#agree . I played this game and it tore my heart out and ate it

[forever-rogue]

hi! if requests are open for bucky, i like the concept of him being unsure of himself with reader (not a superhero/avenger, maybe just a mutual friend) and pining after them compared to how easy it was to get dates in the 40s. thank you!

tfatws revived my love for bucky im not ashamed

A/N: tfatws has definitely done the same for me! no shame whatsoever!

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: none

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

You tore your gaze off of the television before you turned to look at Bucky. His blue eyed stare was trained on you, intense and unwavering. Sometimes it had managed to unnerve you, but you’d gotten used to it over the year you’d known him. He was more than just silent...he was calculating, but it never felt wrong. Waving your hand in front of his face you made a small sound to get his attention. 

“Bucky?” you whispered his name softly and that seemed to snap him back into attention as he opened and closed his mouth a few times. Even in the dim lighting of the room you could see that a warm flush of red had crept up in his cheeks, “everything alright?”

“Y-yeah,” he shook his head, more at himself than anything else, a self-annoyed look crossing his features, “spaced out for a minute. What were you saying?”

“I wasn’t saying anything,” you couldn’t help but laugh at him, watching his features soften when he realized you weren’t going to chastise him for zoning out, “I for one was watching the movie, which is more than I can say for you - you should love the Hobbit if you actually read the book when it first came out. And these movies are actually good. Pay attention, Bucky!”

You grabbed one of the pillows off of your couch and lobbed it at his head; but he was quicker, reflexes still sharp and honed after all this time. The corners of his mouth pulled into a smirk as he held the pillow before determining whether or not to throw it back at you. Immediately sensing what he was doing, you shook your head and jumped up, ducking behind the couch.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart, why are you hiding?” you could practically hear the smirk in his voice as you peeked up at him. The nickname rolled easily off his tongue as it caused a shudder to run down your spine. You knew it meant nothing, that it was just something he tended to call people; it was definitely just a thing. It was nothing particularly about you or targeted at you but you couldn’t help but pause. You knew that you wouldn’t have minded if he called you that intentionally. But that could never, ever happen. This was Bucky after all and you were just...you.

“I know your game, Barnes,” you grinned at him, deciding to let the nickname slide, “I’ll call it a truce and we can go to your favorite place to get some dinner. I’ll pay! I’m waving my proverbial white flag.”

“Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse,” he set the pillow back down on the couch as he stood up and raised his hands in surrender. Slowly you raised to your full height, but kept a wary eye on your best friend, “I keep my promises, you know that.”

“Fine,” you agreed as you grinned at him. Bucky’s breath hitched in his throat as he looked you over and he felt his knees go weak momentarily. He could stare at your smile for hours, “get your jacket and let’s go old man.”

He scoffed in jest as you grabbed your shoulders and jacket off the coat rock and motioned for him to follow, “I’m not that old-”

“106? Isn’t that old?” you raised an eyebrow, barely able to contain your giggles as he rolled his eyes dramatically, “just kidding, Bucky. You know I just love teasing you.”

“I am in my 30s,..technically, thank you very much,” he insisted as he slipped on his shoes and you handed him the leather jacket, “don’t push your luck, kid.”

“See,” you grabbed the keys and he opened the door, ushering you out with a hand on the small of your back, “I swear Bucky Barnes, you’ve been an old man since you were a kid. Now let’s go! There’s pancakes with my name on them waiting.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Dinner with Bucky was easy...then again, everything with Bucky was easy. Every time you were with him, things just felt natural and normal, conversation and everything flowed freely. You’d met Bucky completely by chance, running into him, quite literally, on the street as you walked out of your favorite coffee shop and proceeded to spill coffee over both of you. He’d been apologetic, claiming it was his fault, but you’d been insistent that it was yours. One thing had led to another and soon enough you became inseparable friends. 

Much to his surprise, and delight, you’d never treated Bucky as anything but...Bucky. That’s how you’d met him and that’s all he was to you. Bucky. Of course, he was much more than a friend, at least in your mind, but you weren’t about to divulge that little piece of information. At least not yet. Maybe one day...or not. Probably not. No. You weren’t about to make a fool out of yourself and confess your feelings for a man that saw you as nothing but a friend.

Bucky, always alert and cunning, had noticed you’d become quiet throughout dinner as you both ate in silence. Normally he wouldn’t question it, but he knew your tells and could easily read you by this point and knew that something was up. 

“What?” he gently nudged your foot with his and you snapped back into attention as you looked at him, “you’re awfully deep in thought for someone that just wanted some pancakes.” 

“It’s nothing,” you insisted nervously, swallowing your bite down and clearing your throat, “just...tired?”

“Mhmm,” he wasn’t going to push you, know you’d come around eventually, “whatever you say, sweetheart.”

There it was again, and you felt a warmth flush over your face as you focused your attention on the syrupy mess on your plate. It was silent for a few more minutes before you noticed a few women sitting at the diner’s counter, giggling among themselves as they cast longing glances at Bucky. Something in your stomach twisted and your heart constricted. Of course they were looking at him, women often did. And you couldn’t blame them; Bucky was handsome in almost every way, and you yearned after him as well. But unlike most other people, you weren’t about to be so obvious about it. 

“Looks like you have a little fanclub,” you murmured softly under your breath as you lightly motioned towards them women. Bucky slyly followed your gaze and studied the newcomers and huffed in annoyance. He abhorred any sort of extra attention, especially when it came from people that only liked him because of his looks. Besides that, it often didn’t last terribly long; usually people realized who he was - used to be - and that scared them right off.

“They’ll leave soon enough,” he shrugged them off before turning his attention back to you, “besides, I-I’m not interested. It’s not like it used to be…”

“Back when?” you quickly snorted in amusement as he jokingly glared at you, “back in your day? I bet you had them all over you then too.”

“Well, it certainly was easier,” he admitted as he played with the straw in his almost empty milkshake, “nowadays people are harder to read. They all either want one thing, or they just stick around until they find someone else. It’s not worth it...and honestly, now one has caught my eye.”

“No one?” you asked as you pushed your last bite around the plate, letting the fluffy pancake soak up the syrup, “I find that hard to believe, even for you, Buck. Everyone has someone they’re interested in.”

“Huh,” he mused as drained the last of the milkshake, “well then, is there someone that has captured your interest?”

“I...no, not really,” you lied, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on the lie. Instead he immediately made a sound of small disbelief; you should haven’t even bothered to try and lie to him. He could see right through you, “there’s nobody.”

“I thought you said everyone has someone that they’re interested in?” oh yeah, he definitely wasn’t going to let this go at all. 

“Except me.”

“I find that doubtful.”

“What about you then, Bucky Barnes?” you decided to deflect by throwing the question right back at him, “has anyone captured your interest?”

Bucky paused for a moment, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he mulled over his next words carefully, “yes. There is someone.”

“O-oh,” you stammered as his gaze shifted back to you, blue eyes keenly studied your features, “you gonna tell me who it is?”

“Well,” he started slowly, tapping his fingers on the table as he leaned towards, "there is someone, but I don't know if she knows or thinks of me as more than a friend, but god, I hope she does. She's been my friend for a while now and I kind of want to ask her on a date, a proper date, but don't quite know how."

"Do you...do you think she could feel the same about you?" butterflies erupted in your stomach as you tried to calm the rapid beating of your heart. Surely he couldn't mean you. But then...why was a light flush of pink in his cheeks? Why was he watching you so intently?

"I don't know," he confessed with a light shrug as he sat back in the booth, an arm extended over the back, the picture of ease, "sometimes I think she might, but I don't want to think she does and mess anything up. I'd rather keep her as a friend than lose her."

"I guess you won't know unless you ask her…" you were positive that he could hear your heart beating rapidly, "you never know until you try. I have a feeling she won't turn you down if you ask...just a hunch…"

"Hmm…" a smile, dazzling and brilliant, grazed his features, "well then sweet-"

"Excuse me," one of the girls from the counter had approached your table and was leaning into Bucky, with her back to you. She was twirling her hair around her finger as she offered him her most dazzling smile. She was definitely beautiful and you really had nothing to base your annoyance off of, but she rubbed you the wrong way, "I was just wondering if you'd-"

"Hi, excuse me?" you couldn't help yourself as you gently tapped her arm. Bucky raised an eyebrow as she gave her a surprised look on her face, "I don't want to interrupt but he's mine. And if you don't mind...we're on a date."

"O-oh," her eyes widened as she looked between you and Bucky, who was currently sporting the most shit eating grin, "I didn't know. Sorry…"

She scurried back to her friends as you looked back down at your plate. Bucky cleared his throat as he leaned in, hardly believing what had happened. You could feel his curious blue eyes on you, searing and questioning.

"So she feels the same way or she's a good liar," he said softly as you chanced a glance, biting on your lip, "I'm yours, huh?"

"Shut up," you groaned, "it was to get her away from you, so you're welcome."

"Mhmm…" god that smile made you want to melt.

"Bucky!"

"Thank you," he bowed his head slightly, "what are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Nothing...why?"

"Can I take you on a date?" he asked as you looked at him in surprise, wide doe eyes meeting his, "a proper date?"

"I...yeah, Bucky. I'd like that a lot," you agreed softly, "see...I told you she won't turn you down."

"Guess you were right," he was causal, but inside his heart was fit to burst as he reached across the table and gently put his hand on top of yours, "I'm already hers, but she's my girl too."

Yeah. You could definitely get used to that.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[markleesthighs]

good 4 u

pairing: guitarist/singer!y/n (fem) x badboy!jeno

genre: angst, fluff (if you squint), smut, strangers to lovers to enemies

song: good 4 u by Olivia Rodrigo

a/n: mentions of cheating, breakup, depression, underaged drinking (please be safe!!) picture/GIF from @pureboyjun​

Everyone told you to watch out, everyone warned you about him, Lee Jeno. You and Jeno weren’t in the same friend group, you were as what society called an “art freak” with streaks of colors in your hair and black eyeliner. You also always kept guitar picks with you, always wanting to sneak into the music room and practice on the electric guitar. The wannabe’s compared you to an Avril Lavigne-type girl. Your best friends were also your bandmates, supportive of you and your dream, unlike your parents. You and your parents had a deal, as long as you kept good grades you could continue to play music as a “hobby.” 

You also worked at a music store, which is how you ran into Lee Jeno. He was looking for vinyl of a specific artist which happened to also be one of your favorites so you knew exactly where it was. He thanked you and you hoped that would be the last you’d see him. But he came in every day to talk to you and eventually had the courage to approach your lunch table. All your bandmates glared at Lee Jeno, knowing his reputation and his motives. Once he left they’d all trash him for trying to talk to you. 

“y/n you shouldn’t really associate with him.”

“Yeah, all of his ‘fangirls’ will tear you to shreds.”

“Jeno hits and runs, you better stop talking to him before it turns into something dangerous. You’ll only get hurt.”

You didn’t think much of their words, since Jeno wasn’t really your type anyway. There’s no way you could ever fall for him. Oh boy, were you wrong. Jeno went out of his way to swoon you in any way he could. He’d walk you home at night, visit you in the music room and at work, he’d even invite you to his lunch table where you’d be met with his other ‘bad boy’ friends. He would get you your favorite coffee, just the way you like it, and get your lunch order so you wouldn’t wait in line. All of this attention grabbed the attention of his fangirls, constantly threatening you about how “Jeno is mine!” and bullshit like that. You honestly didn’t care because you reassured them you and Jeno were not dating. 

That was until he invited you to a party, saying that you could meet his one friend that was also into music and could help you break out into the music industry. You agreed, excited to meet someone in the industry. When you arrived at the party, you met his friend who worked at Columbia Records, you bonded and everything got his contact information in hopes of getting an internship. Jeno met up with you again, asking you to repay him, in a game of fear pong (beer pong with truth or dare elements). You agreed, joining him on his team against Johnny and his girlfriend. One of the dares you guys had to do was make out for one minute or drink. You were about to drink when Jeno grabbed your face and started to make out with you. 

God, did he taste good. His lips were soft brushing against yours the taste of beer and light cigarette smoke made his lips only more addictive. Everyone watching was hooting and hollering at the two of you. Jeno licked the bottom of your lip, which you opened your mouth to let his tongue enter, causing your tongues to fight for dominance. Jeno’s ultimately dominated and touched your throat. You gave a small moan which only made Jeno kiss you harder. Johnny coughed causing you two to stop. 

“You realize you two were making out for like 5 minutes right?” Johnny laughed.

You pulled away but Jeno held on to you by your waist. 

“What can I say, Suh, she tastes really good, I wanted to savor it.”

That made you blush. You guys continued the game and you and Jeno won, out of excitement (and slight intoxication) you kissed Jeno. He looked at you in shock and you apologized before he kissed you back. Since that game, you two were attached to the hip the whole night. Jeno didn’t feel safe letting you go home so he let you sleep with him in a bedroom upstairs. When you guys were tucking in for the night he wrapped his arm around you pulling you closer to him. 

“y/n, I love you.”

You giggled “You’re drunk Jeno...get some rest.”

“No, I mean it.”

“You’re really funny.”

“Do you need me to prove it to you?” He spoke in a deep voice, shifting his body to hover above yours. 

“If I didn’t love you do you think I’d be feeling like this right now?” Jeno whispered into your ear. When he leaned down you felt his member rock hard against your thigh. 

“J-jeno, you’re confused, do you know what you’re doing right now?”

“If you want me to stop I’ll stop. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I can take care of myself in the bathroom if you don’t want to do it.”

As Jeno was moving off your body you wrapped your arms around his body to pull him back.

“N-no, stay, please.”

“Are you sure y/n, you sure you want to do this?”

“Y-yes.” Little did you know that you would regret sleeping with Lee Jeno. 

Jeno kissed your lips softly, knowing how tired you both are. You felt his member twitching with every kiss. He moved on to your neck, leaving soft kisses and a purple mark on your collarbone. He moved all the way down your stomach down to your flower. He kissed your thighs and ate you out vigorously, he was sucked down on your clit while fingering you. You were trying to hide your moans but Jeno hit your sweet spot almost every single time, causing you to not be able to contain yourself. You were tugging and pulling at his har which also caused him to moan. You were about to climax when Jeno pulled away which caused you to whine and pout. Jeno kissed your pouty lips as he pulled out a condom from the drawer (be safe kids!) and tore it open and put it on his member. 

He looked at you and asked again for your reassurance and you nodded. 

“I’ll be slow and gentle I promise.”

He slowly slid into you as you clenched around him you squeezed your eyes from the pain, he was a lot bigger than you thought. Jeno moans harmoniously along with you as he waited for you to let him move. 

“P-please m-move..”

Jeno smiled as with every thrust he kissed you, he made you feel comfortable in his arms. 

“F-faster, please...”

“What’s my name?”

“J-jeno! Please!”

“That’s daddy to you.” He said as he thrusted harder inside of you.

“Y-yes, daddy, please go faster.”

“Good girl.”

Jeno pushed harder and faster as you moaned louder and louder, finally climaxing with Jeno. Jeno removed the condom and threw it in the trash as he walked to the bathroom and cleaned you up along with a few kisses. 

“Hey Jeno?” Jeno turned to look at you.

“I love you too.”

After that night you and Jeno were going steady for a couple weeks until he ghosted you. He stopped talking to you and his friends would laugh at you or Jeno would tell you to go back to your old table. You heard their conversation as you were walking back. 

“I can’t believe Jeno got her to sleep with him.”

“Easiest fucking $100 he’s ever made.”

 When you went back to your bandmates you were broken. Endless nights of tears and suicidal thoughts swamped your mind. Why me? Why did I have to fall for his stupid trap? He only wanted me for some cheap cash huh? How can he just move on so easily? Did nothing we have mean anything? Well screw that and screw you, Lee Jeno. 

“Hey y/n?” One of your bandmates asked. 

“Battle of the bands' championship for the school is coming up, do you know what song we are going to cover?”

You looked at Jeno. “Oh, I fucking know what song we are going to sing.” 

You and your bandmates got the sheet music for good 4 u by Olivia Rodrigo and practiced it until it became natural for everyone. Finally, the battle of the bands' championship occurred. It was hosted by your school to fundraise for the music program and scholarships. Before your group came up, you all huddled, and they all gave you the words of encouragement you needed to perform in front of Lee Jeno. 

“Sing it from your heart bitch.”

“Kill him with those words.”

“Make him feel like the shit head he is.”

As they hyped you up, you felt much better as you all walked out to stand on the stage. You saw Jeno in the crowd with his new supposed girlfriend. You began playing the first notes on the guitar. 

Well, good for you, I guess you moved on really easily You found a new girl and it only took a couple weeks Remember when you said that you wanted to give me the world?

You stared right into his eyes singing every lyric, letting him know what a scumbag he was for dating someone new in a few weeks when he confessed to you after he fucked your brains out. What kind of a person does that?

Now you can be a better man for your brand new girl

You raised your hand and pointed right at him and his new girl who looked like every other bitch who wanted to get with Jeno, you couldn’t compare to her, you had to show Jeno he made a mistake leaving you for $100. You wanted to make those $100 worth nothing because he left you for someone who’s only worth $1. 

Well, good for you, you look happy and healthy, not me If you ever cared to ask Good for you, you're doin' great out there without me, baby God, I wish that I could do that

You sang you heart out to those lyrics almost feeling emotional. How could Jeno sit there with a smile on his face while you almost crying during this set. You then realized Lee Jeno is an emotionless piece of shit. But just this once, you wanted to see him cry. 

I've lost my mind, I've spent the night Cryin' on the floor of my bathroom But you're so unaffected, I really don't get it But I guess good for you

It wasn’t fair that you cried endless tears, while Jeno came to school with a smile on his face. Your eyes would be dark and baggy from all the crying and endless sleep, but he came to school happier and brighter than ever, fuck you Lee Jeno. 

It's like we never even happened Baby, what the fuck is up with that?

Everyone forgot about you and Jeno the moment he dropped you. How come everyone took his side and let this slide past everyone? Did no one care about how you felt? How humiliated you were? How can someone forget something like that?

And good for you, it's like you never even met me Remember when you swore to God I was the only Person who ever got you? Well, screw that and screw you You will never have to hurt the way you know that I do

Jeno and you became strangers, nobodies, to each other just back at square one, how did this happen? He would complain about how his friends would make fun of his music tastes and hobbies, making you think you were the only one who understood him and supported him. You wanted to make him feel guilt and shame for toying with you. 

Maybe I'm too emotional But your apathy's like a wound in salt Maybe I'm too emotional Or maybe you never cared at all

You’ve thought about how you were the problem, that Jeno didn’t want you for you. He would act reassuring when you were in bed, but once he left you, he brushed off every concern you had. He never had any feelings for you. He never cared about you. 

Before the final chorus you pulled out a picture of you and Jeno printed out on paper and one of your bandmates set it on fire. The picture of Jeno’s face starting to well up with tears when everyone in the gym started to stare at him. It was music to your ears. 

Good for you, you're doin' great out there without me, baby Like a damn sociopath

You were now crying in the last chorus not out of sadness but out of joy, finally, Lee Jeno knows what it’s like to have his heartbroken. All of the other girls and guys were screaming and singing along with you, you were jumping and high-fiving all of them, rocking out to the music. Your mascara was dripping down your cheeks and you looked emotional and powerful. 

Well, good for you, I guess you moved on really easily

As you played the last chord on your guitar everyone was cheering. You thanked everyone for the performance as your group hugged your bandmates thanking them for getting you through the performance. You turned to look at Jeno one last time to see him crying. It was beautiful. 

good 4 u, Lee Jeno. 

[flowercrown-bard]

Anonymously tell me which of my fics/one shots you wish I would write a sequel to

Poems for the Poet??? I'd love to see more of that one 🥺

*checks AO3*: updated 03 july 2021. oh dear I'm so sorry. this isn't a full chapter, but it's something?

Most witchers didn’t visit the same place twice. Oh sure, they had their routes that they liked to travel each year, but the odds of a town being cursed or plagued by monsters twice were rather slim. Besides, witchers rarely left a town with people wanting them to come back. In the best case, the folk was annoyed because they had been ‘cheated out of their coin’ by a witcher. In the worst case, the witcher’s departure was followed by a funeral held for those the witcher hadn’t been able to save.

So no, it wasn’t the best idea for a witcher to go where he had been before. 

But after so much time of being on his own, Eskel was starting to grow antsy. It wasn’t a feeling he often got, but the longer he went without receiving a casual touch or being surrounded by something familiar and safe, the more the feeling grew. It was like having a writhing serpent in his chest that needed to be appeased. A monster too big to be kept within the confines of his skin. 

He needed to talk to someone. To sit around a table and eat together in companionable silence. To know that he wasn’t alone. 

So, he did what rarely any witcher ever did. He sought out a familiar place. He left the cities with nameless and faceless people behind and headed towards a small farm in Gors Velen. It was barely even that, really. It was more a tiny hut, where once three people had lived, and that was too big for the single woman dwelling there now. Around the hut was a fence defining a yard  in which chickens ran around merrily and two goats were butting their heads together. 

Eskel couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his lips, as he got closer. 

He tore out a handful of grass and held it up for the goats. Immediately, they stopped their game and approached him, bleating happily. While they ate the offered grass, Eskel reached over the fence, petting one of the goats gently on the head, right above the white patch of fur. 

“You look like your sister,” he said. “She has the exact same patch. She misses you.” 

Of course, Eskel had no idea whether Lil’ Bleater ever thought about her brothers. Whenever Eskel was with her, she seemed happy as a clam and he was sure that while he was away, Vesemir was taking good care of her. Despite that, Eskel couldn’t imagine that she didn’t miss her siblings at least some of the time. They had grown up together, after all. She must be getting lonely sometimes. The must miss play fighting with them or sleeping huddled together or just knowing they were doing alright. 

From inside the hut came an angry shout. The door flung open and a woman with wrinkles littering her face and a hunched back waddled out. In her hand, she held a wooden spoon, raised high above her head. 

“Get away you pesky beast!” She yelled, making Eskel flinch violently, “You’re not getting to - Oh.” She faltered, squinted at Eskel through her specs. “You’re not a griffin.”

“I’m not,” Eskel agreed, keeping his voice polite and his posture open, though his heart was beating too fast for a witcher. Too anxiously. “I don’t mean to bother you. It’s just…” He pawed at his scars nervously. They hadn’t been there yet, when he had met Ana years ago. Back then, she had been friendly, but he wouldn’t be able to blame her if she didn’t want him around with his face contorted as it was. “I just wanted to make sure everything is alright here. And. I wanted to tell you that Lil’ Bleater is doing well.”

