#also pretend the hand is normal I was way too lazy to fix it <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[pumkin-patchwork]

kinslayer

kind of a request from instagram, but part of me felt like doodling fëanáro curufinwë today anyways

(it’s been a while, after all!)

[rehkkuma]

bucci gang's crush playing with their hair headcanons

a/n: playing with someone's (especially your crush's) hair is just such a HDKGHK#?$?@? feeling that i had to make a post of it with my favourite italian gangstars <3

disclaimers/tags: gn pronouns, fluff.

Giorno Giovanna

-Giorno is someone who's not fond of being touched. With the environment he grew up in, he hasn't really had a good relationship with physical touch.

-After the Notorious B.I.G. fight (the one where he had to replace his arm), his hair's a mess and he's unable to fix his braid properly.

-When you see him wince and groan trying to fix his hair, you suggest tying it for him instead.

-Giorno's a naturally suave, civilized person, but he can't help but feel his heart beat a bit faster.

-[Insert blushing meme here]

-When he's with you, he isn't bothered by the uncomfortable silence. In fact, he prefers the quiet.

-Having your fingers gently scrape his head, soft breaths hitting his back, and ticklishly moving each section of hair with caution: he loves it.

-Once you're done braiding his hair, he'll kindly thank you. Maybe in the future he'll purposely untie his hair just to feel your touch again.

Bruno Bucciarati

-When it came to you, Bucciarati can be a bit touchy.

-The two of you would often give each other massages when tired, give warm hugs to each other, and a lot more. It was hard to tell if it was still platonic at that point.

-One day when Bucciarati leans his head back, you notice a small knot in his hair. Since you're already pretty close with him, you try to fix it without informing him.

-He slightly jumps in surprise, but goes back to normal once he remembers it's just you.

"Sorry. I was just startled, that's all. You can continue."

-If you twirl your finger around his hair for fun afterwards, he'll place a hand on your thigh and gently rub his thumb on your soft skin. He can't help but return your affection some way.

-Bucciarati will side-eye any of the other gang members if they look at you two weirdly. Bruno's a gang member traveling with 5 other maniacs; if there's going to be no privacy, he might as well show his affection for you.

Leone Abbacchio

-Abbacchio is also someone who dislikes physical touch, but there's a slight exception when it comes to you.

-Okay maybe not a slight exception. There's a huge exception.

-When you first start playing with his hair like a kitten, he panics. Hard.

-He rushes to look at Bucciarati, having a "what the fuck do I do" face.

-Once he calms down and begins to relax a little bit, he'll stay awkwardly still.

-He's uncomfortable; not because you're touching his hair, but because he doesn't know how to react.

-He'd rather know ahead of time if you're going to touch him.

-If you happen to ask to touch his hair, he'll pretend to act annoyed but agree anyways.

Ghirga Narancia

-Depending on the situation, Narancia will either be ecstatic to have you touch-up his hair or be a nervous mess.

-If he's the one who asks you to fix his hair, he'll hum while you tie knots and think nothing of it. If you're the one who suggests fixing his hair, he might react differently.

-He might start rambling out of nervousness and ask a bunch of weird questions.

"W-What do you think we're gonna eat for dinner today?

"Do you... have a favourite number?"

-Narancia is the type of person who only likes physical touch when it comes from people he deeply trusts.

Pannacotta Fugo

-Fugo generally dislikes being touched. If it's you who's touching him, he'll tolerate it at most.

-Would only like you to touch him if he requests it. Something like asking you to take something out of his hair.

-If you want to get a reaction out of Fugo, aiming for his hair shouldn't be a priority. He doesn't see anything too romantic about it.

-Fugo prefers hand holding and hugs over anything. It feels more personal, more intimate.

-Overall, playing with his hair just makes him 🤨

Guido Mista

-Similar to Bucciarati, Mista is pretty touchy with you (but a lot less charming lol).

-He's the "lazy" kind of touchy. He likes leaning on you in cars, uses you as a shoulder rest, and might let you rest on his lap if he's feeling a bit nice.

-When Mista's hat starts to slip off while napping on your lap, you have a chance to see his brown curls.

-If you start twirling your fingers in his hair, he might wake up from the ticklish feeling but pretend to be asleep.

-Unlike some of the other members, he doesn't feel nervous or uncomfortable. Feeling your touch is instantly relaxing.

-Since he barely takes his hat off, he finds it a bit embarrassing to take it off just to ask you to play with his hair in the future.

-He won't necessarily be touchier or flirtier with you, but you might catch him without his hat off more often.

[horansqueen]

Stuck With You - Chapter 27

Chapter 27: Let My Love Open The Door

🡪chapter 1  🡪chapter 2  🡪chapter 3  🡪chapter 4  🡪chapter 5  🡪chapter 6   🡪chapter 7  🡪chapter 8  🡪chapter 9  🡪chapter 10  🡪chapter 11 🡪chapter 12 🡪chapter 13 🡪chapter 14 🡪chapter 15 🡪chapter 16 🡪chapter 17 🡪chapter 18 🡪chapter 19 🡪chapter 20 🡪chapter 21 🡪chapter 22 🡪chapter 23 🡪chapter 24 🡪chapter 25 🡪chapter 26

College Enemies To Lovers AU

characters // masterlist // instagrams // mood board

When people keep repeating That you'll never fall in love When everybody keeps retreating But you can't seem to get enough

Let my love open the door Let my love open the door Let my love open the door To your heart

When everything feels all over Everybody seems unkind I'll give you a four-leaf clover Take all worry out of your mind

Let my love open the door Let my love open the door Let my love open the door To your heart

The only key to your heart That can stop you falling apart Try today, you'll find this way Come on and give me a chance to say

Let my love open the door It's all I'm livin' for Release yourself from misery There's only one thing gonna set you free

click here to be on the update list

NIALL

                                            I wanted to ask Devon what we would do when we'd go back to school. Would we pretend nothing happened or would we keep this little thing going on between us? I wanted to know but I didn't want to ask, scared of the answer and of what it would do to my mood. Instead, we kept laughing together, playing board games, watching tv and discussing. I didn't want things to end and I was ready to stay locked in this apartment forever if it meant that our relationship, whatever it was, would never stop. I knew it was impossible but I decided to just enjoy the time we spent together and try to figure out the rest later, when we'd go back to normal.

I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms on my chest as I stared at her putting some music on. She was only wearing a hoodie and panties and even if it made it difficult to concentrate, I loved that she felt at ease like that around me. A song invaded the room and she just started dancing, making me chuckle.

"Late night, a long day Somehow it's never quite enough And maybe I'm lazy It's been so long, sometimes I feel like giving up

So now I'm staying up all night 'Cause I'm trying to understand Why I feel like I've been stuck here forever

Break out today I'm throwing my fears away You don't even know Break out today I'm throwing my fears away You don't even know You don't even know

Maybe I'll get through Just one more day of feeling dumb I don't think I need to Get over this until I feel like growing up

So now I'm staying up all night 'Cause I'm trying to understand Why I feel like I've been stuck here forever

Break out today I'm throwing my fears away You don't even know Break out today I'm throwing my fears away You don't even know You don't even know"

I listened to the song and my amused smile turned into a sad one. I was trying so hard to throw my fears away and be the way I used to be before my ex girlfriend made a mess out of me but I was just starting to realize that fears are normal. What is not normal, however, is to stop myself from living my life and find love just because someone fucked me up before. I looked at Devon, wishing she could understand the meaning behind the lyrics she was singing herself and when the song ended, I took a few steps closer and my smile changed again as she looked at me with a laugh.

"Sorry!" she chuckled, licking her lips. "I didn't want to annoy you."

"You never annoy me."

Her lips curled in a fond smile and she bent slightly to take my hands in hers. "You wanna dance with me?"

I chuckled but raised my nose up before letting out a groan. "I'm not very good at that..."

"Come on, you just saw me dance, you can't be worse than me!"

My lips curled more and I brought one of my hands up to make her twirl. She started giggling and I pulled her closer. She almost tripped and bumped into my chest. Instead to move back, she looked up in my eyes and smiled gently at me before licking her lips.

"Maybe you'd rather do something else, then?" she asked in a whisper, nibbling on her bottom lip and raising her eyebrows.

I knew what she meant and I couldn't say I was not tempted. I let my eyes roam on her and squeezed her fingers in mine. "We can dance."

She seemed surprised but she just nodded and I looked around for my phone. I found it on the couch and grabbed it, quickly putting a song that started gently on the speakers. I put my phone away and extended my hand to her. She seemed to hesitate but she finally put her palm against mine and I pulled her closer gently. We danced in silence until I slid my hand to her lower back, pulling her slightly closer and she pressed her cheek on my chest, near my shoulder. I was not really into dancing. In fact, we could have just stayed there, in each other's arms, without moving, and it would have been good with me. I leaned my chin on her head and closed my eyes as a bunch of thoughts invaded my head.

Being afraid was normal, it was so obvious now, but I had to overcome those fears, and my biggest fear at the moment was about the girl I was holding close to me, and the feelings I had for her.

"I like you too, Devie."

She seemed to tense against me but I ran my fingertips softly on her back and she relaxed a bit.

"Before we left, you said you really liked me." I explained, licking my lips as she pulled away gently. I looked down at her  and let my eyes roam on her face. I could read fear but also something else in her eyes, and it was the very first time I couldn't decipher what it was. "I just wanted to say that I like you too. Maybe even more than that."

"You... you don't even know me."

"I know you more than I knew my ex girlfriend." I pointed out with a shrug. "And you know me more than pretty much anyone. I've opened up to you in a way I can't with anyone else."

I waited a few seconds as her lips parted and I sighed, taking a few steps back but pulling her with me by her hand. I sat on the coffee table and she placed herself between my legs, her bare thighs brushing against mine. I wanted to run my hands on her but instead, I grabbed her other hand and squeezed her fingers.

"I tried pushing you away, but the more I push you away, the closer I want you to be." I admitted, shaking my head but still staring up at her. "I'm not asking you for a romantic relationship, I know you're not ready and to be quite honest, I don't think I am either. But there's something between us, right? Something stronger than lust? Something that's different than friendship?"

Her traits softened and she shook her head slightly. "I'm trying not to think about it, Niall." she whispered, bringing both her hands on my cheeks as she cupped my face. "I don't want to analyze everything, I don't want to give a name to what we have. I don't want to ask myself too many questions. It was different since day 1. I mean, I don't just make out with my friends, and I don't get stuck with random people often." This time, I chuckled sadly. "I don't know what it is, and I don't want to know."

I thought about the soft kisses I gave her in the elevator after we made out. They were the same type of kisses she gave me earlier after we both came.

"I know you said you never wanted to fall in love again." I pointed out in a murmur, feeling my heart jump in my chest. "I've said the same thing. But, do you think about it sometimes?"

"About what?" she asked just as low.

"About love."

Her eyes roamed on me and one of her thumbs brushed against my bottom lip. I could have sworn she was about to tear up and I held my breath, waiting for her answer.

"No. Almost never." she admitted with a sad smile. "But if I had to fall in love again, It would probably be with you."

Her words made something stir so bad in my stomach I thought I was about to throw up. Slowly, I got up and her arms fell on her sides. I grabbed her face the way she had cupped mine a few seconds before, my fingers spread on her cheeks, chin and jaw, and bent down to kiss her. She let me, whimpering low in my mouth as I felt her grip the front of my shirt.

"Niall, wait." she expressed after a few seconds, pulling away and shaking her head. "You know we can't date right? We'd just destroy each other. Love... it's not for me. I've tried it and hated it. It hurts too much. But we can be... something, I don't know what." she shrugged and pressed her lips together. She was near tears and I shook my head, bending down to kiss her again. "I'm sorry."

"No, hey, shh." I kissed her lips a few times, cupping her face again. "We can be friends. We can make each other feel good. Let's start with that okay?"

"Okay." she whispered, nodding, as I pressed my mouth on hers again, leaving some love on her lips. "I just.. I need a shower."

She quickly moved away from me and walked past me as I sighed, remaining standing up and closing my eyes. I felt like the first few weeks after we met, we could have ended up dating. Hell, I felt like before Henry appeared, she would have been willing to at least try, maybe go on a date with me or something like that. But now? I hated this man for fucking her up like that and I hated myself for not being honest with her and with myself from the beginning. I couldn't help but wonder if she would have broken up with me after seeing Henry again, had we started dating earlier, but I pushed that thought away. We would never know and it really didn't matter anyway. It's not like I could go back in time to fix my mistakes even if I wanted to.

I waited until I heard the shower and sighed again, going back to my room to grab a t-shirt and two pairs of sweatpants. I put one on and walked to the bathroom, knocking at the door with one of my knuckles.

"Yes?"

I opened the door slightly and glanced at her through the glass before turning around and leaving the pants and the shirt on the counter, trying to fight the urge to look at her again.

"I brought clothes for you."

"Oh, thank you."

She sounded disappointed but I tried not to think too much about it and got out, closing the door behind me and walking back to the living room. I grabbed my guitar and started playing an old song on it to change my mind. It brought me back to when I was dating Abby and I held my breath, closing my eyes at all the memories. It's insane how we mostly remember the nice moments with someone when they're not around anymore. I knew I had more bad moments than good ones with her but the first thing that came to my mind was the first time I saw her, the first time I kissed her, and even if I knew she never really loved me, the first time she said 'i love you'.

It was so different with Devon and I felt so lost. I didn't know what to do, I barely knew what I wanted. All I knew was that I needed her close to me at all times, and it seemed extremely selfish of me. The first time I saw Abby, my heart had jumped in my chest and I remembered how beautiful she was. The first time I saw Devon, her physical appearance didn't matter to me. All I could feel was the electric connection between us and I knew immediately that we had something special going on. It was not just something I felt towards her, it was something reciprocal, something I felt because she felt it and vice-versa. Even now, I could see it in her eyes when she looked at me and I knew she saw the same thing in mine.

When she came back, she was wearing my clothes and I let my eyes travel on her body. Her hair was wet and messy but she looked cute and when she bent down to grab my guitar and put it away, I just let her. Slowly, she straddled me and when I realized what she was doing, I spread my legs on the couch.

"I thought you were going to join me in the shower." she admitted, nibbling on her bottom lip.

"Did you want me to?"

"Mm, maybe."

Slowly, she pressed her lips on mine and my fingers gripped the couch harder. We didn’t really kiss the last few times we touched each other and feeling her mouth so impatient and eager against mine reminded me how much I had missed it. Our kiss grew and when I slipped my tongue in her mouth, she wrapped her lips around it and started sucking on it.

"Fuck, don't do that." I whispered with a chuckle, my eyes still closed. "Can't stop thinking what it would feel like around my cock."

"Well, maybe I could-"

"No, stay here." I cut her, opening my eyes and letting them roam on her face. She raised her eyebrows and my hands slipped from her upper arms until her waist before I pulled her closer and licked my lips. "Please, stay here."

"I want you so bad." she whispered, her lips brushing against mine as she talked. "I can't believe we didn't fuck yet."

I kissed her harder and she whimpered in my mouth as I pushed her more against my lap. I could feel my cock swell between her legs and she ground down on me, making me even harder. I gripped her hips hard and helped her move on me slowly, feeling her pussy rub on my cock, separated by the fabric of our pants.

"How does my cock feel? Good?"

She just grabbed one of my hands on her waist to bring it on her breasts, over her shirt, and I leaned a bit on the couch as she kept grinding on me. I gripped one of her tits and she moaned more when my thumb rubbed on her nipple. I wanted to lie her down, take her clothes off and push my cock inside her to find out how she felt but the wait was making me dizzy and I knew that when it would happen, it would be even better.

"Is that what you meant when you said we can make each other feel good?" she asked in a whisper, her pussy still rubbing slowly against me.

"Fuck yes that's what I meant." I admitted low, making her smile. "I bet you're so fucking wet right now."

"I'm dripping."

My hand grabbed her tit tighter and I let the other slide down to her ass, gripping one of her cheeks hard enough to make her whimper and squirm a bit. "You're such a horny little slut, yea?"

I felt my heart jump in my chest at the words that came out of my mouth. We had never discussed what we liked and I didn't want to insult her or turn her off. I was about to apologize profusely when she whimpered.

"Mmhm, yes, I'm so horny for you."

My lips curled and she leaned her forehead against mine, her eyes closed. I moved my hips up to meet hers and groaned, feeling my sweatpants rub harder against my cock as she went quicker.

"You know what I'm gonna do to you next time?" I asked in a whisper, not waiting for her answer. "I'm gonna grab your hair and fuck your mouth. You like that?"

The simple thought of my cock in her mouth brought me close to an orgasm and when she moaned, I ran my hand to her other breast and gripped her hair tight.

"Do you? D'you want to feel the tip of my cock at the back of your throat?

"You know I do." she admitted, squirming on my lap and bringing a new sensation to me as my heart jumped. I was so close I could cum any second and I closed my eyes, trying to last a little longer, at least until she'd start cumming too. "I'm going to beg for it."

"Ride me harder." I just said, making her sit up immediately.

She started doing what I told her and I brought my mouth closer to her breasts. I could see her nipples peak through the fabric and groaned low as I brought my lips to them, sucking on one through her shirt and making her shake over me. I couldn't take it anymore and grabbed her waist, laying her down a bit roughly on the couch before moving over her and crushing my mouth against hers. I felt her hips grind up against my cock and I couldn't stop thinking that if we weren't wearing pants, it would definitely slip inside her and I would be able to feel her throb around me. The thought made me push my hips so hard against her that I felt her sink a bit in the cushion of the couch. Her hands reached for my hair and she gripped it tight as my lips ran to her neck.

"Cum for me, I want to feel you shake." I ordered in a low tone, hoping she'd just comply.

It took a few seconds and she started squirming, her grip tightening in my hair and her back arching as she quivered beneath me, It brought a rush to my brain, a mix of her getting an orgasm against me and the fact that she obeyed me without question, and I started cumming too, biting maybe a bit too hard the skin of her neck.

"Fuck."

Our orgasms both lasted longer than normally and when it left my body, I relaxed suddenly and buried my face in her neck. She smelled of my soap with a hint of sweat and I turned my head, placing a few kisses behind her ear.

"I thought you were just gonna take my pants off and fuck me." she admitted with a chuckle.

"Can't lie and say I didn't think about it." I chuckled too, moving my head up and holding myself with my upper arms on each side of her head. "I should have?"

"Mm, no, we can keep that for tomorrow."

"You want to fuck tomorrow?" I asked with an amused smile, making her raise her nose up in an embarrassed way.

"You think we can stop ourselves from fucking?"

This time, I laughed louder. "No!"

We remained silent for a while and the more she looked at me, the more her lips curled. "How does anyone look so good from this angle?" she asked, making me shake my head.

"You think I look good?" I asked jokingly, waving my eyebrows a few times and making her groan.

"Oh shut up."

"Alright alright," I smirked, moving off of her and getting up before extending my hand to her. She grabbed it and I helped her up quickly.

"I need new pants." I admitted, scratching the back of my head with a grimace. "Are you tired?"

We ended up laying down together in my bed in silence. I stared at the ceiling, not really knowing what to say. I loved doing anything sexual with her but when it was over, I ended up wondering how long it would last and how bad it would hurt when it would stop. I tried to accept that maybe she would never want to date me but I couldn't give up yet, it was too hard and painful to do.

"Do you think you could fall in love with Abby again if she came back and said she still loved you?" she asked randomly, making my lips part slightly. The question was legitimate and at the same time, I had no idea how to answer it. Would I give Abby a second chance? Probably not. "I mean, you can never know how you'll feel when it happens. You may think you know how you'll react to a certain situation but until it really happens, you can't be sure of what you'll feel or what you'll do." she added, making me believe she was talking about Henry and the fact that she saw him again after a few months when she probably thought she never would again.

"I can't be sure, but I like to think that I would never give her the chance to hurt me again." I finally admitted, turning my head her way. "Why? Did Henry message you or something?"

"Yes."

My heart nearly jumped out of my chest by my throat and I sat up quickly, turning her way and bending down a bit to look in her eyes. I had never felt so nervous in my life and let my eyes roam on her face, trying to decipher her expression.

"You're not gonna go back with him, will you?"

