had reached him by the steps of her porch, turning eyes glued by her gripping hand on his own shoulder. He looks up to her. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to---“

“I’ll give you time.”

“W-what?”

Facing her on the same match orbs this time, he repeated. “I said I’ll give you time.”

Not expecting the turns of event, she needed to retort abruptly. “But...” She swears. She doesn’t understand herself right now. A while ago she just wanted to avoid him. Now that he’s leaving to give her amply space, she doesn’t want him to. ‘Really, Sung Eunyoung?’

She can only scold herself once again. “How are you?”

It was a statement. She knew what he intended to comply. “Here, doing good.” Letting her remember how she actually behaving earlier. “I see you have become the educator like you dream of.” A big slap of her senselessness. Tucking in its both hands in his pockets, fixated eyes lock into her.

“And you only said thank you. Just by that fact Eunyoung, I can simply see you aren’t ready for this.”  

“T-this?” Her degrading look on the ground can only let him convince of something. A blow through the air, he finally discharges his suppressing complains. “Yes, this. If you don’t want me to leave even, you should have talk to me in the first place Sung Eunyoung. You’re confusing me.”

Shutting eyes from the guilt she’s feeling, she admitted. “I really am so---“

“Enough of it please, woman. Apologies isn’t what I need anymore.” Crumbles of his brows starts to falter upon him.

“But it’s my fault! It was all my fault, Jang Tae---“

“Fuck this.”

Scoop by the raging man in front of her, brushing hers against his. She can no longer fight back for she also resigned.  A savoring soul of fervor that always meant craving for him while a hidden plea for hers. The wilderness of his tongue that relentlessly a gasping for her and a tempting attempt throughout his by her silky ones. They truly equally banded.  And with a last chaste by her plump lips, he opts to release. ‘For now.’

Yes, he thought otherwise. “Was that why you keep on pulling yourself away from me? Huh, Sung Eunyoung?” she chooses to answer in silence. And as if he understood what she meant behind the line, he nods by his sensing conclusion. “Dammit it is. I should have corrected you all the while about that f*cking faults!” Frowns of self-dismay pondered upon him.

“But I eventually did, Jang Taeyoung. I harmed you, can’t you see?”

“While you also heard me clearly that day.” Eyes laid onto her clutching hand of his shirt, she struck by her own words. “I did…”

“Then you expect me to blame the woman I confess my whole heart with? Bullsh*t. I didn’t even consider you one, and I will never be. Now, can’t you see?”

Eyes swiftly meeting his, she surrendered.

Towering Jang Taeyoung, taking her chin up for him to see whom he called his. “Jang.”

The word he’s been waiting for, finally uttered from her husky contralto he always admired. “God, how I missed that pet name of yours, woman. If you only knew.”  

Hitch by her own breath as he brought her close to him. Nose touching the outline of hers. A hand to her neck while the other’s on the extremities of its forearm. He overjoyed. Invading another kiss saying, all of him. Dragged through the pillars of her porch, she can only get a hold by its banisters while free ones palpably clinging onto him. Bended by the intensity of their present. Hunger that had drought for a long time…            

Has now flowing on its own.

[theimperialnuisance]

FFXIV Write 2021 Day 1

// FFXIV Write Info // Prompts // Master post //

(Heads up, this is LONG. I got kind if carried away as this is an ORGIN STORY! : D Set before ARR so Kien is 18 but is not known by that name just yet. Mentions of  speculated physical and mental abuse if you squint. Some of my personal headcanon’s of Meracydia are present in this! I hope you enjoy!)

Day 1 Forster

bring up (a child that is not one's own by birth).

encourage or promote the development of (something, typically something regarded as good).

Ranald had been to his fair share of places since becoming a merchant, but no place struck him as interesting as Meracydia.

It was a place people scarcely traveled to as it had been rendered a wasteland ever since the Allagan Empire declared war there during the last years of the Third Astral Era; a lot of regions were still uninhabitable to this day and those regions that could be lived in consisted of a rather recluse population that would attack any outsider on sight. However, some of the natives were still open to trade as certain materials from Eorzea were highly sought after and the rare gems found on the southern continent could sell for a hefty sum of Gil in Eorzea but one wrong move in the eyes of the natives meant an ambush or death, so Ranald never stayed for long or ventured too far from the shores whenever he decided to come around to try his luck with a trade.