Slowly, she let the spoon sink. “Lil’ Bleater?” She repeated, frowning. Then, recognition bloomed on her face and her eyes lit up like a child’s when presented with cake. “The little menace! You’re the witcher!” She hurried closer to him. With one hand, she grabbed his arm in greeting, before letting go and patting his scared cheek. “Eskel! How good to see you again.”

The words left Eskel dizzy. Good to see you again. When had been the last time he had heard such words directed at him? 

“You remember me,” he said, more bewildered than anything. Though he also couldn’t keep the gratitude out of his voice. How many people remembered witcher’s names with a fond smile? 

“Oh, of course I remember you, boy. I might be old, but I’m not that old,” she said and it sounded so close to how Vesemir sometimes scolded him and his brothers fondly, that his chest ached. “It’s not every day that someone saves my farm from a wyfern and doesn’t ask for payment.”

Eskel shrugged. “You still paid me.”

“Oh please,” Ana waved her spoon through the air dismissively. “You did me a favour taking that little beast off my hands.”

They both knew it wasn’t really the truth. Ana had been too poor to pay in gold, or to provide for her goat. She had given her away hoping that Eskel would take care of her- Before he had left, she had made him promise that he wouldn’t use the little goat as griffin bait. 

“Come on in,” she said, ushering him inside. “I have soup on the stove and if we tarry, it’s going to burn.”

He followed her inside, warmth flooding his chest that had nothing to do with the steaming stew on the hearth. Ana asked him to fetch her parsley and pepper from a shelf, asked him to taste if the stew was alright and made sure to fill his plate before her own. She treated him with the hospitality of the Hillfolk that Eskel had grown up with before he had been taken away. Like he was well and truly welcome. Like a friend she hadn’t expected to see again but had missed dearly.

While they ate, she asked about whether he had been eating enough on the Path, if his contracts had been hard and if he had met any nice maids or men. 

That last comment had Eskel’s ears burning at the tips and he shovelled more soup into his mouth to avoid replying. He was thankful, when the topic turned in the direction of monsters. Apparently, Ana had had some unwanted visitors again. A young griffin this time, who had already slain multiple chickens of hers.

Eskel’s stomach flipped at the thought of the kind old woman facing a griffin with nothing but a wooden spoon to protect her with. After that, there was no question as to what Eskel was going to do next. He spent the night at the hut, sleeping in the spare bed in her child’s old room. 

The next morning, he left at dawn and when he came back around dusk, he told Ana that her chickens would be safe from now on. It hadn’t been a hard fight, barely worth mentioning, really. The griffin had been young and inexperienced in fighting. Eskel had more wrestled with it than slashed at it with his swords, until he had been able to capture it and take it and relocate it to a hill not far from here. The griffin had gotten in a single hit to Eskel’s leg, but that had been it. Still, Ana fretted over him, as if he had been grievously injured. It reminded him of someone else, who wouldn’t stop until he had made sure that his friends weren’t hurting, you would scold them for throwing themselves into danger. 

“There is someone,” Eskel said out of the blue, after Ana had instructed him to sit on her old armchair and rest his leg. 

“Hmm?” Eskel flushed red and he looked away. 

“There’s someone nice I met last year. He’s my brother’s…” his voice got thin and broke off. He pressed his lips into a thin smile. “They travel together. And he’s…he’s nice.”

He cringed inwardly. ‘Nice’ was about the worst way to describe Jaskier. A million words and songs wouldn’t be enough to tell someone how wonderful and caring and funny Jaskier was. How he made Eskel feel warm and welcome and made his heart flutter. And all Eskel had managed to say was ‘nice.’

“Oh?” Ana sat down next to him, pushing a mug of herbal tea into his hands. “Tell me about him?”

“Well, he’s -” Eskel’s mind was racing. There were too many thoughts, too many memories he wanted to cling to. Memories of laughing together, of Jaskier singing a silly ditty to him, of a sleepy Jaskier resting his head on Eskel’s shoulder. Eskel’s throat got tight. He coughed awkwardly and settled on, “His name is Jaskier.” He had no idea what his face or voice did when he said that name, but it must have done something, for Ana’s brows raised and her eyes crinkled withmirth. 

“I see,” she said. “And this Jaskier, are you going to see him again?” Eskel’s heart skipped a beat. He picked at the edges of the cut on his thigh nervously, earning a reprimanding swat to his hand. 

“I hope so,” he said. “Geralt will probably invite him to winter with us again.”

“Perfect!” Ana jumped up, as much as her old bones allowed her to, and shuffled off to an inconspicuous box in the corner of the room. “I know exactly what you have to do.” Eskel made a questioning noise. 

“Why, the same thing I did to win my Thomasz’ heart, of course.” She turned back to him, holding up balls of yarn and two pairs of big, pointy needles. “Every man loves warm and cosy gifts. Especially in winter. Unless you want to keep him warm and cosy in different ways?”

Eskel spluttered and he opened his mouth to protest, but Ana had already taken her place by his side, shushing him goodnaturedly. She plucked the mug out of his grip and shoved needles and yarn at him instead. 

“Watch closely, love,” she said with an air of authority, “I’m going to teach you how to woo your man.”

For the next two hours, the hut was filled with rapid the click-clacks of Ana knitting and with irregular clicks, muffled curses, and occasional clacks coming from Eskel, as he did his best to imitate her. His big hands were too clumsy. He didn’t know how to hold the needles correctly and he dropped the yarn more times than he could count. Not to mention that the handful of rows he had knitted looked incredibly wonky. Maybe when he was done, he could give this to Geralt to brush down Roach with. Or just give it Lil’ Bleater to chew on and get rid of the evidence of this disaster. The thought of giving this proof of his failure to Jaskier was mortifying. 

His thoughts must have reflected on his face, for Ana put her knitting aside, placing a hand on his arm to still his movements. “You’re doing good for a beginner,” she said patiently. “Melitele knows, my first attempts were far worse.”

Eskel pulled his shoulders up, staring dejectedly at the mess in his hands. “This isn’t an attempt, it’s a catastrophe. Look at this,” he pointed at the hole, that had opened up, when he had missed a stitch. “It’s falling apart.”

“Oh nonsense.” Ana took his needles away from him and within seconds, the hole was patched. “See? It’s not unfixable. It just needs time and some loving.”

She handed the needles back to Eskel, making sure he was taking his time instead of trying to match her own speed like before. 

“Exactly like that!” She beamed at him. “All you need to do is pick up the needles, not knit-pick your knitting.”

Eskel snorted. 

“Didn’t know you liked wordplay,” he teased. “That sounded almost like something Jaskier would write in a song.”

“Is that so?” Ana’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “What else would he write?”

Eskel titled his head to the side, thinking, before he sang a silly little ditty in his rough voice, the click-clack of the needles adding the rhythm. 

“Fret not, if the thread’s in knots, 

For it is not for naught.”

Ana giggled in delight and with a grin she added, “We will darn holes with the whole darn yarn!”

Now it was Eskel’s turn to grin widely. For a second, he thought about hiding his scars away, but if Ana’s eye sight was good enough to see how his face twisted with his smile, she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she patted his arm and urged him to write another silly rhyme. 

At the end of the night, Eskel had the beginning of a scarf that looked at least somewhat presentable and the first poem that had been written with a smile, a full heart and a friend.

[scrawnytreedemon]

Can’t sleep, mind going precisely 56 miles an hour, so I think I’ll finally get around to writing this.

Couples days back, I went ahead and finally psyched myself up to do the Zant bossfight.

Because I’d picked up where I’d left off yesterday, which was just before the boss room, obviously I was taken back to the beginning of the area. This gave the whole ordeal a trek, if a short one, what with the Palace of Twilight’s laughable length, and me more time to think.

I didn’t want to do this.

It sounds stupid, but I really didn’t want to do this. I’d cried the day before trying to psych myself up and failing, and I’d cried then, before the boss door, stalling by sweeping away the crystal-fog as best I could-- A meagre attempt at housekeeping, and a futile one. Of course I couldn’t. This isn’t that sort of game. This isn’t a game for failed attempts at kindness, at least trying to clean this awful, awful place for an awful, awful man going through awful, awful things. I was supposed to be a hero.

Heroes don’t make beds.

They don’t wash dishes, or hang laundry, or hold a rival’s hand,

They kill.

The trek didn’t stop past the door, either.

We still had to walk up the stairs. To the throne.

To him.

And I was there, laugh-crying, wishing I didn’t have to. That I could skip this pathetic ordeal.

I tried to turn around and leave.

Despite it only looking like a larger one of the many, many doors we’ve passed through this awful, nonsensical, poorly-designed excuse for a palace that no one could ever live in, it didn’t budge. There wasn’t any turning back. I had to go forward, because this is an action game, and violence is key.

The game takes the reigns. Link walks up to the throne, sword drawn, despite my deliberate decision to sheathe it. The narrative begins again. Midna sneers, and throws a taunt at him.

Zant sits, and smiles. Smiles like he thinks he still has some form of control, or knows full well he’s lost it.

You know, when I was working through the Palace of Twilight, I’d come to the realisation that... Zant locked himself in the throneroom. From the outside. Logistically, despite the good laugh I had over this guy locking himself in from the fucking outside, where his opponents can grab the key, he could get out easily-- teleportation and all. But even that aside, it still spoke to a level of hasty panic, that he would even keep the key outside, behind a waterfall of yet more shitty fog-crytals in the hopes that would deter them. Deter us.

How long had the guy been here, alone in that room?

We all know what happens next. Despite this being my first playthrough, I’ve probably seen this cutscene a dozen times. Zant has what amounts to an overly-dramatised autistic meltdown expositing himself and his motivations. That he was upset and felt like everything he’d worked for had been taken away from him. That he was angry, angry and fed up of being relegated to a half-existence. Midna retorts, Zant wails some more.

What gets me is that, when Ganondorf visits him, engulfs him in this flaming ball of fucked-magical-fuckery, he just. Stares. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything. Ganondorf speaks as though he’s already decided that, yes, you will do, we will make a pact and rule Everything together; I will live on through you.

Did Zant even agree to this?

I think, subconsciously or not, he accepted it, but it begs the question of whether or not Zant was capable enough to partake in it.

Whatever the answer, he’s clearly not capable enough to partake in this. This fight.

It’s laughable, that I’m expected to find victory in this.

The fight was a fucking slog, 90% of the time. Some of these boss-battles I hadn’t played in nearly two years thanks to the impromptu hiatuses I’m so fond of taking, so I didn’t know what the fuck I was meant to be doing half the time-- And when I did, it lagged to shit everytime this poor bastard fired projectiles, because I was playing on the gamepad, because why on earth would I play this on the goddamn TV? It was a sad, pitiful encounter that I had to laugh my way through and also mumble “what the fuck“ on several occasions because I guess somebody at Nintendo ate cheese before bed and the dev team were so desperate to patch something together for this guy’s sudden crisis that they threw it in-- I’m obviously having a good laugh, but What The Fuck.

I knock the guy down in the last phase of the battle, the only one where he isn’t mimicking something else and dizzies himself spinning like a hyperactive child, and the game takes the reigns again. Midna prepares her hair. I look away-- I’ve seen it before, many times before, and it’s cartoonishly grotesque for a game that relies heavily on somber semi-realism. Midna has her own crisis-- And yeah, yeah bossbabe, I feel it.

It cuts back, and there’s a Heart Container on the guy’s throne.

I.

I killed a guy, and now I’m collecting his lifeforce. I stormed into the bunged-up attempt of a fortress conjured up as a last defense by a man who’s fallen head-first into insanity, tore through any meagre security measure like butter, murder the guy when he’s having an episode, he dies a fucked up death, and then I collect his lifeforce.

Is that fucked up or what?

For all of Zelda’s endless violence, rarely do you actually kill “people.“ It’s the kind of stuff reserved for the end, for Ganondorf, or some other corrupted nigh-demigod on the brink of losing their humanity, or never having possessed it.

We kill Zant.

Zant barely puts up a fight, and we kill him. Zant gets summoned from the netherworld by Ganondorf in Hyrule Warriors; we put him there in the first place.

If we were to view this from a literal, like this shit actually happened and these characters are to be held accountable standpoint, then what we did was justified-- If not wholly, then mostly. Zant got power-hungry, committed what amounts to a bio-terroristic coup on the government, disfigured his rival, a woman notorious for her beauty, then proceeded to attempt the same thing with Hyrule, leading to the indirect death of at least the people who got transfigured into Shadow-Beasts in Kakariko, and attacks you first, then yeah, no biggie?

But I’ll be fucking real with you chief, I don’t find it... I don’t know, persuasive? Effective? Compelling, would be the best word, to think of it that way?

What Zant is, is a narrative tool. One that was set up to be this big, bad interloper who you need to Take Down and Save Everything, as per usual Zelda format. The justification for why we should hate him, if I’m going to be honest, feels contrived, most of the time. He does some bad thing off-screen, Midna gets pissed, Midna and everyone within a 12-mile radius explains why we should be pissed in a way that often feels borderline developer-hand-y-- And that’s. Well that’s how Zelda usually is.

It’s justification to commit violence.

--To be clear, I don’t say this in a political sense. I mean it in the very literal “hit/kill a guy“ sense. And in all honesty, that’s kinda inherent to the ethos of action games. We enjoy catharsis-- We enjoy taking down big things, it’s satisfying! I’ve played a little Hyrule Warriors-- Loved the feel of it. Violence is inherent to even the most benign of action games, and it is what it is.

Where it falls short for me, is that with Zant, I don’t feel like I’m taking down some great foe that I should justifiably hate.

I feel like I’m a clearly more equipped person breaking into a room, and bludgeoning a mentally ill person.

I’m autistic. I may slot in easier to NT society than most, but I am autistic, and it makes me deeply uncomfortable to see something I’ve fucking gone through be used carelessly as flavour for a prelude to violence. I have meltdowns. They’re relatively rare, and mostly in my room, alone, but I’ve also experienced one out in public. It was only sobbing, but there’s a special kind of horror, of humilation in knowing other people, strangers, family, what have you, are seeing it, and all you can think is how much you failed.

I can’t fully articulate why I cried so much during this, quite frankly, menial ordeal. I’m half-embarrassed to even talk about it-- Because then that means caring too much, and I can’t care too much over a poorly-justified character that wasn’t even intended to be sympathised with and that most of the fandom laughs at. And I can’t say I blame them.

I guess at the end of the day it comes down to the ever-present pity; some strange, childish commiseration I’d indulged in ever since I was six and cooing over Bowser and how awful everything was for him, that despite my continuous efforts, I can’t ever seem to explain.

I didn’t like the Zant fight. It felt empty,

And all did was sweep cobwebs and try to turn back.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Netflix and Panic | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary:  Bucky has a crush on you and invites you over to watch some Netflix. Panic ensues as Bucky hides a secret.

warnings: mention of blood, fluff

-

Bucky ran around his apartment like his hair was on fire. It was not a date, it’s not a date. He repeated to himself as he shoved dirty clothes under the bed. Laundry would have to wait. His phone buzzed as he collected the stray soda cans and Chinese takeout containers from the coffee table.

Tell her the truth, Buck. She will understand.

He stared down at Steve’s message and frowned.

Are you kidding me? I am not telling her.

Bucky shoved everything in to the already overflowing garbage can, pressing it down with his metal arm to make a little room. Another buzz.

You sell her and yourself short, man.

He tucked his phone until his jeans and turned his attention to the fridge. Bucky plucked boxes of soda cans from the kitchen counter and threw them into the fridge to chill. He reached into the back of the fridge and tucked a very full takeout container behind the soda cans.

As Bucky finished that up, the doorbell rang and he shot up. You were early. He should have expected that, but his nerves got the better of him. He whipped the door.

“You’re early, doll.” he commented as you leaned back from him.

“Sorry, Buck, I couldn’t wait any longer!” you squealed as you pulled him into a tight hug. The scent of your shampoo filled the air around you. Bucky resisted the urge to nuzzle into your neck. He didn’t trust himself.

“It’s just Netflix.” Bucky shrugged as the two of you parted and he stepped aside to allow you entry to his apartment.

“It’s Netflix with you. There’s a difference.” You glanced around the apartment. It was Bucky all over. A real guy’s guy place. Zero artwork on the walls, you swore you saw socks peeking out from underneath the well-worn couch. The latest gaming system hooked up to the massive TV hanging from the exposed brick wall.

“Did you want to play?” Bucky offered, holding up a controller.

You shook your head and then turned to the kitchen, opening the fridge. You pulled out the takeout container from behind the soda.

“Can I eat this?” you asked as you lifted the lid.

Bucky lunged and slammed the lid shut. “Steve left that here. It’s gone bad.” He placed it back into the fridge.

“Shouldn’t you throw it out?”

Bucky panicked. “If you are hungry, I can pop some popcorn while you pick out something to watch.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You flopped on the couch, as Bucky shoved the container to the very back of the fridge, praying you wouldn’t see it again. He then turned to the microwave, waiting for his breath to return to a normal rate. That was close. Too close. Bucky settled next to you placing the bowl of popcorn between the two of you, his metal arm hung awkwardly on the back of the couch.

“I hope you like blood.”

“What?” his head snapped, his long brown locks whipping around.

“I picked Vampire Diaries. Vampires. Bloodsuckers. I am in love with Damon. Bad boy, brooding vampire with a heart of gold, the perfect guy.”

If Bucky could blush in that moment, he would. “The perfect guy?”

“Wouldn’t it be cool if vampires were real?”

“I guess but we all know vampires aren’t real.” He scoffed, shifting on the couch.

He picked up the remote and started up the show. Once you ate all the popcorn, Bucky moved the bowl to the coffee table, and you sidled up against his muscular torso. You reached up and pulled Bucky’s arm onto your shoulder. His metal fingers flexed as they settled against the soft fabric of your t-shirt. Your hand rested against his chest.

The two of you remained just like that for about half of the first season before you stretched and rose to head to the kitchen. Bucky stared as you tilted your head to the side, exposing the side of your neck. How he wanted to nibble at your pulse point. But you were just friend nothing more.

“Want anything to drink?”

Bucky turned to glance at you standing in the kitchen. “I’m good, doll. But help yourself to the sodas in the fridge.” You didn’t notice his discomfort.

You rustled around in the fridge, opening the boxes.

“Shit!” you yelled as you shook your hand in the air. Bucky jumped to see what was the matter.

“What happened?”

“I cut myself on the fucking soda box.”

“Let me see.”

You held your finger up to Bucky’s face. He pressed his lips against the wound and gave a small suck to stop the bleeding. Your blood tasted of iron. He stared at you with his intense blue eyes. You could not look away. You pulled your finger from his mouth with a pop. The bleeding stopped.

The look in Bucky’s eye seemed to stray somewhere between lust and concern. Your cheeks heated at the prospect of Bucky like you as anything more than a friend, a pal.

“Do you have a band-aid?” you asked as you swallowed hard.

Bucky shook his head and looked around the kitchen. He grabbed a paper towel and tore a long strip off. You held out your hand and Bucky cradled it the metal cold against the back of your hand. With deft fingers, he wrapped your finger, tying it off.

“Better?” he asked in a soft tone

“Thanks.” you whispered as blood rushed to your head, pulling your hand away. “The show?”

“The show.” Bucky cleared his throat breaking the awkward tension in the air.

The two of you settled back onto the couch, you snuggled into the crook of Bucky’s arm, inhaling the scent of soap and metal. Before long, your eyelids fluttered shut, and you snored softly against Bucky’s chest. He smiled down at you, pushing an errant lock of hair off your forehead.

“Babe…” he nudged your shoulder. “Babe. The show is over.”

Your eyes fluttered open as you pushed up, hands splayed on this chest.

“Wha?” you questioned until you spied Bucky’s soft smile. “Did I fall asleep?”

“It’s late.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mind.”

You rose and gave another stretch. Bucky licked his lips at the sight. “I had a great time, Buck. We should do it again.”

“Me too. What do you say next week I take you out to a nice Italian place in Brooklyn? I mean it’s not Mom’s cooking, but…”

You raised your eyebrows. “Are asking me out on a date?”

“Are agreeing to go out with me on a date?”

You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, pressing your lips against his. Bucky froze for a minute before snaking his arms around your waist. The two of you parted.

“What do you think? Pick me up at 7.”

His lips curled into a crooked smile as he closed the door behind you. He flopped onto the couch. He fished his phone from a pocket on his pants.

So I asked her out for Italian next week. 

Way to go Buck! And the other thing? 

I think that is more of a third date kind of topic.

Coward. 

Asshole. And next time you are over pick up your own takeout containers. You leave this place a mess. 

If I didn’t leave containers, where would you hid your supply? 

Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve knew him too well.

About that, she almost found my stash. I need a new hiding spot. Quick question, Do you think cold showers work on vampires? 

[sixmapleleafs]

father material // frederik andersen (part 3)

Sitting on your bathroom floor crying with the positive test in your hands, you thought that was the most terrifying moment of your life. Then when you went into labour you changed your mind. However, you realised that actually this was the most nervous you had ever been about anything, you were sat in the waiting room with Amelie in your arms as Freddie sat quietly beside you. The appointment you were waiting for would basically determine whether or not everything you’d been doing since Amelie was born was right, if she’d gained weight and was healthy then all your literal blood, sweat and tears were worth it. And if not, well then you were pretty sure you would feel like a failure.

Freddie noticed that you were acting different as soon as he knocked on your door, you’d scrambled around the apartment all morning changing both yours and Amelies outfits three times because it just didn’t feel right. You knew people would judge you for being a young mother but you never thought their opinions would bother you this much. The drive to the hospital was quiet, Freddie tried to make conversation but your answers meant that it didn’t lead to much.

You still hadn’t spoken about the kiss you’d shared the night before. Auston and y/f/n had come home after their date night, bursting through the door seconds after your lips had separated. Freddie left shortly after and you’d gone to bed still blushing. But currently you couldn’t think about anything other than your daughter. Sure, she seemed fine, good even, but you weren’t a doctor and there was a nagging voice in your head saying that you had been doing everything wrong. You couldn’t stop your leg from bouncing nervously as Amelie stared up at you, it was like she could tell that you weren’t yourself today.

You looked up when you felt Freddie’s hand rest just above your knee, stopping your movement and giving your leg a gentle squeeze. “Are you ok?” He whispered as to not draw attention to you. You nodded giving him your best attempt at a smile but he saw right through you.

“Amelie Y/l/n” the nurse called as she stepped around the corner. You shot up from your seat, adjusting Amelie in your arms as Freddie grabbed the carrier and diaper bag from the floor. You followed the nurse down the hallway until she opened the door for you, “the doctor will be with you in just a minute” she said with a smile and you thanked her before she turned back towards the waiting room.

Freddie set the baby carrier and diaper bag down on the floor, the light thud echoing throughout the quiet room, “hey” his hands ran down your arms causing you to look up into his eyes “I’m sure everything will be fine, you’re doing an amazing job”.