Devon moved up slightly, holding herself on her elbows. Her face was close to mine but not close enough to touch and the left corner of her lips raised up slightly in a sad smile. "Don't be silly, Niall." she expressed softly. "He didn't say he wanted me back, and there's no way I'd go back to him."

My shoulders fell and I exhaled, just realizing that I was holding my breath. "What did he want?"

"He just apologized." she explained, shrugging a shoulder. "Said he missed me, and that he was sorry about how it all ended."

"Devie, you won't let him play with your heart again, right?"

Her facial expression changed into a fond one and slowly, she brought her hand behind my head, pulling me closer to her. I felt every muscle of my body relax when our lips touched and she brought me down with her as she lied back on the bed. The kiss was slow and soft, and somehow, I hoped it showed just all the feelings I had for her. I felt her palm slide slowly from my hair to my jaw and when the kiss broke, she licked her lips.

"No one's gonna play with my heart again, especially not him." she let out in a whisper, making me nod. "Niall?" I raised my eyebrows and she moved her head up a bit to kiss me again. "You make me feel alive, and.. and wanted. And smart, and pretty. No one ever did that before."

I sent her a small smile and rubbed my nose gently against hers. "You feel like that because you are all those things. You don't need me."

She pressed her lips together and teared up, making my heart twist in my chest again.

"I do. I need you."

[writer-room]

Siblings: Chapter Four

AO3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Summary: The Bats reflect on how their thoughts about siblings have changed over the years. Some opinions stayed, others didn't.

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

Tim didn’t know how to feel about being an only child.

He didn’t think about it all that often, there weren’t many kids he talked to at school who mentioned their siblings all that frequently. And, in some parts, he didn’t mind it so much.

The kids who did talk about siblings complained, whether their siblings were older or younger. There were those who said their sibling took up more of their parents attention, which was something Tim was already lacking in. Some said that they never had any time to themselves, something that Tim had an overabundance in, but still cherished. Others said that the accomplishments, and failures, of their siblings reflected onto them, making their parents expect more or less of them. Tim couldn’t afford that either. His parents already didn’t think much of him, he didn’t need it to be any less. And if they wanted more, he worried he wouldn’t be able to meet their expectations.

And yet…

Sometimes he liked the idea of someone else in that empty mansion. Someone to talk to when the rooms felt too large, when the loneliness was suffocating him. He liked the thought of sharing his recent theories, photos, and the like with someone. Wondered if he could go on for as long as he wanted without being interrupted.

Maybe they’d be someone who didn’t call him by a name that wasn’t his, then feign forgetting. Who didn’t treat his binders like they were assaulting their eyes. Who didn’t scrutinize his every movement for faking.

That’d be nice, he thinks. 

But there were pros and cons, he reasons. And for all he knows, if he had a sibling, they could’ve been just like his parents. Or they could’ve been kinder. Not like he’d ever know.

He had more important things to worry about than hypotheticals and wishes.

“Before you scold me, know that I took a five hour nap earlier today and I’m only getting a snack.”

Steph and Duke blinked at him from the doorway to the kitchen, their expressions a sharp contrast between exasperated and concerned, respectively.

“Wow, five hours?” Steph snarked. “That’s a new record. Are you dying?”

“Not yet,” Tim said, opening the fridge. “Give it a few weeks and I’m sure you’ll see rumors of my tragic defeat at the hands of, I dunno, Flamingo.”

“There’s a supervillain named Flamingo?” Duke exclaimed, staring at Steph incredulously.

“Oh, yeah, it’s a whole thing.” She nodded. “He had a scuffle with Jay and his kid a while back.”

“Jason has a kid?”

“Why are you up, anyway?” Tim talked right over him. “Duke I understand, he’s the disgraced child of the sun. But you patrol at the same time as every other nocturnal person in this house.”

“Hey-”

“I actually had to pretend to have a normal sleep schedule, my mom was getting worried and I didn’t want her finding me sneaking in with my full Spoiler getup on.” Steph explained tiredly. “I’m still trying to recover.”

“Tragic,” Tim hummed, pulling out a container holding a ham sandwich. 

“The only thing that's tragic is your outfit.” Steph snorted, looking him up and down.

Tim blinked, looking down at himself. His outfit consisted of a pair of knockoff Batman shorts, knee-high pastel dinosaur socks, and a long red robe that absolutely did not belong to him hanging loosely off him, exposing countless scars littering his body.

“I look awesome,” Tim said, popping the lid off the container. 

“Damian’s gonna start asking what battles you got your scars from again,” Steph tutted, striding further into the kitchen with a confused Duke following her. “Know that I will not be on your side when Dick notices and gets worried.”

“I’m more worried about Dami seeing this one,” He said, brushing the robe back slightly to reveal a poorly stitched surgical scar on his upper abdomen. “Because then he’s going to ask what happened, and then I’m gonna have to tell him that's where my spleen used to be, and then he's going to be reminded that oh, yeah, his brother has a missing spleen, and then he’s going to be treating everything like its diseased-”

“Does...he keep forgetting you lost your spleen?” Duke blinked, concerned. “I feel like that’d be something you were kinda always aware of…”

“Eh, everyone's worried about a different scar whenever they see ‘em.” He shrugged, glancing down as he traced over one of the surgery scars along his chest. “Which is frankly a little rude. I earned this right to be shirt free.”

“Hell yeah you did,” Steph grinned before her eyes dropped to the sandwich Tim was attempting to eat. “Isn’t that Cullen’s?”

“He didn’t label it, therefore it’s mine.” Tim said simply.

“Harper’s gonna kill you,” Duke warned warily. 

“Only if she catches me,” He said, taking a bite of the sandwich. “Why’re you guys here, anyway? Grabbing a snack?”

“Lookin’ for Babs,” Steph said, hands in her pockets. “Someone on Twitter started a war about which Batgirl was better, and Babs will probably get a kick out of being remembered as the ‘missing Batgirl.’”

“Oh she’ll be pissed about being remembered that way.” Tim agreed, shoving the rest of the sandwich in his mouth. “Babs will see it in five minutes or less, though. Swear she has a sixth sense for whenever someone mildly associated with the Bats is mentioned.” He mumbled.

“You wanna hijack the thread before she finds it?” He suggested.

“Hijack it?” Duke echoed.

“We’re gonna yell about random stuff that doesn’t contribute to the conversation until all hell breaks loose.” Steph explained, already pulling out her phone. “Tim?”

“How do you feel about discussing why the sun lightens hair, but darkens skin?” Tim suggested, leaving the container on the counter as he brushed by Steph.

“You just want to piss off someone from Metropolis.”

“It’s law as a Bat that I have to torment Superman whenever I possibly can.” Tim shrugged.

“Does that include me?” Duke blinked. “Because I personally think tormenting Superman is a bad idea.”

“Clark wouldn’t hurt a fly,”

“Yeah, but he’ll give me the face of disappointment and I don’t think I can live with that.” Duke protested.

“He can barely even manage--where are you going?” Steph looked up, only now realizing Tim was leaving the kitchen.

“I’m starting the mayhem on the big screens.” Tim grinned, looking back over his shoulder.

“Please don’t tell me he’s going to use Twitter on the bat computer,” Duke sighed.

“He’s totally going to use the bat computer,” Steph smiled, following after him. “C’mon! It’s initiation time.”

“Do you guys just call every weird thing you do initiation?” Duke called, hurrying behind them. “Because I’ve been told I’m part of an initiation five times in the last week.”

“You’re stuck in initiation until this becomes the norm,” Steph said cheerfully. 

“Of course,” Duke muttered.

Tim’s robe billowed behind him like an amateur cape as he wandered towards the door leading towards the steps into the Batcave. He threw open the door, the sound of it slamming echoing and startling the bats on the ceiling.

“Jesus!”

Harper jumped from the swivel chair in front of the computer, wide-eyed as she blinked up at the trio at the top of the stairs.

“Hey, Harps,” Steph greeted, hopping onto the stairs railing and sliding down. “We’re here to cause problems on Twitter.”

“Oh, well, in that case, by all means.” Harper snarked, getting up and grandly gesturing to the countless screens. “Not like I was using it for actual work.”

“Were you using it?” Tim asked, pointedly glaring at Steph to keep his recent adventure to the kitchen quiet.

“...looking for tasers to modify count as work, right?” She said after a moment.

“Technically,” Tim nodded,  ignoring Steph’s smug look that absolutely signified she was going to blackmail him later. “But you can just use Dick’s old escrima sticks. He goes through a pair every two or three weeks, but most still work pretty well, he’s just too lazy to fix them.”

“Sweet,” Harper grinned. She then paused, taking in Tim’s appearance as he slid into the seat she was previously occupying. 

“Why do you look like you’re auditioning to be the pretty girl who dies in a low-budget slasher?”

“First of all, how dare you assume I wouldn’t be the first one to die for representation points,” Tim said, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “Second of all, it’s called having fashion, and also being allowed to do whatever I want.”

“You have terrible fashion sense,” Harper snorted, crossing her arms as Steph and Duke came up beside her. “But fair, I can respect that.”

“See?” Tim said, looking at Steph. “Some people can afford to not be rude.”

“Keep talking and I’ll lose more blackmail material,” Steph calmly threatened.

Harper glanced between the two, to which Tim quietly, and quickly, turned back to the screen and ignored the both of them. Harper raised a brow but didn’t comment. Tim made a mental note to sneak into one of Jason’s unused safe houses after this was over. Steph couldn’t keep quiet for the life of her.

“What are you starting, anyway?” Harper asked, crossing her arms and leaning on the back of Tim’s chair. “A sob story about the Opportunity rover?”

“Another day,” Tim promised, opening up Twitter on the countless screens. He opened another one on the other half of the computer, which Steph quickly stood at and got her own Twitter set up. “Right now, we’re questioning how the sun makes hair lighter, but skin darker. And we’re dragging Clark into it.”

“If anyone asks, I had no part in this.” Duke said, watching the two typing with a frown. “Initiation doesn't include learning how to taunt Superman, right?”

“Eh, we can settle for you becoming close with a Kryptonian,” Steph shrugged. “Dick and Bruce share Clark, Jay’s got Bizarro, Cass and I got Kara, Babs I think counts with her, too, Damian’s got Jon, and Tim has Kon.” She listed off.  “Harper and Cullen took the ‘bully Superman’ route without befriending any of his family, which is a coward's way out, so you can take, I dunno, does Chris still exist in this timeline?”

“I can call in a favor from Bart to reset the timeline again so he exists.” Tim said with a casual shrug, pulling up the thread arguing about the Batgirls. 

“I’m sorry, what--”

“Finding Kryptonians who aren’t already taken is hard!” Harper protested, talking over Duke. “And Clark likes you guys being friends with his family. The only issue he has is Damian getting testy and Tim making heart eyes at Kon every five minutes.”

“I do not!” Tim squawked, whirling around in the chair to glare at the traitors he dared call family. In his head. Family in his head.

“You do,” Steph and Harper chorused.

“I’ve met Kon for less than twenty minutes and even I know.” Harper added. “I’m sure Duke knew.”

“I...yeah…” Duke coughed into his fist and turned away. “But in my defense, the gossip around here is practically shouted down the halls twice a week.”

“You were subjected to Dick having another crisis about Jay dating Kory for two months, weren’t you?” Steph said, trying to hide a snicker.

“There were so many things I didn’t want to know,” Duke whispered, face horror-stricken. 

“Eh, at least Jay hasn’t brought up Talia around Dami yet.” Tim shrugged. “At that point, it’s better to just vacate the premises.” 

“Wait--”

“Point is, you either befriend the Kryptonian or you torment them. That’s the rules.” Tim talked over him again, scrolling down the thread and boredly looking over the arguments. “You ready, Steph?”

“As I’ll ever be,” She grinned, giving a thumbs up. “How long till Babs notices and takes this whole thing down?”

“Few more minutes, tops.” Tim shrugged, already typing. “You two wanna give any input?” He asked, glancing behind him to Harper and Duke.

“Ask if Kryptonian skin can be used as extreme sunscreen,” Harper suggested. “That’ll rile him up.”

“Now I’m just curious if it can,” Tim said, but obediently began making his comment.

“You could just...ask?” Duke tried, clearly not taking in any of what was happening.

“Nah, Kon’s half human, I don’t think it works the exact same.” Tim shook his head, not looking back. “Kara would destroy me if I tried, Bizarro has the same problem, Jon wouldn’t know, and Clark would start telling Bruce he’s worried I’m deranged again.”

“Aren’t you?” Duke raised a brow.

“Only if I feel like it,”

“And when he forgets to sleep for ninety-eight hours.” Steph spoke up.

Tim rolled his eyes, tuning out his siblings as they continued to talk. He posted his comment before sparing a peek back at them, currently throwing off ideas to their hijacking plan like it was an everyday occurrence. Well, to Steph and Harper at least. But, to Duke’s credit, he appeared to be getting more used to it on prodding from his...sisters? Hard to tell, Steph was her own classification of family member. They were some weird choices for family, at least.

Tim watched them for a moment before turning back to making another comment on the logistics of sunscreen, a smile on his face.

He couldn’t find it in him to complain. Too much, at least.

[yinyanchan]

Housemates x Zoot Suit Riot Crossover: Lucky and Strike part 1

Wanted to post this for my birthday. You guys get to see it here first before the parts are combined and put on AO3. I will update when that happens as I’d like to do POV’s I’ve written for housemates and Zoot Suit Riot as well. The rating on it will be M as we do have a lot a pervs to cover and well Lucky being Lucky.

Summary: In which Blue and Orange from Housemates end up getting sucked through the still active machine in the basement of the house and swaps them with Lucky (Underswap Mafia Sans) and Strike (Underswap Mafia Papyrus) from my fic. Zoot Suit Riot. If you haven’t read Zoot Suit Riot… you are in for a treat with Lucky. Rating is what is and you will find out soon enough.

Check it out under the cut!

Blue was cleaning up near the dryer as Orange was helping him fold clothes in the basement. Both of them zoned out at what they were doing… until…

“You hear that bro?” Orange looks around. He faintly hears a soft whirring sound but both the dryer and washing machine were off.

Blue pauses and looks around.

“I HEAR IT BUT WHAT DO YOU SUPPOSE IT IS? I MEAN I FEEL LIKE I’VE HEARD IT BEFORE BUT I CAN’T HONESTLY PLACE IT.” He hums as he continues to investigate with his brother.

“Oh crap. It’s getting louder behind the locked door.” Oranges’ sockets widen as do Blues.

“YOU DON’T THINK THE MACHINE STARTED UP ON IT’S OWN DO YOU!?” Blue looks highly concerned over at his brother.

“It doesn’t seem possible. Go get Sans… I’ll take it from here.” Orange says undoing the lock on the door only to have his hand gripped by his brother.

“I DON’T WANT YOU GOING IN ALONE. MAYBE THIS IS SOMETHING LIKE AN UPDATE BUT I DON’T WANT YOU TO GO IN AND IT POSSIBLY TAKES YOU FROM ME.” Blue is serious and Orange relents… he knows if he doesn’t comply he won’t even get the chance to investigate. Blue will ground his sorry behind that’s for sure.

“Ok bro. On the count of 3 we go in together.” Blue nods, getting that serious big brother mode game face on.

“1...2...3” They open the door and are instantly bathed in light and are instantly sucked into the room. Then moments later two skeletons who look eerily similar are thrown into the room.

They both groan slowly getting up from their awkward positions on the floor. They both look at each other only to do a double take.

“Brother, I know you are lazy but honestly?” The Blue look alike scowls at the orange hoodie clad skeleton next to him. The skeleton in question looks himself over and then scoffs.

“At least you can tell what I’m wearin’ unlike you bro… what even is that?” His brow raised in question.

The Blue imposter looked down at the battle body that Blue so lovingly wore in absolute disgust.

“THE FUCKING HELL IS THIS!? WHERE IS MY GODDAMN SUIT!?” He raves then touches head for his hat… and instantly blue tears are welling up in his sockets.

“Strike… my hat is gone… my classy yet uniquely me bowler hat has gone missing… I CAN’T BE CLASSY, yet highly adorable, AND GET PUSSY IN THIS!!!” The blue skeleton has tears cascading down as he looks around for something far more wearable… he only can find more of what his brother Strike is wearing and aprons.

“Lucky, Look, it's a bit more serious than our clothes right now. Forget our soulmate was in the world we left behind?” Strike asks his brother who looks ready to combust.

“THAT IS THE PUSSY I WAS TALKING ABOUT!!! IF WE ARE HERE THEN WHERE IS SHE!? SHE BETTER NOT BE STUCK WITH THOSE ASSHOLES WITHOUT US BIDDING FOR HER AFFECTION!” Lucky looked positively pissed.

“Well she’s not here obviously.” Strike meanders to the machine listening to its soft dronning hum.

“FIX THIS NOW!!!” Lucky demands but Strike laughs.

“Unfortunately this is out of my league. My machine doesn’t even have one of these usb ports. I had to print orders on a card file for the machine to read it… one mistakenly placed card would throw everything out of order.” Strike sighs.

“Hmmm perhaps this may be a similar situation we were in… multiple versions of ourselves convening in one alternate universe. I say we go out there and pretend to be whoever these skeletons are and single out the one who is responsible for this mishap.” Lucky says lifting up the battle body attire with a repulsed look.

“Great plan bro but how are you sure that they will think we’re them.” Strike questions.

Lucky pulls out the photo in the chest plate of Blue and Orange posing for the picture.

“I think we can handle it.” Lucky smirks, his blue eyes sharpened to blue icy stars.

Strike chuckles as the pose gives everything away. They were just plain ordinary versions of themselves in a different universe… How hard could it be?

They go up the stairs and find themselves face to face with someone so strikingly familiar their soul about leapt out of their chest.

“Y/N?” Lucky asks almost in a whisper but loud enough for you to turn around and smile. Lucky is in a daze and he feels the familiar pull of his soul's longing.... Could it be that there was another soulmate version of you in this world.

“What’s up Blue? Done with the laundry already? From the way you were lecturing Orange about his growing pile of filth… I thought you’d be down there a lot longer.” You chuckle as you come up to pat his shoulder.

The silence was obviously starting to worry you.

“You ok…..” You start but are instantly cut off by Strike chuckling.

“It’s okay honeybun, he’s a little speechless after he found a snack in the pockets of one of these (Slightly lifts the hoodie for emphasis) and it’s well traumatized him a bit. He’ll be back to good ol’ Blue in a moment.” Strike knew he slipped up by the way you look at him puzzled when he called you honeybun but fortunately his deductions about himself in this world were correct. You snort making both Lucky and Strike ease up from the tense situation they were in.

You give Lucky a hug which he’s shocked but instantly hugs you back.

“I’m so sorry Blue. At least it’s not like when Red went on a full cursing rampage… You and Berry both were mortified for days.” From Lucky’s position he was able to make eye contact with his brother.

It was an unspoken acknowledgement of the information they had just gathered. So there was a Red and a Berry… then you leaned back to look at Lucky once more.

“I’m sure you’ll be my cheery, bubbly Blueberry in no time.” Lucky almost cringed and Strike couldn’t hold back his laughter. Leaving you confused and Lucky glaring daggers at him while your focus was off.

Lucky only used that persona as a ruse… He hated being cute but he would do it in a heartbeat if it meant he could get something he could use. Everyone usually thought Strike was in charge and were left confused when Lucky showed up and made sure everyone knew their place. Strike knows that persona works like magic… no matter how much Lucky hates it.

“MWEH HEH! YOU HAVE ME THERE Y/N” Lucky throws himself into the act. You give him a concerned look again but shake it off with a grin. Lucky saw it and knew that Blue must’ve given you a term of endearment that he must call you by constantly… He wished he knew what it was…

Luckily he and Strike were always a team and Strike has his back.

“Sorry honeybun but it looks like he’s still a little out of it.” Strike snickers and Lucky puts on a playful pout that instantly has you looking relieved.

“Well this homework isn’t going to do itself… If only…” You sigh and grab a backpack off the floor and start heading upstairs after waving to them.

“Strike, She’s not used to you calling her honeybun. She seemed okay with honey before the bun. Just call her honey but there must be something this Blue was calling her… I can’t think of anything at the moment of what it could be…” Lucky has his game face on again as they both stand around thinking about their gameplan.

Well… if they couldn’t get back to where they were… There was a soulmate for them here and they both smirked at one another.