With every visit, the Hyur could never quite comprehend how natives still lived on the southern continent. The water was always cloudy and murky and the sky was ochre in color with the sun permanently hidden behind a thick haze. The land itself was barren and dry—what remains of standing trees were bare and splintered while the rest were deduced to blackened stumps. In some places, there were remains of structures but none of them were in one piece and most of them were reduced to rubble, but he certainly felt prying eyes on him at several instances and he shuddered to think of who—or what—could be roaming around the ruins.

He and his three fellow traders had been in Meracydia for the better part of three nights with no luck when Ranald finally made the decision to call it quits and leave before any sort of ambush befell them; It was already risky enough to travel without a tribe’s trust to trade with and staying any longer than the initial welcome was just begging for an attack. As he turned to follow his fellow shipmates up the ramp, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end; someone had been watching him.

“Who goes there?” Ranald quickly unsheathed his daggers and whipped around, expecting to come face to face with a tribe ready to ambush them but was mildly surprised to find a young Miqo’te staring back at him. He seemed just as startled as Ranald was, his own bow drawn at the ready and a hand resting on the quiver on his back as if he was about to draw an arrow.

“Wait! Wait!” The Miqo’te said hurriedly but still didn’t lower his weapon. “You’re a trader, aren’t you?” His accent was thick but his Common was easy to understand causing more confusion to the Hyur. Usually, it was always the other way around; the natives expected outsiders to understand their language when trading, it was unusual to meet a native who could speak and understand Common.

Questions bubbling, Ranald arched an eyebrow at him. “I am. What have you?” Behind him, he could hear his shipmates rush out to see what going on, but he cocked his head to the side in a silent request to stay back to which they obeyed.

The Miqo’te looked even more nervous than he was before at the sight of the three other people but didn’t move. “I did not come to harm you; I only want to trade…an exchange, if you will.”

 Ranald almost wanted to laugh. “Then why are you brandishing your weapon at me lad?” He asked, watching as the Miqo’te’s expression twist from concern to confusion. “This has better not be a trick and no one else comes out to attack.” He said firmly, watching the Miqo’te eyes widened.

 “I—I wasn’t trying to catch you off guard, but when you suddenly pulled out your daggers, I panicked.” The Miqo’te confessed. “I—I’m not really used to talking with people outside my tribe, so I was unsure how to approach you.” He slowly lowered his weapon and pulled his other hand away from his quiver of arrows. “I promise you, I am alone, and I only seek to trade with you.”

Ranald eyed the boy a bit longer before slowly relaxing his stance and sheathing his daggers. The Miqo’te, who had been watching him carefully, seemed to sag in relief and he quickly returned his bow to his back. Without a weapon shielding half his face, Ranald could finally see how young the lad was compared to him—he looked as if he was in his late teens, maybe the same age as his own son but somehow older and wiser just based off the energy he had about him. His shaggy black hair fell almost completely in front of his right eye, giving Ranald barely a glimpse of it which he could see was amber; a color not like his left eye which was green. He seemed to be traveling somewhere himself as two bags sat behind his feet, and he looked as if he hadn’t gotten any sleep the past few days.

“What’ve you got to trade?” Ranald asked as he descended the ramp back onto the shore. The Miqo’te wordlessly picked up the smaller of the two bags and opened it, inviting Ranald to step closer and look inside. Still a bit weary, Ranald leaned forward to peer inside the bag, nearly gasping aloud at the abundant sparkling gems inside.

“You cannot find these anywhere outside of Meracydia,” The Miqo’te began. “At least, that’s what the other traders told me when I traded with them before…I’ve been collecting them for several years.”

Ranald could hardly believe it. There had to be at least twenty or more gems inside the bag and the Miqo’te was right: they were rare ones he’d never found in Eorzea before—this was more than what he’d ever traded in the past. But…he knew he didn’t have anything worth the amount offered in goods to trade. He looked up with a questioning stare. “What can I give you in return?”