“What if I’ve messed everything up? Or I’ve been doing everything wrong the whole time?” You said, your voice wavering slightly which you blamed on the post partum hormones.

“You haven’t messed anything up y/n, Amelies perfectly happy and I’m sure the doctor will tell us she’s completely healthy as well, there’s no need to worry” he said his hands rubbing your upper arms in an attempt to comfort you as best he could. Amelie let out a little squeal from your arms and Freddie laughed a little before saying “see even Amelie agrees with me”. You smiled a genuine smile for the first time that day before the doctor entered the room.

“So sorry for the wait, it’s been a crazy day” she explained as she quickly scribbled something down on her clipboard. “How are we doing today?”

“A little nervous” you said honestly and she laughed.

“Nothing to be nervous about” she said as her eyes quickly moved to Freddie’s large frame, “I’m glad to see you brought a friend”.

“Actually this is Amelies father” you said blushing a little.

“Ah wonderful” she exclaimed and Freddie moved to shake her hand. You’d explained your situation to her during one of your appointments when you first got pregnant, and she’d been extremely supportive throughout everything.

“Freddie” he said as they shook hands “it’s nice to meet you”.

“Dr Foster, I’m happy to see you two found your way back to each other” she said giving you a small wink as she turned to place her things down. You giggled a little at her actions, she really was more of a friend than a doctor at this point. “So shall we see how little Amelie is doing?”

The appointment went well, Amelie had gained weight and even grown a couple centimetres. You almost cried when Dr Foster said that she was a perfectly happy and healthy baby, you smiled so hard that your face hurt and you practically jumped into Freddie’s arms to hug him. Dr Foster laughed as you brought her into a hug too, before lifting Amelie off the scales and into your arms. You had to answer a few more questions about Amelies eating and sleeping patterns, Freddie stood quietly behind you taking in as much information as possible.

Then you moved onto how you were doing, Dr Foster made Freddie wait outside with Amelie whilst she gave you a physical exam before she quickly finished up some paperwork and said you were free to go. She gave you a wink as you said goodbye and you laughed when Freddie gave you a confused look.

“Everything ok?” He asked as you walked out of the paediatric department.

“Yeah all good, just a check up” you explained as you led him towards the parking lot. He nodded, turning his attention to your daughter when she started to fuss in the baby carrier he was holding. He quickly soothed her and placed the pacifier she’d dropped back into her mouth and you smiled at how good he was with her.

“So y/f/n said you have a game tonight” you said after a few minutes of silence.

“Yeah we’re playing the blue jackets, it should be a good game. What about you? Do you have any plans?”

“I think y/f/n wanted us to do something together so we’ll probably have a movie night or something”.

You continued your conversation as Freddie put Amelie into the car and you placed the diaper bag beside her before climbing into the front seat. Freddie dropped you both off at home since he had to get ready for the game tonight, y/f/n greeted you at the door with a smirk and you rolled your eyes preparing for the interrogation you knew was coming.

-

When you woke up the next morning you were confused when you realised Amelie wasn’t crying, you jumped out of bed and almost had a heart attack when you saw that her crib was empty.

“Y/f/n?” You practically screamed as you ran out of your bedroom. “Y/f/n?” You yelled again when you didn’t get a response. Amelies cries always woke you and y/f/n never took her in the mornings so you were freaking out.

“Y/n what’s wrong?” You heard Freddie’s voice from behind you and you turned around so fast you almost fell over. He was stood in the doorway with a muslin cloth thrown over his shoulder, his hair was messy and he was just wearing a hoodie and sweats.

“Amelies not in her crib” you said so quickly he almost didn’t understand you. He smiled softly and you looked at him confused.

“It’s ok, she’s in her bouncy chair in the kitchen” he explained.

“Wha- how?” You were so confused as to what he was doing here in the first place.

“I got here early so when I heard her start to cry I took her before you woke up, she was helping me make you breakfast well I guess brunch” he said motioning towards the kitchen. You followed him as he continued, “I figured you don’t get to sleep in very often so I thought I’d let you sleep a little longer”.

You nodded as you bent down to see Amelie, who was in fact sat in her bouncy chair in the corner of the kitchen. Freddie quickly rescued the eggs before plating up the food, it smelled amazing and you just stared at him dumbfounded as he moved around the kitchen. He smiled when he turned around and walked out of the kitchen with the plates in his hands, he returned quickly bending down to unclip the strap of the bouncy chair and pick Amelie up.

“It’s going to get cold if you stay there any longer” he teased as he started to walk out of the kitchen again. You followed him, sitting in front of your plate watching carefully as he placed Amelie down on her play mat gently so he could eat as well. You ate in a comfortable silence, it was actually really good and you were starving so this was the perfect morning overall.

“So how long have you been here?” You asked as you sipped your orange juice.

“A few hours, I got here around six then gave Amelie a bottle when she woke up, I hope that’s ok” you nodded as he continued, “then we played for a while before we decided to make you something to eat”.

“You didn’t have to get here that early” he just shrugged and smiled.

“I don’t mind, I would have just been waiting in my apartment until I came over anyway”

“I thought you had morning skate” you questioned, feeling bad that he’d missed something because of you.

“Turns out it was optional” he explained and you nodded. Amelies cries tore your attention away from how domestic this whole thing felt. Freddie was up at the speed of light and you followed behind him.

“She probably needs a diaper change” you said and he nodded. You took her into your room to change her as Freddie cleared the table, you checked the time for the first time that morning seeing that it was almost eleven. Looking in the mirror you cringed, your hair was a mess and your pyjamas were simply a hoodie and some sweats, you ran a brush through your hair quickly before going back into your living room. “All done” you announced and Freddie reached out to take her from you. It was just then that you realised how sore your boobs were, figuring you needed to pump since you hadn’t fed Amelie since last night you excused yourself again.

As soon as you were done you poured the milk into the bottles and placed them in the fridge like you usually did. Freddie had kept Amelie entertained whilst you were busy, showing her pictures of his teammates on his phone and explaining who they were even though she was too young to understand.

“And that’s your uncle Auston” he said as you walked around the corner, “you probably know him already since he’s dating aunty y/f/n, he’s probably woken you up a few times like he did when I first met you”. You smiled as you watched them interact. “Now this is my mommy, she lives in Denmark which is very far away. But she wants to come and see you as soon as she can and she’s going to bring my brothers and my sister as well as my dad, so you can meet all your family from Denmark. Ah, here’s a picture of me with all of them, there’s your uncles and your aunty and then your grandpa and there’s daddy in the middle” he looked up when noticed you were stood in the doorway.

“Sorry I didn’t realise you were there” he said blushing a little, you laughed and assured him it was ok.

“I have to do some laundry and things, are you ok to watch her?” He nodded and you got to work cleaning up the apartment a little before moving onto laundry. By the time you were done it had been almost two hours, you smiled when you saw Freddie laid on the couch with Amelie asleep on his chest. Upon further inspection you saw that Freddie was asleep too. It must of tired him out today, it was his first full day of being a father really. You pulled your phone out to take a picture of the two of them before heading to the kitchen to get a bottle for Amelie, she was due to wake up any minute for a feed.

When she woke up you picked her up gently so you wouldn’t wake Freddie and sat in the armchair so you could feed her comfortably. Freddie woke up shortly after and you spent the rest of the day just watching tv and get little things done around the apartment. The sun started to set and Freddie suggested ordering pizza so you didn’t have to cook, you agreed instantly and you both feasted whilst Amelie had her final nap. You teased him about how pizza probably wasn’t a part of the teams approved diet but he just laughed you off. You ended up playing 21 questions whilst you waited for Amelie to wake up, unknown to you Freddie just wanted to get to know you better and even though it seemed childish he thought it would be a good way to learn more about your life.

“I was going to give her a bath tonight, do you want to stay or you can go if you want- I mean you don’t have to-” you rambled on as you settled Amelie in your lap once she woke up.

“I can stay, I don’t want to impose but I should probably learn right?” He said rubbing the back of his neck like he was nervous. You nodded and told him to follow you into your en-suite bathroom which had a tub. You handed Amelie to Freddie before turning the taps on to fill the tub with a small amount of water, you grabbed the baby shampoo and body wash then set up the baby bath seat after the water was ready. You explained everything to Freddie as you did so and he nodded.

“Then you just place her in the seat so she doesn’t get full covered in the water and it’s very important that water isn’t too hot because babies have very sensitive skin” you said as you placed Amelie into the water. “You also have to be careful not to get her belly button too wet because it’s not fully healed yet”. The water splashed a little as Amelie moved her feet and you made funny faces at her which seemed to excite her even more, you grabbed the little rubber duck and gave it to Freddie. “She normally likes the little ducky” you told him and he started to play with her. You showed him how to wash her hair without getting the shampoo in her eyes and then quickly washed her body before instructing him to get the yellow bath towel that had a duck on the hood to wrap her up in. Once she was all wrapped up in the towel you took a few pictures to send to your mom and a few with Freddie in them too.

“Could you...um...maybe send them to me so I could send them to my mom?” He asked hesitantly.

“Of course, do you want any others of her? I’ve got loads” you said smiling warmly.

“Yes...please my mom wants as many as possible” he said his smile matching yours. After you’d got Amelie into her pyjamas and she’d fallen asleep you and Freddie made your way back to the couch, your mind instantly went back to the last time the two of you had been in this situation but you quickly pushed those thoughts aside and opened up your camera roll.

“So which ones do you want me to send you?” You said scooting over so you could show him, you tried to hide the blush that covered your cheeks as he rested his arm behind you so you were pushed up against him completely.

“Is it bad if I say all of them?” You laughed but shook your head, you couldn’t blame him your baby was fucking adorable and your own camera roll was 95% pictures of her. “I only have this one” he said showing you his lock screen which was in fact a picture of Amelie, she was sat in her bouncy chair sleeping and she looked adorable.

“That’s so cute, when did you take it?”

“This morning, she fell asleep whilst I was making breakfast” he said smiling and you realised how close you really were. His face was inches away from yours and you could feel your cheeks heating up.

“Um I’ll just airdrop the ones I have then or maybe we can make a shared album for pictures of her” you suggested quickly turning so he couldn’t see how much of an effect he was having on you. You didn’t want to admit it but you were starting to fall for him, everything from the way he smiled to how good he was with Amelie made it hard to see him as just her father. But there’s no way he could feel the same, right?

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze Pt.8/25

Previous

It was the weekend.

Finally.

The year was barrelling towards the winter holidays faster than a river crashing over a waterfall. The children were all getting excited for the holiday season and decorations had been cropping up around the school. Tissaia had kept her classroom bare. The students had been allowed to decorate their lockers but the art classroom needed to remain a blank canvas. The addition of tinsel and fairy lights caused unnecessary distraction to her creative process. Her work was methodical and a way for her to organise the chaos in her mind. The decorations around the winter months caused her thoughts to spiral and her anxiety would become almost unbearable.

She closed her eyes and took a long deep breath, counting the beats in her head and then exhaled. She pictured the tension in her shoulders washing away like footprints in the sand. She repeated the process again until her thoughts quietened down. By the time she opened her eyes all thoughts of the brightly coloured school halls had flittered away.

She grabbed her notebook from her purse and began to sketch the trees outside of the coffee shop window. She noted the way the sunlight broke through the branches and danced on the pavement below, the way the bark shimmered in the bright morning sunshine and yet fell into dark gloomy shadows.

She’d always been fascinated by light in her art. The way something so untouchable could completely change the colour and shape of an object. Things that seemed terrible in the darkness were harmless in the light. It was honestly magical and she would never get tired of trying to capture the beauty of the phenomena on paper.  

“Tissaia?”

Her charcoal skidded across the paper as she started at the sound of her name.

Her sketch was ruined.

Yennefer’s violet eyes were shining down on her, her signature raven black hair tumbling down past her shoulders. She had two small coffee cups in her hands.

She sighed and carefully put her charcoal away. She tore the page from her notebook with practiced ease and folded it in half. She would put it in the recycling the next time she went past a bin.

“Yennefer.” She greeted her former student with a smile as she straightened out the sleeves of her shirt. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“I’m visiting Ciri.” Yennefer nodded to the till where the young girl was taking a paper bag from the barista.

She raised an eyebrow at the younger woman.

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “She insisted that she bought her own cake. Honestly, Tissaia I’m not an idiot.”

“I never said you were.”

“You implied it.” Yennefer muttered sharply under her breath.

“Yennefer.” Tissaia sighed and picked up her now cold mug of coffee. “Must we always fight?”

Yennefer laughed at that. “Just like the good old days.”

“I was tough on you because I saw talent. You know that.” She grimaced as she sipped her drink. This always happened when she started drawing but she didn’t want to waste her money by not drinking it.

“Auntie Yen!” Ciri came bounding over clutching the paper bag. “I got a chocolate brownie! It has glitter on it!”

“You already have a hot chocolate?” Yennefer asked holding up one of the cups.

“Yup!” Ciri grinned gleefully.

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “You’ll turn into a chocolate if you’re not careful.”

“No I won’t!” Ciri shook her head. “I asked Mr Jaskier and he said that adults just say that so you won’t eat so much!”

Tissaia smiled as she sipped her coffee. Yennefer looked ready to strike down the younger teacher. Her violet eyes flashed dangerously and she ran her hand through her hair. “Of course he did. Do you know why adults say that?”

Ciri scowled and scrunched up her nose. “Nope!”

“It’s because chocolate is a treat and we should only eat it some of the time. If we ate it all the time then it wouldn’t be special anymore.” Yennefer tried to explain. “Right?”

Tissaia nodded. “She's right.”

Ciri tilted her head at the explanation and narrowed her eyes at Tissaia. “So you lie?”

Tissaia looked at Yennefer who was staring right back at her.

This was why neither of them taught the younger tutor groups.

“Think of it more like a story.” A new voice chimed brightly.

Yennefer groaned as Ciri spun around excitably.

“Mr Jaskier!!”

“Hello, Ciri. Yennefer, Ms de Vries.” Jaskier waved cheerfully. “Adult sometimes tell stories as a way to teach children about the good and bad things of the world, like eating too much chocolate.”

“Like when mummy lions pretend to be scared when the baby lions jump on them?” Ciri asked.

“That’s right!” Jaskier grinned.

“What are you doing here, Buttercup?” Yennefer raised an eyebrow at the brunet.

“Getting coffee?” Jaskier held up his own coffee mug which was covered in a gooey caramel syrup. “Heard they were doing special editions for the holidays and I just love edible glitter.”

Tissaia closed her eyes to try and focussed on her breathing to try and block out the conversation. She had come to the small coffee shop for some well earned peace and quiet. It was part of her weekend routine to help her relax after a week of teaching. She had been coming to the coffee shop every Saturday for years now.

“Tissaia?” Yennefer’s voice again.

“Yennefer” She answered, not opening her eyes, her fingers finding the cuffs of her sleeves with practiced ease.

She heard a shuffle of movement and the excitable voices of Ciri and Jaskier moved away. With a final deep breath she opened her eyes to find Yennefer still staring down at her. Jaskier and Ciri were sat at a nearby table away from her.

“I’m sorry, Tissaia. I didn’t mean to interrupt. When I’ve dropped Ciri back at Geralt’s we can catch up properly.” Yennefer suggested.

“You can tell me all about that blog of yours.” She agreed.

“Like you don’t follow me already.” Yennefer teased gently.

“I’d still like to hear it from you.” She countered, and it was true. She had always followed Yennefer’s ascent into the art world with great interest. She was proud to see her prodigy blossom into a fierce and talented young woman. It was a dream come true to see someone so brilliant succeed and as teacher she bristled with pride to know her student was flying amongst the stars, but mostly she had received all this information second hand through Yennefer’s blog or from Triss and Istredd in the staffroom. It would be nice to hear it from her friend in person for a change.

“Always so sentimental.” Yennefer smirked and then turned back to her ward. “Ciri, leave Mr Jaskier alone. It’s time to meet up with your father.”

“Mr Jaskier can come too!” Ciri suggested.

Tissaia watched the young teacher carefully. It was no secret that Jaskier, amongst others, had a crush on Geralt Rivia. Jaskier and Triss were often found gossiping happily in the corner of the staffroom about how handsome the man was. Tissaia didn’t exactly agree, not that she really found anyone attractive, but the mindless conversation was an entertaining break from teaching and marking.

However, having a harmless crush on a parent was very different from actively dating a parent, especially when their child was in your class. That was frowned upon to say the least. Stregobor would certainly have no qualms about firing Jaskier if he thought there was even a shadow of a doubt in the man’s conduct at work.

Jaskier froze.

His face lit up like a tomato.

And then he promptly threw his coffee all over the table he had sat down at.

“Oh chocolate fudge cakes!” He yelled and jumped back. Ciri squealed and leapt back to avoid the hot liquid. “I am so sorry Ciri. Did it get you?”

Ciri shook her head but seemed a little confused by Jaskier’s sudden clumsiness. “I’m ok.”

“Good. Good. No harm done then. I’ll just get some napkins to clean up this mess. You’d better run along now with your Aunt Yennefer. I bet your dad will be very excited to see you.” Jaskier was talking faster than a rocket as he scooped up his now sodden notebook off the table and look forlornly at the empty mug.

Ciri frowned. “I see him every day.”

“Well then you are a very lucky girl. I will see you on Monday in class. Don’t forget to bring in your favourite story. We’ll be sharing them after lunch.” Jaskier rambled in a hurry and then scurried away to find some cleaning supplies.

Tissaia sighed as the young girl was dragged from the coffee shop, still grasping her paper bag that contained her chocolatey treat.

Jaskier was playing a dangerous game and it was likely going to end in heartbreak. She really hoped he knew what he was doing. _______________

Tissaia sunk down onto her sofa wearily. After the chaos of the her usual quiet time at the coffee shop her thoughts had been racing and she struggled to regain control of her own heartbeat. She’d tried to paint various objects from around her house. She’d started with her plants then moved onto an assortment of candles, but she’d not quite managed to capture the way the flames flickered and glowed on the paper and she’d only ended up more frustrated than when she’d started.

After that she’d decided to clear up her kitchen. She’d been too tired during the week and the mess had begun to build up. It had taken longer than she’d expected but as she’d cleaned and organised her kitchen she’d felt her thoughts follow suit. Her feet were now aching and her arms were sore. She’d sleep well tonight.

She hummed happily as she poured herself a glass of red wine. She took a deep breath as she inhaled the swirling lavender scent from her candles. There were no children and she was at peace. It wasn’t that she hated the children. She loved her job really, she loved bringing light and art to a whole new generation of brilliant young minds. She loved their vivid imaginations and endless enthusiasm for the beauty in the world, but by the end of the week she was always emotionally drained. She had considered giving up teaching full time and offering private lessons, or spending more time on her own work and commissions but the stability teaching gave held her back.

She’d just picked up her book when her phone rang. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Apparently nothing was going her way today. She checked the caller ID. It was Yennefer. She clicked the green button and put the phone on speaker.

“Hello Yennefer.” She answered, trying to keep the fatigue from her voice.

“Tissaia. I’m outside. Let me in.” Yennefer asked, if you could really call it a question.

She considered leaving her outside but Yennefer was like family to her after all these years. She hung up the phone and smoothed down her skirt before opening the door. Yennefer was stood holding a large rectangular brown paper package under her arm. She was wearing black jeans that looked like they’d been vacuumed onto her body they were so tight, a plain white t-shirt with cropped leather jacket. God forbid that Yennefer ever wear colour. Tissaia gestured for her to come inside.

“A little warning wouldn’t go amiss, Yennefer.” Tissaia chided gently.

“A warning gives you the chance to say no.” Yennefer countered. “I don’t come back that often, Tissaia. I wanted to see you properly before I left.”

She nodded. “Wine?”

“Please.” Yennefer grinned. “I brought you something.” She added once Tissaia had poured out a second glass of wine and they’d settled down onto the sofa together.

Tissaia raised an eyebrow at the parcel that was propped up against the wall. She’d seen enough canvases in her time to recognise one even through brown paper.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Does there have to be an occasion?” Yennefer challenged but rolled her eyes at the look she received for her question. The two of them were friends, almost like mother and daughter, but that didn’t mean they always had an easy friendship, and surprise presents were certainly unusual, especially from Yennefer. “The Solstice is coming up, an apology for earlier, a thank you for convincing Stregobor to let Ciri into the school. Take your pick.”

Tissaia paused mid sip of her wine, touched by Yennefer’s display of thoughtfulness. She smiled at her younger friend and put her glass down so that she could open the parcel. The pulled the tape off the corners of the present, careful not to damage the canvas hidden beneath the paper and peeled back the edges of the wrapping. The painting was bright and bold and fiery, everything that screamed Yennefer, but there was a strange calmness around the edges of the painting like waves lapping at the sand.

Yennefer shuffled awkwardly and took a long swig of her wine. “It’s not your usual style, I know that. It probably would look completely out of place with the rest of your house so I don’t expect you to hang it up but it’s yours, a Vengerberg original.”

Yennefer wasn’t wrong. The chaos that exuded from all of Yennefer’s artwork would clash horrible with the carefully cultivated tranquility of Tissaia’s house but that didn’t stop a wave of unbridled emotion from rising up in her chest.

“It’s beautiful.” She wanted to trace the swirls of colour with her finger but resisted. She didn’t want to damage the brushwork. “I’ll find a place for it. Everything has its place. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Yennefer brushed off her praise with a wave of her hand. “So did I tell you what the owner of Aedirn said about my last article?”

Tissaia smirked. She’d met Virfuril once or twice at galas and she’d quickly realised he was a misogynistic racist prick. He cared more about an artist’s appearance, and social standing than about their art. His gallery was full of art made solely by young straight white women. Diversity was not a word that featured in the man’s vocabulary.

Yennefer had called him out on it in her last review, challenging him to feature work by black artists, artists of all different races, sexualities, genders, ages, religions. She’d spoken out about how her own art had been pulled from the gallery, whilst she was still studying at university, once Virfuril had realised Yennefer’s own diverse background after pictures of her childhood and her grandfather had been leaked during her last year at the university.

The younger artist hadn’t known any better back in university. She’d used her privilege to her own advantage without even realising. It had taken Yennefer years to realise that her voice mattered, especially with a growing platform where more and more people were listening to her every day. Now she stood tall and proud, not letting a single person pull her down because of her race, gender or disabilities. Tissaia imagined Virfuril didn’t take too kindly to her just attack but she was immensely proud of her friend. She swirled her wine gently in her glass before deciding she needed a top up.

“You didn’t.” She replied to her friend. “But I can only imagine it was as dull and pathetic as his gallery.”