“There ya are pipsqueak.” Both Luck and Strike turn to see someone who was definitely a shorter version of Sweets… Had the most atrocious shorts with a parka… but red and black per the normal color pattern. Also the gold fang that stuck out like a sore thumb… So that could mean that their version of Swisher was here too if his brother was.

Lucky actually looked behind him in confusion and worry like there was someone else that he hadn’t seen. Strike noticed the skeleton rolls his eyelights.

“You, You dumbass.” As Lucky turns to glare and Strike straightens himself a little… ready for a fight.

Then all of a sudden the other skeleton starts laughing.

“What? am I in trouble? I shouldn’t be cursing is that it? I hope I don’t invoke big brother mode.” The skeleton continues to guffaw only when he notices that the two skeletons aren’t really reacting the way he was wanting… in fact they seemed deathly serious.

“Hey come on… didn’t mean it. Ya not seriously gonna go inta big brother mode because of that?” The skeleton that resembled Sweets starts to look them over concerned.

“What the actual fuck are you going on about?” Lucky is seething. Strike coughs to let his brother know he’s slipped character because of his anger once again.

Too late the damage has been done. 

The skeleton starts to eyeball them both a little more and starts to sweat.

“Who the…” He pauses in his question then in a blink disappears while yelling “Sans!”

“Well isn’t this a total shit fuck of a mess I put us in?” Lucky groans.

“Told ya ta watch yer anger bro… now all I can say is we gotta sell who we’re impersonating.” Strike sighs as both walk around and try to get familiar with things as quickly as possible.

Both of them find themselves wandering into the living room to be cornered by someone who looked like Black from their world. Only they almost had their jaws drop at his outfit. Bandanna with ragged looking black and red clothes that showed off his spine like a midriff. 

“YOU TWO KNOW WHY RED IS SHOUTING LIKE THAT? IT’S NOT LIKE HIM TO BE THAT OBNOXIOUSLY LOUD.” The new skeleton loudly hisses out.

Strike had to nudge Lucky as he saw his brother's eye sockets narrow in what was sure to be a retort. Shocking his brother to let out a “MWEH” as he suddenly remembers.

Strike was good on hunches and was definitely a walking talking lie detector… even though that doesn’t stop Lucky from lying all the time.

“Come on, Berry, don't be like that. Poor bro is traumatized enough as it is going through my laundry.” His hunch was right as he watched ‘Berry’ shudder in absolute disgust.

“INDEED. I’VE SEEN THE WAY YOU AND RUSS LAZE ABOUT… THAT ROOM OF YOURS MUST BE EQUALLY ATROCIOUS TO HIS.” Berry shakes his head.

“Where is everyone?” Strike grins as he knows this will get them names at least.

“FORGET ALREADY? SANS IS AT THE UNIVERSITY ALONG WITH PAPYRUS AND RUSS. YOU KNOW? DOING THEIR JOBS. EDGE IS AT HIS JOB AS WELL. AXE AND NOOK ARE IN THE GARDEN AND RED OF COURSE IS BEING AN IDIOT. DEAREST IS ATTENDING HER HOMEWORK.” Both skeletons flinch at the smile on Berry’s face when he mentions well… you… who else would it be that a skeleton like this would be so fond of?

Yet Strike and Lucky are grateful to the access of information that was just handed to them on a silver platter.

Lucky has been in thought while listening to the drivel of his newest rival. What would he call someone absolutely dear to him? Obviously it would be something similar to this Blue… would it be Starshine? He likes stars and the way they shimmer and shine… but even Strike seemed to be a little off with honeybun.

“YES! DOING HER BEST! S-ORANGE? AFTER ALL OF THAT YOU’RE SURE YOU DON’T HAVE ANYTHING ELSE THAT NEEDS TO GO IN THE WASH?” Lucky almost slipped but pulled through.

“I’m sure bro.” Strike says with a grin knowing where this would go.

“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU. LET US TAKE ANOTHER LOOK SHALL WE?” Lucky and Strike begin to make their way upstairs leaving Berry… without realizing that Berry is looking at the stairs they chose weren’t the stairs they often took to go to their rooms.

Shrugging it off. Blue might’ve wanted to pop in to see how you were doing.

As Lucky and Strike crest the landing both look at each other seriously. You were in one of these rooms so they couldn’t go barging in but all skeletons were accounted for either not being here, inside, or upstairs… save for Red.

He was another problem. If he knew where Sans was he probably took a shortcut there but possibly could be in one of the rooms himself.

Strike shrugged and Lucky sighed walking over to the first door and knocked.

“Yes?” You called out and Lucky swooned.

“JUST CHECKING IF YOU NEEDED ANY HELP!” He calls out and you laugh.

“I might need some help with math later okay?” You tell him through the door.

“THEN I SHALL BE BACK TO HELP YOU.” Lucky preens but Strike pulls him away before he can say anything else.

“Bro, you forget that math is a subject you don’t excel at unless it’s you figuring out how to do something successfully in your own head?” Strike urges his brother to stop while they are ahead. Lucky was only good at numbers from his perspective and not from a textbook.

“Of course and by successful, it is! And Doing…?” His grin is lecherous as he looks back at your door.

“I will be.” He licks his teeth and Strike sighs. 

“Bro, I feel the pull too but we need our head in the game, so we can win it before they find out we aren’t who they thought we are.” Strike pulls him to the next door and knocks.

No answer. Looking around they slowly open it to not make a sound. They see a room in squalor and Lucky nearly gags. Lucky might be a little lazy in the mornings but he likes things nice and tidy.

This must be Red's room from the shorts they see lying about and the red and black color scheme… the only thing that really just has them floored are the pin ups… Naked pin ups…

Lucky looks around and sees a magazine. As he picks up the magazine the centerfold unfolds to a nude woman in a very sensual position.

“L-Lucky put that down!” Strike is flushed with embarrassment as his brother looks awestruck.

“I feel jipped. Where was this stuff in our timeline!? The only things naughty I had were stuffy pin ups with people in their unmentionables but only some skin was shown… This. Shows. Everything.” Lucky wipes a little drool away instantly pinning your face onto what he’s seeing.

“Guys!? Are you in Red’s room!?” They both freeze and Lucky instantly chucks the evidence away from him by instinct.

Only for them to sigh in relief that you were calling out from the otherside of the wall. Yet strike sees Lucky quickly stuff something in his pocket.

“YES WE WERE DROPPING OFF A TURTLENECK SWEATER WE FOUND IN THE DRYER!” Lucky quickly lies at the drop of a hat. Something that was both a blessing and a curse for poor Strike.

“Ok, but you know he doesn’t like anyone being in there when he’s not!” You call out again. You were still pretty muffled due to the wall… which had them looking at one another in curiosity if you had heard anything they said.

Seeing as you didn’t seem weirded out or come over in a huff they speculated that it wasn’t something to be upset about. So they quickly left and shut the door loud enough behind them for you to know they had left.

They went over and gently knocked on the next door so that you couldn’t hear but any occupant would. No answer so they silently slipped in. It was a very nice simple room. Had some books arranged neatly on a few shelves and at least they could see the computer on the desk without piles of dirty dishes and… well they didn’t want to think about what all those kleenex wipes were doing there.

There was a picture on the desk and this one showed Red and a Tall skeleton resembling Swisher from where they were whisked away from. Strike narrowed down the names listed and since it seemed to go in pairs the way it was given. Russ was obviously Berry’s brother. Sans and Papyrus of course the originals… That left Axe, Nook, and Edge. Since Axe and Nook were working together they might be brothers so that left Edge.

“Edge right?” Lucky smirks as he also narrowed it down. Well this wasn’t either of their rooms so they went down another door. Gently knock only to be spooked by a loud voice.

“OH! IS SOMEONE THERE? I WILL JUST BE A MINUTE.” They listen closely, leaning towards the door. They heard water stop running and then the door was thrown open startling them to both jump back. Panic stricken as they see a lumbering disfigured Papyrus lean down quizzically eyeing them.

“Figures there’d be one of him too.” Lucky gripes under his breath and gets elbowed by Strike.

“I AM TERRIBLY SORRY FRIENDS… WERE YOU NOT WANTING TO USE THE RESTROOM? OR WERE YOU LOOKING FOR SOMEONE?” They were at a pause… this was either Axe or Nook and since they had nothing to go by, playing it off was going to be a difficult feat.

“SCAVENGER HUNT.” Lucky blurted out and Strike looked at him like he’s lost his mind.

“WE DIDN’T WANT TO INTRUDE ON ANYONE MWEH HEH HEH.” Lucky gets that big sweet adorable grin as he rubs the back of his skull.

“OOOH A SCAVENGER HUNT!? WHO ARE WE SCAVENGING!?” The tall lanky skeleton of nightmares looks positively joyous and ready to join.

“Ummm who?” Strike looks between the skeletons nervously.

“MEHH NO! NOT WHO BUT A WHAT!” Even Lucky seems at a loss as his shoulders droop.

“YOU HAVE ME PUZZLED BLUE… TO SCAVENGE IS A HUNT FOR FOOD.” Both Lucky and Strike look floored.

“Then why did you say who?” Strike chuckles nervously.

“OBVIOUSLY BECAUSE I MADE A FUNNY. AXE AND PEACHES WOULD HAVE LAUGHED.” The one that is now known to be Nook poses dramatically and somehow his tattered cape like scarf blowing in wind that was not there.

Now the question was… who the hell was Peaches?

“MWEH! OF COURSE I GET IT NOW! VERY FUNNY NOOK!” Nook looks at Lucky weirdly but smiles.

“GOOD TO KNOW THAT MY DARK CANNIBAL JOKES AREN’T *Snicker* DRY.” He pauses and both skeletons seem to have no choice but to laugh while they are screaming internally.

“YES, WELL, NOOK PERHAPS YOU CAN HELP US?” Lucky quickly rebounds to change the subject. Lucky may have seen guts and glory in his line of work but the actual thought of eating someone was not something that sat with him lightly.

Nor for Strike who only sweats as Nook continues to chuckle and say “BONE DRY” under his breath.

“YOU SEE, ABSOLUTELY THE DARNDEST THING. WE ARE MISSING A SOCK. WE’VE BEEN HUNTING FOR IT BECAUSE ORANGE DOESN’T KNOW WHERE HE COULD HAVE LEFT IT… BEST TO RETRIEVE IT BEFORE SOMEONE ELSE STUMBLES UPON IT… LIKE Y/N.” He does the best bubbly impression he has but that doesn’t stop the tall skeleton looking down at him, with a knowing that something isn’t right.

“STARLIGHT.” Nook says bluntly at Lucky who falters.

“I BEG YOUR PARDON?” Lucky tries to keep his cool but even Strike knows when his brother is getting close to the ‘Fuck it’ stage and guns start blazing. Lucky was never really patient unless there was a type of goal that he really wanted to strive for.

“BLUE ARE YOU OKAY? YOU HARDLY EVER CALL PEACHES BY HER NAME ANYMORE. IT’S BEEN AGES SINCE I HEARD YOU SAY IT OTHER THAN STARLIGHT… YOU ALSO LAUGHED AT AXE’S TERRIBLE JOKES. ONLY I AND PEACHES… SOMETIMES EDGE AND RED FIND THEM AMUSING. EVEN RUSS AND YOU ORANGE ABHOR WHAT WE HAD DONE IN OUR TIMELINE AND CRINGE WHEN WE SAY THEM. SANS WON’T EVEN LET AXE TRY THEM IN HIS PRESENCE… PAPYRUS ACCEPTS US FOR WHO WE ARE BUT EVEN HE DOESN’T LIKE THAT KIND OF HUMOR. BERRY STRAIGHT UP FORBIDS US…. THAT IS UNLESS OF COURSE IT'S OVER SOMEONE WHO WAS MEAN TO PEACHES THEN HE FINDS IT HYSTERICAL AND ENCOURAGES IT… CAN NEVER REALLY TELL WITH HIM…” Nook goes off on a tangent… seems to be because he often does. Both skeletons just worriedly shoot glances at one another until he seems done.

“CONSIDER IT US BRANCHING OUT IN UNDERSTANDING FRIEND! MWEH HEH! NOW WE MUST FIND THAT SOCK!” Lucky puffs out his chest.

“OH YES! IT WOULD BE VERY EMBARRASSING FOR PEACHES TO FIND IT. HAVE YOU TRIED LOOKING IN YOUR ROOMS?” Nook questions and Lucky falters.

“WELL UM YES WE THOUGHT BUT PERHAPS YOU COULD HELP US? MORE EYES THE BETTER AT FINDING IT!” Lucky is trying to persuade Nook into helping them find at least Blue or Orange’s room.

Strike smirks. His bro is really good at handling things when he tries.

“NO THANKS.” Nook shrugs and walks off leaving Lucky and Strike to their stupor.

“Uh… Ok…” Strike looks at him quizzically and Nook pauses with a brow raised.

“LOOK, I’M NOT PAPYRUS… WELL TECHNICALLY I AM BUT I’M NOT JUST GOING TO RUN AROUND LOOKING FOR SOMEONE ELSE'S UNMENTIONABLES. THAT’S JUST… WELL UNSANITARY AND RUDE.” Nook scoffs at the other two and meanders off a ways… then turns and eyes them making them stiff.

“YOU TWO ARE ACTING VERY STRANGE. IT’S ALMOST AS IF YOU NEED ME TO FIND YOUR ROOMS ON THE OTHER SIDE DOWN THAT HALL.” He points and both skeletons waive their hands in defense.

“NO NO! OF COURSE NOT! IT’S BEEN A LONG DAY HELPING ORANGE GET THAT FILTHY LAUNDRY TOGETHER.” Lucky is quick on the draw to lie again.

“Yeah it’s been exhausting work waiting for the clothes to be finished… getting pressed…” Strike realizes he didn’t know what those machines were… he only knew dry cleaners… Lucky glares at him briefly.

“OH YES! PERMANENT PRESS! GOOD CYCLE! TAKES FOREVER BUT IT DOES GET EVERYTHING NICELY CRISP AND CLEAN.” Nook nods with a smile and then carries on down stairs.

Lucky and Strike both heave a sigh of relief they didn’t realize they were holding.

[aleksadnezz]

Sweet Night

Jae x Reader

I let out a groan while I extend both of my hands in the air. I stretched my hands side to side as i slowly pushed myself away from my table so i'll have enough space to stand. I finished the last call I have for today. I scan the whole room and saw that there are only few people left. I turned off my computer and fixed my things. After i fixed my things i stood up and silently bid goodbye to my colleague beside me while she's still in a call with a customer. She looked up to me and nodded and I left the room. On my way of leaving the building i bowed and greeted other people as if they actually give a f but i do it anyway.

It's only 5pm, my shift today was early compared to the other days. Since today is Friday I decided to drop to the market to buy groceries so i can finally eat something that a normal person usually eat, which is a home cook food. I've been eating process foods and sometimes i would just order food outside if i'm feeling lazy which happens everyday. I bought some groceries good for a week cause i don't know when will I have courage to go out and do grocery shopping again. I took a bus on my way to my home. My apartment is quite far from the main road so i had to walk 3 blocks to reached my apartment.

As i was walking a man from nowhere approached me and offer to help me carry my groceries. As if that I would let him he might ran and took my groceries away. I politely refused his offer and I continue to walk, after a minute i thought that he already left but i can feel him walking behind me, the nerve. I entered the building of my apartment knowing that he already stop following me, I quickly looked back to checked if he is still here and HE IS STILL HERE. I try not to think to much so i just think that he might also lived here too and wants extra money by offering strangers assistance or something, yeah right. I quickly hop to the lift together with other tenants, i was the last person to enter so i immediately clicked the close button but then an arm blocked the door and entered. It's still him, I refused to look at him but i can feel that he is staring, luckily we're half meters away from each other. We're getting fewer and fewer as the lift rises to each floors, i'm at 15th floor and this strange old man still with me inside the lift, should i be concern because we're at 12th floor already. I looked up when I heard the sound of the door opened, the other person left, my heart began to beat fast thinking how am i going to beat his ass without dropping my groceries. While i stared at the floor planning his execution I saw a pair of feet walked inside and stood beside me, i looked up to him trying to remember who this person is. Oh right he lived across my apartment. When the door opened i quickly walked out the lift with my short legs, i feel like i look like a penguin rushing to get home but whatever. I reached in front of my door and searched for my room key not minding anybody. I jolted when a man spoke.

"Hey! do you have company?" I turned around to see who is he talking to. I saw the guy across my apartment looking for his key to and suddenly looked up at me. I frowned and saw him slightly gazed over the strange guy walking towards me.

"Uh no." I stared at him as if im hinting that 'i have no f clue who's that old man'

"Hmm.. by the way do you have an iphone charger?"

"Y-yeah i'll give it to you later" I kept the conversation flow, so this old man would think that he's not the only male here.

"Excuse me Mr? I think you're in the wrong floor, this is the dead end." My co-tenant spoke. Both of our room are located at the very end of the hallway, so there's no way that the old man will insist that he lives here. The old man just pretend that he mistakenly went to the wrong floor and thanked him for telling him. What a b

I stood up in front of my door waiting for the old man to leave our floor. I looked back at my co-tenant and he is still standing there looking at the old man's shadow when he finally left.

"Yeah right what a creep." I spoke and his eyes shifted to me.

"Was he following you?"

"Seems like it. I saw him down the street." I said calmy as if i was not terrified earlier. His eyes widen to what i said.

"What??? He must be insane, are you alright?" He asked worriedly. By the way it is my first time seeing him this longer. The only time that i can see him is when he picked up his order from his door. He wears sweats, hoodie and his slides all the time. I wonder what his job is or do he even have a job cause i really never saw him leave his apartment and the cost of this apartment per month is no joke. Well who am i to judge.

"Yes im okay now thank you.."

"No worries." He looked down scratched the back of his nape.

"Thank you again." I smiled and entered my apartment not waiting for him to answer. My bladder is killing me already.

After i went to my bathroom, I started cooking. Im not good at cooking so i try not to make my life more complicated than it already is so i just fried some chicken and vegetables. I placed my food on top of the study table and opened my laptop. I like watching sitcoms and reality shows while i eat, though that's the only thing that i watch cause im not a fan of watching drama series. As i eat i remember that my co-tenant asked me earlier about the charger. I hurriedly finish eating my food so i can hand it to him.

I changed my outside clothes to a loose shirt and pajama, and put my hair into a bun. I walked out my apartment carrying the charger with me, i have an extra so i dont mind if he forgot to return it. Actually i hope he won't forget. I stood in front of his door and knocked trice. I got no answer so i knocked again loud enough for our neighbors to hear. Seconds later and he finally opened the door.

"Hi umm?" I spoke.

"Im Jae, sorry i didn't hear you, i was playing"

"It's okay by the way here's the charger."

"Hmm? Oh- yeah.. yeah.. thanks???" He looked at me waiting for me to answer. He's now wearing some specs that i think made him look attractive. Damn i got a cute neighbor. Okay i'll shut up now.

"It's y/n"

"Thanks y/n i'll return it to you right away."

"Okay sure.." I looked behind him. His room apartment looks just like mine. Well of course we lived in the same building but the difference is that he have lots of electronics like those two monitors with mic and cam on top of his table. I looked back to him, i think he noticed how i scanned his room. Gosh.

"S-sorry.. um you're a streamer?" I asked. His eyes widen as if i just discovered something about him.

"W-well.. i think. yeah i do stream." He again scratched the back of his nape. I just nodded. I didn't ask further questions cause i don't want him to feel uncomfortable.

"Woah cool!" I haven't watch streams before but i know what they do i just don't know how it works. I really do think that people who play games are cool cause i can't stand playing one.

"Yeah yeah.."

I jolted when i heard a voice behind me. It was the delivery guy carrying plastic bags with food.

"So um so see you around" I gave him a little smile and then entered my room.

I washed the dishes that i left earlier. I reached out my phone that was laying on my table, i typed "Jay streamer" nothing shows up so i just stared at my phone then i have come into my senses and quickly turned off my phone. Why do i even bother knowing him. Gosh what's wrong with me.

1   2   3  4 5

[nolongerwrites]

Lemme just repost this because my dumbass deleted it by accident a couple of weeks ago 💀

I know the lyrics are misplaced I’m too lazy to fix it rn

How to disappear

“Cuts on his face 'cause he fought too hard”

“I know he's in over his head”

“But I love that man like nobody can”

“He moves mountains and pounds them to ground again”

“I watched the guys getting high as they fight For the things that they hold dear”

“To forget the things they fearThis is how to disappear...”