“Passage on your ship,” The Miqo’te replied confidently as if he had rehearsed the line several times before. “While I do not know where you’re bound to next, know that I you needn’t worry about lack of provisions as I have my own and I will do any necessary work during the journey.” He spoke with confidence but once again his fidgeting hands and tense shoulders gave away to his nervousness—had he been denied before? What fool would turn down a bag of rare gems for an extra passenger on the way back? Nay, there was something more to this and Ranald felt a need to know why.

“What’s your name lad?” Ranald asked but the Miqo’te stayed silent as he bit his lip in hesitation. Ranald’s expression softened, deciding to not press it further. “Well, you can tell me when you’re ready—it’s a long journey back to Eorzea so there’s plenty of time to share life stories.”

“Eorzea…? The place I’ve heard stories about…have seen in...” The Miqo’te trailed away and bit his lip to prevent himself from speaking any further. “You’ll have me then?” He looked back up; hope swimming through his eyes that caused Ranald to smile warmly.

“Aye, climb aboard!” Ranald smiled as he gestured to the ship. “These three here are Mikiah and Arlix,” he gestured to the short brunette Hyur to his left and the tall blonde Elezen to his right before turning to the brunette Miqo’te standing at the top of the ramp. “That there is U’vhana Tia and I’m Ranald.” The three friends all raised their hands in a gesture of greeting looking confused but welcoming all the same. Ranald watched as the young Miqo’te eyed them wearily before nodding his head in greeting. “We leave as soon as we fire up the ship, don’t want to lose any more of this daylight—if you can call it that.” He waved his hand absently with a smile as the Miqo’te gathered his remaining bag and followed them up the ship and they took off.

----

For the first half of the journey, Ranald watched the young Miqo’te bemusedly as he seemed to go through an array of emotions over the course of seconds—fear from the airship beginning to fly, excitement when he saw a blue sky, probably for the first time in his life, and then, he seemed to settle into his thoughts as the ground below grew smaller and smaller and they sailed through the clouds.

As the day stretched into evening, the Hyur left the Miqo’te alone, sensing he was still nervous from everything that had just occurred while the man himself was still in bewilderment of it all. He essentially just helped a kid run away from his family, and his friends didn’t even question him! He wasn’t what exactly possessed him to agree to such an absurd trade but judging by the relief on his face once he invited him on board, he supposed he couldn’t blame him for wanting to get the hells out of the wasteland. But what about his family? Wouldn’t they be searching for him? Would it even be safe to return to Meracydia again knowing there may or may not be a tribe on the lookout for their lost family member? And that scar on his eye…Ranald hadn’t missed glimpsing that but chose to not ask him about it either. Was that why he wanted to run away from his family?

The Hyur sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. Such speculative thoughts would have to wait! Mayhap he could get some questions answered over dinner. Deciding to do just that, he ensured his friends were all tended to with the ship and made his way up to the deck where he spied the Miqo’te leaning over the ship wall and watching the stars. Just as he made way to approach him, the boy suddenly went rigid, his hand flying to his forehead as if he was in pain. By the time Ranald was able to get to his side to help keep him steady as he staggered, he was coherent again but a little pale.

“I must’ve gotten too excited and gave myself another headache, but it passed.” The Miqo’te looked down as if he was ashamed and slowly stepped away from Ranald’s hovering hands. Ranald furrowed his brow and gently placed a hand on the Miqo’te’s shoulder, not failing to notice the slight jolt that went through him.

“Another headache? These’ve happened before?” Ranald couldn’t help voicing the question aloud and the Miqo’te flinched as if he was expecting to get yelled at. Ranald’s face softened as he quietly asked, “Are you alright?”

That question seemed to take him by surprise, and he looked up to meet Ranald’s worried expression, blinking in bewilderment. “Ah—I—I’m fine,” he stuttered before looking away again in embarrassment. “Sorry, could I maybe sit down for a bit? I’m feeling very sick.” Ranald carefully guided him down to a chair and quickly fetched one of his water skins, offering it to the boy with a gentle nudge. He cautiously accepted it and took a few sips before leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.