Yennefer laughed and launched into her story. Tissaia felt herself relaxing as she listened to Yennefer’s scathing remarks and gleeful retelling of how the Aedirn was beginning to lose credibility. It had been a long day but she was glad that her friend had visited. It turned out to be exactly what she needed after a week of teaching children.

_________________

The coffee shop encounter played on Tissaia’s mind intermittently for the rest of the weekend. It was never easy meeting the children outside of school. Most of the younger students were convinced that the teachers lived at the school and never seemed to understand why their teachers were suddenly infiltrating their weekend lives. Ciri had taken meeting Jaskier in the coffee shop in her stride and she assumed that was down to Yennefer’s influence, her young friend had become a sort of mother figure in Ciri’s life. Ciri hadn’t seemed to have recognised Tissaia outside of school but that was probably for the best.

That being said, Tissaia couldn’t stop replaying the entire scenario in her head.

Ciri’s excitement when Jaskier had arrived was not unusual, especially for the younger pupils. Jaskier’s classes always adored him and even the older years still greeted him fondly after they’d left his class, but for her to invite her teacher along to meet her father.

That was…odd.

She sighed as she picked up her register from Triss.

“Morning Ms de Vries.” Triss mumbled.

Tissaia raised an eyebrow at the receptionist’s appearance. Her hair was impossibly wilder than usual and she had bags under her eyes. The young girl was gripping onto her coffee mug as if it were a lifeline.

“Ms Merigold.” She greeted. “Late night?”

“Yennefer wanted to catch up. I always forget how much wine that woman can drink.” Triss groaned.

“Hungover on a Monday morning? How professional.”

Triss fixed her with a glare. “Not a word to the headmaster.” She hissed.

Tissaia pulled a packet of painkillers from her purse and slid them across the desk. “My lips are sealed.”

“Oh thank god.” Triss grabbed the tablets eagerly. “Yen didn’t have any in her cupboard. I swear she’s inhuman.”

“You stayed the night?”

“Not a word!” Triss squeaked.

Tissaia smirked at the younger girl. “You should have checked her purse. You know she keeps her painkillers on her. Oh and Triss?”

“What?”

“Try and perk up before the students arrive. You look like death.”

“Always so kind.” Triss mumbled but knocked back the rest of her coffee.

She tucked the register under her arm and started to make her way to her classroom. She was about halfway there when she stopped. The memory of the coffee shop came rushing back and she spun round on her heels towards the primary school block. It was always easy to tell if Jaskier was in early. The telltale sound of music echoed down the corridor. She grimaced. The sound was not Jaskier’s best. It reminded her of the school’s end of year concerts where all the children were expected to sing and most of them couldn’t quite hold a note. It was probably a new instrument for the young teacher and he clearly hadn’t mastered the basics yet.

She smoothed down the edges of her shirt and then knocked on the bright yellow door.

“Come in!” Jaskier sang from inside.

She took a deep breath and walked into the classroom. She raised her eyebrow and the finger paintings that were pinned up on washing lines on the ceiling. Jaskier was a brilliant musician and wordsmith but his art skills needed work. No wonder the children that came through into secondary school had the artistic talent of an earthworm.

“Mr Pankratz.” She greeted him with a nod.

He jumped off the desk he was sitting on with a start, clearly expecting a different visitor. He placed the strange guitar like instrument on the floor carefully. “Ms de Vries! What can I do for you?”

“Can we talk about Ciri?”

Jaskier visibly paled. “Ciri? What’s wrong with her?”

“Sit down, Jaskier.” She gestured to his chair behind the desk at the front of the classroom.

Instead he jumped back onto the desk itself, clearly the man was allergic to chairs. She very rarely saw him sitting in one properly. She bristled and took a deep breath.

“So…” He ran a hand through his hair and looked distractedly out of the window. “Ciri?”

“Why would she ask you to meet Geralt?”

Jaskier laughed nervously. “She’s a sweet girl.”

“Who wants you to meet her father outside of school?”

“Well… umm. Yes but I swear that has nothing to do with me! Maybe Geralt, Mr Rivia, has said something at home.” Jaskier blushed and then cleared his throat. “Don’t know why he would though. I’m just a lowly teacher and he’s this…” Jaskier gesticulated wildly, “this godlike hero.”

Tissaia raised an eyebrow.

“And by the gods he is beautiful. I do wonder whether his hair is naturally that colour. It’s like he’s captured the moonbeams and woven them into strands of hair.” Jaskier sighed wistfully.

“Mr Pankratz.” She cut him off sharply. “I hope you know what Stregobor would do if he heard you talking like this. It’s a wonder that Mr Marx hasn’t fed your conversations with Triss back to him.”

Jaskier flushed. “That man is a no good, snotty faced piece of sh—”

“Jaskier!” She cut him off.

“Sugar farts.” He finished.

“Sugar farts?” She chuckled.

“Not my best work I know.” He sighed dramatically and swung his legs up and laid back on the desk. “You know the only reason he hasn’t ratted me out is because he fancies Triss and he knows that he can’t get me in trouble without getting her into trouble”

“I’m aware.” Tissaia nodded. “Sometimes I wonder who the real children are in this school.” She muttered under her breath.

“Well that’s rude.” Jaskier huffed.

“Just be careful. Whatever is going on with you and Mr Rivia, you need to remain professional. He’s Ciri’s father.” Tissaia reminded him gently. “You’re a good teacher, Jaskier. I don’t want you to lose your head over this. It would hurt Ciri to lose you as her teacher and God only knows that girl has been through enough.”

Jaskier groaned into his hands. “Bollocks.”

“Julian.” She warned.

“Seriously fuck it all. It’s not fair.” He moaned.

She sighed. “And that’s the hardest lesson of all.”

The bell rang and Jaskier leapt off the desk and scooped up his instrument, putting it back in its case. “Yes well. Thank you for that inspiring lesson, Ms de Vries. Now if you could kindly fuck off.”

“Jaskier.” She sighed.

“Before the kids arrive. I have work to do.” He turned away from her.

She nodded and brushed down her skirt. It had been the right thing to do. She was fond of Jaskier. She wanted to protect him, to prevent him from making a mistake. It didn’t make her a bad person. He was just hurting but this would be better in the long run. She went to open the door but almost fell through as it was opened from the other side.

Geralt Rivia was standing, shocked, in the doorway.

“Mr Rivia?” She stammered before regaining her composure. She spun round to see Jaskier blushing brightly behind his instrument case. “Everything alright?”

Geralt nodded curtly. “Just wanted to ask Mr Pankratz a question about Ciri’s guitar lessons whilst she’s in the loo.”

“Ah yes. The guitar lessons. Have you found a teacher yet? I have a few names to recommend!” Jaskier replied quickly.

“Not yet.” Geralt shook his head.

“Right.” Tissaia hummed thoughtfully. “Have a good day.”

She fled from the room swiftly, glaring at the streams of fairy lights that littered the corridors. The intermittent flashing was giving her a headache already and the day had barely started. Her grip tightened on her bag as she made her way to her classroom.

“Guitar lessons.” She muttered under her breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “What utter nonsense.” She heard the shouts of children coming from her classroom and rolled her eyes. It was far too early to be dealing with fighting on a Monday morning. She burst into her class, her skirt billowing out behind her. “Right!” She called loudly grabbing the attention of the few children that had already arrived. “Settle down!”

The students grumbled but the shouting faded to hushed chatter.

She pulled the register out of her bag and sat at her desk.

The weekend couldn’t come soon enough.

_____

Next

[here4theheartbreak]

Tasting Starlight Ch.5 (V3Min)

AO3 Link Here

Relationships: Lee Taemin x Park Jimin, Choi Minho x Kim Taehyung, Choi Minho x Kim Taehyung x Lee Taemin x Park Jimin (V3Min) Rating: Explicit

Genres: angst, smut Tags: smut, angst, fake dating, jealousy, pining, friends with benefits, getting together, bottom Taemin, switch Jimin, top Taehyung, top Minho

Summary: Minho has been in love with his best friend since forever. But Taemin was determined to be unattached… Until suddenly he wasn’t. Taehyung spent his entire life pining after happiness with his best friend, only to have it ripped away when Jimin finds someone else. The rational response? Hatch a plan to make their respective crushes jealous. The part where they fell in love with each other, however, wasn’t part of the plan.

Chapter Word Count: ~2.8k

Taehyung hung himself over Minho’s shoulder, laughing painfully loud at something Jimin had said. Minho chuckled himself, holding Taehyung’s waist so the other wouldn’t completely fall over. Taemin shook his head, shoving Jimin playfully.

“Your jokes are terrible.”

“They really are,” Minho agreed, laughing a little harder. He reached across the bed, taking the menu from Taemin. “Do we all know what we want?” He asked, passing it to Taehyung.

“The usual for me,” Taemin said, settling onto the floor to set up the game system.

“I’ll get a five with a Coke,” Jimin said. “What’s your usual?”

“Two with extra chicken and orange juice,” Minho said, scrolling through his phone for the restaurant’s number.

“Ohh, that sounds good,” Taehyung said. “But I’ll take a four instead, with water. Please ask them to go light on the sauce.”

Minho nodded.

“Why?” Taemin asked, glancing back.

“Not a huge fan of spicy stuff,” Minho answered, winking when Taehyung grinned broadly at him. He put the phone to his ear.

“You know me so well already.”

“I only know that because you nearly cried when we ate at that restaurant in Andong and drank a solid three cups of milk. Oh, yes, hello! I’d like to place an order for delivery.” As Minho ordered, Taehyung settled onto the floor, looking through the game options with Taemin.

“One on one? Teams, adding our scores?” Taemin asked, holding up a classic fighting game. Minho nodded, hanging up the phone. “Works for me, they’ll be here in about half an hour, so we can get a few rounds in I bet.”

Jimin nodded as well. “You and Taehyungie against us two? So we can add team scores – Boyfriends on the same team?”

They nodded in agreement. “You and Taehyung start,” Minho said.

Taehyung settled back onto the bed. He and Taemin began to play, leaning forward as they battled the avatars on screen. Minho and Jimin cheered for their respective boyfriend, laughing and taunting the other playfully. Minho allowed himself to daydream as the four sat on the bed, what it would possibly be like, if they weren’t all just friends. If they could exist like this… As more.

The group tore through their lunch with the vigor only a group of young men could, and went back to playing as soon as they were finished. Minho and Jimin played aggressively; his lack of preference to video games having minimal negative outcome of his playing ability. He was good. Minho couldn’t help but laugh as Jimin’s avatar beat his down a few times. He managed to get the upper hand, hearing both Taemin and Taehyung shouting for either of them.

When they finished and passed the controllers off to the others, Jimin touched Minho’s shoulder. “May I speak with you a moment?”

Minho tilted his head a little, unsure. “Uh… Okay.”

He followed Jimin out of the room and down the stairs. “We should go outside.”

“What’s this about, Jimin?” Minho pressed, letting Jimin lead him out to the front porch.

Jimin turned on him then, crossing his arms. “I want to like you. I do like you.”

“I hope so, considering I’m dating your best friend.”

“That’s the problem, I think.”

Minho tilted his head. He straightened up, sensing a bit of hostility from the man standing in front of him. “I don’t follow.”

“You seem like a good guy, and Taemin-hyung adores you. But I don’t like the way you handled things on Thursday with Taehyungie and me.”

“I invited my boyfriend over because he was sad that his best friend ditched him.”

“So you ditched Taemin-hyung for him?”

Minho shrugged. “Taemin changed our plans. I like you too, Jimin. I really do. Times we hang out with Taemin, they’re great. But you gotta understand, I wanted to hang out with him. He should’ve asked. Taehyung was really disappointed with you ditching him. So I figured, might as well just find the solution. If Taemin couldn’t spend a day without you, and you without him, let you two be together.”

“I didn’t know Taemin-hyung had plans,” Jimin defended.

“No, but you knew you and Taehyung did. So why?”

Jimin glared, shrugging. “Are you… Do you have a crush on Taemin-hyung?”

“What?” Minho sputtered, his heartrate speeding up. He thought he was doing a better job hiding it.

“You seem so… Attached to him. For a while I thought you were just weird but… It’s more. I don’t get the feeling you hate me, but I do get the feeling you like him more than as a friend.”

Minho rolled his eyes, rolling his shoulders back in an effort to come off as uncaring. “He’s my friend. Of course I’m attached to him. You’re one to talk, with how close you are to Taehyung.”

“He’s my best friend. You had better take care of him. I mean it. He’s sensitive, and he’s gentle. He doesn’t deserve to get fucked with. If you love someone else—”

Minho scoffed in disbelief. “You’ve got some nerve,” he growled.

“You bet I do. We’ve been friends since we were little kids. I’ve got all the right in the world to make sure his boyfriend treats him right. I don’t like the feeling I’ve been getting lately.”

“The feeling?” Minho asked. “The feeling you’ve been getting?” His anger bubbled up. “You tell me to take care of him, he’s sensitive, he’s gentle, but you don’t know a fucking thing about him.”

“Excuse you?”

“You’ve been fucking with him since puberty!” Minho snarled, startling himself.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jimin snapped back, dropping his arms and stepping up to Minho. “Don’t you dare tell me I’m not treating my best friend right!”

“You aren’t! If you were you’d see how much he hurts because of you!”

“How dare you, don’t—” Jimin started.

“No, I will. You’re so damn blinded by your own arrogance and possessiveness that you can’t see what’s been in front of your face for years! You snarl about me hurting him. And you’re right. He’s fucking in so much pain. But it is not my doing.” Minho huffed. “You and Taemin are a great match. Both too greedy and selfish to see others want more too sometimes!”

Jimin stepped back, blinking in surprise. Minho shook his head. He wanted to say more, but knew he already said too much. “I can’t.”

“Minho-ssi—”

“No. You figure it out,” Minho muttered. He turned and stormed inside and up the stairs. He entered the bedroom, met with the shocked, staring faces of both Taemin and Taehyung.

“Wh—” Taemin started.

“I’m going home,” Minho said.

“Don’t,” Taehyung said. He looked over Minho’s shoulder. Minho glanced back, seeing Jimin out of the corner of his eye. “What did you two fight about?”

“Nothing,” Minho tried to smile. “I just gotta do something right now.”

“I’ll come,” Taehyung said.

Minho shook his head. “No, come on, stay. You were excited about this all week.” He reached out and squeezed Taehyung’s shoulder. “Enjoy your day.”

Taehyung looked between Minho and Jimin. He glanced at Taemin, who was scowling at the floor.

“No. I’m coming with you,” Taehyung said firmly. He set the controller down and hugged Taemin tightly. “Thanks for having us over. I had a ton of fun.”

Taemin hugged back. “Of course, we need to do it again. Or if you’re bored during the week, if Minho-hyung is busy, text me, okay?” He asked, his voice kind despite the tension in the room. Minho’s heart swelled a little. Ever the gentle one, his Taemin.

“I definitely will.” Taehyung smiled softly as he pulled away. He turned and grabbed his hoodie from where he’d tossed it, taking Minho’s hand and squeezing. Taehyung looked at Jimin, his brows furrowed. “Text me.”

“Tae—”

“No,” Taehyung said softly. He sighed. “I don’t know what you two argued about. But I hope you resolve it. Minho-hyung means a lot to me, Jimin. Just like you do.”

“Then why are you leaving?” Jimin asked, his voice far softer than it had been outside. He looked regretful, and sad.

“Because right now I feel like you need to think about things. And I don’t think me being here will help that. So you think… And text me.”

Jimin nodded. Taehyung hugged him tightly before heading out, waiting at the top of the stairs for Minho.

Minho squeezed Taemin’s shoulder and smiled. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Taemin smiled softly. “Be safe.”

Minho nodded. He turned and walked to the doorway, meeting Jimin’s gaze.

“I shouldn’t have…” Jimin began. Minho shook his head. He didn’t need an apology right now. Instead he looked pointedly at Taehyung before looking back at Jimin. “When I said figure it out, I meant it. Think beyond your greed, Jimin. I’m begging you.” He walked out, setting his hand on Taehyung’s waist before descending the stairs and leaving, Taehyung following by his side.

The walk back to Minho’s apartment was quiet between the two. Minho wondered how much of the fight Taemin and Taehyung had actually heard, and why Taehyung really chose him over Jimin. He really did like Jimin, and got the feeling – most days – that Jimin liked him too. That could easily be ruined with today’s event, and it broke his heart.

It was Taehyung that finally broke the silence. “What happened?”

“How much did you hear?” Minho asked.

“Not a lot. The window was shut. We really only noticed when you shouted. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you yell like that, and even Taemin-hyung looked concerned. I wanted to go check on you, but he said it was best to let you two work it out.”

“We were arguing over you,” Minho confessed. “I’m sorry, I might have said too much. I feel dumb about it now, but I was so angry.”

“What did you say? Why… Why over me?” Taehyung asked, taking Minho’s hand.

Minho sighed softly. “He confronted me about Thursday. About how I ditched Taemin for you after he… He seemed angrier at me than remorseful and I just snapped. Especially because he accused me of being in love with Taemin,” he chuckled, “I guess being confronted with the idea that someone beside you knew made it worse. Then he acted like I wasn’t treating you right… Talked about how sensitive and gentle you are. How you didn’t deserve to be toyed with. And I got angrier… Because I felt like he’s been toying with you for so long.”

“And Jimin doesn’t like to me snapped at,” Taehyung said, chuckling without much humor. “For calling me sensitive… He’s got a lot of insecurities too.”

“He’s not wrong. I think that’s why I got so mad.”

“What do you mean? You don’t treat me wrong.”

Minho shook his head. He let go of Taehyung’s hand and stopped, facing him. “Maybe not. But I haven’t been honest with you. And that is treating you wrong. I’m sorry, Taehyung.”

Taehyung’s shoulders sagged a little, his lips pushing out in a slight pouting frown. “What haven’t you been honest about?”

Minho lowered his gaze, nerves chewing his stomach to pieces. “About my feelings.”

“Do you… Have feelings for me?” Taehyung asked softly, his voice sounding light and almost hopeful. Minho peeked up at him, surprised to see Taehyung smiling a little. The smile stung him deeper.

“Yes. But—”

“It’s okay,” Taehyung said softly. “You don’t have to say more.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Because you still love Taemin-hyung, right? And you feel bad.”

“And Jimin—” Minho huffed.

Taehyung went silent, and Minho closed his eyes. That was the straw that broke it. “I should have come clean when I first started feeling this way toward all three of you. I didn’t know it was possible to fall for more than one person – Especially so deeply like this. It wasn’t fair to keep leading you on like this, using you, knowing how I felt.”

He looked up after confessing. Taehyung was looking at him, his expression unreadable. His mouth was a fine line, shifting ever so slightly as he chewed the inside of his bottom lip. He opened his mouth, taking a breath, before closing it again.

“You don’t have to respond,” Minho whispered. “Let me walk you to the bus stop, we’re near there. You don’t have to talk to me.”

“Shh,” Taehyung hissed, then smiled softly. “You talk too much when you’re nervous.”

Minho chuckled a little, nodding. “I know I do.”

“Let’s go back to your apartment, please. I have something to say to you, but I want us to talk privately – It feels exposed out here.”

Minho nodded in understanding. The two walked in silence the final few blocks to Minho’s apartment and up to his floor. When they finally reached his place, Taehyung slipped his shoes off and hung his hoodie. “Please, can we sit?” He motioned to the couch.

As soon as they were seated, Taehyung sighed. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

“I know it’s—”

“Shht. I’m not done,” Taehyung scolded, smiling a little. “Taemin-hyung is a beautiful man. And he’s got such a unique, strong personality. I thought for a while that I couldn’t get along with him. But I really, really got attached to him. Even though we argue a bit, I think he’s got a beautiful soul. And somewhere along the line… I think that my affection started to shift into something less platonic.”

“With Taemin?” Minho clarified.

Taehyung nodded. “Yes.”

“So, you like him.”

Taehyung nodded again. “I really do. But, like you said… I like Jimin too. I’ve never liked anyone else, so I wondered if it was just exposure, I’ve never had friends as close as you and Taemin-hyung have become. So I didn’t know, but… I think my feelings are real.”

Minho nodded. “You three… You would look amazing together,” he whispered.

“Three?” Taehyung reached out, taking Minho’s hand. “But I like you too, hyung. I’ve been crushing on you for a while, but the more we’ve put up this dating façade the more I…” Taehyung sighed and closed his eyes. “The more I wish it weren’t fake. Up until a few minutes ago, I thought you didn’t see me as anything more than a friend. Knowing that you like me too, that my feelings are… Even somewhat reciprocated… That makes me so happy.”

Minho’s heart leapt into his throat Taehyung’s confession. “You—Like me too?”

“I guess I’m greedy too, huh?”

“Tae—”

“But Taemin-hyung and Jimin… We both still want them.”

Minho nodded.

“So what do we do? Do we… Just stay together?”

Minho sighed heavily. He shrugged. “I don’t have an answer. I do like you, but Taemin is my best friend. I can’t just stop seeing him. But I’m afraid whenever we see them… It’ll make things tense, knowing we both like them too, but can’t do anything about it.”

Taehyung nodded. “I agree. You almost told Jimin today that I liked him.”

“I all but spelled it out for him.”

“So… Maybe… Jimin’s no dummy. Maybe he’ll finally put it together.”

“Then what?” Minho asked. “You’d be forced to choose and I—I’m selfish. I don’t want you to. I like you so much, I—”

Taehyung leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Minho’s mouth to silence him. He pulled back after a few seconds, brushing their noses together.  He pulled back a bit, still close to Minho.

“I don’t want to choose either. I will if I have to, and don’t ask me who, because… The thought of doing so breaks my heart. I don’t want to even think about it until I have to. But what I was saying was… This has gone on long enough. Give him a few days… Them a few days, if I know Jimin, he’ll talk it through with Taemin-hyung. Let them put it together if they’re going to… And either way, after a few days, we… It’s time to come clean with them.”

Minho nodded, knowing Taehyung was right. The thought was terrifying, but it made sense. It had been over a month, and things were only getting more complicated as their feelings grew. “We’ll come clean,” he agreed.

“Stand by me. When we do it, okay?”

“Always,” Minho promised, squeezing Taehyung’s hand.

Taehyung smiled, kissing him gently. “Until then… I have the rest of the day free and I don’t want to go home.”

“Wanna eat junk food and cuddle? Find some crappy movie on television?” Minho suggested. Taehyung’s smile was just as vibrant as always, making Minho’s heart do that all too familiar stutter-step once more.

“That sounds like a perfect day, hyung.” He kissed him once more.

As they settled together on the couch, Taehyung tucking his body into the curve of Minho’s side, Minho felt a calm seep into his bones. They had some big decisions to make in the upcoming week, and Minho knew that things could easily take a turn for the worst. But right then, at that moment, he felt at peace.