It had been almost 4-5 years since you’d last seen him. Last you’d Seen the way he’d smile at you when you would walk in the room. The way you would wrap your arms around him from behind when you thought he least expected it, the way you’d cuddle up against him at night like it was the only way you could sleep, the addictive kisses you’d share when no one was watching.

Dazai and you were inseparable. Everyone in the port mafia knew you two were basically connected at the hip. They would talk about the way you two would sneak off and do god knows what when you were supposed to be working. But that was a long time ago. When he disappeared leaving only a note on what had happened and why he needed to leave, it felt as if your whole heart had been torn up to pieces and set on fire.

You were mad. Upset. Confused. Why didn’t he take you with him? Had everything you’d done together and the time spent with each other meant nothing?

You knew odasaku was his best friend but weren’t you also? It may have been selfish of you to think that way but After Dazai’s disappearance you fell into a deep state of depression. You became a completely different person from the way you carried yourself to the lack of sympathy for others. Everyone in the mafia stood clear of you even on assignments and in the halls of the mafias headquarters.

You killed without a second thought unlike before and It didn’t matter who it was you were interrogating, if they didn’t speak up the first time you tortured them until they spilt the info you were looking for only for you to kill them off brutally.

You had become one of the most dangerous and ruthless executives the mafia had, even chuuya wouldn’t try and mess with you.

“Cry on his shoulder 'cause life is hard”

“The waves came in over my head”

“What you been up to, my baby?”

“I haven't seen you 'round here lately “

Fast forward those painful years and here you were now, On your way to inspect a wear house down at the port that supposedly had some suspicious looking figures lurking around it.

Mori had assigned you to just take a look at take out anyone who didn’t look like his men. But

halfway there, as you were driving in one of the cars belonging to the mafia, you had gotten a call from chuuya.

You picked up your phone and answered it hoping it was just another assignment so you could go home and sleep. You were awfully exhausted.

“What’s up” you stated blankly as you turned a corner. “You might wanna come back. Mori specifically asked for you..” chuuya sounded like he was nervous to talk to you. More than normal. “I’m already half way there can’t he wait-“ you were cut off as chuuya called your name sternly.

“ we have a prisoner that needs to be interrogated, a former mafia member..” there was a pause on your end that racked his nerves to the core, yet he continued on.

“... you can probably take a guess who it is...” the car had stopped before he could even finish that sentence. Your grip on the steering wheel was insanely tight, you were surprised you hadn’t broke it already. Blank clouded eyes stared on into the empty road in front of you and as a few minutes past, you could hear chuuya clear his throat which prompted to snap you out of your daze.

“I’ll be right there.” Was all you said as you hung up and turned your car around. Something inside you said you knew exactly who it was

“All of the guys tell me lies, but you don't”

“You just crack another beer”

“And pretend that you're still here”

“This is how to disappear”

Your footsteps echoed through the hall with every slow step you took. You were full of every kind of emotion you could possibly feel. Your ability felt like it was going to erupt like a bird set free from its cage. With every new step you took, your body was telling you to go back. You wouldn’t be able to handle it. But this was the job you’ve devoted yourself to, and you weren’t going to back out now. Chuuya had warned everyone in the building before you got there so the halls were practically empty.

They’d heard the rumors about you and they didn’t dare cross your path in a situation like this. Before you knew it you were in front of the door to the dark, empty brick room used to interrogate.

You took a deep breath a few times in an attempt to calm the beast inside you. You counted to three before slowly opening the door to the room..Dazai stood there chained to the wall by his wrists, waiting for someone to walk in. Of course being dazai, he was singing some song about a double suicide. It had been a while since anyone had come down here. Worst case scenario, that short asshole Chuuya would come down and maybe give him a punch or two (or more likely try and kill him).

What he didn’t expect however, was to see your silhouette standing at the top of the stairs. The second he saw you standing there, in your black, ankle long skirt and grey ruffled blouse that slid off your shoulders exposing the skin of your collar bones and neck which was covered in black cloth like a choker, dazai felt his whole body freeze.

“This is how to disappear”

His eyes were wide with shock as you stepped foot by foot down the stairs. The black heels you were wearing clicked and echoed through the musty room. Before he knew it you were only about 3 feet in front of him.

You never lost eye contact with dazai even as you stopped directly in front of him. Nothing was said. The silence was deafening. It wasn’t until he let out a shaky breath and looked to the floor, that his smile from before returned. When he looked back up to you he could see the pain and mixed emotions behind those empty eyes.

The same eyes that would look at him lovingly the nights the both of them spent in his bed together. The same eyes that told him countless times that they’d loved him more than words could describe. The same eyes that had touched his heart like no other person could. It hurt him to see that they were so empty and clouded now. A distant gaze that would have him dead if looks could kill.

“Its been a while hasn’t it? You’ve gotten taller..” but before he could continue on about the things that had changed about you, His cheek felt like it was on fire. You were standing directly in front of him in a split second, hand colliding with his face as dark purple serpent created of smoke and poison manifested behind you standing almost 12 feet tall.

but it only stood there unmoving no matter how many times you commanded it to attack. Your hand colliding with his cheek again in a fit of rage.

Before he could even react, your knee reached his abdomen in a striking kick to the gut. Hit after hit, you kept going until you could no longer hold onto the pure raw emotion that was going through your head. And for the first time in years, Your grunting turned into sobs, and sobs into screams.

You hit him until your last punch was nothing more that a slight push. You felt weak. Tears had been streaming down onto your shirt and they wouldn’t stop. Dazai spit some blood on the floor before turning his gaze to you again. You were facing the floor as your body shook and trembled with every sob that wracked through you.

“‘it’s been a while’? ‘ITS BEEN A WHILE’??! Really dazai?! That’s ALL you have to say? After what you put me through after you left!? After everything we did?? That’s all you have to say..?!?”.

Dazais heart felt like it was shattering. When you looked back up to him he saw your puffy red eyes and face. The pain from your assaults were nothing compared to the look you were giving him as salty tears rolled down your cheeks. He said nothing.

Even as the blood from his head dripped onto the floor between you both. In almost a second, the chains and cuffed that kept him against the wall were broken and before you knew what had happened he enveloped you in what was literally was a bone crushing embrace.

You screamed and hit at him in an attempt to push him off you which only made him hold onto you tighter. The serpent faded away with his touch and disappeared into the air. You eventually stopped hitting him as your knees felt too weak to hold your body up.

You both dropped to the floor. Dazai did not once letting his grip slack, even as he carried all your weight. He buried his face into your hair as he rocked you back and forth with each cry you let out.

It wasn’t until you slowly put your hands on his back did you feel his own tears fall onto your shoulder. “I’m so sorry... I’m so so sorry...” dazais voice was barely a whisper in your ear. “I loved you so much dazai... I loved you more than anything... why didn’t you take me with you...?” you gripped his coat as you continued to cry in his arms.

“I’m sorry...”

“The California sun and the movie stars”

“I watched the skies getting light as I write As I think about those years”

“As I whisper in your ear”

“I'm always going to be right here”

“No one's going anywhere..”

[oumaheroes]

Earthbound 1/?

Summary:

Centuries after humanity fled a dying Earth and found sanctuary in the stars, the planet has healed enough to support mankind once more. For some, there is something more than curiosity; memories from another life whisper history in familiar voices, calling them home.

 'He closes his eyes and thinks about blue flowers and large statues of stone, of ships and red coats flapping over a green meadow.'

Part 2 Part 3

……………………………………………………………………  

 Chapter 1: Scattered Amongst The Stars

Alfred is six. It was his birthday last Tuesday and he got to have a really big party and it was really really cool, but the coolest thing ever was that he got an e-tab from his Ma. Everyone at school already has an e-tab -as a July baby he's one of the youngest- so now he can finally join in with the special classes that they have and play all of those games at lunch time.

Alfred doesn't like feeling left out. It's not nice, Ma says, when you don't include people, so that means that the people who play games on their e-tabs when they know he doesn't have one are being mean on purpose and that really hurts. Except now, now he can join in and be their friend again and won't have to sit alone at his table when it's interactive e-tab time.

It's not real learning, Pa says. He didn't want Alfred to have one, says that it rots your brains and makes you lazy, and says that the e-tab time is just 'enrichment', it's not part of the curriculum because they're not learning anything, just downloading and watching stuff. Still, Ma must have talked him around because on Tuesday Alfred opened the box and there it was, all for him. There's some games on it, from Grandpa, and Ma had uploaded some of his favourite movies for him to watch as soon as he'd synced his mind up. Pa got there too, he must have done, because there's also some files on 'Earth History', 'The Fall', and one about extinct animals which Alfred really doesn't wanna read but Pa's been mentioning at least one of them every dinner since so he probably should.

He goes into school and begins to chatter happily to his friend Ben as soon as he sees him about 'Zip Blast', the current school-yard fad, and about how he can't wait to sync up and play because he'd been practising over the weekend and he thinks he's kinda good now.

Ben looks uncomfortable. 'Oh, I don't think we're playing that one any more.'

'Huh? But...' Alfred stops and looks at Ben in disbelief, 'but Friday you said it was the best ever!'

'Well it was,' Ben concedes, reluctantly, 'but now there's the new 'Rock-ite' out so we played that over the weekend.'

Alfred's heart sinks. 'We?'

His friend has the grace to look as apologetic as a six year old can look about these matters but nothing more than that and at recess Alfred is alone once more. He tells himself it's okay, he doesn't care anyway but it's a half-hearted lie at best and he doesn't try to kid himself for too long. Instead, he decides he may as well sync up one of those stuffy files Pa put on the e-tab to pass the time and nibbles a cookie to keep himself entertained.

His teacher finds him gormless, ten minutes later. His eyes are glazed as he stares unblinkingly at the wall and his cookie, one chunk missing, lies forlorn on the table next to his slack left hand but his brain is more full and awake than it's ever been. Information about a long dead planet far far away pound and crash in his head and as soon as the data file has been properly synced he reaches out for his tab and loads up another.

At eight, Alfred has become that kid. No matter what conversation he gets into or who he talks to, if there is an opening or an opportunity he will bring up Earth and once that's accomplished he can go on and on for hours. He's downloaded every possible data file he can find about the entire subject: life before the Fall, the Fall itself, and the human race's desperate escape across the stars and for him it's still never enough. There's always another e-file to sync: about ancient nations, about old sciences and religions, about old wars and songs and dances and food; every second he can spare he gives over to tales of the past woven from the binary of today.

They are a scattered people, he likes to tell his listeners, there are hundreds of us, strewn across galaxies and planets and ships and no one knows how many of us there are any more because the Fall ripped apart alliances and histories so we don't even know who else is out there to find. Everything was lost, everything; the history, the stories, the places, the-

At this point, someone usually either changes the topic of conversation or he realises that they've walked away and left him babbling to himself, his eyes shut as he imagines the flight to freedom that happened too long before he was born. Adults are usually nicer and listen for longer, but they don't mean it either and by pretending to be interested in what he has to say they only serve to hurt him more.

He just can't understand, why does no one else find this interesting? Why does no one else dream of where they as a species came from and long to see it for themselves? Alfred would do anything to feel the wind on his face, to have breeze in his hair and the sun touch his skin because although he could play in a holo-room or go on a special holo-holiday it's not real and Alfred longs to just feel it. The sun on his planet is strong but the dense material of the domes blocks it from actually reaching him; he can't feel the warmth. At school he's learnt that it's too hot out there anyway and he'd die, but according to his data files the sun should be warm and gentle and fill up summer days and spring afternoons, so he can't quite feel the danger as much as he probably should. There's no air outside the domes either and what's the point of feeling the sun without a breeze, so he's not as sad as he could have been. It wouldn't ever compare to mankind's old sun, the sun in the stories he's growing up on.

He sometimes spends his recess and lunch at school rushing about as fast as his legs can carry him. Trying to get his own wind in such space is hard, but not impossible and if he focuses hard enough on his self-made breeze he can imagine that he's running over rocks and cliffs and weaving in and out of long gone animals that only the sky can remember. If this doesn't work, he syncs with his e-files to learn about something else, he's started to get into the people recently and likes the stories about normal stuff the most. Food, clothes, toys. Relatable things that he can see in his own home and use to imagine that he's been transported back through time and space.

There are often pictures of houses and Alfred marvels as how big they are and how much stuff those people must have had, collected form all the many places they must have seen. You can't get wood any more, but maybe if he asks Pa nicely he can get him some of that building material they use for making the new domes and he can practise making his own, just to see if he can.

He spends his weekends tinkering in his room with old bits of plastic, metal and cables and every now and again he plugs in a new circuit board to the plug sockets in his room and sees if he can make the lights turn on or off from somewhere else. Last weekend he built a fan and managed to make it blow. He can sync up a sound file from Earth and imagine that he's in a town somewhere way back when and there's a breeze on his face and there's someone who wants to talk to him.

Alfred is fifteen and is the best engineer in his school. He specialised early -he'd always had a knack for building things and he's good with numbers- and now this is what he's known for. Alfred can look at a electrical hub or a circuit board and immediately he can see either what's wrong or how to improve it and this makes him valuable. He's been building and fiddling with this sort of stuff in his room for ages but now it's finally cool, people actually want him to do that now. He sees it as a lucky thing, that he was bullied so much for it previously, because now he can see how much bullshit people like to throw when they want you to do something, how much an opinion of someone can change depending on their age and talent. Too good too young: weird and a nerd, you're wasting your time. Then you hit the right age and suddenly you're very experimental, very mature, it's good to know what you want in life. But ah, still young enough not to know your worth, you'll fix this for me for free, yes? If he wasn't as good as he is, he thinks, how valuable would they think I am? The answer scares him because he knows what it is and knows how thin the line he treads is; there are others like him, don't forget.

What even is he, without the skills of his hands?

He is seventeen. Alfred hates it, but Ma could use the help and Pa's not getting any younger, so he accepted an offer not too long ago for a entry level job in the government engineering department. It is an amazing offer for someone so young and fresh out of school, he knows that, but as much as he enjoys what he does the days wear him out and he spends less time listening to his e-files and more time building the dreams of others far more affluent than he.

He thinks he's doing okay for a while. The days whittle by easily and he starts to build up a nice savings pile that he uses to help out his parents every now and again. But he's nothing special. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of kids just like him on this planet who have been fed on a diet of strict, specialised schooling meant to produce only the best and Alfred knows that the only thing which sets him apart from the many many many others is his ability to just keep going. There is no safety in what he does at his age, no net to catch him if he slips up, so he begins to take on private jobs at the weekend to build up his CV further and get his name out there, making the chance of falling just that bit smaller. Before he realises it it's been a month since he last had the time set aside to listen to an e-file and that hits him, hard. He'd never had to set aside time before. Hell, he can't remember when he'd last done anything other than go to work, come home to sleep, and repeat.

He's struck by the monotony of it all. He can't see a difference between his life and that of his dad's, or his dad's friends, or anyone he knows, for that matter. Is this all there is? Is this all anyone does? When is there ever a break? Then, he gets it. There won't be a break. As soon as you can't keep up in this crazy race he's in, you're worthless. He's kind of been kidding himself, almost, that there'd be an end to it all, like a video game where you complete the level and then suddenly it's free play. You work hard to get a reward of, of something, or at least you can stop worrying and panicking about being left behind. There is no free play, he realises, it just keeps on going until you can't play any more because life has ground out your energy and sucked the vitality from your bones.

He goes running; pounding his feet on the treadmill he sucks in the humid air around him and imagines than he's running through an old Earthen jungle, dodging trees and leaping over crags in the forest floor. But there's no wind, and Earth refuses to come alive.

Alfred is eighteen. A message came through from Earth, old true Earth, that a new colony there is doing well and he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it since, thinking and dreaming about what he'd do if he ever went there, if he ever set up his life there instead of here. He could...no. There is no safety in history, he knows. There is no definite chance that anyone would want him to do that. Besides, there's no potential for definite growth, no stable career plan because you can't guarantee a career on digging up the scanty past of a long dead planet. But no matter how big of a safety net he could make for himself in engineering he feels no passion about any of it and the idea of spending his days encapsulated in this metal world of domes and tunnels makes him feel cold.

There's something that calls him in his dreams and whispers over the wind in his mind and this builds and builds in his feet until he can't keep them still any longer. One more look out of the window and up at the stars and he's gonna blow, he needs to get out and go go go because if he doesn't then he's gonna sink in this place.

Before he can stop himself he's bought a ticket and finds himself packing hurriedly late at night when his parents are asleep, stuffing clothes into the only bag he only which is far too small for this sort of thing but who the fuck travels anywhere these days? He hasn't got time to be better at this so he crouches under his bed and reaches in, all the way back until his hand scrapes the wall and he finds his old fan that he built when he was eight. He puts it on his bed, places his e-tab next to it with a message of what he's done and that's that.

He slips out without waking his parents, because saying goodbye would only be too hard and he knows that he'd end up changing his mind if they spoke even one word to him, so he says his farewells in silence and disappears.

................................................................................................................................

Peter is five and he sits upon his mother's knee, playing with the buttons on her shirt. She's with other adults and they're all talking about something that he doesn't really understand but they all sound sad and the air feels heavy so he keeps quiet like a good boy should and thinks about other things to keep himself busy. He thinks about the e-book his nanny got him last Christmas, the one with the pretty pictures, and thinks that it would be nice to live inside that book, with the greens of grass that he's never touched before. He wonders if grass is hard or soft and he spends so long thinking of this that that night, when he is sleeping, he dreams that he is running on grass and it is prickly, tickling his feet.

There is a voice in the dream, singing him the story but it is not Nanny's voice, nor Mummy's or Daddy's, but another man's and the lilt of his voice sings a language Peter doesn't know but it is a good voice for story telling and so the dream is vivid and touchable. He flies through the grass, feet pounding at earth instead of metal and the voice chuckles, deep and throaty. It makes him feel safe.

He wakes up because his Mummy is stroking his hair and forgets; school teaches him about how the air system in his dome works. Grass isn't as important as breathing.

He is eight and they are learning about the old Earthen languages. There used to be many, his teachers says, and each language held a culture, a history and a soul of a people and there used to be hundreds of them on Earth before it Fell. The teacher is old; his words are flat and there is no passion in his tone, but a thrill runs up Peter's arms as he imagines so much more. From the nothing he is given his brain decides to give those dead languages life and all of a sudden there are bursts of sound echoing inside his head. The teacher moves on, the class sits bored, but Peter can hear consonants clash against teeth and tongue and fricatives slip between breathy vowels. There are phonemes which glide between dipthongs and tripthongs to bound and fall out of the hundreds of mouths of hundreds of people; whispers of a past no one can hear tell stories long forgotten.

There is a clap very close to his head which scares all of the sounds away. His teacher looms over him, frowning in exasperation.

'Again, Peter?' he says, 'Stop daydreaming, boy. I asked you a question.'

'Er...' his classmates snicker and he feels his ears go red. 'I'm sorry, sir, I wasn't listening.'

'That much was obvious.'

Peter's cheeks burn hotter and he stares at his e-tab, focusing on the light of the screen to stop him from crying.

Before too long the lesson changes, then the day ends and he's allowed to go home. He walks alone through the corridors and exits the school dome, coming into the shuttle bus bay. He's a big boy now, he can take the shuttle bus all by himself and he has a special card to prove it. Weaving in and out of the other children, he hurries to where his bus is docked and scrambles inside to rush to his favourite seat, hopping up and placing his bag on the seat beside him. He likes to sit alone, because then he can stare out of the window and dream for as long as the journey will let him without worrying about talking to someone. Not that anyone wants to anyway, the other children say he's not got a brain because he would rather focus on the story in his head than on their silly games.

Nanny doesn't mind, she says it's good for people to dream and says that he goes off to somewhere called 'Neverland' whilst she pinches his cheeks and calls him her little Peter Pan. But when he gets home Nanny isn't there, Mummy and Daddy are and they're huddled in front of the large e-screen in the sitting room, faces pinched in worry.

He drops his bag by the kitchen table and goes to join them. There is a man on the screen speaking about their air ventilation system and a 'catastrophic degradation' and about some big numbers with a scientist nodding seriously to his left.