 Ranald watched him carefully for a bit, trying to figure out the right then to say as he sat down in the chair across from him. “Have you heard of the Echo before?” He finally asked. When the boy shook his head, he smiled warmly. “I don’t know much about it myself unfortunately, but I’ve heard what it can be like—headaches—like the one you just had—and if I’m not mistaken, you saw something, didn’t you?” The Miqo’te’s brow furrowed as he nodded his head.

“How—how did you know?”

“Your eyes glazed over for a good minute as if you were watching something,” Ranald explained. “When you’ve been traveling around for as long as I have, you meet a few people with the Echo every now and then. Who knows, maybe you’ll become one of Hydaelyn’s chosen and save Eorzea in her time of need like those ‘Warriors of Light’ did during the calamity five years ago!” He chuckled fondly, a memory of his son excitedly talking about the fables springing to his mind.

“Hydaelyn’s chosen? Warriors of Light?” The Miqo’te questioned.

“Aye, the rumor goes that they’re the ones who the Mother Crystal chose to bestow her blessin’ to and they showed up during the Battle of Carteneau and promptly vanished after some big ol’ flash—no one has seen ‘em since. My son would always tell me about an adventurer he met—Kieron, I think—he believed he may have been one of those warriors.” He smiled fondly. “My son was frail and sickly; he didn’t get to travel around as often but Kieron would trade with me often and helped fill that void for him—kept him company and told him all about his grand adventures before taking off on the next one.” He paused, feeling his heart twinge in sadness.

“My son passed away before the calamity, bless his soul for not having to witness that battle, but… I cannot help but wonder if Kieron really was a ‘Warrior of Light’ like my son thought he was because after the calamity, I never saw him again either.” Ranald let out a sigh as he brought his gaze to the starry sky above. “I’d like to think he and my son are off on their own grand adventure somewhere now—mayhap I’ll see them both again someday.” He fell silent as turned his gaze back to the Miqo’te. “Can I ask you why you won’t tell me your name?”

The Miqo’te hesitated for a moment, his eyes casting down to his boots as he wrung his hands. “It’s Roh’to,” he began quietly. “I rather not be called by it anymore…I just want to get away from my tribe. They…did not make me feel welcomed and I’m not proud of my tribe name. I just want to start anew.”

Ranald reached up to scratch the stubble on his chin with a nod, his speculation about the relation to his scar and family slowly piecing itself together. “Then I suppose we’ll have to find a new name for you then.” The Miqo’te looked up, his expression a mixture of confusion and awe. “Take all the time you need to think of it but what I really need to know is what you plan to do once we get to Gridania.”

“I—I don’t know,” The Miqo’te confessed as he looked down again. “I truthfully didn’t even think I’d get this far in the first place…not a lot of traders were as willing as you to believe I wasn’t trying to trick and ambush them.”

“Used to be a pirate,” Ranald laughed. “Easy for me to tell when someone is lyin’ to me.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “Tell you what, you can stay with me for a bit, just until you get yourself situated. There’s a few people I think you should meet anyways in regards to that Echo of yours.”

The Miqo’te jerked his head up and stared at him in disbelief. “Truly? I…I won’t be a burden to you?”

Ranald shook his head with a laugh and leaned back. “O‘course not! ‘Sides, I could use the company with how quiet my house has been lately.” His expression softened, somehow knowing this was the right decision to make.

The Miqo’te seemed on the verge of tears as the corner of his lip tugged into a small smile. “I promise to do my part and help out in anyway I can, you won’t regret this.”

“No expectations, just be yourself.” The Hyur smiled and stood, giving a small nudge to the Miqo’te’s shoulder, noticing that he didn’t flinch this time, a sign that he was already feeling more comfortable than before. “You take all the time you need to figure that name out, and I’ll get some dinner prepared…get some sleep too, it’ll be a while before we get to Eorzea.”

He turned on his heel to retreat down into the hull, but before he could descend the stairs, he heard the boy call out, “Ranald?” The Hyur paused with a hum to indicate he was listening. “I thought about what my new name could be.”

“Oh?” He turned to face the Miqo’te again.

“Kien.”

A smile spread across Ranald’s face, his heart filling with warmth. “Well Kien, it’s nice to finally meet you.”