[imthepunchlord]

LfM Ch 10

Ao3

.

Things technically took an optimistic turn, technically. Adrien was going out of his way to come hang out with them, but Marinette began to notice that his attention wasn’t on Aurore as often as it should be. Like he was more focused on her.

This was not part of Marinette's plan, how dare Adrien not get this hinted memo. Aurore was who he was supposed to give attention to, not Marinette who wasn’t interested at all. Sure, he was cute, but cute don’t cut it. Not when her best friend was crushing hard on him.

Why was he always making this so hard?

Marinette pouted down at her sketchbook, her cheek smeared up as she stared down at the sheet over paper before her. There were some half hearted sketches on it, but nothing that really grabbed her. It was with an angry hum that she started to tap her pencil against the page, like that could get her creative juices flowing.

Not that her creativity was compliant. It never was when she needed it to be.

“Oooh, those are cute!”

Marinette looked over her shoulder, having an instinctive start when she saw Chloe hanging over her, only, with a second look, she realized this wasn’t Chloe. Chloe kept her bangs down, not sprung up like that, nor was she wearing the signature yellow that Chloe took pride in, instead there was a indigo vest, light blue jeans, and a white shirt under the vest.

Blue eyes turned to her, eye her expectantly.

Marinette shuffled away, turning to the girl awkwardly, asking, “You’re… Amber, right?”

“That’s right! Amber Bourgeois! I don’t think truly introduced ourselves.” She offered a hand. “Congratulations on winning the hat competition.”

“Thank you.”

"It was a very cute hat that you made. For the petals, did you make extra strips to be the feathers on the hat?”

“Yeah, I took the thinnest velvet and did little cuts for each one. Are tough into fashion?”

Amber chuckled. “Audrey Bourgeois’ daughter,  it's a given that I'd get into fashion. I actually made a lot of my wardrobe.”

“So have I!” Marinette exclaimed. “Could never find anything I liked so it just—”

“Easier to make them,” she and Amber said at the same time, both of them grinning in amusement, till Amber’s smile fell away. She cleared her throat and straightened.

“Anyway, I just wanted to congratulate you on your win, I'll need looking forward to facing you in future fashion competitions.” Amber held put her hand. “May the best designer win.”

Marinette blinked at her, surprised. With a slight smile, she shook on it. An actual rival designer from the Bourgeois family, how wild,  Marinette thought, looking over Amber’s outfit, noting the design and detail. And unlike Chloe, this girl can actually design. Marinette grinned, a competitive spark shooting through her. She was looking forward to this.

.

“So,” Adrien called out as he came to sit with the girls. “You guys going to be joining the gaming competition?”

“Game?” Marinette echoed, interest piqued. Behind the smiling Adrien, she could see Chloe angrily chewing on a magazine, Sabrina looking unsure behind her.

Adrien nodded. “I learned from my bud Nino that it's going to be held in our library this Saturday to decide who's going you compete.”

“What an odd place to have it,” Aurore said aloud.

“Yeah, a little… but you guys going to come and cheer me on?”

“Actually I think I'll enter,” Marinette said.

“Really?” Adrien asked, surprised. “That means we may end up facing each other.”

“Then get ready to have your butt handed to you.”

Adrien grinned, a playful glint in his green eyes. Adrien rose up, declaring, “I'll be looking forward to it then.” He abruptly cut himself off, clearing his throat. “I'll see you Saturday.”

He departed with a wave, Aurore waving after him. “Well, that'd be a little awkward if you wound up facing him,” Aurore started off. Marinette pursed her lips, but Aurore continued before Marinette could speak. “But we have our pride as girls. If you come to face him, don't hold back. I expect full on savagery.”

Marinette laughed, “I wouldn’t do it any other way, Aurore.”

“Good. Be vicious, sea breeze.”

.

It was a quiet Friday afternoon as Marinette slipped into the library, wanting to see them setting up the system, and what game it could be. Adrien has been playfully vague, trying to keep a leg over her, but Marinette was not so easily put down. She left a little earlier, letting Aurore have a chance to meet up with Adrien alone, and Marinette got to learn what she could.

Racing games weren't quite her forte. Horror games were a no show, especially if they were graphic with a lot of suffering… nope, Marinette rather skip out on that. And puzzle games, of it was puzzle games she was so going to ace it.

Marinette narrowed her eyes, leaning forward when she saw a game in the headmaster’s hands. Is that…

“You’re going to fall.”

Surprised, she almost did fall over the railing till a hand grabbed her blazer and pulled her back. She looked up, surprised to see Felix Agreste standing behind her, giving her a dry look. She flashed him a sheepish smile. “Thanks. That was close.”

He gave her a curt nod before slipping past her. “Going to play tomorrow?” she called after him.

“No.”

“Ok.” She glanced down, narrowing her eyes. Once she was sure that Felix was a good distance away, she whispered, “Hey, Tikki, think you can sneak down there and see what game it is?”

“Marinette, I'm not going to risk revealing myself over a game. How could you think so?”

“Hey, you're the one who's always popping out into the open.”

Tikki gasped, giving Marinette a pout. “I do not!”

“Do to.”

“Do not.”

“Do to! You’re going to get caught one day and I'll give you the biggest I told you so ever.”

“If it happens, cause it won't, I'll even eat a slice of cheese. And if it doesn't for a week, you feed me cookies.”

“But you eat so slowly. How about I make you something?”

“Oh! A little chef hat?”

“You’re on,” Marinette said, holding out a finger, Tikki took it her paws, giving it a shake.

.

The game was on, and Marinette came in prepared. She barely noticed how Adrien’s eyes followed her around the room, her own set on the screen, watching people play, eye their scores on UMS, grinning all the while. When it was her turn, she was up against the potential champion of these matches, Max Kante, a student in Bustier’s class, who so far, bested everyone, except for Adrien, his first loss.

And Marinette was ready to grab the highest score.

Accepting the controller for Adrien, she dropped down in his seat, teasingly declaring, “I didn’t think I was going to get my chance to play.”

Max in turn just raised a brow at the bubbly girl that sat next to him, looking skeptical and surprised. “I see… well, in case you don’t know,” he started off, leaning the controller her way, ready to explain how everything worked.

Marinette immediately shut him down. “I know how to play.”

“Ok…”

The game started and Marinette dived in like a true savage. Where Max started off easy, wanting to be a little considerate before he wrecked her, he was quick to find he needed to act as Marinette took out almost half his health with her first attack. He leaned forward, gritting his teeth as Marinette leaned back, grinning with confidence as she watched the fight, going the most logical route to win.

In a minute, the battle was over, and she jumped up to celebrate her victory. In the background, the students exploded, awed by the easy win, Marinette’s score shooting up, easily surpassing Adrien’s highest. She looked back just in time to see him gape, jaw slack. She stuck her tongue out at him, laughing.

Turning to Max, she held out her hand, offering, “Good game!”

Max stood and took it slowly, his eyes to the floor, a dark flicker in them that had Marinette faltering. Then he forced a smile, offering, “Congratulations.” He quickly let go of her hand and moved on, leaving the room. Marinette let him go, Adrien coming up to her side, green eyes locked on her, oblivious to Max. As Damocles announced them as winners, Adrien noted aloud, “I guess we’re going to be working together, partner.”

“I suppose so.”

“Should we practice? At your home? My father really wouldn’t allow it…”

“Yeah, we can.”

.

And they really could, it was just the annoyance Marinette had to put up with, her parents being way too nosy as they poked around, trying to learn what they could about this boy, an eager speculation of who he could be to Marinette. She has tried to do what she could to dismiss these eager suspicions, but unsurprisingly, they were selective listeners.

And this is why it's often only Tikki that she turns to for advice. Tikki is more likely to listen.

With slight exaggeration, she returned to her room, stopping with a raised brow to see Adrien nosing around her room, like he was looking for something. She watched him jump as she loudly announced, “So my parents are going to be bringing up some croissants soon for us to snack on.”

He beamed. “Sound tasty!”

“Yeah! So, uh, let’s get the game going.” She dropped into her chair, starting up the game. It was awkward at first, both of them very aware of the other, before the game called their attention, Adrien jumping into focus as Marinette started to go all out on him. But much like Max, he barely stood a chance.

“How’d you get this good?” he asked, baffled.

“I played with my Papa a lot,” Marinette confirmed.

Like a summon, Tom popped in, a plate of steaming quiche in his hands. “Lunch is served!” he sung out, beaming at the two. Marinette chuckled when she saw Adrien practically drooling. “How about you two go eat in the park? Get some sun!”

“That’s a wonderful idea!” Adrien agreed, jumping up and eagerly heading for the presented plate. Marinette followed, already thinking of ways to build up Aurore and help her girl out. With a plate in each of their hand, they headed for a bench, Adrien quickly digging into his quiche, humming in delgith. Marinette ate hers a little slower, and when Adrien wasn’t looking, tore off a little piece to give to Tikki, resisting the urge to giggle when Tikki nibbled on it like a little mouse.

“Your parents are amazing cooks,” Adrien praised, popping the rest of it in his mouth. “I live with a five star chief and I think your food is better.”

“You should tell them, they’d be giddy.”

He smiled playfully, but before he could speak, there was a muffled boom. They both paused, staring at each other in confusion. They turned, looking up and up to see a big black robot come into view, turning to stare down at them. They gaped at it, watching as the green circle on its head started to glow, a loud hum filling the air.

“Look out!” Adrien cried, grabbing Marinette and leaping forward, just as the robot fired off a shot. The bench disappeared behind them, and Adrien rose up a little with an awkward yet playful grin. Marinette though had her eyes on the akuma, and rolled them out of the way of another shot. It was Adrien who got them to their feet and tore, holding her hand tightly, not letting her escape. Marinette went it, glancing back as the robot followed, zapping at them wildly.

Adrien dragged her to safety, ducking into thin alleys, and successfully losing the robot tailing them. They slowed, looking back and around, searching for the akuma. “Seems we lost it,” Adrien proposed.

“It seems so,” Marinette agreed, moving to walk to the edge to lean out and search, only to stop when she was tugged back. She looked down, seeing Adrien holding her hand. She raised a brow his way and he sheepishly released her hand, offering a hush apology. “We should go hide,” Marinette proposed.

“We should,” he agreed. “Any ideas on where we could hide?”

He watched as she made a face, looking torn and unsure. “Um, maybe we can hide in one of these buildings,” she proposed, starting to think and plan to escape Adrien so she can slip away to be Ladybug. “This one,” she pointed, an antique shop, full of a variety of items that she could easily sneak around and escape. They headed for it, only to get cut off when the akuma shot the building, cutting off their escape.

Adrien grabbed her again, dragging her off to escape.

When they found another safe hiding spot, with Marinette looking away, Plagg darted out, whispering, “What are you doing?”

“Making sure she’s safe,” Adrien shot back.

“Chat Noir would make sure she’s safe,” Plagg pointed out.

“I know, but—” He spared a fast glance at Marinette. “She might be Ladybug.”

Plagg raised a brow. “If she was, don’t you think she’d be putting more effort in to get away from you so she can transform?”

Adrien paused, really thinking that over. That would be true…

“Incoming!” Marinette cried out, jumping out of the way. Adrien turned, just in time for the beam to come at him, making him disappear. Plagg barely had time to hide as Marinette turned to peer where Adrien stood. “Oops…”

No time to react, she got up, racing for another hiding spot to transform. Plagg followed after, ready to help however he can.

.

After Miraculous Ladybug swept through Paris, bringing everyone back, Plagg returned to the dazed Adrien, paws on his hips. “I hope your happy with yourself,” Plagg lightly scolded.

Adrien pursed his lips, giving the kwami a pout. Plagg darted down, snatching some cheese from Adrien’s pocket. “Met with Ladybug today while you were out.”

“Well?” Adrien prompted.

“Well what?”

“Is Marinette Ladybug?”

“I dunno. We didn’t really have time to talk about secret identities.”

Adrien sighed as Plagg popped his cheese into his mouth, humming happily. Frowning thoughtfully, Adrien said, “I don't think she is.”

“Oh?”

“You were right. Ladybug would've made more effort to get away. Duty always comes first with her, after all.”

“And so the search continues,” Plagg said.

“Yeah, another day. I'm going to head home.”

“What about the tournament?” Plagg wondered.

“Um…” Adrien winced, unwilling to admit that learning Marinette wasn’t Ladybug, he wasn't as interested in playing with her. He said, “Max really had his heart in playing, a lot more than I did. He can play in my place.”

“Very considerate of you,” Plagg praised, slipping into Adrien’s pocket. “While you're on this kick, get me some more cheese.” Adrien rolled his eyes as he headed off, pulling out his phone to call Nino, let him know what's going on. At least it works out for Max in the end. Now all he can do is hope for the same for himself, that one day, he'd know the hire beneath the mask, and they'd be together. He just had to be patient.

[artificialqueens]

The Key (Cat) to my Heart (Branjie)- athena2

A/N: So, @bennitone brought this prompt/artwork to my attention, and I just had to. A woman offers her hand in marriage to anyone that can get the key from her cat’s neck, but she’s a shapeshifter and the cat is her all along.

Vanessa is fed up with marriage proposals, and Brooke is a softie who’s very good with cats.

Vanessa was the most beautiful woman in the village. People came far and wide to tell her how beautiful she was, to lay flowers at her feet, and heap marriage proposals on her. But she always refused.

Vanessa was beautiful, anyone with eyes would agree, but she was kind, too. Brooke worked at a tiny café in the village, and customers scowled and yelled at her all day long. Vanessa was always sweet to her when she came in for her morning coffee, with a splash of cream and a spoon of sugar. Sometimes she even came back in the afternoon for a sandwich, and Brooke knew to give her extra tomatoes.

But Vanessa hadn’t been in for a few days, because she couldn’t take more than two steps from her cottage door without someone rushing at her asking for a date if they were somewhat kind or demanding immediate marriage on the spot if they weren’t kind at all.

Brooke understood why Vanessa stayed inside, but she had to admit how empty it felt at the café without her smile, without her rough but warm voice telling Brooke to enjoy her day, which she would turn over in her mind enough to tune out customers berating her because their coffee was exactly what they had ordered but somehow not what they wanted.

She hoped Vanessa came back soon.

—

One day Vanessa stood in the village square and announced a game. Since everyone wanted to marry her so badly, she would put it in their hands: she would tie the key to her cottage around her kitten’s neck, and she would marry anyone that obtained the key.

The village fell into an utter frenzy. You couldn’t move through the square without bumping into someone mapping the cat’s movements and scheming ways to get the key. Men emptied their pockets buying toys to tempt the kitten, some just waving coins or jewels to attract it. They laid out food on plates to lure it into a trap, but ended up with empty plates and empty traps. They laced up their shoes and chased it for miles, but no one ever got the key, the cat turning circles around them or running up trees, key dangling just out of reach.

Brooke sat on the cobblestone street, watching a man fall into mud with a splat as the kitten tricked him and changed directions.

The kitten wandered over to Brooke. Its white fur was swirled with light brown spots, and it had brown eyes as big as tea cup saucers.

“Having fun?” Brooke asked softly. “I bet you are.” She reached out a hand, well-practiced from two cats of her own, and the kitten bent its head. Brooke stroked the fur, so soft she figured it was what clouds felt like.

She didn’t understand how everyone thought throwing a gold necklace or running after the cat would make it want them. They just had to be its friend.

The kitten rubbed its nose against Brooke’s bag, and she remembered the sandwich stored inside for her lunch.

“Are you hungry?” Brooke asked.

The kitten meowed and seemed to nod, and Brooke unwrapped the sandwich. She was pretty sure the kitten smiled and clapped its paws together eagerly.

“Hang on kitty, let me give you the half with more chicken.” She tore the crusty bread apart carefully, holding the ingredients inside. She offered it to the kitten, but it darted out both paws and grabbed the half with less chicken and more tomatoes.

“I guess you like tomatoes, huh?” Brooke asked.

But the kitten had already wandered away.

—

Weeks passed, and while some still ran into walls chasing after the cat and buying out the toy supply at the shops, many more gave up, muttering under their breath how ridiculous it all was.

The kitten strutted over to Brooke everyday when she was on her lunch break, propped up against the side of the café.

“I got a surprise for you today,” Brooke whispered. She pulled out a stuffed mouse. “You can play with it,” she explained, nudging it toward the cat.

The cat rolled around with the toy, meowing in excitement through Brooke’s lunch hour. She continued to pass it pieces of her sandwich, which the cat gobbled up.

—

“Come on, I have a friend for you to meet.” Brooke’s own cats trotted along behind her. She met Vanessa’s cat in the grassy field just past the square and crouched down among the daisies.

“Hey, kitty, these are my cats. Henry and Apollo,” Brooke explained. “Maybe you want to play with them?”

Vanessa’s cat swiped a paw at the other two, the three of them rolling around in the grass together, a tangle of paws and tails. Brooke had brought two sandwiches. She broke one into three and passed it to the cats, and ate the other herself as the cats crawled over her.

Her clothes were more cat hair than cotton at the end of the day, but it was worth it.

—-

“This coffee is too sweet! This isn’t what I wanted! How can you be so stupid?”

“Sir,” Brooke tried to stop her voice from shaking, “You-you asked for it extra sweet.”

“Well, this is too sweet!”

“I-I can make you an-another.”

“Make it. Maybe you won’t mess that one up.”

He stormed out to the streets while Brooke made another coffee, putting in less sugar. The man stomped back in a few minutes later.

“Whose cat is out there?” the man demanded of the whole café. “It chewed up my pants!”

Brooke smiled and had to smother her laughter behind the counter.

—

Brooke stretched her long legs and pulled out a book, sun bright overhead. The cat hopped into her lap and trained its head on the page.

“You can’t read, silly,” Brooke smiled.

The cat whipped around and gave Brooke a flash of pink tongue, and Brooke laughed. She turned the pages, reading aloud softly so the cat could hear.

She tipped some blueberries into her hand and let the cat’s tongue tickle her palm as she ate them.

The weight of the cat on her legs made her warmer inside than the sun did.

—

A man was chasing the cat around, which was nothing new, but then Brooke noticed his hands. More specifically, what was in them.

Brooke ran into the village square and the cat bounded toward her. Brooke scooped the kitty up and cradled it against her chest, its small body trembling.

“Wh-what do you think you’re doing?” Brooke asked the man.

“I wasn’t going to use it,” he insisted, lowering the crossbow.

“I don’t care. Get a-away from the cat.”

The man obeyed, and Brooke took a deep breath. She’d never stood up to anyone before, letting insults from customers roll off her shoulder even as she wanted to cry. But she couldn’t let someone harm Vanessa’s cat.

“You okay, kitty?”

The kitten nodded and mewed softly, its shakes easing as Brooke continued to stroke its fur. It craned its neck and gave Brooke a damp kiss on the cheek.

—

Rain had been pounding on the café roof all day, and when Brooke left for the night it was still going strong. The wind howled and the rain came down in sheets, pelting off Brooke’s rain jacket.

A tiny whimper caught her attention. She picked the cat up where it had sheltered itself under the café window.

“Vanessa must be worried about you, kitty. I can’t leave you out in this rain.”

She tucked the cat inside her jacket, its fur against her chest warming Brooke from head to toe even as the rain came down and splattered up her legs. It was a short walk to Vanessa’s cottage, in the opposite direction to Brooke’s own, but she just held her jacket closed tight and got the cat home as fast as she could.

It nodded at her as she set it down on the cobbled path that led to Vanessa’s door, flanked with flowers in bright pinks and yellows. It scurried up to the door, and Brooke spent the whole night thinking about walking past those flowers and knocking on the door herself.

—

Days passed, and Brooke found herself counting down the minutes to her lunch break at the café, knowing she’d have a blissful hour with the cat at her feet or in her lap.

She could have taken the key any time. It was right there, and in a few seconds it could be hers. But she couldn’t just take it, show up at Vanessa’s door, and demand marriage. It wasn’t right.

Besides, she had grown to like the cat. Brooke had never really had anyone to talk to, and talking to new people gave her a stomachache. Even though the cat couldn’t answer her back, it was nice just having it there to listen, to feed lunch to, to pet.

It was almost like having a friend.

—

Brooke decided to take the cat to the park one day, and settled on her stomach on the cool grass, the cat across from her.

“You’re a lucky kitty, aren’t you?” Brooke mused, burying her hand in the cat’s fur. “I bet Vanessa cuddles you at night, and kisses you…” She found herself lost in the cat’s big brown eyes. “I’d give anything to be in your place. To hug her and kiss her and…” Brooke slammed her mouth shut, but it was no use. It fell open again and the words tumbled out, and Brooke couldn’t stop her rambling.

“She’s always so nice to me when she comes in the café. I think she smells like coconut but she never gets close enough for me to be sure. I wonder if I’m right…what am I saying? She’d probably be so disappointed if I unlocked her door. I bet she’d slam it right in my face and lock it forever. Why would she want me?”

Brooke rolled onto her back and threw her hands over her face, trying to stop the blaze burning through her cheeks. She sighed and looked up at the clouds.

“Why am I saying all this to a cat?” Brooke muttered. “Well, at least you can’t tell anyone.” She froze and glanced at the cat. She didn’t think it could talk, but… “You can’t tell anyone, right? Oh, please don’t tell her, she’ll think I’m an idiot…”

She swore the kitten frowned for a second, then leaped onto her chest, fluffy paws settling against her skin. It lowered its head, the key swinging above Brooke’s nose, gold glittering in the sun.

“You…you want me to take it?”

The kitten bobbed its head up and down.

“You really think she would like me?”

The kitten nodded again, faster this time, paws pressing firmly into Brooke’s chest.

“Well, okay,” Brooke wasn’t convinced, but she reached up anyway. “Stay still, kitty, I don’t want to hurt you.” She carefully eased the key from around the kitten’s neck.

There was a flash of light, and the weight on Brooke’s chest got heavier…

Her mouth hung open as the cat vanished and suddenly Vanessa was perched on Brooke’s chest, legs on both sides of her torso. The breeze tugged gently at her wavy hair and her skin glowed in the sunlight. Her brown eyes were just as big and wide as they were in cat-form.

“V-Vanessa?”

“You did it!” Vanessa crowed. “I was starting to think I’d have to follow you around forever!”

“You…” Brooke’s words were stuck. “The whole time, it was you?”

Vanessa smiled. “Yeah. Sorry I tricked you, but I wanted to see who would respect me when I wasn’t me. I hoped it would be you all along.”

Vanessa lifted herself off Brooke and held out a hand. “What do you say we go use that key?”

Brooke nodded and stood up on shaky legs. Vanessa wrapped an arm around her waist, and Brooke let her chin rest on Vanessa’s head.

She really did smell like coconut.