'What do we do now?' His mother's voice is hushed, fragile.

His father raises his eyes to her and shakes his head slowly. 'Debbie... you heard what he said. The planet's no longer viable.' His eyes flick towards Peter, suddenly aware that he's there too, and he smiles although it doesn't reach his eyes. 'Hey Pete. Do you mind doing your homework in your room today?'

Peter could ask why, but he sees that his Daddy doesn't want him to and Mummy looks like she's going to cry, so he glances once more at the screen and nods. He leaves them with the scary looking numbers and tips his books onto his bed. That night he dreams of waves crashing against his legs and he tastes the salt on his lip when he wakes.

At nine, there's some breaking news. Earth, of all things Earth, is habitable once more and it can't come at a better time. Peter sits on his favourite sofa at Nan's house, with his father having lunch, when the planet-wide intercom coughs its way to life and briefly deafens them all before the sound adjusts ever so slightly.

'ATTENTION ALL. PRIMARY SUPPORT SYSTEMS FOR THE SOUTH SIDE HAVE SUFFERED AN IRREPERABLE MALFUNCTION. BACKUP SYSTEMS WILL HOLD FOR APPROXIMATLY 3 HOURS AND 45 MINUTES. THIS IS NOT A DRILL; MAKE YOUR WAY TO YOUR EVACUATION POINTS.'

Then, it falls silent once more.

South side, that's them. Peter immediately feels as though he's going to be sick and by the look on his dad's face he's not alone. Once one half of the planet goes the other will surely follow. It's something they've all been expecting and planning for for years, but it's far, far too soon, they should have more time than this; they're not ready to go and the government's not even started the evacuation programme yet. His Nan shoots a look at his father from where she's sat in her armchair. It's a look Peter can't really read because there's something there that he subconsciously doesn't want to acknowledge.

'Earth?' Her voice is a thin whisper.

His father nods gravely. 'We got them Mum, the tickets came yesterday.' Peter's heart briefly lifts at the prospect, a longing that's deep and euphoric but then it crashes quickly. 'But...'

His Nan smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes. 'I know.'

Slowly, with growing horror, Peter understands. 'Wait,' he whips his head back and forth between the two of them, 'Nanny, where-'

'Don't worry, Peter,' she gets up and goes to kneel in front of where he's frozen in his chair, hands digging nails into the old material, 'I'll get on one of the other evacuation ships.'

'But you're not-,' his eyes burn and his voice is breaking but he doesn't look away, 'but you're not with us, why aren't you coming with us.'

'Oh Peter, my little Peter Pan,' she hugs him tight, pulling him in to her chest and he grips his hands in her shirt and tries to take in as much of her as he can.

'Mum we- we have to go.' Dad doesn't sound much better and before Peter can register much his Dad is hugging his Nan with a funny tight look on his face, then he's being pulled by the arm and out of the door, stumbling over his feet as he tries to keep up.

A terse shuttle bus later they get home to his mother already throwing their things into cases and boxes, haphazardly grabbing at e-frames and e-tabs to squash them and their memories safe under piles of their clothes. Peter could help, should help, but all he can do it sit numbly on the floor and cry whilst his life is collected and contained into a few measly bags. The rest will be left.

It doesn't take too long, thankfully, as Peter doesn't know what's worse, wanting to get this over with as fast as possible or wanting to stay and cling to the remnants of the only life he's ever known. As they make their way to the loading bays for the Earth-bound travellers he blearily finds himself thinking about what classes he'll miss in school tomorrow, but then he remembers Nanny and the ordeal starts anew as reality sets back in.

His parents are focused on more practical things.

They stand in line, their few pieces on luggage already being loaded on, and wait to board the ship they were assigned to only yesterday. His mother speaks under her breath, as if she is afraid to talk too loudly for fear of jinxing something. 'The Earth ships aren't even ready. They won't have enough food let alone rooms.'

His father shakes his head and slips his hand down to intertwine with hers. 'They must have known something like this could happen at any time, they've been predicting it for years. If anything, the rooms may not be ready but the agricultural sections will be.' He looks determinedly at the back of the head of the man in front of them and swallows. 'They only give out tickets if there's room. We'll be fine.'

Peter's mother glances his way meaningfully, and then back to his father.

'Jo, there're not enough ships; no one was ready in time. They can't have planned for everyone.' She bites the inside of her cheek, one hand on Peter's shoulder. Her fingers dig in, hard, but he doesn't try to shrug her off. He can barely feel it.

His father understands. 'She'll call us when she can.' Then, the line moves and they lurch forward together, huddled close.

Just before the door, where the tickets are being checked and where the din of the engines roaring into life starts to become uncomfortable, his father takes one last desperate look at out of the window at the distant domes of their colony, nestled in the dust. He taps an impatient rhythm against the tiled floor. 'She'll call.'

She never does.

................................................................................................................................

Francis is three and his daddy has just left Mummy.

'He went to fight,' she says as she strokes his hair. This confuses him because fighting is bad and you're only allowed to fight if someone tries to fight you first and no one has been nasty to Daddy that he's seen.

Mummy doesn't answer but continues to stroke his hair, humming softly a tune she sings to him every night before bed that sounds old and sad and sleepy, so he just nods and rests his head heavily against her chest.

He doesn't see his Daddy again.

He is ten when he realises that there never was any war. The notion strikes him dumb one day in the kitchen as he distantly listens to the news playing through the announcer when he helps wash up after dinner. The announcer is speaking about something banal, a fashion show maybe, but Francis is staring out of the window and up at the sky, up at the stars that push through the daytime's thin atmosphere. He doesn't know what caused him to start this train of thought, but once it's started his brain quickly pieces together the puzzle that it has ignored all of this time.

At school they were taught about wars, about age old battles with guns and swords and metal where blood was spilt over land and the wealth it contained. But, there hasn't been any fighting here. He scrubs a glass, sponge squeaking against the side. And even if there was fighting somewhere far away, his dad would surely still be able to write or visit, or come back after all this time. And more importantly, if there was a war going on now then surely he would have learnt about it at school, rather than learning about age old political struggles on the human-ruined home world.

His mother takes the glass from his slack grip. 'Daydreaming?'

He shakes himself to and looks at her. Turned away and out of the window her face is suddenly older and oddly clearer than he remembers it being, she looks like a person rather than just his mother and that's a scary thought. It's as though the wash of childhood has momentarily slipped away and he's now aware of both it and the harsh brushstrokes of reality. She's a person and feels things, just like he does. So it hurts, that she lied, and it will hurt him for a long time because he doesn't know why but cannot for the life of him bring himself to ask her. Francis is good at reading people and he knows that this isn't something he should ask about, so turns back to the dirty dishes and doesn't.

When Francis is fifteen there is a war, of sorts. The planet nearest to them, the one they rely on the most for trade, switches governmental policies and refuses to continue their current agreements. This results in a breakdown of communication and heightened tension between the two colonies, each bristling angrily at the offence yet unwilling to be the first to initiate anything rash. There is minor rationing imposed upon Francis' planet until trade is re-established as well as a draft of specialisation training implemented, just in case. He's unaffected by the rationing; the draft is a different story. Just in case this trade block becomes permanent, his planet needs to be prepared to become fully self sufficient in everything from science, to food, to art, to the army.

The block stays in place and tensions rise. Against his wishes, Francis is assigned a scientific draft. He is now seventeen and knows he needs to be given something but he'd prefer agriculture or education to research, if he could have the choice, or the arts if he's allowed to dream. He isn't. He brain is good, his grades are high and thus he is far more useful to the cause working on the advancement of his planet than working to help feed it.

A few days after his birthday and a month after his posting letter arrives, his mother rides with him on a shuttle to his boarding station. He will try out four different areas: mechanics, medicine, biology, and physics, then he will be assigned to what he works with best, where he can produce the best work possible. But Francis can't think of anything worse than being stuck in a lab all day, shutters drawn and devoid of all personality. Even worse, he's heard the rumours that have managed to float back from those who have graduated and knows that once he boards this ship there's no escaping the life he'll be moulded into. The programme is four years long and then he will be placed into a job where he will stay until he dies. At twenty one he will have no other skills for work other than what he will acquire at the science facility, there is no swapping careers afterwards. He wants to do so much, there is so much that he loves to do, and with each passing shuttle stop his heart grows more frantic, fighting his brain which has accepted the inevitable.

He gets physics. He calls his mother to howl down the phone once, just once, before he realises the futility of doing so; nothing can or will change. Accept it.

At twenty, a year before his training would end, there is finally a truce. Trade resumes and Francis finally tastes sugar after five years but now, after so long, the taste is too much. Not fully qualified yet too old to be automatically accepted into another programme, Francis is in limbo. There isn't much point in him continuing his training, there are more than enough specialists now and not enough jobs to give them, so there isn't anything for him to do. It's odd, now that there is nothing to work towards he feels empty but at the same time everything is just too much. He returns home and his mother fusses and tries to talk to him, tries to get him to come out of his room and sit with her and he did, at first, but the longer he's home the shorter his resistance is and the longer the 'breaks' are in his room.

Emotions seem to be harder to process without a goal, that or he never had many to begin with and without something to distract him from that notion he's finally noticing how few he has. Either way, other people are small insignificant creatures who worry about such useless, banal things. Who did what, with who and where. Did you know, her son the doctor? Well, he's a you know what now and- ugh. Francis can no longer take it.

He doesn't really see this as a problem. He feels as though he's risen above other people and finally understands that such things are not worth his time; why worry, after all, about what job to get. Why worry about whether or not someone likes you. Every day, regardless of what they do, the planet will spin and the domes will reflect the same bleak, churning sky and Francis realises that he's trapped here, by this life and that his life means nothing. None of their lives do, it's all the same; nowhere new to go, nothing new to do. Pick a job, do the job. Come home, go back. Retire. Die.

So he sits in his room, because if he talks to his mother or to anyone else he is reminded that somehow he's supposed to care about it, that life here is supposed to matter to him just as it matters to everyone else. His mother will mention this or that and he'll have to either fake the responses she wants, or not and upset her and neither option sounds pleasing to him.

After years of monotony and training suddenly he is permitted to express again and it's like he's forgotten how, the parts rusty after all the disuse. There are too many emotions and he finds himself forgetting to use them or using the wrong ones because he can't do them automatically any more, for some reason, and reactions that call for an understanding of nuance are just lost to him. Very quickly everything is too much. Food, heat, depth, people, concepts, everything.

He hides away but then they stop becoming too much and they shrink and shrivel up and become nothing at all he can feel how empty he is. Nothing can fill the void he's got because he doesn't even know why it's there and he can scarcely tell that there's a problem in the first place. He does knows he's got a problem though, really, knows how serious it is by the way his mother watches him with fearful eyes and baleful glances. She tiptoes tentatively around the house, carefully softening her words and her gentleness feels like a pressure cooker slowly but surely building something that's going to get bigger and hotter and harder to make go away. She avoids talking about it, about how Francis feels or doesn't, and by doing so the problem is allowed to grow, unchecked. Francis doesn't have to act any more, doesn't have to pretend, and so the feelings of apathy grow and grow until they swallow him whole and all he can bring himself to do is sit and stare and the sky, a dark choking yellow.

It feels heavy to look at, like a lid covering everything in his life, all potential, all future, all growth. It just festers and sinks lower and lower still and he sits and watches it for days before he's realised he's done so.

When Francis is twenty-two, his mother breaks. Not that she herself breaks, but her patience does.

'I can't do this any more.' she says. There are tears on her face and Francis watches one slide off and fall onto her collar. 'You need to go.'

Francis appraises her properly, meeting her eyes. She flinches at his gaze but remains resolute in her decision, though her bottom lip quivers. 'There's nothing for you here, we both know that. You don't want to be here, so you need to go.'

'I don't want to be anywhere.' he replies.

She gives him a watery smile. 'I know. That's why, you might as well see if you can want to be somewhere else.' She lifts up her arm and shows him her e-tab, the translucent screen showing a brightly coloured ticket. 'I've bought you a flight. It's Earth, it was declared habitable a few weeks ago.'

Francis knows he should feel something, this is one of those instances when he knows that he should be feeling something but he can't quite imagine what emotion he should give her.

She doesn't seem to expect one. 'It's one way. And this, this is all of my savings, Francis.' Her eyes are wide and her face is suddenly so very very old. 'If you don't want to be any more, at least make that decision once you've seen this. You can't go without seeing this, after all. See this, see it for me and then you can decide, okay?'

Suddenly she looks shocked and runs forward to embrace him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and knocking her e-tab into his face. The garish purple of the ticket burns his eyes. 'Oh Francis.' She sobs into his shoulder and clutches tightly into his shirt. 'Oh Francis it's okay, you can cry if you want to.'

Oh.

He's crying.

................................................................................................................................

Ludwig is six, and is sick again. The doctors don't know what's wrong with him; they know what's causing it at least but they have no idea why. He can't keep food down and every time he tries to stand the world pitches and swims and he can't keep his balance so he never manages to stay up for long before he bonelessly falls to the floor, where he feels no better.

It's the gravity, the doctors say, for some reason he's affected by the gravity. The artificial gravity that he's known all his life; it's as if he's just climbed aboard and his body suffers from relapses where it just can't acclimatise. Where it suddenly realises that something's not quite right and rebels against him for a week or so. This his family already knows, but his mother isn't satisfied with such a lacklustre answer so she takes him to a different doctor every time he suffers another attack just in case one of them is even marginally more competent than the last. These 'episodes', as his mother likes to call them, don't happen all that often, but he seems to have one every ten months or so and they are regular enough to annoy his mother to no end. Ludwig doesn't really know if she's annoyed that no one can fix him or with him himself, Gilbert won't say and normally his big brother talks to pretend that he knows something so his silence worries Ludwig the most.

Mother is a very important person with a very important job: she's a governor of the space station upon which they live and it is very important that Ludwig remembers this. So, when he's laying in bed clutching at his belly and desperately clenching his eyes shut to minimise the swaying, his friends at school think that he is away for a special training academy. Because can you just imagine, the governor of a space station's son being space sick?

His father doesn't like to call it that because he thinks it's degrading so his mother doesn't, when she thinks Ludwig can't hear, anyway, but Ludwig knows that's what the kids at school would say so he happily keeps mum because it's easier than lying. They don't talk to him much besides, they find him too cold and distant but that's because he's so scared of disgracing his mother further that he can't quite relax fully.

When Ludwig is thirteen his mother, after exhausting all doctors aboard their large floating colony, finally accepts that it's unlikely that this small problem of his is going to go away. Her way of dealing with it is to pretend that it just doesn't happen; during an attack Ludwig is sent to his room where he stays painfully alone with only his books for company whilst she busies herself with her new campaigns. She's running for director now, aiming as high as she can go and there's no room for weak, feeble Ludwig all the way up there.

His brother tries his best to keep him entertained and happy during these times, but Gilbert is healthy, strong, smart; he's everything that Ludwig should also be able to grow up to be and their parents have sent him off to expensive schools which means that he's more often away from home than not. Sometimes Ludwig wonders if they've sent him away because they want Gilbert to be the all around best he can be, or if it's to distance him as much as they can from Ludwig. It's almost as if they're worried that Ludwig will taint him, or that maybe Gilbert will grow too attached to him and distract himself from what's really important. That Ludwig will anchor him down.

At five years older it's highly unlikely that Ludwig will be the one doing the influencing, but his brother, despite hardly seeing each other and such a large age difference, does seem to genuinely care for him. During one particular attack, when Ludwig is eighteen, Gilbert is home from university; it is almost Christmas and his family are preparing to travel to where his grandparents live on the other side of the space station, where they'll spend the holiday. Of course, it is now that his body decides to betray him.

He, his parents, and his brother are gathered around the large dining room table finishing off dinner. It is tense. Mostly it is Gilbert who talks because despite their mother's cool demeanour and their father's lack of interest he seems to always have something to say to fill the silence and speaks easily. Even with the response he gets, or lack of it, he seems honestly unperturbed and remains cheerful, somehow managing to both eat and speak without seeming impolite. As much as he loves his brother, Ludwig is also supremely jealous.

He stares at his fork, contemplating which point in the evening would be best to ask if he could slip away, when his body decides for him. His stomach swoops, his ears pop and the table tilts alarmingly. He clenches the edge in panic to remain upright and the noise alerts his mother, who looks up from her dessert in irritation.

'Ludwig, we are going away tomorrow.'

'M- mother-'

His mother sighs and looks at his father, who sharply stares back. 'Dear?'

His father grunts and spears another forkful of fruit pie. 'They're expecting him to come.'

'But the photographers-'

'What do you want me to do, Hilda?'

Meanwhile, Ludwig has still not been dismissed and cannot now seem to find the words to ask for permission himself without spewing all over the fancy silverware. He doubts that that will make the situation better, somehow. Gilbert notices and stands, attracting his parents' attention.

'I'll take Luddy to his room.'

'Darling...' their mother tries to say something, but it's what she's trying not to say that comes across the loudest.

Gilbert ignores her and walks around the table, slowly helping Ludwig to his feet, then away from the table and swiftly towards a bathroom. They make it just in time. Gilbert pats him comfortingly on the back and rubs soothing circles into his shoulders until he's finished, then hands him a glass of water.

'So, they're still arseholes, huh?'

Ludwig snaps his head up in horror, but this is a bad idea because the image of Gilbert swims before him and he has to shut his eyes.

'Don't call them that.' He finally manages, weakly.

Gilbert tuts. 'What the fuck did they feed you with in order to churn your personality out.'

Ludwig lays his head on the cool tiles of the floor and groans inwardly at how nice the feeling is. 'They're not arseholes.'

'Yeah, and my name's Shirley.'

Ludwig cracks open an eye, but Gilbert's not joking. He is, for once, deadly serious. 'How'd you put up with them Lud?'

Ludwig shrugs and gives a small shake of his head. 'They're our parents, Gil. They still care for me. Besides, I'm not exactly making it easy for them.'

Gilbert looks disgusted. 'You're their fucking son, arsehole. They're supposed to take care of you. They ain't even doing that right are they?' Gilbert runs a hand through his shock of white hair and bits his bottom lip whilst he shakes his head. 'Look at how they treat you versus me.'

'Yes, but I'm not exactly-'

'But nothing!' Gilbert raises his voice slightly and swallows. When he speaks again, he's much quieter, back under control. 'Have they got you in a university programme yet?'

Ludwig's silence is answer enough and Gilbert sighs deeply before brushing back Ludwig's sweaty fringe. 'There's nothing wrong with you Lud.' His brother sounds so very sad. 'Fuck, there's nothing wrong with you at all. They know full well that if they put you on a planet rather than this floating heap of rust that you'll probably be alright. And have they? Have they fuck.'

Ludwig wants to argue against him, wants to say something to stand up for himself if not for their parents but his eyes are suddenly burning and his throat is choked up. He knew a long time ago that his parents had given up on him, but to hear it from someone else hurts more sharply than anything he tells himself.

There's an odd companionable silence for a while; Ludwig lays still with his face against the floor and his brother's hand carding through his hair so he almost misses what Gilbert says next.

'I was gonna wait till Boxing Day, but I've got us tickets for Earth.'

Ludwig tenses and holds his breath. Gilbert continues. 'I was gonna wake you up on the 26th and take you away with me, but I want to tell you now instead, cause you look like shit. We're gonna get out of here Luddy; I've always wanted to take you to a planet and what better one is there than the original, huh?'

'You, I- you can't- what about your studies? The internship you've got?' Ludwig manages to stammer out, opening his eyes.

Gilbert brushes his concerns aside. 'I never liked medicine, really. I've always wanted to go to a planet, so I'm mega up for it.'

Ludwig knows he should say no, knows that he shouldn't take up the offer. He'd be denying his brother so much, he'd be exactly what their parents worried he'd be because he'll only drag Gilbert down and down and down like a heavy lead weight and ruin all of his chances at a good life.

But Ludwig wants to be selfish. He reaches out and clasps onto Gilbert's hand, squeezing it tightly. 'Gil...'

Gilbert flashes him a grin and winks. 'I know, right? How awesome am I?'

[seumadruga]

The Okash wolves

Chapter 3- An annoying thing about spirits

Sinag

An annoying thing about spirits was how they pretended that everyone had the same magic. Sinag had seen a story this morning about an academic who thought he was close to understand the basic rules of magic.

This was stupid, different kinds of magic had different rules. Yet spirits liked to pretend that everything was the same. What annoyed him the most about it was that they knew everything about humans. They were there the whole time, since the beginning, always watching.

- All right boys, the forms are ready.

Another annoying thing about spirits were how much they liked bureaucracy. Both there and in schools in the North and East it was necessary to fill out forms and documents for almost anything.

When Sinag sat in his chair he realized he had left his glasses in his bedroom. Desperate he hit his pockets to see if he hadn’t put them there, but it was in vain.

- I’m such an idiot.

- You really are.

Sinag rolled his eyes. He began to move his mouse over the screen to see if the screen reader had been turned on, But no sound came out. It was true that there weren’t many disabled people in the school, but he’d been there for years the lady should know he was visually impaired. She should have enabled the accessibility option.

He heard his friend’s chair approaching and then Batu’s coffee breath was on his face.

- Has the asshole tried to see if it works with the headphone?

Batu went back to his computer. By using the headphone Sinag was able to hear what was happening on screen. I’m sorry lady. He found the function that increased the letter of the screen and then began to fill out the form. He pulled a mind leaf out of his bad and started chewing.

Batu happily sighed and Sinag heard him drink the coffee noisily.

- Coffee is so good.

- Really? And here I was thinking that spitting in your coffee would spoil the taste.

Batu spat out the coffee he was drinking and coughed a few times.

- I can’t believe you did this. You’re going to make some coffee for me.

- Not possible, I have violin class right now.

Sinag lowered the source of the letters from the computer and took his cane. He knew Batu would pay back, but it would probably happen at night. He could relax for now.

Technically Sinag should be able to walk around the school without his cane, he studied there for over ten years. But there were some problems.

There were cabinets, tables and shelves that were in the hallways and to time to time someone would move them, which wouldn’t be a problem if the furniture weren’t as white as the walls. Besides, there were the kids who played in the hallways and left their toys scattered. And then there was that time he stepped on someone sleeping on the floor. So, he used his cane all the time.

Sinag needed to get out of the building, go to his room, pick up his violin and then go back to the building for the violin class. He sighed at the idea and could immediately hear his older sister’s voice in his head. Lazy, ungrateful, spoiled. And then it came the guilt he always felt whenever he thought in his family, especially Atay.

The guilt was quickly replaced by discomfort. There were many spirits around, he could feel them. There were always spirits all over the school, it was impossible for you to go into one place, and they weren’t there. But it was strange to have so many in one hallway. The weird thing was that it looked like they were following Sinag. He started sweating and fixed his shirt nervously.

He breathed deeply as he came down the stairs. His shoulders were tense. He hadn’t done anything wrong this time; he was sure of it. Arriving on the second floor the spirits disappeared, but this didn’t make Sinag relaxed.

He left the building and headed for the dorms. They were three in total, one for boys, one for girls and the last one for teachers and the staff. There was a path that connected the school building and the dorms, but it unfortunately had no tactile floor.

In the right side there was the cafeteria and the library. They were in the same building, with many trees around the building and gardens made by students. On the left side there a court and bleachers around it. There was always a group throwing something on the court. Sinag could hear people playing on it in the moment.

All building were circular and white with oval windows. The tallest building was the school one and the library was the smallest.

The dorms were the only place the spirits didn’t come in. Sinag knew it wasn’t for that, the spirits at the entrance would have followed him to his room. His sweaty hadn’t made holding the cane difficult.

Although the dormitories were separated it was common to see boys and girls prowling and even sleeping in the other building. That wasn’t a very strict rule.

His room was on the third floor, he shared it with Lali. They weren't friends, but they got along and that was enough. It was extremely difficult to change roommates, the process took months and dozens of forms needed to be filled out in the process.

Just before arriving in the room Sinag felt the presence of Ahfa. She was in the building and probably behind him. He tried to breathe and count to ten to calm down. It wasn't working.

The children who were playing had stopped and hurriedly packed their toys. The conversation in the hallway had become a whisper. Sinag hadn't moved yet. And then he could see the green glow coming his way.

Ahfa was an imposing figure. She was 1.90 tall and a serious, powerful voice. She had crowbar and two horns. Her clothes seemed to be made of feathers and her hair was like running water. And everything about her, from the eyes to the hair were grass-colored, even the clothes. She smelled like herbal tea. Once while touching her Sinag felt that despite being palpable it was almost as if he could overtake her. However, the strangest thing about The Ahfa was that despite touching the ground she made no noise when walking.

She came very close to Sinag, instilling his personal space. He swallowed it dry.

- Sinag, darling. I saw that this month you filled out two more forms than usual. Is there a reason for that?

Sinag swallowed it dry.

- Well, my sister broke her leg, so my family needed a little help with that. And then came this disease that ended up harming many plantations here in the South as you may know. My family was also harmed - he took a break to take a deep breath - and that's why I filled out two forms.

- Humm. Did you know that there is a way to delete forms that were submitted? – her voice was soft and sweet - I'm just asking because sometimes we don't know about places we've lived in a long time.

- I already knew that.

She was silent for a while. Sinag was all sweaty.

- Don't you think two forms are too much? Did you have that impression?

He opened his mouth to answer, but then closed it. Maybe she was right. Maybe two forms were too much. The school already sent financial aid monthly to his family. Asking for more, not just once, but twice, seemed wrong.

- Do you think I should delete one of the forms?

- Well, my dear if you think this is the best choice, I want you to know that I'm going to support you.

With that she moved away and went up the stairs. Sinag wasn't breathing properly, and his pulse was racing. He headed to his room slowly. He could hear Lali walking in the room.

Upon entering he went straight to pick up his violin, he always stood at the end of his bed, leaning against the wall. His breathing had not been stabilized yet.

- Sinag, I'm going to change my dresser tomorrow could you help me with this process?

Sinag sat on his bed and nodded. He wasn't exactly the best person for that. Even Kito is stronger than you and he's 12. Weak is too little for you. The funniest thing about all this was that he and Atay were very much alike. Both had a small nose, big eyes, thick eyebrows, lots of acne and big ears. But it was with her that he had the worst relationship.

She talked to you, didn't she?

- Aham.

- About what?

Sinag sighed.

- Actually, I do not know exactly what she wanted– another annoying thing about spirits, they were always confused and obtuse. He ran his hand through his face – Maybe I should delete one of my forms, ask for two was too much.

No, not at all. Sinag the role of this college is to help society and support the students who study here. This help you asked for is necessary. Your family needs this.

Sinag agreed, which Lali said made sense. But he couldn't think straight.

- Don't you have violin class now?

- I do, but - but she was still in the building. He could bump into her on the way to class.

Lali approached Sinag and put his hand on his shoulder, he was silent. When they felt Ahfa moving around the building, Lali squeezed Sinag's shoulder slightly tighter. And then finally Sinag's breath began to return to normal.

[apriorisea]

BTS Imagine Series: Don’t Leave Me, Pt. 3

Hoseok x You

For the millionth time in the last 5 minutes, you look at your watch, then look at your phone.       Surely the plane is landed by now, you think, pulling up your text conversation with Hoseok and staring at it. Maybe if you just stared hard enough, you could will a message into existence.     But nothing.     Exhaling dramatically, you drop your phone to your lap and slump back against the couch, refocusing on the TV screen. Frowning, you reach for the remote and, for the millionth time since you’d started the show 30 minutes ago, go back 15 seconds: you (once again) had no idea what was happening. The only thing you could focus on was Hoseok. Hoseok and the fact that he was going to be home soon. Today. Finally.     3.5 weeks had felt like an absolute eternity. Even though he had called you every night and FaceTimed you after every concert, even though the Snaps were endless, you still missed him so much it hurt. Not even nightly phone calls could change that.      But now it was almost over. He’s almost home.      And safe, a corner of your mind whispers. That was the most important. Though Hoseok had been relatively open about his condition---admitting how exhausted he was after a weekend of 3-in-a-row concerts, showing you the marks left from a cupping therapy session---you had also been regularly checking-in with your secret spy, and Namjoon never had anything terrible to report. They’re all fine.       Now if he would only get home.      You look at your watch again. But this time as you grab your phone, it buzzes in your hand. Feeling your heart jump into your throat, you nearly drop it in your eagerness to see the screen:       MY HOPE: Angel~~~ I’m coming. See you SOON<3<3<3<3      The grin that spreads across your face is automatic and unstoppable. Now that you’d heard from him, you’re able to focus on the show, knowing that it truly wouldn’t be long now.       In fact, you’re so engrossed in the drama that you don’t even hear the sound of the lockcode being entered, so when he pushes open the door it takes you a full second to recognize him.      “Hobiiiiiiiiiiii,” you squeal, unabashedly scrambling off the couch to get to him. He barely has time to close the door behind him before you’re there, wrapping your arms around his neck.       There’s a loud thunk as he drops his bags to the ground and pulls you securely into his arms. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, you feel him brush his lips against your skin before murmuring your name.       If there had ever been any doubt that he had missed you it would have been obliterated by how tightly he was holding onto you, the slight hitch in his breath as he said your name a few more times.      It’s an eternity before he releases you, but it still doesn’t feel like long enough. Stepping back, you look up into his face, unable to keep the goofy grin off yours---and are surprised to see tears in his eyes. Inhaling sharply, you instantly cradle his face in your hands. “Baby,” you say, searching his face, “What’s wrong? What happened? Are you okay??”      He smiles, looking slightly embarrassed. “It’s okay,” he says, then repeats it when you don’t look convinced. “Really, angel, I’m okay. I just...I missed you so much. I’m glad to be home.”     “I’m glad, too,” you say, then lean up to kiss him.      He responds immediately, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing you closer. After a few minutes, you feel him carefully start to move you out of the doorway, never breaking the kiss until you reach the couch. With a small laugh, you sink down onto the couch and pull him on top of you.       Brushing a strand of his wavy hair out of his face, you grin and say softly: “Don’t leave me ever again, okay?”     He responds by kissing the tip of your nose. “Okay.”      “Promise?”     Instead of grinning and making a joke back, you’re surprised when he looks seriously into your eyes and murmurs, “I promise” before bringing his lips back against yours.      It’s a long time before you break apart. 

    You crawl into bed and reach for your phone, checking the time quickly: nearly 9:30pm. I’m sure he’s still awake...      You open your texts: Hey Joonie^^ Are you glad to be back? I’m happy you guys are all safe. Did everything end okay?     As you put your phone down, you hear the sound of the shower turning off, which brings mixed feelings.      You and Hoseok had spent every single minute together since he’d gotten home: you’d eaten delivery chicken tangled up on the couch together, unpacked his things together, dumped his clothes into the washing machine together, shared the ice cream cake you had bought for celebration of his return together, and, finally, locked the front door and turned out all the lights in the kitchen and living room together. As silly as it was, it felt like you were whole again. Everything was easier now that he was back, and you relished in the way the apartment wasn’t silent now that he was home. It was essentially for this reason that you’d sent him to shower on his own, volunteering to switch his laundry to dry but really just hungry for an opportunity to hear the sounds of him humming and setting the shampoo bottles down too heavily from where you sat on the bed. He’s home, he’s really home.       But....      Starting with the uncharacteristic tears in his eyes at the door, you couldn’t help but feel something was...off. You couldn’t even describe what exactly it was: his behavior wasn’t that different. You were still beyond thrilled to have him near you again. The two of you had immediately settled back into your normal routine without a hitch. And yet...      Throughout your reunion, you’d tried to slip in a few questions here and there; nothing too deep or serious, and though he’d answered, you couldn’t help but feel there was more to the story. It worried you.       The bathroom door swung open, and the familiar smell of Hoseok’s shampoo washed over you, automatically alleviating some of your worry.       “Hey, little fish,” you say with a smile, watching as he wandered to the walk-in closet to find some clothes. “Started to worry you’d drowned in there.” Your smile grows a little bigger at the sound of his laugh from inside the closet and grows to a grin when he finally reappears, dressed in a huge, oversized white t-shirt and gray sweats.      “No way,” he says, giving you a wink. “My swimming skills are too good.”     “I’m relieved.”     He laughs, and the sound is so real it lifts a little more of the worry away. Even so, he can’t completely get rid of the lines of exhaustion on his face.       “Time for bed,” you say more quietly, your eyes locked on his face. “Even little fishes must be tired after almost a month of touring.”      “Mmm,” he agrees, but instead of coming to the bed, he stops to crouch down and hunt through one of his bags. After a moment, he straightens and gives you a little smile. “Close your eyes.”      Pretending to be suspicious, you only narrow them instead. “....Why?”      “Don’t you trust me?” he asks, widening his eyes innocently.      “Oh, stop.” You close your eyes. “It better not be something gross.”      When he laughs, the sound comes from directly in front of you. “Gross? Like what?”      Folding your arms over your chest, you shrug. “I don’t know. Like...a bug. Or a spider. Or a worm!”      “You think I routinely keep live insects in my travel bags?” he deadpans.      “I don’t know. Don’t little fishes like bugs??”      He brushes a kiss to your forehead. “Not as much as they like silly little koalas. Okay. Open.”      You open your eyes slowly and see him holding a delicate silver-chain necklace in front of you. Hanging from the chain is a tiny, silver “H” intertwined with a sapphire-colored gem stone---your favorite. “Oh!” you gasp, looking at him. “Hoseok...it’s beautiful.”      He’s grinning. “Do you like it?”     “So much!” you say as he sits on the bed next to you. “Baby, I really love it.”      “I’m glad. Here, lean forward.” When you do as he says, he reaches to carefully put the necklace on you, moving your hair out of the way so he can fix the clasp.      You catch him as he tries to sit back, giving him a long kiss. “Thank you,” you say sincerely.        He just tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear---and that’s when you notice the other thing in his hand. Noticing your attention, his smile softens a little and he displays the other item: it’s another silver chain, but this one has the first initial of your name intertwined with emerald stones (his favorite). Before you can offer, he reaches up and puts the necklace on himself. “Now we match,” he announces, the tips of his ears going just a little red.       You grin and reach out to kiss him again. “It’s perfect, my hope. I love it. I love you.”      “I love you too,” he says, a lazy grin on his face when you pull apart, and you can once again see how exhausted he is.       “Now,” you announce, reaching up to fix a strand of his still-damp hair, “It’s time for you to get some rest.”      Jumping to his feet, he gives you a ridiculous salute. “Yes, ma’am!” Winking playfully, he turns off the lights, closes the door, and then climbs around to his side of the bed. Once he’s under the covers, his eyes immediately droop. “I am pretty tired,” he admits, his voice soft and small.       Your heart melts a little. “I know.” You lay back a little, still propped up by several pillows, and smile as he automatically curls towards you, resting his head on your chest and cuddling around you, exhaling a long, content breath when he’s settled. “Just rest, baby,” you say softly, brushing your fingers through his hair. “You don’t have a schedule tomorrow, right?”      He shakes his head sleepily. “No...”     “Good. You can sleep for a long time,” you say, your voice slipping into a soothing tone. You hesitate for a moment, then breathe, “Are you sure everything’s okay?”     He’s so close to sleep that it takes him a moment to answer. “Yes...” he says quietly, already drifting off. “Now that...I’m here with...you....Angel, everything’s wonderful...again.”      You don’t entirely believe it, but you decide that right now it doesn’t really matter. “I love you, Jung Hoseok,” you say, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “I’m so glad you’re home.”      “Mmm...” he answers, and then he’s gone, off into an exhausted sleep.       Once his breathing has settled into the even pattern of someone who is sleeping deeply, you reach for your phone again: Namjoon hadn’t messaged you back yet.       It’s fine, you reassure yourself. I’ll find out tomorrow. For now, he’s home. He’s here. Everything will be okay. 

[the-black-birb]

2. Rekindle [Futakuchi]

Pairing: Futakuchi x Reader

Summary: Futakuchi isn't ready to see you again, but that's not stopping him.

Warnings: foul language, divorced parents, mentions of alcohol and gambling

A/N: thank you miyu for helping me come up with names and my beautiful beta readers for fixing my dumb mistakes <3

pt 1 . [pt. 2] . pt 3

The apprehension of seeing you only sunk in when Futakuchi stood in front of your door, bag at his side and knuckles just about to knock.

He’d spent the past week masterfully avoiding the thought of you. When asked his weekend plans he’d simply deflect (“I’ve got a hot date-” “Oh? Nice, dude!” “-with my volleyball.”) and any time he spent home alone was easily able to distract himself by diving into a new TV show. Effective? Yes. Healthy? Probably not.

But all of that work was for naught because he was still standing here, exactly two o’clock (because although he was never particularly punctual, he was never late when it came to you) standing in front of your door like a fool. His knuckles were turning white with how tightly he was holding his fist. He stared at the red plastic in his hand, adorned with a familiar logo. Why did I buy this? He bemoaned. It was from your favorite ramen restaurant, three blocks away from his home. Why couldn’t I have just gotten something chill like fast food?

Well, it was too late now and every second he wasted the ramen was getting colder. He raised his hand again to knock on your door.

Am I overdressed? He was wearing jeans (fancier than usual, for him) and a pair of beat-up sneakers. He definitely wasn’t giving off “reliable boyfriend” vibes that he was sure he’d need for his upcoming escapade (but did he ever?). Too bad, he couldn’t exactly go home and change.

He raised his hand again to knock.

What if-

“Kenji!”

Futakuchi almost jumped out of his skin when he turned to stare at you, bewildered. You had a wire basket propped against your hip as you stared up at him with a glowing smile. You looked so relaxed it almost got his grip to loosen before he remembered, right, you’re still his ex and this is still incredibly bizarre. But he’d grown in the past few years, and he wasn’t ready to let you unravel him just yet.

“[F/N],” he replied with a lazy drawl. “You’re looking comfortable.” He eyed her up and down, taking in the view. Your getup was simple, a college hoodie pulled over a pair of tight running shorts, but in all the time he’d spent dating you he’d never seen you wear something so cozy. Your mother cared a lot about keeping up appearances, and so even for casual dates, you’d always dress to the nines.

It was a nice change of pace.

“Give me a break, it’s laundry day,” you huffed at him, shooing him away from your apartment door to open it. Futakuchi followed you inside, taking in all of his surroundings.

He hadn’t ever visited you before (he hadn’t even spoken to you!) but the instant he walked in he was shaken to the core with familiarity. Everything screamed you. The art hanging on the walls, the color of the pillow, even the smell of sage made the apartment feel like home. 

Frankly, it made him anxious. Even if you were allowing him inside and letting him sit next to you on the couch, he wasn’t your boyfriend anymore. He wasn’t allowed to indulge in this.

The silence between you makes Futakuchi uncomfortable so he panders, wondering what will catch your attention. “I brought ramen,” he offered, holding up the bag for you to see.

Immediately, your eyes lit up. Guess she recognizes it. 

“Kenji, you shouldn’t have!” you jest, but it doesn’t stop you from grabbing at his hands, eager to get to your lunch. Futakuchi is quietly relieved that it, in fact, is not awkward to bring his ex-girlfriend her favorite food of all time. Glad he got that cleared up.

You start on your food with haste, barely even taking the time to whisper a quiet “thank you for the food,” before you’re chowing down. Futakuchi supposes you don’t have much time to travel the half-hour to the restaurant just for a quick bite, but at least you could’ve warmed it up, right? Whatever, he rolls his eyes, putting it out of his mind.

“Do you even taste it?” he wonders aloud as you devour your meal. You look up at him accusingly but your glare is balanced out by the puff of your cheeks from all the food you’ve stuffed in it. Futakuchi can’t hold back his laughter as your face heats up, but it doesn’t stop you from slurping loudly.

“I can.”

Slurp.

“And it tastes delicious.”

Slurp.

“Is that a problem?”

You swallow the last of it, wiping your face with the back of your hand and looking once again at Futakuchi. Though your eyes are cunning (they’ve always made Futakuchi feel like you were seeing through him rather than what he wanted you to see), they are also familiar and Futakuchi vainly tries to ignore the ache in his chest when he locks eyes with you. Instead, he tries to focus on another part of your face. Your nose, maybe, or your lips (no, definitely not the lips) before he settles on a speck on your cheek.