[ilovemygaydad]

Friends in Dark Places [ch 4]

pairing: eventual moxiety, eventual logince, background eventual remile, background eventual remy/emile/deceit

WARNINGS: food mentions, swearing, mentions of injury, anxiety, roman’s kind of a dick but he feels bad, a single flirtation, possibly something else

tag list: @hufflepuffgirl01 @cocobearthe4th @cas-is-a-hunter@band-be-boss-blog @theunoriginaldaisy

a/n: so i have to repost all of these in a different format! yay fucking me!!!! please consider reblogging these if you’re a fan of this series because it’s all fucked up now

first - previous - next - companions

consider buying me a coffee (please)

-

Roman didn’t know what he’d expected to see when he walked into Virgil’s hospital room, but it certainly wasn’t that. Patton was sitting in the bed with the pretty much stranger, eyes closed, arms wrapped around him, and chin resting on his head. Virgil was asleep, which, after the day’s events, wasn’t very surprising. He could hear Patton softly humming a son that he couldn’t exactly place.

“Hey, Pat! We brought you some spaghetti from the cafeteria and a gift for Virgil.” Roman made sure to keep his voice quiet, not wanting to disturb the sleeping teen just feet away. Patton opened his eyes and smiled an incredibly bright smile. He motioned towards the over-the-bed table tray thing (Roman couldn’t think of a single word to describe the atrocity on wheels). Roman gave Pat his dinner while Logan set to organizing the luggage they’d brought with them.

“Did we have any Comm Arts homework tonight?” Patton quietly asked between bites of pasta.

“No,” Logan told him. “But we do have to do a page in the Physics packet. It’s only five problems, but they’re pretty long, and that’s coming from me.” 

Patton groaned in response.

Roman added, “I also talked to your Child Guidance teacher, and she told me that your class was having a test tomorrow on Chapter Six. You should probably email her and ask if you’d be able to take it at home since I don’t assume you’ll be leaving Virgil alone.” He shot a knowing look to Pat as he said this. It wasn’t news that Patton was basically the dad friend; he was always caring about everyone else’s well being and stayed committed to them when they need support, even if that person was someone he’d just met. Especially if that person was someone he’d just met.

“Neither of us had time to ask your Psychology teacher about homework, but I’d just send him an email that explains your situation, and I’m sure he’ll give you a break. We know how worried you get, and we don’t want any excessive stress about school on top of that,” Logan added with a small smile.

“Thanks, guys! You’re the best friends I could ask for.” Patton had somehow finished his entire plate of food in the less than two minute conversation and had opened up his phone to email his teachers.

The instant the phone had been turned off, Logan spoke up once more. “Patton, I know you want to look after Virgil, but have you gotten any sleep in the past twenty four hours? You look like a figurative zombie.” Roman couldn’t help but agree. Intense bags had formed under his friend’s eyes, and he looked as if he would fall asleep at any moment.

“I’m okay, guys. I promi--” Patton’s words got cut off by an intense yawn.

“Point proven. We’ll look after him while you rest, okay? Roman, get out the blanket that we packed.” Logan’s words, although could be taken as harsh, were very gentle and kind. Patton wiggled out from under Virgil, being careful not to wake him up. Roman handed over the blanket and guided him to the padded bench in the corner of the room. Almost as soon as Patton had set his head on the blanket, he was out. The two remaining teens smiled at their loving friend.

“Who the fuck are you two?!” Virgil screeched. Upon waking up, he had found himself in his hospital room with Patton asleep in the corner and two random guys playing what looked like chess three feet away.

“Welcome back to the living, Creeping Beauty,” muttered the smaller guy in the red short sleeved button up with little white hearts, not looking up from the game.

“My name is Logan Christiansen, and this is my friend Roman Patrick. We’re friends with Patton, and we have been tasked with watching over you while he gets a little sleep.” The guy in the tie, Logan, adjusted his glasses and made a move on the board in front of him. “Check mate, Roman.”

Virgil sighed and looked around the room for something to do while Logan and Roman were playing chess. He spotted his suitcase and instantly got a little happier.

“Did you guys happen to bring my phone and headphones?” Honestly, he didn’t care if he sounded like a little kid in a candy store. He’d been craving the ability to listen to something loud so that he could wash out all of the bad thoughts in his mind.

“Yeah,” Roman answered. “It’s in your backpack. Give me a second to find it.” He got up and rummaged through the black backpack a few feet away until he found what he was looking for. He dropped it on the lap of Virgil and went right back to playing his game.

Navigating a phone with barely any of his fingers unbandaged was a task, to say the least, but Virgil eventually got open the music app and put it on shuffle. The first song to come up was “Novocaine” by Fall Out Boy. A smile spread on his face. He closed his eyes and let the music soothe him until he fell back to sleep.

Roman glanced at where Logan had fallen asleep in the middle of a physics problem and sighed. He’d accidentally left his phone in the car and was hopelessly bored. The teen dramatically propped his feet up onto the hospital bed and threw his head back.

“Hey, Drama Queen. Is there any way you could get me some food?” Roman’s head snapped to look at Virgil, who was looking at him with disinterest.

“First of all,” Roman started. “I am not a ‘Drama Queen.’ Second, I think that the cafeteria closed at eight, and it’s well past ten right now.” 

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Awesome. Truly, how could this day get any better? An astounding ending,” the boy muttered as he ran a bandaged hand through his hair. Admittedly, Roman felt bad for the kid. He’d had a really rough day, and not being able to eat was probably weighing on him. With a sudden change of heart, Roman stood up and grabbed his wallet.

“Would you rather stay here, or do you want me to grab you a wheelchair so I can push you around on a quest for food?” For a second, Roman almost swore that he had seen a hint of a smile flash across Virgil’s face.

“Wheelchair.” Virgil swung his legs until they hung off the side of his mattress and slowly sat up, taking hold of his IV stand in the process.

It only took Roman a minute to find a wheelchair that he could use. Virgil hopped off the bed, almost eating shit in the process, and plunked himself into the wheelchair. Their quest for some sustenance started with very few setbacks until they reached the elevators.

“Oh, shit! I forgot that I’d have to take the elevator. Fuck.” It took all of Roman’s self control not to laugh at that comment.

“Afraid of elevators, Dr. Disasterology?” Roman teased.

“Shut up, asshole.” Virgil sneered. “Look, there’s a lot that could go wrong in an elevator, not to mention that it’s fucking tiny.”

“Well, it’s too late to turn back now.” Roman pushed the wheelchair into the elevator and hit the button for the third floor. All color had drained out of Virgil’s face as soon as the elevator had started to move. It only took a second for Roman to realize that his actions had been a dick move.

“Virgil, are you going to be okay? We can abort the mission and just go back if you nee--”

“No. We’re going,” Virgil said through clenched teeth. The elevator dinged, announcing they’d reached the correct floor, and Roman pushed them out as soon as the doors were wide enough to allow for them to pass. He could visibly see Virgil calm down, which was both relieving and mildly terrifying at the same time.

“Let’s see if any of the vending machines are on. I think there are a few near the cafeteria, and they looked like they had some okay choices.” Roman murmured as he tried to gather his thoughts while they wandered around the hospital.

Virgil pointed to his left. “That looks kinda promising.” There was a lone vending machine tucked away in a corner. Its lights were on, but it didn’t look like it’d been touched in ages. Roman dramatically made racecar noises as he turned the wheelchair and pushed them towards the machine. He didn’t even need to be looking to know that Virgil had rolled his eyes.

Virgil scanned the contents of the machine once they’d arrived. It was full of options, and it looked like nothing had been bought.

“Alright, Prince Charming, can you buy me some of those veggie straw things and a cinnamon bun?” 

Roman obliged, especially since he only had to spend a total of two dollars on the meal.

“Thanks, dude,” Virgil said as he tore open the bag of veggie straws.

“No problem. At least you’re not a food vacuum like Patton. He ate his entire plate of pasta in less than two minutes.” Virgil couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“Is that a challenge? Because I will totally fight him on that title of ‘food vacuum.’” He shoved a giant handful of chips into his mouth, immediately reaching for another. Roman had to pause navigating their way to the elevators to physically stop Virgil from stuffing his mouth.

There were exactly three other incidents were Virgil tried to shove copious amounts of food into his mouth, and the third happened to be at the same moment that they were arriving at the room. Roman opened the door to be greeted by a worried Patton, who was staring straight at Virgil as he ate a full handful of the chips. 

Patton’s face instantly grew cheery as he saw the pair. “I was so worried about you two! I’m glad you’re okay; although, Roman, it was irresponsible to not leave a note explaining where you went. I almost woke up Logan and made him come with me to search for you!” Patton’s words were flying out of his mouth at a speed that was barely comprehensible.

“Sorry, Pat. I should’ve left a note. Virgil was really hungry, so we went to get him some--VIRGIL I SWEAR TO GOD DO NOT SHOVE THAT WHOLE CINNAMON BUN INTO YOUR MOUTH--food. Glad to see you got some sleep, though.” Roman gave Patton a quick hug before helping Virgil back into the bed.

“You and Logan should probably head out. I don’t want you two to be tired for school tomorrow.” Pat once again took a seat at Virgil’s side. Roman nodded and began to lightly shake Logan’s shoulder.

“Hey, sleepyhead. It’s time to get up so you can drive us home.”

“...What?” Logan asked, voice laced with tiredness.

“It’s around ten thirty, Lo. We need to get home and sleep in an actual bed, not on a chair. C’mon, dear heart,” Roman coaxed. It took Logan all of thirty seconds to actually process the information, and in that time Roman decided he’d be driving them to Logan’s house and staying there for the night.

After the duo packed up their things and said goodbye, Virgil and Patton were left alone in the dreary hospital room, where the only sounds were Virgil softly chewing on his cinnamon roll and the EKG machine.

“Did you have a good nap?” Virgil asked after a few minutes.

“Yeah, I did. How was your food adventure with Roman?” Patton was really curious. Out of Logan and Roman, he’d expected Virgil to dislike Roman’s dramatic nature far more than Logan’s intense intelligence.

“It was… interesting. Roman is totally dramatic, so it was way funnier to mess around with him and see his reactions.” Virgil thought back to the numerous times he’d messed around just to fuck with Roman and laughed. Seriously, Virgil, he’d scolded. I don’t want you choking on food on our way back up. Patton would literally kill me.

“Well that’s good, kiddo! And how are you feeling? Do you need me to get you anything?”

“I’m good, Patton. Really. I feel better than I have in a while, to be honest.” There was no lie in what Virgil said. He really did feel better than he had in a long time. All of the things that the trio of friends were doing for him made him feel really happy. Like, maybe he did actually matter.

“That’s wonderful!” The two sat in silence for a while before Virgil spoke up again.

“Thanks for everything you’re doing, Patton. I’ve been kind of an ass to you today.” Virgil focused on his hands. He was really embarrassed that he’d ended up in the hospital when everything could’ve been avoided if he’d just shut his fucking mouth and listened to Patton.

“Don’t worry about it. I told you earlier today that I’ve been in some rough times as well. It’s really, really hard on a person, and sometimes they do things they don’t really mean.” Patton reached up and ruffled Virgil’s hair, to which he protested. The duo broke out in laughter. Virgil really could get used to this whole having-friends thing.

“Do you want to listen to some music? I have some not-super-punk songs if you’d rather listen to something lighter.” Admittedly, “some not-super-punk songs” meant things like “20 Dollar Nosebleed” and “This is Gospel,” but technically they weren’t as punk rock the rest of his collection.

“We can listen to whatever you want, Virge. Don’t let me stop you from listening to the music you enjoy.” 

Virgil shrugged and unplugged his headphones, turning up the volume at the same time. He hit shuffle on his playlist and let the sounds of “I’m Not Okay (I Promise)” fill the room.

The two teenagers sat there for a long while before both of them eventually fell asleep.

next

[thepencilnerd]

- 𝐒𝐰𝐢𝐦 - 4

➳ Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 ||  Part 4

➳ Pairing: Jaebum x Reader

➳ Summary: AU! After taking a gap year from college to pay for your tuition, you felt like your life was finally back on track- until you met him. What happens when life doesn’t go the way you intended it to? What happens when you find out that your anchor is just as broken as you are?

➳ Genre: AU! Fluff, angst, friends to lovers

➳ Word Count: 2k

➳ Warnings: Swearing, playful banter

♪ Game- Mating Ritual

a/n: Masterlist & links to other parts can be found @ my main URL

A crisp gust of wind swept across my face, making my hair blow into and prick my already dry eyes. Finals were over and winter break was just around the corner, but what normally would have been an already snowy day was instead a foggy and frigid one. 

I was walking up the stairs to the rooftop and couldn’t contain the excitement that came whenever I went to admire the sky from up above. I never noticed how happy gloomy weather made me until I actually counted the days I spent up there during overcast days. As soon as I opened the door, I saw a person admiring the view with their hands resting on the ledge and posture slightly hunched. 

“Oh,” I jolted slightly, surprised at Jaebum’s presence. “I didn’t think you’d be up here. I can just—I’ll go—” 

The edges of his lips curled upward into a slight grin and his head shook in response. “No, it’s fine. It’s not like it’s I own the building.” He gestured with his hand for me to stand next to him, sliding over to make some room. 

I responded with a tight-lipped smile, I distanced myself a foot away as I stood beside him, shifting uncomfortably as I tried to stay as far away as possible without making it seem too obvious. I noticed he was wearing white today; no wonder he looked less intimidating. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he spoke up. “How were your finals?” 

I bit the inside of my cheek, a habit I picked up in my childhood years, and retorted plainly. “They were okay.” Refusing to make eye contact with him to see what he was doing, I assumed he simply nodded his head.

His head turned to face me, making me immediately glance at the near-dead rose bushes behind us. Glancing around at the planter boxes, I realized that most of the plants had already begun to wither away. Had it been that long since the last time I was up here? 

“Do you think any of the professors curved your grade for you?” Jaebum asked, snapping you out your daze and clearly making a desperate effort to make do with any kind of conversation he could. 

I just shook my head, reluctant to give him anything that would encourage any kind of small talk. “Nope.” 

Jaebum bit his lip and sighed, noticing what my aim was. “I’m trying really hard to get on at least casual talking terms with you. Can you at least try to be on a ‘basic conversational’ level with me?” he said with a raised eyebrow. 

My face tensed as my gaze narrowed at him. “I still don’t get why you’re trying so hard. I’m not anyone special and you’re wasting your time, so don’t make me feel bad by trying that hard.” 

“When I asked you to give me a chance, I thought it implied that you’d be on a neutral standpoint, not consciously making an effort to discourage and dislike me.” His angular eyes bore into mine, making me see that he was genuinely hurt by my actions. 

I exhaled forcefully, feeling a pang of guilt for being rude to him when he was just like any other normal person who tried to befriend me. However, unlike the others, he hadn’t gone about it by using annoying tactics-yet. Closing my eyes tightly and biting down on my lip, I forced out a small apology. 

“I’m sorry. I’m not-” I struggled to find words for some reason, trying my hardest to avoid making eye contact with him. “I don’t-I don’t do the whole-”

“Friends thing?” he finished my sentence for me. My eyes abruptly snapped to look him in the eyes. 

“Are you seriously a psychic or something?” I asked with squinted eyes. Jaebum laughed deeply. 

He has a nice laugh.

Repressing the haphazard subconscious thought, I stood there and waited for his response. 

“I told you,” he grinned. “We’re a lot similar than you think.”

“But I’m not a psychic...” I mumbled. Pressing my lips together in a thin line, I scoffed. “Fine. Okay. Prove it.”

He raised his eyebrow again but this time, it was accompanied by a hint of a smirk. “What’s your favorite type of weather?” Leaning in closer to me, I could practically feel his body heat radiating off of him in waves as my cheeks started to heat up from the distance between us. 

“Rain,” we replied in unison, without a second of a delay. I gawked at him before immediately crinkling my face into a frown. “That was just good timing.” I crossed my arms and faced away from him, hell-bent on making sure that he couldn’t read any of my microexpressions or pre-cursors to words. 

“I’m not reading your lips if that’s what you’re wondering.” He chuckled, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smug grin as he sat down on the edge of the planter box. “How about you come up with  questions and then I answer first so I can prove I’m not cheating?” 

Half scoffing, I agreed and sat down next to him. Two could play at this game. “Ketchup or mustard?” I started off with a painfully dumb and stupid question to throw him off. There was no way he would say what I was thinking.

“I’m more of a barbeque sauce person,” he responded confidently. “And don’t tell me that doesn’t count because I know damn well you hate ketchup and mustard.”

“Okay, hold it there Mr. Wise Guy,” I halted, throwing my hand up in defense at his accusation. “I do not hate ketchup and mustard, I just don’t particularly like them. And how did you know about the barbeque sauce?” 

“We had a class picnic in freshman year and while everyone else was eating lunch in the quad, you grabbed your food to go sit by yourself and eat in the field.” His ability to recall memories in such detail was both terrifying and astounding. 

Chuckling at my tilted head and agape expression, he continued. “I was eating by myself underneath the bleachers and then I saw you coming to sit a few feet across and right above me. Your burger had ketchup and mustard on it so you took off the bun and actually scraped all of it away before you ate it. Then you tore open a packet of barbeque sauce and drowned your fries in it.” 

I couldn’t think of anything to say. “When—how did—do you just stalk and observe me in your spare time? Is that your hobby? How do you remember that of all things? And from freshman year?” Questions suddenly poured out of me like a tornado of word vomit.

“I told you,” he reminded me again. “You’ve always been the only one who’s constantly intrigued me.”

“Isn’t it a little unfair that you know a lot more about me than I know about you?” I questioned, tip-toeing around the subject of actually getting to know each other. 

“I never said you couldn’t ask me things about myself.” He pointed it out as if it weren’t so blatantly obvious. 

Trying to come up with a half-ass and somewhat decent question, I settled on one. “Why do you like the rain?” 

He glanced up towards the sky. Closing his eyes for a moment before answering, he sighed softly. “I like the way it makes me feel.”

Assuming that he would explain further, I waited patiently for him to continue.

“I like how cloudy it gets, but not the dark kind of cloudy-the kind where you can still see through the grey and it’s still bright out is the best. The cold air that swirls around right before it rains; the smell of petrichor once the water settles into the cement and dirt; even the sound of the rain when it hits your umbrella or trees. The whole atmosphere changes when it rains.” 

I sat quietly and listened to him, captivated entirely by his words and gaze. 

“I like cold weather too, not just rain,” he quickly added.

“Is that why you were on the field that night?” I pondered. 

He smiled and nodded. Thinking over that night on the field, I thought about how much time had already passed since the first day of school. 

“I like running in the rain too,” he resumed. “When it rains really hard on campus, I leave my umbrella in my room on purpose so I can run to class in my jacket. Something about dashing against the cold air and rain hitting your face is just—” 

“Invigorating,” the word rolling off of my tongue like second nature. This time, it was my turn to finish his sentence. 

“I know you like it too,” he grinned, tipping his head ever so slightly as if to study my facial expression. “I saw you walking out of the coffee shop that day before bio.” 

I widened my eyes at his comment. “You saw that?” 

“Yeah,” he smiled, a small laugh nearly slipping out in the process. His gaze deepened before he elaborated even more. “I was at the table the farthest from the door when I saw you through the window. Almost as soon as I saw you, you sprinted headfirst into the rain and looked—” he wavered, taking a small pause to laugh and replay the moment in his head. “Happy. Really happy.” 

Suddenly, I couldn’t tell whether I was beaming or on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “Out of all of the people that I’ve dealt with in this hell of a school,” I said, voice faltering slightly. “I think you’re the most bearable one I’ve met so far.” 

His face broke into a full-blown smile. With flawless teeth and crow’s feet that began to form at the edges of his eyes, it was one that made my heart almost double out of my chest. I quickly adjusted my sitting position to hide the sudden twinge discomfort I felt. 

What the hell was wrong with me today?

Letting out a small huff, I realized that we had unintentionally moved closer together so that we were now seated a mere two inches apart. 

Don’t move, I thought to myself. If you move, it'll show him that you’re affected by him. Don’t move. 

Jaebum must have sensed my discomfort, ducking his head down to analyze my expression. “Do I make you uncomfortable, Y/N?” 

I contemplated answering with a proper response or rebutting with a question, so I decided to go with the latter. “Honest answer or the one that’ll make you feel better?”

“Honest answer,” he replied, once again without a single ounce of hesitation. 

Why did he have to be so ballsy?

“You’re intimidating. You make me go into a full-blown panic mode.” Scanning his face before I continued, I saw a flash of worry cross his features. “You scare the shit out of me because you seem to understand me better than anyone I’ve known in my entire life, and we don’t even know each other yet.” My heart was beating frantically now.  

Jaebum blinked a few times before registering my genuine confession. “Yet?”

Shaking my head and giggling, I gently patted him on the shoulder. “You have about five and a half months left, champ. Make do with what you can.” He smiled again and stood up at the same time I did. 

“I’m still up for the challenge,” he asserted with determination in his voice. “How about we celebrate with some hot chocolate? My treat.” 

Unable to hold my laughter back, I let out a fit of stifled chuckles and agreed with slight skepticism. It was just two classmates going together to get hot chocolate. No big deal. “How’d you know I like hot chocolate?” 

“Everyone loves hot chocolate,” he stated matter-of-factly. “It doesn’t take a psychic to know that.” Mocking me for my remark earlier and picking my bag up, he swung it over his shoulder and jogged down the stairs without me.

“You coming or not?” he shouted from a flight of stairs below, sticking his tongue out and taunting me to hurry up. 

Just two classmates going together to get hot chocolate. No big deal. It didn’t mean anything. 

Right?

[pseudofaux]

Real (6)

CONFESSION TIME :D :D :D

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

 Autumn, Omori

After all the dishes had been carried out and back in from the feast, Tsumekusa cleaned the kitchen with the cook (who was named Junshi), and Matsuko. Her time with them had shown her that servants were treated well in Omori, and they were very fond of their Lord. Junshi had served Lord Shigezane’s branch of the Date for most of his life, and he shared stories of what things had been like in Omori during that time. It sounded like Lord Masamune had always been quiet, but he liked climbing trees and playing outdoor games as a child and had always been gentle with animals and nature. Tsumekusa smiled to think of it, how some things changed and some things did not.

It sounded like Lord Shigezane had never been without the gregarious nature she knew. Junshi’s stories made her smile all over again. Her cheeks were tired but she was so comfortable and happy she barely noticed.

With three sets of hands, kitchen cleanup was quick work. Tsumekusa’s new friends invited her to stay and enjoy the warmth of the kitchen and a drink, and tell them some of her own stories.

So she told them about her family and the restaurant, and how Lord Masamune encouraged her to write and receive letters so she could remain connected to them. About Umeko’s steadfast friendliness, and how the cooking styles differed in the north from in Kyoto. When she hinted delicately at the state of Lord Kojuro’s study at the castle, Junshi and Matsuko both howled with laughter.

“Having a party, hmm?” asked a familiar voice from the door, amused.

Tsumekusa bolted up from her seat. Junshi and Matsuko did not.

“Lord Shigezane,” she said, bowing. He looked at her like she was a bit silly, and the coziness of the kitchen shifted to something uncomfortably quiet.

“Having a bit of a party,” Junshi volunteered after a beat.

Lord Shigezane smiled. “Well, that’s always good,” he said. And then he turned to her and asked “Ready for bed, Tsumamekusa?”

The rapid tumble of emotions caused by his attention no longer made her dizzy, but it still confused her. Embarrassment at the intimate implications he didn’t mean. The fondness that he would show her to her room himself. Worry he was shirking duty to do so. Her own desire to disregard all of it.

And all that as she was moving to him, eager as a child to see his smile and try to return to their special time in the castle from this afternoon.

“Your room is a nice one,” he promised cheerily, “but unfortunately that means it’s on the other side of Omori.”

She just managed to stifle her groan. This had been a marvelous day, but she was weary at the end of it and very ready to go to sleep.

“Hey!” Junshi said, making a shooing gesture. “Out of my kitchen. I don’t like your implication.”

Lord Shigezane laughed, and Junshi smiled.

“Forgive me. Finest kitchen. Finest cooks! Not the finest place to sleep.”

“Speak for yourself,” Junshi shot back, wiggling comfortably on the bench he was sitting on.

Unsure how long their friendly banter would go on, Tsumekusa walked to the door. She hid a yawn behind her hand.

“I’m off, my very fine cook,” Shigezane waved. Junshi snorted.

Lord Shigezane pointed the way they should walk, and because his sense of decorum was unlike any other lord’s, he walked beside her.

Nighttime in Omori was crisp outside the kitchen. It was chilly and clear, and there was a swath of haziness in the sky Tsumekusa didn’t think was a cloud. The scent of the surrounding trees gave every breath a clarity she had rarely experienced. She took in a deep breath through her nose and allowed herself to revel in the cool, pine-perfumed air.

“It smells really nice here,” she told him.

He agreed.

“Do you miss it when you’re in Yonezawa?” she asked.

“Here’s your room!” he said, sounding overbright. His eyes were closed over his big smile, and his hand was touching the back of his neck. He looked nervous. Maybe he was tired, too?

“Thank you, Lord Shigezane,” she said quietly. She slid open the door.

But she did not move to enter the room.

“Everything look alright?” he asked.

“Umm… yes,” she said slowly.

“Alright, then. Everyone else has probably turned in for the night. See you in the morning?”

She tore her eyes away from the room.

“Ah… yes. Lord Shigezane, are you sure this is where I’m supposed to be staying?”

He frowned and leaned in to look over her and into the room. She smelled more pine, smelled salt, felt more warm—felt so much more warm—and more nervous and more relieved. There was the dizziness, back again. As tired as she was she whimpered at the rush of him flooding her senses. The tiny sound came out through her nose.

He looked down at her without moving away. “Yeah. This is your room, Tsumekusa,” he said, so very, very softly.

He didn’t move. She felt a wave of goosebumps rise on her skin, another following it. Her skin was a shore and on the other side of it was a great sea she did not understand.

She couldn’t order her thoughts with his body that close to hers, with his eyes on hers looking so soft.

Suddenly, he said loudly, “So, goodnight!” and he stepped away. She felt… something. She was too tired to quite know.

“Thank you,” she told him again. She was nearly swaying with fatigue, and before she could think better of it, she had offered a sleepy “Goodnight. Sweet dreams.”

His face relaxed.

“Sweet dreams,” he murmured.

She went inside her room, her tired and overstimulated body protesting another moment in the presence of anything but a futon.

Bereft, she realized, as she dressed for sleep. What she had felt when he stepped away was bereft. The feeling was still there in the back of her mind, even as she slid into the most exquisitely plush bedding she had ever touched. It suited the room.

Before sleep claimed her, and it could only have been a moment or so, she told herself to be careful. Then she remembered the fun of being shown the castle shortcuts that afternoon, and she gave herself over to sweet, incautious dreams. But mostly to the sleep her body desperately needed.

Almost everyone in the castle ate breakfast in the hall the next morning. Lord Masamune made minimal but polite conversation when they saw one another there. Lord Kojuro responded when she greeted him but said nothing else and excused himself as soon as he had finished eating.

To fill the silence left in Lord Kojuro's sudden absence, she asked “Lord Masamune, where are the members of Lord Shigezane’s family?”

Lord Masamune looked thoughtful.

“We are each other’s family,” he said quietly. It made her smile until he followed it with “His parents are…”

“Oh,” she said.

He nodded.

“But his—”

“I need to… go,” Lord Masamune said, interrupting her and shuffling back from his breakfast.

“Of course. I will bring you your lunch, milord.”

He nodded and gave her the expression she knew meant he was trying to smile but having a hard time with it. She gave him an easy smile in return.

When breakfast was finished, she visited the castle town with Matsuko for ingredients. The rest of her day was quiet, and she was even allowed time to nap in the afternoon. She knew she should take it and get back to that glorious futon but she chose to cut into that time by looking at the dense woods surrounding the castle until she had her fill of the sight.

That night, her last night in Omori, Lord Shigezane came to the kitchens again. She wanted to get her fill of the sight of him, too, so she said a quick goodnight to Junshi and left the kitchen with the lord of the castle.

Lord Shigezane had smiled when he greeted her, but he was quiet now, and walking slowly.

“Are you tired?” Tsumekusa asked.

“Hmm? A little, maybe,” he said. He sounded distracted.

“What did you do today?” she asked softly.

“Meetings. Out with Masamune and Kojuro after lunch. Had yummy food,” he said, pepping up a little and shooting her a grin.

“I went into town this morning. The people there really like you,” she smiled.

He did, too. She caught another tiny smile pulling at his mouth.

After a moment, she offered “I can see why you would want to stay here,” into their companionable silence.  

“Why’s that?”

“It smells really nice,” she repeated last night’s thought, smiling around a deep breath.

He smiled back, full and real. Her heart thumped.

“Omori is a beautiful castle and I’m sure you and your family are happy here,” she said, words coming from her spine, from her good sense.

“…family?”

She blushed, but stopped walking to turn to him. “Family…?”

He laughed. It was not his usual joyful laugh, and the bitter sound hurt to hear. She tucked her head down to try to hide her deepening blush at the mistake and started walking again.

“I thought you were staying here because you had a baby,” she said. Everything felt very uncertain all of a sudden.

At that, or possibly at her expression, he guffawed. “NO, doll. No babies. Not, um… No. I’m kind of the baby, I guess. Haven’t found the right person yet.”

“…You’re not even married?”

“Don’t you think you’d know if I was? Masamune keeps me kinda busy, y’know?”

Look ahead, look down, do not look at his face

“I just expected that you were, that’s all.” No. “You’re a noble. And you’re so… friendly,” she said lamely. Stop. “I’ve never met anyone as friendly as you are.” Wanting to make sure he understood she wasn’t judging him, she looked up to meet his eyes.

To see precisely why she shouldn't have.

Shigezane was looking right at her face, his own a study of incredulity and hurt.

“You really thought I was married.” His voice was flatter than she had ever heard it.

“I… I did. Now I know that was wrong, and I’m sorry. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to be married, and it’s not to not be married! I’m just surprised, is all! I really thought you were, and that was part of why we were coming to you, instead of you… coming to Yonezawa… Because… you haven’t, in a while…” Her words tapered off into silence as she saw his face become increasingly miserable.

“Lord Shigezane, I’m sorry. I can see my mistake upsets you and I’m sorry, I don’t ever want to upset you—”

Tsumekusa dared to take a step toward him, but he held out a hand to halt her. She blinked at his stiff fingers, feeling horrified. They had only been close a few times, but she could not remember him ever indicating he wanted her away from him. It felt like frost was settling on everything inside her.

“No,” he muttered, pressing fingers to his forehead. “You wouldn’t ever want to do it.”

“I wouldn’t,” she insisted softly. “I’m sorry.”

He just sighed. Shook his head. He scratched behind one of his ears.

“Tsumekusa. I know that your name is Tsumekusa.”

She smiled a little. Yes, she had known that, despite his silliness making it seem otherwise. He always knew it and used it when her name really counted.

“I have always known that your name is Tsumekusa. Every time I’ve called you something else I’ve been trying to get you to correct me, yell at me, talk to me, anything. I’m desperate for your attention, doll.”

She blinked at him, not quite daring to hope. “But aren’t you the same way with everyone?”

“No!” his howl was so sad and immediate it hurt her heart.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice trembling. She reached for him again despite his earlier rejection. But he flinched from her hand and she let it fall, feeling like there was no ground beneath her feet. She had been so careful and things were all wrong anyway.

“I’m sorry. I thought that you were kind like this,” she gestured between them, “to everybody. That you flirted with everybody. I didn’t think that there was anything different about…” she touched her chest and splayed her hands in front of herself. She couldn’t even say it. That little something hopeful and stupid was blooming in her heart and she wanted to shut it up but she had to make him understand first, so that he wasn’t so unhappy.

“You’re different,” he said as he looked up to the heavens, sounding so exhausted she did start to cry.

“Lord Shigezane, please don’t make me watch you suffer without letting me do something,” she begged, taking a small step closer to him. “Please look at me.”

He sighed, shrugged. But he didn’t move when her hand went for his again, and he did look down at her. When he met her eyes she saw surprise dawn on his face, and then further misery. His own fingers brushed her cheek, cutting off the track of a tear.

“Please no tears. I don’t want to make you unhappy. That is the last thing I want.”

“Then you know how I feel! I’m only unhappy because it feels like we aren’t understanding one another!” she cried.

He sighed again and gathered her in his arms, brought her against his chest. This was not what she had in mind when she had asked Shigezane to let her comfort him. But… she was going to take this for herself. Just a minute of it, she told herself. One minute. Count. One minute.

Tsumekusa turned her face so her cheek and her fingers pressed against his body and tried to calm herself down. How had this gotten so terribly mixed up? The smell of him, those salt and pine scents from yesterday and, this close, the warmth of rice and the sweetness of dried grass, was even better than the forest air. She drew in a greedy breath through her nose, trying to get more of it and trying to calm down.

He misinterpreted what she was doing.

“Hey. Shh. I said no tears,” he said quietly, rubbing a circle behind her shoulders. “Can I just hold you for a minute?” he asked into her hair. His other large, strong hand held her head to his chest. Pressed like this, she could hear and feel the low thump of his heartbeat against her cheek. She nodded. The pressure on her head increased slightly.

He was murmuring something, his voice so low she could not parse the words. Tsumekusa brought her face up, brushing his chin with her nose. Think about all of it later. Live this now. There isn’t much time. “What?” she asked.

“Saying I dream about this. Not like this,” she could feel his shoulders moving and imagined him pantomiming an exaggerated crying face. “But this.” He squeezed her.

This…us?” She was trying to keep her voice quiet and steady, make him stay, keep them both safe.

“Yeah,” he said. When she heard his voice, faraway and sad, her heart hurt anew. She would give anything to make him smile again, be happy enough to smile again. She decided the risk of being bold was worth that effort.

“Shigezane,” she said, leaning forward and fitting her chin on his shoulder. Omitting the “Lord” made her feel like she was in some precarious place, but this whole conversation did that, so… she decided to try. She resisted the urge to press her cheek to his ear and instead tried to keep her voice calm and her face ahead. She breathed and wet her lips with her tongue. “I want this,” she dared, squeezing the fabric of his kimono in her hands. Deep breath. Deep, deep breath. “I—want to be with you.” There. Her declaration was out. He went very, very still.

After a moment of stillness and its accompanying silence, she warily leaned back to glance at his face.

He was staring at her, mouth agape, eyes wide as she had ever seen them.

“…Really?” he asked, voice higher than normal. He sounded so hopeful. He cleared his throat and repeated himself. Now he was a pitch lower. Could he not sort himself out, either? That made two of them.

Except about this part.

“Yes,” she said on a laughing cry of relief, and buried her face into his shoulder. “Really.”

“Me,” he said, more thoughtful than questioning.

“You!” She insisted into the cloth covering his shoulder, feeling that both of them were very silly. The pace of all these emotions was dizzying yet again. Maybe it was just him. At least this was a happier kind of dizziness.

“Please don’t laugh,” he said, hands on her shoulders moving her back, then going to her cheeks and bringing her forehead to his. He sounded like he might cry himself. This would not do at all.

“Shigezane,” she said softly, trying to catch his eyes with hers as she was catching his own cheeks to cup in her palms. “I laugh because the idea of it being anyone but you is laughable. I only... you are the only one, like this. No one el—mmph!”

That was the right way to put it, then, she mused, closing her eyes and smiling and settling into Shigezane’s kiss, as insistent and as sweet as a kiss could be. He was pushing his entire body against hers, an arm going around her back and one hand staying to cradle the side of her face. He might have been shivering; the thump of her heart when he kissed her made it hard to tell. Had he been as worried as all this? Perhaps she would need to belabor the point in the future. She would worry about that when his fingers were not beginning to thread through her hair and his tongue was not so, so gently sweeping into her mouth, putting salt and sweetness—the taiyaki from dessert!—and the thrill of lust on her tongue.

He was cherishing her with every touch, she could feel it. She really did want to be this close to him always. After the frenzy of the last few minutes it was soothing just to be this near to him. Shigezane’s body was solid and strong, and she believed he would yield for her instantly if she asked it of him. His touch was gentle but reflected an enthusiastic desire for her. He made her feel special. Warm. Real. Home.

She wanted to make him feel the same things.

“Tsumekusa,” he murmured against her lips, and then he smiled, and then he laughed. He was so much himself again that rightness slid across her heart. “I love you,” He continued. “Not like anyone else.”

Her eyelids fluttered down, and from deep inside her body feelings of safety and desire swooped up and around like kites.

“I’m so glad,” she breathed against his mouth. And she was. She didn’t even care about what that would mean in the future. So she kissed him.

Moments later they sat close together, looking up at the sky, sharing his haori. The warmth of his body and their shared happiness made her feel cozy, even in the chill. His arm was around her, holding one of her hands against her chest with their fingers laced.

“Don’t go back tomorrow,” He said. “Please.”

“I think I have to,” she replied softly, letting the regret she was feeling come out in her words. “I have to go back to Yonezawa, and Lord Masamune will need food on the way.”

“What if he stayed, too?”

“Well then… I suppose I wouldn’t have to go back tomorrow.” A silly grin was splitting her face. He was so sweet to even want this to last.

“Good,” he huffed, and squeezed her. “That’s settled.”

“I’m not sure it is,” she laughed. “But I hope it is,” she added quietly, and pressed a kiss to his hand. And because this time was magic and she wasn’t thinking of what might or might not be, but she no longer had to not think of how she loved him, she leaned to kiss his jaw, too.

WELL. There's that. NOW what are these two going to do?

7

[resultsmeasuredineffort-blog]

When Children Stand

The hype was real. His father had agreed to letting him go on the college tour with the other seniors. Hamza smiled and stretched his arms out wide. His phone buzzed, Asr, it notified. There’s enough time, Hamza thought to himself.

Musa and Ubaid were betting on who could slide down the banisters with the most flair, while the rest of the tour group was listening to the guide’s speech about the founder of the school. Hamza was only partially listening.

“And this is Westhaven Building, also known as The Haven. It is a common area for all students who are looking for a quiet place to study for a test. It was donated to the school by Samuel Westhaven…” the sophomore explained as Hamza sent a snapchat of the old time, gothic building. It was an ominous castle, even sporting a few gargoyles, and looked anything but like a Haven.

The students looked around, like excitable puppies, the song from Aladdin playing in their hearts. A whole new world, indeed.

“Hamza,” Musa yelled from the steps, stretching out the ending. “They’re going to leave you,” he wailed, ghostlike.

The boy in question tore his eyes from his phone, which flashed a low battery message, to see the tour group disappearing around the corner.

“I promised your mom I’d make sure you go back safe,” Musa continued yelling.

“I’m here, stop being an idiot,” Hamza jogged over.

Musa was not quite done being an idiot. He cupped his hands, even though Hamza was now two feet away and bellowed, “My boy!” He was wheezing like an old man.

“Do you need a change of the nappies?” Musa finished the part, coughing asthmatically.

Hamza smacked him behind his head, “No, but if we’re changing things—your face should be pretty up there on the list,” he grinned, all teeth.

They continued throwing jabs at each other until they caught up with their group. Hamza joked with a few people, talked with others, and was overall feeling very at home, away from home. He had known these people for the past four years, either through school or Facebook. There were also a few lingering parents, who were raptly paying attention to the guide’s every word, some were even taking notes.

While Musa and Hamza exchanged insolent comments regarding their respective dignities, Ubaid was being a bit cleverer. Ubaid’s specialty was knowing how to make people talk, in the gentlest meaning of that phrase. He didn’t even need the bat or cement shoes.

Frivolities aside, Ubaid had learned quite a bit about the school, which he had taken a shine to. He bragged about his immense wealth of knowledge to his friends.

“Just tell us already,” Musa swatted away Ubaid’s guessing game.

“Fine. Okay, so Steven told me that his sister goes to this school and she knows where to get the answer keys to all the tests.”

There was a pause. Hamza gave Ubaid a blank stare. Musa began snickering.

“What?” Ubaid asked, following a tennis match between Musa and Hamza’s face.

Hamza sighed dramatically, and just covered his face with his palm. Musa decided to educate their unworldly friend.  

“We thought you had some good stuff, the way you were banging on about it. Like, I know something you don’t know,” Musa explained, pretending to wipe away a tear.

“What, and having answer keys isn’t good stuff?” Ubaid frowned, affronted by their dullness.

The three began a heated debate on what qualified as ‘good stuff’, which ended in a miffed Ubaid, who muttered, “When you morons need help with your finals, don’t come crying to me.”

The sun was shining, the foreign birds sang beautifully and the youth were carefree. School was out, this was their final summer as kids and they all wondered about the nearing initiation to adulthood. But not for too long, because updating social media was a consuming task.

The university offered a complementary lunch, and who was Hamza to refuse? They all ate sandwiches on the grassy field, under umbrella tents.

While the sun’s fierce glare was shaded, the warm nostalgia slunk beneath the umbrellas. The youth seemed to know that this was the start. This is where their bonds frayed, and ran into millions of smaller threads that connected, separated and reconnected. Infinite opportunities, riding on the wings of their individual choices.

After refueling, they began the final leg of the trek around campus, which was to end in front of the dorms. They would spend some time there, before the bus came and picked them up in the late evening.

But burdened with food, laziness swept over the youth, like fairy dust in a Shakespearean play, and there was a group vote to just spend the rest of the time on the grassy lawn. The majority voted to just chill, and so summer time lethargy ensued.

Hamza, Musa and Ubaid were sitting under the shade of a tree, each with their back to one side of the trunk, when they heard the news. Rather, they heard their phones ding and they were fed information straight from the magical highways of the internet.

“Crap, my phone died. Where did they say it was going to be?” Hamza asked, pushing up into a sitting position.

“Uh, let me check with Sarah,” Ubaid typed a question, and sent his thoughts travelling to Sarah.

A second later, they heard an urgent ding, and Musa read over Ubaid’s shoulder. Hamza already knew they were going; he didn’t hesitate.

“She says she heard it’s gonna be in front of the mall we passed by.” Hamza remembered the squat complex and did a mental calculation. It shouldn’t take them more than twenty minutes to get across campus then to the mall. Fifteen, if they ran.

“Avengers Assemble?” Musa asked, reading Hamza’s thoughts.

“Avengers Assemble,” Hamza confirmed.

“Are you guys sure? My mom always warns me about this stuff. You never know what might happen. Once—”

“Avengers,” Hamza said through gritted teeth, and Musa finished for him, “Assemble.”

Ubaid knew a lost battle when he saw one, and reluctantly stood up to join his friends. The three of them went over to discuss with their larger group of classmates. They were young, they were fearless and they knew they could change the world.

Given that Hamza’s generation was known for eating tide pods, the youth were often side eyed by their elders. So, it was an unspoken agreement to leave the adults out of their decision to counterprotest the alt-right protest.

No need to have adults protesting their need to counterprotest a protest.

Anyways, this generation was also known for the March of their Lives and so they gathered their belongings and walked off campus.

Right, they were young. Right, they sometimes made dumb choices. Right, they had a particular aversion to rules. But there was no moral quandary here. They knew racism, sexism and blind hatred were wrong. They were emerging from their techy cocoons, spreading their wings and opening their eyes on a divided world. It was as though the hateful whispers, once entangled in between the lines of society, were suddenly shouting, an orange-hued trumpet amplifying their voices in exchange for power.

If they listened to those elders who would have them quiet, then the shouting would eventually turn to a deafening silence of a society combusting, crushing the hope of a future.

The word on the vine was the alt-righters were annoyed about a recent local election; a Muslim was elected. And she had the nerve to be a Somali immigrant. And now she was trying to run Springfield? According to the alt-righters, she was bringing sharia not only to Springfield but all of America. There was talk of confederate flags and swastikas. Basically, the tiki torches were still burning.

Hamza was not having it.

It was pretty easy to find the protesters.  They heard the shouting from a few streets away. Then they saw the cops, in riot gear, standing in wait for some danger.

The alt-right group was ponied up in all sorts of hate symbols. They had swastikas on their clothing and posters. The confederate flag was flapping in the wind, held aloft by several members. They shouted, roared and chanted. Hamza could hear some of them just barking, “Hu hu hu,” a sickening background music that thudded in his ears. More than a few had drinks with them.

The counterprotesters were handing out signs, posters and other symbols. Hamza and his friends grabbed some and went to stand alongside the silent group. He noticed the louder the protesters became, the quieter the activists were. The latter refused to engage in the decisive commentary, and Hamza watched in silent awe. His own face sported a tight frown, waiting for a hairpin trigger. The protesters were shouting incendiary comments and making rude animal noises at him; he stood in the front lines.              

“White lives matter!” They punctuated that slogan with “You will not replace us! Terrorists and rapists should die!” And of course, the ever present, ever confounding “Lock her up!” All of their colorful slogans were accompanied by that mad-dog guttural sound.

Springfield was not a large city, and the closeness of the protests made the adrenaline flow. The students around him had faces to match his own and as the protesters began to march down toward Town Hall, the activists began to move. They barred the pathway, creating a human wall, stood, without a word, and stared down the alt-righters.

The protesters were infuriated, and began mocking the individual activists; Hamza, standing front and center, was a good target.  