“Missed a spot,” Futakuchi teases, reaching forward to wipe a pit of garnish from your cheek. It’s only when he’s already pulled back and sees the way your eyes clouded over that he thinks maybe it’s a bad idea to immediately be touching the face of his ex-girlfriend.

Before he has time to apologize or at least look embarrassed, you’ve rushed to your feet and are smiling in a way that doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I’ll grab some tea,” you insist, taking your dishes out of your living room.

As you leave, Futakuchi lets out a sigh he doesn’t know he was holding in and relaxes against your couch. The two of you ended on good terms, he reminds himself, so any tension should be the normal residual worry from not seeing a friend in a long time, right? That’s got to be it, he assures himself until you’re walking in the room again, right in front of him.

And those shorts really are tight and they hug you in the best way possible. They’re short, too, and he wonders if you turn just slightly if he’ll be able to see the strawberry-shaped birthmark on your right-

“My eyes are here, Kenji,” you tease. To his surprise, the possibility of friendly banter has Futakuchi letting down his guard. Friendly banter means the two of you can still exist side by side, without this awkward wall.

Although, there’s nothing friendly about the thoughts of you clouding his mind.

You sit beside him and sip on your tea, offering some to him. He accepts, gingerly taking the cup into his palms. Somehow, everything in your house feels fragile to him.

He sees you swallow and sit up straighter so he follows suit, preparing for the worst, but your words don’t come. For the first time since you called him, he considers the fact that you’re just as nervous about this as he is.

“So,” he decides to try and ease the palpable tension. “How’s the family? Still dysfunctional?” You’d always be painfully honest with him about your ‘situation,’ and he hoped the years you spent apart wouldn’t change that.

You let out a dry chuckle and he feels his shoulders ease. “Kaito,” that’s your brother if he recalls correctly. “Is ridiculously happy. His fiance is a keeper, that’s for sure.” Despite this, there’s something in your expression that says you’re not happy at all. He’s not sure if it’s the way your lips pressed together to make a fine line or the way your brows furrow just slightly, but he gets the feeling that you’re not exactly comfortable thinking about marriage.

“And I’m glad he found that special person for him. But now that the focus is off him, my mother keeps nudging me about tying the knot.”

Bullseye. 

He knows you never really got along with your mother. She kept custody of you and your brother during the divorce, but you’d always held a grudge against her for ending the marriage so abruptly. “They weren’t meant to be, she told me!” you used to shout. “How can there be any meant to be if you don’t even fucking work for it?”

“And that’s where you come in,” you finish, looking at Futakuchi, eyes full of equal parts hope and fear. He simply nods, letting you continue. He wasn’t planning on taking his eyes off of you for a second.

“You don’t need to stick around after the wedding I just need a convincing date so they can ask me about things that matter, like my job and life, instead of who I’m sleeping with,” you try to make an expression that says Futakuchi should laugh as you joke, but the way your hands twist in your lap and your feet keep moving says otherwise.

“I’m not going to run away on you,” Futakuchi assures, placing an affectionate pat on your head. “Just tell me what I need to know.” He doesn’t know why he’s so calm all of a sudden, all of his nerves receding. He supposes seeing you all wound up distracted him from his own worries. Besides, it’s not like this will really hurt either of you.

“So, we need to make sure our stories are the same in case they start asking nosy questions,” you smile and even though you don’t say it everything about you radiates a quiet thank you to Futakuchi’s comforting presence. His lips tug up at the corners.

“What kind of questions?” Futakuchi smirks and he swears he sees your eyes dart away from his before settling in the couch to face him fully.

“What do we do on weekends for dates?” you ask, matching his playful tone.

“Have hot passionate sex,” Futakuchi suggests.

You hit him in the arm playfully, but your smile only grows. “Only after you win volleyball matches,” you counter.

Futakuchi raises an eyebrow at you. “How do you know I still play volleyball.” He gasps mockingly. “Have you been stalking me?” He pretends to forget that after you called him (but before he tried to avoid you), he checked your Instagram and Twitter for the first time in months

“What else would be doing, captain,” you quip, a clever look in your eye that Futakuchi could never forget. He pretends to live in a world where the way you say ‘captain’ doesn’t get him hot under the collar.

“Well don’t you have me all figured out, sugarcube,” is his reply before he stops and his playful act stops. “Am I allowed to call you sugarcube?” In the heat of the moment, he forgets he was supposed to keep all his insecure questions about what is alright to do with an ex-girlfriend to himself and says it out loud for the both of you to ponder.

You got the nickname before he knew anything about your family. At the time, he thought the massive amounts of sugar you put in your tea were because you wanted to die young, and not because the bitter taste reminded you too much of the coffee your dad would sometimes let you drink from his mug when you were younger. In his moment of recollection, Futakuchi also realizes you’ve gotten out of the habit and seem to have put a normal amount of sugar in the tea you’re drinking, to his surprise.

“You probably should,” you settle on, snapping Futakuchi out of his trance. “Wouldn’t it be weird if you didn’t?” Futakcuhi nods, your whole family knew he called you that.

“So who’s going to be at the wedding?” he asks, racking his brain with all the relatives of yours he’s met. One of the (incredibly minor) perks of dating someone with divorced parents was that he got to celebrate three Christmases, one with his parents, another with your mother, and the final one with your father (although he only ever got you for the day after Christmas, he made sure to celebrate like there was no tomorrow). But all the different celebrations also meant the privilege of meeting practically everyone in your family.

You sigh at his questions, and he wonders who could be so bad to get that sort of reaction out of you. Your Aunt Fuyumi? Or maybe your cousin Sora?

“Everyone,” you moan and Futakuchi almost does a spit take.

“Everyone?” he repeats.

You nod your head somberly. “Kaito’s fiance wanted a big wedding and he didn’t know how to say no. It’s going to be chaos,” you whine.

“It’s going to be world war three,” Futakuchi agrees. “I mean, can Makoto and Touma even stand being in the same room as each other?” They were your uncles from opposite sides of the family and after the divorce and one casino trip gone haywire, they were constantly at each other’s throats. You shook your head defeatedly, mumbling a tiny no.

“And Yui-” She was your aunt on your mother’s side but you’d never dare refer to her as such. “Has finally stopped drinking, so don’t be around her with wine,” you explained. You went on to list more uncertainties to be aware and Futakuchi racked all of them away in the back of his mind. He didn’t really mind, it was like gossiping in high school, but with your relatives. Most of what you said he’d already known, anyways, and it seemed to simply help you get it off your chest.

“And finally,” you sighed. “We’re going to have to explain why we’re dating again.” Fake dating, Futakuchi wants to correct you so as not to get his own hopes up, but he doesn’t want to disturb your flow. “They all knew we split up. They were disappointed.” So was I, Futakuchi swallows his words. You two left each other on good terms.

“You came to one of my matches?” Futakuchi suggests and at this point, the two of you have relaxed to the point where you’re lying on either side of the couch, legs a tangled mess.

For the first time since you mentioned your family, your whole face lights up and you shoot up, shocking Futakuchi enough that he almost falls over. “And we fell in love all over again!” He almost wishes it were true. “Perfect!”

Your smile is wide as the two of you work out the details. How you’d watched one of his games, saw him, and knew immediately you needed to contact him. How he’d run for an hour in the pouring rain and thunderstorms (“Do we need to include the rain and thunder? We’re making me desperate, not stupid.” “They already know you’re stupid, Kenji.”) just to see you when you called. And finally, the passionate lovemaking that ensued-

“They don’t need to know about that!” You laughed unhindered and it was the first time that day that you’d look fully and completely like the girl he knew in high school, a little scared and worried but unafraid to live nonetheless.

“That should cover all our bases,” Futakuchi sighed when you’d covered every possible detail that your family could care about. “Now, what color are you wearing?”

You looked at him curiously. “Purple, why?” Had you forgotten he was your date?

“I need to match you,” he says it so seriously that you can’t help from bursting into a fit of giggles, again.

“This isn’t prom!” you exclaim. “Just dress nice.” Despite your assurance, he remembers your mother once again, always concerned with keeping up appearances and dressing your best. He gave you a pointed look.

“I’ll give you a fabric patch so you can get a matching hanky but don’t go insane,” you sigh, standing up to head to your room.

As the reality of what he’s doing sinks in, Futakuchi almost wants to laugh. It’s like those shitty rom-coms you would make him watch where two people end up pretending to date for their own reasons. Except, he was certain there was no falling in love at the end of this road and no magical moment where he’d realize he didn’t want this to be fake at all.

After all, he already knew that.

When you came back with the fabric, he was quick to dismiss himself. “It’s getting late,” he insisted, but it sounded more to him like I’m getting attached. He hadn’t asked if you two would be on talking terms when all of this was over, far too afraid of your answer. “I’ll pick you up an hour before the wedding?” he asked, putting his shoes back on in your entryway.

“Two hours,” you challenged. “So we can go over the details.”

Futakuchi nods, ready to leave and pretend that you don’t exist again when you’re pulling him by the arm into a tight embrace. 

“Thank you, Kenji,” you talk into his neck and he wraps his arms around your waist. He wonders how he can hold you in his arms and still feel so far away from you.

“I’ll make it up to you, somehow,” you promise, pulling away from him.

He wants to tell you that you don’t have to, that he’s just doing it out of the good of his heart. But he knows that’s inappropriate for an ex-boyfriend with an awful personality to say to his ex-girlfriend who still looks so damn good, even when all she’s wearing is a sweatshirt and shorts, so he settles on “sure,” instead.

He can’t even look you in the eyes as he closes the door behind him.

[darlingsdevil]

The Ballads of Rebirth (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

Chapter 15: Full Circle

Summary: The big day. All rejoice!

Masterlist

Tag list: @rollyjogerjones

I still can’t add a read more tab on mobile.. sorry about that :/

A/N: Sorry for my long hiatus, not been super motivated lately so I made this chapter extra long for you guys! Longer than any thing I’ve written before (!!).I promise I sort have been doing productive things.. I guess. Listening to music (Hozier, Lord Huron, Gregory Alan Isakov and the Oh Hello’s are what got this chapter done), playing fallout 76 (I know), working, schoolwork, planning other fics (I have a big announcement coming up!!!)

IMPORTANT PLEASE READ: I wanted to clear some things up in terms of plot hole. My dumbass mistakenly has said that Reader has been in the gang for 15 years, not true - it’s been around 10, but a little less than John (like 3 ish months after him). I have also previously said that John and Reader joined the gang together, again, not true but I already fixed it. Reader joined the gang after John after Arthur saved her from the gang who kidnapped her. Hope this wasn’t too confusing.

As for the ending... yeah.. next chapter, and then epilogue. Not sure that many of you will stay around for the AU - which will be posted SEPARATE, after you read the actual ending >:3c Anyways, here we go.

This is all supposed to be italicized.. it’s italicized on wattpad and ao3, just tumblr decided to be a bitch and not transfer it that way and I’m too lazy to change each paragraph to italics.. so let’s just pretend it is.

•••

Shady Belle was an interesting place for a wedding, it seemed. You had been ushered away from Arthur in the morning, and carted away to Saint Denis with the rest of the women, claiming Shady Belle would be too chaotic to get ready in, which really meant they didn’t want you to get ready with the men around. They had raided your room when the sun rose, waking Arthur too. You were barely able to kiss him goodbye, they carted you out of the room that fast. You wanted to lie next to him all morning, enveloped in his warmth, but your friends had different plans.

Saint Denis was such a difference compared to Chicago, the city you grew up in. You were an orphan living in the cold streets, just barely getting by. You worked in a textile factory for as long as you could remember. You lived in a cheap, one bedroom apartment, before that you simply slept in alleyways with other orphans, huddling by fires. You were uneducated, poor, and always hungry. A man kidnapped you on your way home from work one late evening, and the next thing you knew you were in a cabin in the desert, surrounded by men with guns and a nasty look on their face. Arthur was your savior, Dutch was your teacher, John was your brother, Abigail was your sister, Hosea was your father and the Van der Linde gang was your family.

But that was a long time now. Your wedding was merely hours away.

Arthur was nervous about the whole thing, he didn’t want to make a big deal out of the wedding but Dutch decided otherwise. Dutch thought a wedding was exactly what the entire gang needed, to boost everyone’s morals he had told you. You were beyond nervous for your big day, but with Arthur by your side, the impossible became possible.

Miss Grimshaw was the head of it all, the mastermind of the party. She set everything on a strict schedule, where everyone needed to be and when. She was a godsend during this time, otherwise the wedding would no doubt end up in a shed with you wearing a white sheet as a wedding dress.

Mary Beth was absolutely bouncing off the walls at the idea of a wedding, she thought it was incredibly romantic — two outlaws falling in love. It was something out of those novels she adores.

Saint Denis was hot, humid, and made you feel sticky with sweat. It didn’t help you would be wearing a heavy dress later that day either, but you didn’t mind. Nothing could or would bring you down today.

The first stop to your magical day was the salon. You got your hair trimmed and styled, as well as some makeup, keeping it simple. A few of the other women got their hair done as well. They all looked beautiful. The women could not hide their excitement for you, even a few patrons of the salon came up and congratulated you. Their talk seemingly echoed off the walls.

Abigail put the hair clip in your styled hair, it was a beautiful piece, elegant and dazzling. It was gold with a large pearl at the top and smaller jewels surrounding it. It matched your locket perfectly. Arthur had bought the hair clip for you a few days before.

When you were ready to leave the salon, it was time for the dress store, where you had left the dress. You didn’t want Arthur to see it, and it would no doubt get soiled at Shady Belle. Some of the other women had bought new dresses for the special occasion as well.

You picked it up from the counter, and walked over to the dressing room. All the women sat down on the benches outside of the dressing room, waiting for the big reveal. A few of them had already seen it, as they had gone with you when you picked it out, but none of them had seen you in your full wedding attire.

When you slipped it on over your undergarments you felt like you were floating on a cloud. You were absolutely beautiful. You felt like you could conquer the world in the dress. It was incredibly pretty, it had a loose layered bodice, with lace woven in, long ruffled sleeves and an a-line skirt. You felt your heart strings pull at the mere sight of it, you wondered what Arthur would think of it.

You slowly pushed the door open, hearing your loud heartbeat in your ears. You heard a wave of audible gasps, and then a few squeals, you eyed your white heels nervously, hesitantly looking up at all their faces.

They were all smiling, a few covering their mouths in joy.

“You look so pretty!” Tilly shouted, the rest of the women agreed. You smiled shyly, doing a small twirl.

“I really like the dress,” You said, feeling the cloth sway with you.

“I’d be surprised if Arthur didn’t drop dead the moment he sees you,” Mary Beth said playfully.

“Do you really think so?” You questioned.

“Of course. The man will have a heart attack right there, on the altar,” Molly responded.

You giggled, “I don’t want that to happen!”

“You look so beautiful,” Mary Beth repeated. You nodded her head at her, a smile on your lips.

“I’m so nervous though,” You confessed, sitting down next to Miss Grimshaw. You gripped the edge of the wooden bench, hoping to calm your nerves.

“It’s normal to be nervous, if you aren’t, there’s something wrong.” Sadie was the only married one in the gang, you trusted her advice.

“What if something goes wrong?”

“Nothing will be going wrong today, everyone is going to make sure nothing bad happens,” Abigail reassured you.

“Are you sure? I mean what if Arthur suddenly gets cold feet? What if O’Driscolls raid our camp?”

“If the O’Driscolls try to mess up your day, they’ll have to get through me,” Sadie said rather determinedly, a strange glint in her eye. You would not want to be an O’Driscoll when Sadie Adler was around, or an O’Driscoll in general for that matter.

“Arthur would never turn his back on you. We all see the way he looks at you,” Mary Beth said, a noise of agreement was heard. Mary Beth was right, Arthur would never turn his back on you, you were sure of it.

“Arthur and you do make a handsome couple. I can tell you’re really in love,” Molly responded.

“Thank you, Molly.” You smiled at her.

“We best be getting going, we wouldn’t want her to miss her big day,” Karen reminded everyone. It was getting late after all, there were still some things to do before the ceremony, such as making sure all the men were getting ready instead of getting drunk off their asses. Luckily, most of the preparations were done the night before, but there were still some finishing touches required.

Everyone fretted for you and Arthur to simply sit back and let everyone get your wedding prepared for you. You were wary of coming off as lazy at first, but the gang assured you it was your turn to sit back and relax, after all weddings were supposed to be happy and stress free. So you let everyone pitch in, even Uncle helped.

“Let’s head back then. The bouquet still needs the ribbons in it, we need to make sure dinner is being prepared-” Miss Grimshaw already began barking orders, Karen and Tilly both groaned. Everyone began to get up, gathering all their belongings.

“And you, Miss Morgan, we need you to head inside immediately once we arrive, we can’t have your dress get dirty,” Miss Grimshaw told you as you walked through the streets to get to the wagons.

“And don’t let Arthur see you, it’s bad luck, you know,” Sadie's voice rang out from behind you.

“I know!”

•••

When the rowdy wagons finally came to a stop in front of Shady Belle, you were immediately taken up to Abigail’s room. She shielded you from the eyes of the men, rushing you up the staircase. Abigail and Sadie were not taking the superstitions lightly it seemed. She kicked John out of the room, but Jack was allowed to stay.

You walked over to the window, Abigail sat down on the rickety bed. You slowly pushed the curtains out of the way, looking down to the ground below. Dutch was giving a speech it seemed, Arthur next to him. Your breath was almost stolen from you the moment you laid eyes on him, he was so incredibly handsome. He wasn’t dressed yet, you were glad you hadn’t spotted him in his suit. He was standing proud next to Dutch, Hosea on the other side of him. You watched them for awhile, before letting the curtains fall back into place.

“Are you ever going to have a wedding with John?” You turned to Abigail as she brushed her hair on the bed.

Abigail gave you a look,“Knowing John, probably not.”

You chuckled lightly, “Well, if you ever do, I want to be there.”

“You’ll be the first invited,” She responded. You took the brush from her hands and slowly began getting rid of all the knots in her hair. You shifted behind her, making sure to not crease your dress.

“I still can’t believe you two are getting married. I remember when I caught you two kissing behind that wagon,” She laughed, remembering the awkward moment.

“He was drunk off his ass and I was too. It wasn’t much of a kiss, more like we were eating eachothers face.”

“Yeah but, it was still a kiss, right?”

“I guess it was our first kiss. But our first sweet kiss was the day after when he officially asked me out,” You sighed sweetly.

“John was horrified. I still remember the look on his face when you both arrived back in camp holding hands,” Abigail laughed.

“Hosea always knew. Dutch knew too. We were ogling each other for so long, it was kinda hard not to know.”

“You told me first though, remember?” Abigail said.

“Yeah, I do. And then the next day you went into town and bought a locket for me so I could put Arthur’s photo in it.”

You continued brushing Abigail’s locks. Abigail was the closest thing to a sister you had ever gotten. You stood up for her when the rest of the men saw her as a whore, you showed them she was more than that. You stayed by her side when John left her with a newborn. You had even helped give birth to Jack.

Arthur was closer to John for obvious reasons, but you were still John’s sister too. You were both furious at John when he left. John had betrayed you and Abigail, things were still rocky. Arthur understood what it was like to have a child, it wasn’t easy, but at least he had stayed for Eliza, you had met her twice, she was kind and respectful. Isaac was a smart boy, and looked a lot like Arthur. Arthur was distant for a while after he found out they both died.

“It took you awhile to find the right photo to put in it.”

“It did. I had to get him to take the photo in the first place. I remember I told him it was for a job!” You laughed.

“I’m sure he already suspected it.”

“Probably. I never was a good liar around Arthur,” You said.

“I’m so glad he ended up with you.. Mary and him were a troubled pair.”

“Trust me, I know.” Mary hated you and you hated her. It was the final straw when Mary began talking about you, trying to pull Arthur away from you, putting ideas into his head, and Arthur stopped putting up with it. At the time, you were no rival to Mary, you were more like his annoying little sister. His volatile little sister. You were a lot wilder in those days, no wonder Mary saw you as a threat.

“But honestly, you two are a wonderful couple. Arthur is lucky to have you,” Abigail said sincerely.

“Thank you,” You responded. You were finally done brushing her hair, you set the hairbrush down and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I’m so nervous about this wedding,” You confessed to her, setting your hands in your lap.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Abigail looked at you. You looked up at her. Her eyes shimmered with pride.