The cops in riot gear began to look jumpy. They saw the alt-righters begin to approach the activists, and Hamza could see a fear in their eyes. They got on the loudspeakers.

“Please clear a path. Stand away from each other,” an authoritative man said clearly.

The alt-righters looked like rottweilers being held on an invisible leash; they were dragging at it. The cops were trying to regain control of the situation, but the activists’ silence was thunderous against the petty anger of the protesters.

Hamza felt the electricity in the crowd; he knew something was about to happen. The cops must have felt the same pulse because they got back on the speakers.

“Those who are not with the Conservative Springfielders, clear the square. Leave the streets. Exit toward the south side,” came the official voice. Hamza felt his face grimace. As if.

The way he saw it, the alt-righters were the ones pushing forward. The activists didn’t make a move; the protesters looked expectantly at the cops.

Then it happened, the trigger. The man right in front of Hamza spat on him, and turned his flag, and pushed it against Hamza and the activists. There was a thrilled roar from their radius of space.

Hamza was caught by surprise, and he felt his blood boil at the oceans of blind hate in the glob of spit. He opened his mouth and almost lifted his fist.

Then, there was an acrid crack, as though the world’s ears were popping. And the smoke began to rise from the midst of their crowd. The activists scrambled as their throats began to fill with the tearing gas. Hamza cursed, coughing and blinking away tears. Being in the wave of human bodies, all struggling in different directions away from the epicenter of the attack was entirely consuming. Hamza went on autopilot as humans diffused like droplets of water on oil.

He just ran. There were no protesters, no activists. Only the struggle for preservation. It seemed as though death was imminent.

More cracks emanated from behind Hamza, but he didn’t turn to look back. How he managed to disentangle himself from the writing mass was inexplicable, especially by him. In any case, not focusing on specifics, he ran. Head down, sweat plastering his back to his shirt, he ran.

At some point, it became clear to him that the rioting noises had become a victim of distance, and only a faint whisper of it remained. And even that may have been his imagination. More so than anything else, Hamza heard his pounding feet and his trembling heart. Nervousness, mixed with being thoroughly winded, made Hamza’s head feel like smoke, spiraling towards the sun.

When he slowed down, one thing soon became extremely apparent. He was lost.

“Low key, but crap,” he came to a stop in front of a restaurant and pretended to observe one of their sample menus. Though he was bereft of energy, he was thankful the run hadn’t stolen his wits.

Unfamiliar town, a large population of racists on the loose, and a lost dark-skinned boy. The math was clear enough.

Not reading over the menu, he scanned the streets and tried to remember which direction he came from. He thought he was doing a pretty bang up job of not looking lost, when a waiter from the restaurant walked out and asked him, “Are you lost?”

He was a few years older than Hamza and startled the latter out of his covert operation.

Hamza being as quick witted as a dancer on tip toes responded, “Nope, just checking something for my mom, thanks.”

Maybe his self-observation was a bit out of focus because the waiter eyed him oddly. Nevertheless, he nodded and walked back inside. A civil war erupted within Hamza.

He felt stupid for not asking directions, but then countered by saying, well that’s exactly how people get kidnapped in the movies.

And at the same time, he knew if he couldn’t find his way back in time, he’d be stuck in this strange city; the bus would leave without him.

To which he responded, How hard can it be? I can figure this out—cities are pretty standard.

Hamza put the menu back and took a few steps. His legs were straws, barely able to support his weight, and his palms were clammy. The sun beat down on the entire world.

Hamza realized something: his youthful bluster was largely maintained by the support of his friends. Now that he was alone, he was second guessing everything. It was a stark contrast to his self image, as the underdog, stiff upper lipped, with his first to the world’s audacities.

The thought struck him like a veil being pulled from his eyes: did his friends make it out? Guilt took him. He was the one friend who, if he didn’t get a response back, he assumed tragedy. It seemed to him, in the vast matrix of possibilities, the probability of death was alarmingly high. He hoped they hadn’t gotten caught up in the mess. He hoped they were okay. He pulled out his phone, reflexively wanting to text Musa and Ubaid. Then he closed his eyes and mouthed a word. He had drained the last bits sending a snap to Aisha.

A gut sickening feeling seeped into him as he watched his wrongdoings become manifest against him. Without realizing it, he made istighfar.

“Okay, just get back and it’ll all be okay,” he whispered reassuringly.

He remembered something. During his Usain Bolt impression, he remembered cursing at a hill. During the upward climb, he was panting and mentally destroying every bit of earth under his feet.

If he could find the hill, then he would have a good vantage point of Springfield. Then all he had to do was find the castle walls of Westhaven and he would be back in time to not face the wrath of his family.

While he did his best to sort out his footsteps, Hamza realized that he would have done it again. He would still have gone to the protest and stood against those who tried to condemn the voices of minorities. Even with only a few suns beneath his belt, he had grasped a universal truth—if the weak allow their voices to be muted, then deafness becomes a justified pride.

Unfortunately for Hamza, the small city was full of buildings and offices that looked exactly the same. He passed by the same office three times, before realizing he was walking in a circle. When the waiter saw him again, Hamza had to pretend he dropped something. Quick witted indeed bro, he thought to himself. After, he avoided that street entirely.

A few attempts and several suspicious Springfielders later, Hamza was at the foot of the hill. Matchbox houses surround him, sprinkled in between the trees, each standing superior to its predecessor. He breathed a breath of thanks and began the climb. This time around, he took a break every so often. Hamza checked his phone several times, and the dead battery forced him to berate himself about his loose snapchat morals.

Finally, he was at the top and before gazing on the city, he said the basmalah. And when he turned his eyes on the city, the first thing they fell on was the angst filled establishment. Westhaven Building. He whooped, joy-rushed at finally succeeding. He breathed another thanks and made a mental map of how to get back.

Then he ran down the hill, hands flailing in the air, leaving behind a stream of laughter. The fifteen-minute trek up the hill was cancelled out by a minute of wind in his hair and wings on his back.  

He danced to a stop, still chortling and looked around. He knew he had to make a right at the end of the street and saw that it was the only way he could go. The street was lined with tall, ominous trees and he heard a raven’s caw in the distance. Hamza could have sworn he felt a cold chill.

He took a breath and calmed himself. He wasn’t three years old, and he could make it across without his parents’ help. The sun was preparing to set, and rain clouds filtered the orangey glow into an eerie cast on Hamza’s face.

He began walking and told himself to stop imagining things. He was glad Musa and Ubaid were not here to watch him make a fool of himself. Sweating over the sunset. He shook his head at his childishness.

But there it was again, that noise. He hoped it was just his brain playing tricks on him, but it was getting louder. He looked around for the source but his ears failed him.

“What is that?” He asked himself, already knowing the answer. Then he shook his head. “No. No, hopefully not. Maybe it’s a –” his brain took an impromptu vacation.

He could no longer deny the doppler effect; in the narrow street, lined with dark trees, the source of the noise was beelining towards him.

He glanced down at his hands, covered in liberal wrist bands. And his shirt, dotted with pinback buttons. Not to mention his kufi, which he had decided to wear that day. And aside from all the counterprotest paraphernalia, the worse case against him was his dark skin. There was no denying what Hamza stood for. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans.  

The large crowd was doing their rumbling chant, interjecting it with the occasional bark. “You will not replace us,” he heard their chant. “Hu hu hu,” was the replying chorus.

The group was at the end of the street, having just turned the corner and began to slither towards him—a depraved snake made of posters, swastikas and confederate flags.

Hamza looked around and saw his one man against their hundred. They blocked out everything else like a wave of hatred over his world. Hamza felt a calm wash over him.

He coolly estimated his options. He could outrun them; there was a direct correlation between their racism and their obesity. But something in his chest stopped him from running back up that hill. Firstly, he was sure they had seen him—he had been walking toward them. And more powerfully, he refused to be a coward.

A thought occurred to him: if this was his day to die, then there was no two ways about it. If God was going to take his soul today, then Hamza was going out standing up for what was right. The cold directness of his decision shook a more emotional part of his heart, but it was drowned out by the chanting. Hamza began walking towards them, not making a sound. He was fully prepared to meet, in the best case, hospitalization. He said the name of God and stepped.

Their footsteps ate away at the distance and before he knew it, Hamza was inches away from the man who had spit in his face. He smelled like alcohol. Their deep warbling was deafening in his ears, pounding at him in waves. Hamza stared forward, not meeting any eyes, and still stepped.

And the crowd parted. Not one at a time, but simultaneously as though the whole thing was rehearsed. Or as though they were being forced to walk around him. They created this narrow path for him, a stone making its merry way along a river.

Hamza hid the astonishment that melted into paranoia. They’re going to close in around me, and swarm, he thought. He formulated the ways they would attack him. With their beer bottles, he supposed. Maybe a hate flag to the head? Hamza’s heart was the eye of the storm, as he stepped through tearing ignorance. He heard their rude comments and their curses, but not once did they acknowledge him.

He felt the impulsive nature of youthhood to grab one of them and ask, “Can you see me?” Biting his tongue, he kept walking, invisible.

The entire lot of them walked around him, regrouping once they had passed him. When Hamza made it out on the other side, he inspected his body looking for the wounds. Nothing. He stopped walking and turned back toward the still chanting crowd.

Not one turned to look back at him. Hamza’s face broke into a stupid grin as he turned the corner, looked up at the sky, and felt a newness in his chest. He ran the rest of the way back to Musa and Ubaid.

[sgscenarios]

rainy days

summary: byulyi was your umbrella

Tomorrow would be a new day, yet old memories plagued you.

Old memories from the days of happiness, when the morning sun shined so brightly, when she still smiled at you lovingly. All those days were over. You were sure she’d already moved on, yet why did you still have all these feelings for her. If there was a way that you could make them go away, you would. But you couldn’t. Those feelings were forever locked in a cage inside of your heart, and you’d lost the key to open them and let them be free somewhere during the times you spent with her.

Even when the sun was out, it didn't shine as brightly as before. You’d come to hate sunny days, and learned to love it when it was cloudy and raining. The rain looked so beautiful and perfectly depicted how you were feeling. You’d come to love everything about the rain, along with the dark clouds, the clashing thunder, and the flashing lightning. And with each flash of lightning, you were taken back to the times that the two of you were still together, even if it was only for a second. It still pained you to think about how happy you two were, and it killed you a bit more every time you were taken back to those times, and then, you couldn’t help yourself and end up breaking down.

It had been two months since the you and Byulyi had broken up, yet you were still sulking. The past two months consisted of you locking yourself in your room save for the bathroom breaks. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care about yourself anymore, much less anything else. Your roommates had knocked on (more like banged against) your door endlessly to try to get you out, but they were all futile attempts.

Another week passed before your roommates were able to get you out of your room and out of the apartment. They had told you that they were taking you out to lunch, then to the amusement park. You had told yourself that you’d start taking care of yourself, to go back to your old self, so you had agreed, although reluctant at first. So here you were, sitting in a booth at a local restaurant as you and your friends ate.

And for the first time in a while, you were genuinely smiling and laughing. You basked in this happiness that was so familiar and nostalgic, but you tried to not let the memories get to you while out were on this outing with your friends.

After finishing your lunch, the three of you set off to the amusement park, you in the backseat as your friends wouldn’t let you drive or work the AUX cord, worried that all that you’d play would be depressing songs.

The ride there took a while, but once there, you and your friends were having a field day. The first thing that happened once the three of you got through the gates was that your friends had dragged you to the first roller coaster they spotted, paying no mind to your protests. The three of you then proceeded to go on every ride (except for that one ride with the scary name), and by the time you’d finished, all of you were a laughing mess.

You and your friends then decided to take a break and roam around the food carts, browsing around and buying anything you thought looked delicious, eventually ending with some ice cream.

The three of you walked around with your ice cream in hand, entering the game area. You had offered to play two games, winning prizes for the both of them, and the two of them teaming up to win one for you. So there you three were, ice cream in one hand and a large stuffed toy in the other.

You three then walked around, watching other people have a try at the games, until you ran into someone familiar. You were the first one to spot her and stop in your tracks. This prompted the other two to stop and turn back to you, asking you what was wrong. You didn’t answer, so they followed your gaze and their eyes landed on Byulyi. She was with another girl, a girl who was beautiful and had pretty pink hair.

Byulyi who had noticed you also stopped once she got closer to you.

“Um.. It’s good to see you again, Y/N.”

You nodded slowly, “Y-yeah. Nice to see you again too, Byulyi. I see you’re doing good.”

She gave you a soft smile, “I can say the same to you.”

“I’m barely getting by.” You blurted out, quickly recovering with a chuckle.

“Oh,” She started before motioning to the girl besides her. “This is my friend, Kim Yongsun. Yongsun, this is Y/N.”

Yongsun gave you a smile and you returned it. Your friends could sense the tension and your uncomfort growing, and so they made up an excuse to save you, nudging at your side.

“Y/N, the party starts soon. We should get going.”

You nodded once more before turning back to Byulyi with a smile laced with sadness. “Well, I’ll be going now. It was nice seeing you, Byulyi. See you around?”

“Yeah,” She replied with her signature smile, which just tore at your heart again because now, that smile wouldn’t be for you anymore. “See you around.”

The three of you then left back to the car, and the whole ride was silent. You stared out the window with pursed lips, a droplet of rain on the window startled you. A few raindrops soon escalated to a full on rain shower, and the corner of your lips tugged into a small smile.

And just like those raindrops, your tears began to come down.

Rainy days were your only consolation.

When you couldn't help yourself; when no one could help you.

[whimzea-blog]

Day to Night 1.75/2

Title: Day to Night

Author: whimzea

Pairing: Zane/Heath

Summary: Heath and Zane’s Valentine’s Day is very different than last year’s.

Also up on AO3 here. (I lied. One more little part before the end.)

********

“God, you have gotten fucking awful at bowling!” Heath marveled, watching Zane walk back from throwing his fourth gutterball in a row.

Heath was beating him by almost one hundred points this game, and had beat him by about 150 the first game.

He could make the excuse that he just wasn’t totally focused, but that would ruin the next part of his plan. And mostly, he was focused. He actually just sucked at bowling. But he was having a blast, and Heath seemed to be, too.

“And why do you keep looking at your watch?” Heath asked as Zane looked down at his wrist, again.

“Because-” Zane paused as he saw someone walk through the door to the bowling alley, his arms full of boxes and bags. He grinned. “Because of that guy.”

Heath turned to see where Zane was looking. A young, handsome white guy with sparkling diamond studs was carrying several bags, his pants falling dangerously low off his ass. “Because of a fuckboy? Are you dealing drugs?”

Zane rolled his eyes. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

The guy paused and looked around the bowling alley. He seemed to sigh in relief when he saw Zane waving him over.

He dumped his armful of stuff on their table. Zane handed him some cash, and he left, without a word.

“He was friendly,” Heath said sarcastically.

“He did the job, that’s all I care about,” Zane said, smiling as he looked through everything. It was all there.

Heath sniffed. “Is there food? I’m fucking starving.”

Zane nodded. “Yes. Go bowl your turn and finish off the game while I set it up.”

Heath did, and the final score was 180 to Zane’s whopping 82.

“You never had a chance,” Heath said smugly. “Kicked your ass from here to Florida and back again.”

“Stop bragging and eat,” Zane replied, pointing to a seat where a napkin and ice cold Celsius was set.

Heath sat. “Oh, you so fancy,” he joked, holding up a paper napkin.

“Your first course, sir. Dinner à la Vine.” Zane placed a take-out box in front of Heath, as well as a pair of chopsticks.

Heath grinned as he opened the box and saw ten little sushi rolls- salmon, his favorite- sitting in front of him.

“Ooh, how you zew it?” Heath said, quoting from one of their favorite Vines and pretending to struggle with the chopsticks. Zane laughed, so glad that Heath understood. But of course he did.

“Ooh, I got it!” Heath picked up a destroyed piece of sushi and popped it into his mouth.

“Was that fuckboy from Postmates?” Heath asked a bit later, dipping a roll into a small plastic cup of soy sauce.

“Nah. I paid an Uber driver extra to go pick up everything,” Zane said. “I can’t believe he didn’t fuck anything up.”

“Well, this is damn good sushi,” Heath commented, chewing blissfully.

“It’s just the start,” Zane said mysteriously. Heath raised an eyebrow.

****

“Your second course, sir.” Zane placed a McDonald’s bag in front of Heath.

“Sushi and McDonald’s? You better hope I don’t puke in your car.”

Heath dug into the bag and pulled out a container of fries and a sandwich box. Zane dug into his own bag.

Heath opened his sandwich box. He lifted off the bun.

“Baby…”

“Yeah?” Zane took a bite of his sandwich, smiling ear to ear.

“You forgot my damn pickles!”

Heath yelled it so loud that the couple in the lane next to them looked over. Heath waved.

It was so perfect, and so comfortable. While reminiscing about old Vines, old vlogs, old times, Zane couldn’t believe how seamlessly they had transitioned from being Zane and Heath to...Zane + Heath? Zane <3 Heath? Nothing had changed...except everything had changed.

Heath burped and sat back. “Bitch, I’m getting full. My stomach must be getting smaller or somethin’...I definitely can’t eat as much as I used to.”

“You better have room for one more course,” Zane warned.

“I will, after we hit the arcade,” Heath said, stretching. “I gotta digest. And I’m not done kicking your ass around this entire place yet. I’m thinking...air hockey.”

Zane pulled out his wallet and gave Heath some cash. “Go get tokens. I’ll clean up and meet you in the arcade.”

Heath fanned himself dramatically. “When he gives you money for arcade tokens,” he said dreamily, his hand hand over his heart.

Zane flipped him off and Heath laughed, changing out of his bowling shoes and dropping them off at the counter before jogging towards the other side of the building.

Zane cleaned up their garbage and changed his shoes, but paused before going over to the arcade. He felt like he needed one more trick up his sleeve to make this the best possible night. He had dessert all ready for them, but he felt like he was missing something.

Zane was kind of feeling like a nice blunt would hit the spot, but since Heath had stopped smoking cigarettes, he had sworn off weed too. He said being high made him crave cigarettes even more.

Zane shook his head. Maybe inspiration would hit him again like it had that afternoon.

*****

Heath beat him at three games of air hockey and three games of skee ball, winning a boatload of tickets and bragging rights for the next hundred years.

“Fuck, Heath, are you on ‘roids?” Zane joked as Heath pumped his fist in victory, his basketball shooting skills earning him over two-hundred tickets.

“I guess you just bring out the best in me, baby,” Heath answered in his Heather voice, blowing him a kiss.

“You just like kicking my ass,” Zane corrected him, palming their last two tokens.

“True.” Heath winked.

“We have two tokens left. I’m outta cash. What do you want to play?”

“You pick,” Heath said. “I’m gonna go trade in these tickets.”

Zane chuckled as he watched Heath get in line at the prize counter behind two eight-year-olds.

He looked around the arcade. They had already played their favorites. Everything else was just sort of...lame.

He had almost decided on another game of air hockey when something caught his eye. He glanced at Heath before walking over to it.

It was one of those fortune-telling machines. ZOLTAR, it said in big letters across the front, with an eccentrically-dressed moustached guy inside, his hands hovering over tarot cards and crystals.

Zane had seen one of these at Disney World one time when he was a kid, but had been too afraid of it at the time to play. Now, he was just intrigued. What could a machine tell him about the future? As much as a fortune cookie, he surmised, but still. He was easily roped into these things.

He put in his two tokens. Zoltar’s eyes lit up an eerie blue color, and his hands began moving.

“Zoltar sees very great things in your future.”

Zane shivered. Zoltar’s voice was creepy as fuck.

“But I warn you- do not forget where you began. An abundance of pride will lead to your downfall. If you wish to see deeper into the future, Zoltar will need more...encouragement.”

A piece of paper spit out of the machine, and Zoltar’s eyes went black. Zane guessed “encouragement” meant more tokens.

From his fortune, he expected the lyrics of “Jenny from the Block” to be on the card from the machine. Strangely, though, the side not covered with ZOLTAR and a bunch of symbols was blank, except for one sentence, “You will find what you seek in the mountains.”

The fuck?

“Dude, check this out!” Heath said, suddenly appearing next to him. Zane jumped.

“Fuck, you scared me!”

“Look at this shit!” Heath held up an enormous clear plastic ball. He threw it on the ground, and inside, thousands of tiny lights lit up as it bounced. Zane and Heath, watched, mesmerized, until it finally stopped bouncing.

“That’s dope,” Zane agreed.

“I know, right?!” Zane had never seen a grown man so excited over a toy. It was cute.

“So, what did you spend your tokens on?” Heath asked. He looked at ZOLTAR. “Not this shit, I hope.”

Zane quickly shoved the card from the machine into his pocket. “Haha, no way. Just one of the claw machines. I didn’t get anything.”

“I bet I would have gotten something,” Heath said haughtily. “Although nothing as sick as this ball.” He bounced it again for emphasis.

“You ready to go?” Zane asked, sort of unnerved by ZOLTAR and ready to head home. “You bet.”

*****

“Bitch, where’s my third course?”

They were stuck in traffic on 134 again, and Zane could tell Heath was getting antsy.

“Oh, yeah,” Zane said, reaching into the back seat for the last bag of food. “Here you are, sir.”

“Boskon Kream doughnuts!” Heath screamed, taking a huge bite. “Don’t you touch my Boskon Kream doughnut!”

Pieces of chewed doughnut fell out of his mouth into his lap, but Zane was so used to Heath’s eating habits that it didn’t faze him.

Heath ate happily. Zane couldn’t stop thinking about ZOLTAR. He knew it was just a machine, but he had a weird feeling about it. He tried to distract himself by thinking about how well the evening had gone, despite the shaky start.

“Hey, why do you hate Glendale?” Zane asked, remembering Heath’s comment from before. “You never told me.”

Heath’s eyes narrowed again. “Because everyone in Glendale is a fucking asshole.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone.” Heath tore off another piece of doughnut and didn’t elaborate.

They sat in companionable silence, except for the radio. Heath ate another doughnut, burped loudly, and then pulled out his phone. It was like any other night.

They were getting close to Studio City, and Zane hadn’t made any progress with deciphering his fortune, nor had he thought of his pièce de résistance for their night out.

They were five minutes from home when they drove by a middle-aged couple walking on the sidewalk. They had huge backpacks and hiking boots on, and were walking with poles.

“White people,” Heath said, shaking his head before looking back at his phone.

Zane figured they had probably come from Franklin Canyon Park, choosing to walk back instead of driving like normal people, but hey, to each their own. LA had plenty of hippie types.

As he looked back at them in his rearview mirror, it hit him.

“Oh my god,” Zane said abruptly.

“What?!” Heath looked at him, concerned.

Zane had it. He had figured ZOLTAR out.