“I don’t even know why I’m worried, I just am.”

“Well I’ll be with you the entire time, you’re my sister, (Y/N). And sisters stick together.”

“Thank you, Abi.” You leaned forward and gave her a hug, your eyes welling with tears of happiness.

When she let go, she sat up from the bed, walking over to the window. She looked down at the scene below with watchful eyes.

“John looks like he just woke up. That damned fool,” Abigail muttered, she turned to Jack, who had been playing with a few pieces of yarn and wood. You nearly laughed at the pitiful sight, you would have to buy him some real toys when you went back into the city. Arthur and you had briefly discussed having children, you had practically raised Jack, with Abigail. Arthur decided once things settled down and Dutch’s plan to go to Tahiti or wherever he decided at the time finally worked, then would be the time. You prayed it would be soon, Arthur would make a wonderful father. You wanted to get away from this life so desperately, you were tired of running, you were tired of killing. All you wanted was a family with Arthur.

You had lived the life of running, fighting to stay alive, killing without second thought. All you wanted was peace.

Abigail picked up Jack, letting out a quiet groan. Jack was getting big, you remember when you first held him, those big eyes looking up at you.

“Jack, do you want to go get what you made your Aunt?” Abigail asked Jack. Jack looked at you with big doe eyes, smiling widely.

“Yes, Mama,” He said, Abigail set him down, he walked towards the drawer by the window and reached open to pull it open. He barely even reached it. His small arms grabbed a small object from inside the drawer. Abigail put her hands on her hips, smiling at her boy.

“He made it himself,” Abigail said as Jack set a flower crown in your hands. It was pretty with wildflowers he had picked. He watched you examine it, smiling brightly.

“I think Uncle Arthur will like it,” He told you.

“Oh, Jack! Thank you so much. This is beautiful.” You gave him a grin, putting the flower crown on. It really was a thoughtful gift.

“He picked a flower for Arthur too, so you would be matching,” Abigail revealed.

“Arthur likes flowers, did you know that, Jack? He’d never let any of us know, though,” You laughed, grabbing a bobby pin from a small box next to the brush, you secured the crown to your hair. Arthur was always drawing flowers in that journal, and in his old one he had kept pressed flowers. Arthur was a secret softy, there was no hiding that. Perhaps it’s why you fell for him, his secret side was so tender and loving, and when he realized he loved you too, that’s all you ever saw of him. He was nothing but kind - even when he called himself a bad man, you saw straight through that. Arthur was a kind man, kinder than any man you had ever met.

“I know,” Jack said simply, setting down next to you. He kicked his legs out in a back and forth motion.

“How do you know?” You asked him, pretending to be shocked.

“Uncle Arthur told me he likes flowers.”

Abigail held back a laugh, looking at you. You glanced at her, giving her a look.

“Uncle Arthur told you he liked flowers?” You repeated.

“He told me when we were by the water. I found a flower and gave it to him,” Jack responded.

“I see. What flower did you give him?”

“It was a purple flower. Uncle Arthur drew it in his journal.” Jack got up from the bed and went back to his yarn and wood, plopping down on the hardwood floors.

You chatted aimlessly with Abigail for a few moments as she continued getting ready. You were beyond scared to walk down that aisle and face Arthur. The longer you waited, the worse your nerves got.

People came up and down the steps, but suddenly you realized that it was John and Arthur coming upstairs. You held your breath. Even Abigail stopped to listen. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you heard them speak and walk further and further up the steps.

“John?” Abigail called out.

“What?” He responded, John was close to the door.

“Arthur’s not allowed in,” Abigail replied, she picked up her makeup brush and began applying blush to her face.

“I know. He’s not, he’s going to his room.” You could hear Arthur’s footsteps in the other room.

“Can I come in?” John asked after a moment of silence.

“Sure,” You said. The door opened and there was John. He still wasn’t dressed.

“You look good. I’m sure Arthur will be happy to see you.” John closed the door behind him, walking over to the dresser.

“Think so?” You asked playfully.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t he be?” He chuckled, John pulled out a pair of black slacks and a white shirt. It looked clean enough.

“She’s nervous,” Abigail told John. John looked at you over his shoulder.

“That so? Arthur is too.”

“Did he say anything about me?” You blurted out, feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush. John walked behind the folding screen in the corner of the room.

“He’s real excited to see you,” John said from behind the screen.

“I’m sure everyone out there is,” Abigail chimed in.

“Arthur wanted me to give you something,” John said as he walked out from behind the screen in his wedding outfit. He walked towards you, outstretching his palm.

It was a chocolate bar. You smiled at it, taking it from John.

“What's up with you two and chocolate?” John asked you as he walked over to the cabinet, he leaned against it, watching Jack play with his yarn.

“It’s a long story, but he’s only supposed to give it to me when I’m injured though.”

“Maybe he just wanted to let you know he’s thinking of you,” Abigail spoke, she glared at John, you wondered what that meant.

“I don’t have anything to give him,” You sighed, staring at the chocolate bar. Arthur was always thinking ahead.

“I’m sure he knows you’re thinking of him,” Abigail replied.

“Hopefully.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to eat it, your nerves were too high. All food sounded incredibly unappetizing. You set the chocolate bar on the bedside table. Jack eyed it, his eyes nearly glowing.

“You want the candy bar?” You asked Jack.

He nodded vigorously. Abigail rolled her eyes humorously.

“You can have it,” You told him. It was a gift from Arthur but Jack would have appreciated it even more than you could, and besides, the kid loves candy.

“Thank you, Auntie (Y/N),” He said, grabbing the chocolate bar with eager hands.

“I best be getting down there now, Dutch wants to talk to Arthur and me, good luck out there by the way,” John said, buttoning the top of his collar. He opened the door and left.

Jack continued eating his chocolate, you smiled at the boy. You wanted your own son or daughter so dearly, one with Arthur’s eyes and your hair. That’s all you wanted. You wanted out. As much as you loved your family - you wanted out. You had lived that way for so long, it was all you had ever known. But now you had a chance at freedom - to create your own family with Arthur.

But Arthur would never leave Dutch. And you knew that.

Deep down you knew.

You were tired of the running — tired of the plans, tired of it all. All you wanted was Arthur, him and nothing else. No gang — no killing. Just Arthur.

You didn’t want to raise a child in the gang, that was a foolish dream. You knew how easily the child could go without a parent, you had seen it happen with Abigail and Jack, although John eventually returned.

You were coming to terms with that though. In the world of an outlaw it was to live forever as an outlaw or die trying.

•••

An hour passed - it was already almost time. A majority of the gang members had already left camp. Your nerves were skyrocketing and when Molly knocked on the door to tell you it was time you almost passed out. Abigail gently ushered you to the door. Your hands were shaking as you slowly opened it up, seeing Molly in her special dress.

The plan was to head to a small church where they held outdoor weddings behind the building, the venue backed up to a river so you would be standing by it saying your vows. It was not very far from Shady Belle. Churches were never quite Arthur’s style, so you opted for an outdoor wedding..

You walked down the staircase slowly to the carriage outside, your hands were shaking wildly. Abigail held you tightly, Jack at her hip. The carriage was waiting outside for you. The camp was deserted behind you, it was strange to see. It was almost eerie, the lack of life, but you knew later tonight it would be bustling with it.

Abigail helped you up into the carriage. Once everyone was in the driver set off. Your heart pounded in your ears, your stomach churning.

“I’m so nervous.” You clasped your gloved hands tightly in your lap, as if it would somehow stop the shaking. Every turn, every jolt, it did not help with your nerves at all.

“I know, dear,” Molly said, putting her hands over yours. Abigail watched you sympathetically, she knew this wasn’t easy.

The carriage moved closer and closer to the venue. Arthur was surely feeling the same way, hopefully not to the same extent.

You were silent for most of the ride, Abigail and Molly talked fruitlessly, but you could not focus on their words. It felt like there were a thousand thoughts in your mind but not a single one was coming to your mind clearly, they were all shrouded in nervousness.

When the carriage suddenly came to a stop your heart jumped. You looked out the window and held your breath. This was it.

You were getting married. Today. Right now.

It was suddenly almost hard to wrap your mind around it. Abigail had to lightly nudge you out of the carriage, otherwise you would have been frozen in that seat.

You stepped out of the carriage, the sun was bright and slowly setting in the sky. By the time you would all get back tonight - it would surely be night.

Charles and John were waiting outside of the church for you. Every step closer to the church felt heavier and heavier, it was beginning to be hard to stand up straight.

“You look nice,” Charles said, holding the door open for you. Sunlight seeped in from the windows of the church, it was dusty inside. Sadie, Miss Grimshaw and Mary Beth sat on one of the pews, waiting for you.

“Thank you, Charles.”

Mary Beth gave you a small wave as you walked closer to them. Molly, Abigail, Jack and John behind you. It was hot and dry inside the church, it did not help that you were wearing a heavy dress either.

You opened your mouth to say something to Sadie, but Miss Grimshaw quickly cut you off. Molly walked out the back door to the ceremony.

“Arthur’s in the room behind the altar, with Dutch and Hosea. The Processional is starting in five minutes,” Miss Grimshaw reminded everyone. You nodded slowly. Five minutes felt like nothing. Abigail clipped the veil into your hair as Miss Grimshaw spoke. The veil was long and trailed to the floor, with lots of lace that was intricately woven.

“The order goes Dutch, Miss Grimshaw, Arthur, Charles, John, me, Mary Beth, Abigail, Jack and then our bride with Hosea,” Sadie read off from a piece of paper she had been holding.

“Then I’ll get out there with them, and you, Abigail, make sure the boy doesn’t drop the rings,” Miss Grimshaw finished, she turned swiftly towards the room behind the altar. Charles and John followed suit.

You sat down on one of the pews, your heeled foot tapping tirelessly against the floors. You tried to think of something calming, but nothing came to mind. It all was scrambled, your brain desperately grasping at a comprehensible thought.

“You’ll be fine,” Sadie told you as she leaned against the pew.

“You will be,” Mary Beth agreed.

“I’m afraid I’ll mess up.”

“You won’t mess up, you’ll be fine,” Abigail beamed. The seconds ticked on, the women sticking to their own conversations after noticing the worry in your eyes.

The music began and you immediately perked up, five minutes seemingly goes fast when your mind is a jumbled mess.

Sadie, Mary Beth and Abigail got up. Jack held onto his mother’s dress tightly. Abigail turned to smile at you sweetly as they walked closer and closer to the back. You gave her a small wave of goodbye. She mouthed “you’ll do great.” as she vanished behind the door.

The church was now completely deserted, it was now you and your thoughts. About a minute passed before Abigail knocked on the door. You hesitantly walked over to the looming door. Your heart beating wildly, like it would jump out of your chest.

You opened it and took a small breath, trying to calm your screaming nerves. In a few moments, you would see Arthur, and he would see you. And you would be his, and he would be yours. Years of yearning, wishing the other would be at their side, who knew it would come to this? He would be yours and you would be his. It was as simple as that.

Hosea was waiting on the other side for you, looking handsome as ever in his suit. He was the closest thing to a father you had ever gotten, it was only fitting he would walk you down the aisle. He smiled at the sight of you, unable to hide his pride.

The small compartment behind the church was small too. The door was open leading to the altar where Arthur was waiting for you, but a path obscured by trees hid it from you.

“You look beautiful,” He whispered, resting a hand on your shoulder. You stared at the door, waiting for your turn. You smiled politely, although you were not facing him.

The summer buzz of cicadas was heard even as the Procession played, a melodic tune. You waited for the music to change into your entrance.

“You’ll do fine out there, Arthur loves you,” Hosea’s words were quiet, but you could hear them loud as day. It was entirely true of course. Hosea was always right.

The music slowly shifted into a much slower song, and you knew. This was it. Hosea slid his arm through yours, your right arm holding the bouquet. You both slowly stepped out into the bright day. You felt like you were floating on a cloud — like nothing could ever bring you down. The dirt crunched underneath your feet as the aisle slowly came into view. Hosea’s arm was steady and soothing, his steps slow and methodical.

Worries drifted away as you slowly came into view, the wedding party rising at your arrival. The music continued to play a slow, beautiful tune, the cicadas humming happily and the rush of the river drumming thunderously.

And then there was Arthur, smiling at you like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life. You were closer now to him, every step bringing you nearer and nearer to his heart.

Arthur was handsome. He was gorgeous. And he was yours — all yours. He was sporting a dashing black suit, perfectly tailored. The flower in his chest pocket was the same as the ones in your hair.

It was like there was a beam of light radiating from him, Arthur had always been your beacon even in the darkest of times. He was love itself.

You felt the eyes of your friends and family on you, but you could only focus on Arthur.

When you finally reached the altar, your hearts felt like they were being synced, beating as one rather than two. The officiant stood behind Arthur, underneath two trees with a small arch decorated with flowers, Sadie and Mary Beth waiting for you on the left, John and Charles next to Arthur.

Hosea let go off your arm, smiling the entire time. He took his place next to Dutch in the front row, you handed Abigail your bouquet and stood next to Arthur underneath the arch, he took your hands in his. His hands were rough and strong, but they felt like home.

You looked into those eyes of endless waves, you only felt love and happiness from him. He looked like a prince, like there was supposed to be a crown sitting on top of his head, rather than the flower one you wore.

The officiant began with a welcome as the guests sat down.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Arthur and (Y/N) in matrimony, which is commended to be honorable among all men; and therefore is not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly. Into this holy estate these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace." The officiant said. This was really it, you kept reminding yourself. You both looked towards the crowd, for a fleeting moment you wondered if anyone would speak up. Arthur wondered the same, perhaps Micah would think he was funny and say something completely out of line, but he didn’t.

Arthur thought you were a goddess in your beautiful white gown. It looked exactly like something you would wear, the dress accented your body wonderfully, he couldn’t help but admire it.

The officiant spoke some more, weddings, love, union, the beginning of your new life - but you could barely focus on it. Your only focus was Arthur. Your fiancé, your best friend, your husband in a matter of moments.

“And now the bride and the groom are to exchange vows,” The officiant proclaimed. He gave you your paper with the vows.

Tears slowly started forming in your eyes as you shakily held the paper, smiling through it all.

“I remember when you found me alone in that cabin, that day you saved me in more ways than one. You taught me to love, to laugh, to trust. You have been my best friend, my companion, my lover and now you will be my husband. You have stayed by me when I was sick, injured, drunk, crying, you were there for it all. And I shall be there for you, I will choose you every time. I devote myself to you, Arthur Morgan, in sickness and in health. For I am yours, and you are mine.” You squeezed Arthur’s hand tightly, feeling the words come out naturally, like you had been waiting to say them your entire life. His smile widened throughout your entire vow.

The officiant held the paper out to Arthur, he let go of your hand to take it. You remembered him saying writing vows was hard, saying that his words sounded like nonsense. But they weren’t nonsense, Arthur was a gifted writer, whether he knew it or not. The thoughts in his journal (which you rarely ever saw) were something precious.

“My dear (Y/N), the first day I met you I knew I would like you. And I was right, and here we are now years later. It’s been a wild last few years, reckless too, but this is our first step into our new life, and we best not waste it. You are my love, you are my light, and I love you more than anything in this world. Nothing can or will separate us from now till the end of time,” He finished, his eyes brimming with love. Nothing could have prepared you for this moment, looking into his eyes and only feeling happiness. Like it was only you and him in this entire universe.

“Arthur, do you take Y/N L/N to be your lawfully wedded wife, through sickness and health, till death do you part?” The officiant asked. Arthur looked towards the man and nodded.

“I do.”

“And do you, Y/N, take Arthur Morgan to be your lawfully wedded husband, through sickness and health, till death do you part?”

“I do,” You said to Arthur. You smiled uncontrollably, and tried to stop the tears that were threatening to spill out the corner of your eyes.

The officiant leaned down to take the rings from Jack.

“Arthur, take this ring and place it on her finger.” Arthur took the ring from the man, and you presented your left hand to him. He slipped it on effortlessly.

“I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and faithfulness to you.”

“Y/N, take this ring and place it on his finger.” You grabbed the ring, feeling the weight of it in your hand, you slipped it on his strong hand.

“I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and faithfulness to you,” You rang out loud and clear. Speaking only to him. Words that would forever bind you to him.

“And remember, love is an unbreakable bond, it is gratitude, it is faithfulness, it is kindness, it is forgiveness, it is everything good in this world. Lovers will always find a way back to each other,” The officiant said with parting words.

“With the power invested in me, I now declare you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride.”

You both leaned in, he grabbed your waist, you took his face in your hand. And you kissed him, and you kissed him. His mouth against yours, it was a rushing moment, like you were soaring above the clouds. And you felt the love between, the hearts beating as one. Arthur was secure, he was your lifeline, he was your home. Arthur was yours.

Cheers were heard as you both retreated. You took his hand in his as you made your way back down the aisle. The crowd stood up for you, clapping the whole way. You would have to get used to the new weight on your finger, it was different than the engagement ring.

Once you were back on the path, you finally spoke, unable to hide your excitement.

“Gosh, I was so nervous all day, but when I got up there it wasn’t bad at all!” You exclaimed, walking closer to the church. The forest singing a merry tune for you

“I know, John had mentioned earlier that you was nervous,” Arthur replied. Your heart was beating quickly, but this time not with nerves, with excitement, with joy.

“And thank you, for the chocolate by the way. I ended up giving it to Jack, since he was ogling it the entire time,” You laughed, speaking quickly. Arthur held the door open for you as you entered the church.

“I was wondering if you would eat it or not.”

“Jack liked it. He also said he picked you that flower,” You told Arthur as you walked towards the front of the church, out towards the carriage

“The flower crown looks nice in your hair, I think he made a good choice.” You opened the door to the carriage outside. The rest of the gang would come back to camp after you left. Arthur helped you into the carriage while the driver congratulated you two.

At 19 you expected to live the rest of your life with a gang of merciless strangers who beat and did horrible things to you, but now here you are, 10 years later - married to the man who had saved you. And he had saved you every day since then, reminding that you were worth the love he could give.

And he was yours, and you were his.

•••

The party still roared to life outside. There was a feast fit for a group of outlaws, cake, never ending drinks, a vibrant bonfire, poker, stories, toasts, talks. It was everything you hoped your wedding would be. Hosea and Dutch were like proud fathers the entire night. You even saw what looked like Miss Grimshaw wiping away some tears when Hosea gave his speech.

It was interesting to say the least — when the songs started, you knew a majority of the camp had gotten drunk. Barely anyone had retired for the night — besides Strauss, and Reverend who had already blacked out. They sang songs for you and Arthur, they sang songs about love, about sex (which made you blush and hide your face, while Arthur had a dumb smirk on his face). You had switched out of your dress after the ceremony and opted for a looser small white dress.

When the crowd began saying the ‘Ring Dang Doo’ you groaned, knowing everyone would be looking at you. Arthur laughed as he sang along, watching you the entire time. The hoops and hollers were joyous as you hid your face in Arthur’s shoulder.

When the song was finally over you let out a sigh of relief, but you remained nuzzled into your husband's side. He was warm from drinking, and he had a happy glow to him. There was not another place you would rather be than to be next to him.

Hours passed smoothly, the songs became less rowdy as the party goers quickly dropped, hopefully not too hard. It was hard to believe your wedding day was over. You remained by Arthur’s side for a majority of the night. By the time Javier and John had packed up for the night — as well as an insufferably drunk Sean who’d fallen on his face getting up, it left only you and Arthur.

The fire crackled and sputtered as the remaining embers shuddered, praying to stay lit. The night was slowly coming to end, the final waves of darkness would be over soon, and light would wash over the terrain.

You were tired, you’d been awake for nearly a full day now. Your head rested on Arthur’s shoulder as he stared meaningfully into the fire, both of your eyelids heavy. You slowly blinked, trying to stay awake, to not fall asleep in the middle of camp.

“You know we could get away from this all, Arthur,” You mentioned to him, trying to suppress a yawn that was threatening to be released from your mouth.

Arthur replied with a questioning hum.

You looked up at him, “We could get away from this life, you know, start our own family.”

“You know I want that, sweetheart. Life’s just a mess right now, not sure it’s the right time,” He sighed. You turned back to look at the dwindling fire.

“I know, Arthur, I do. I just — I want a child of our own, a house, a family.”

“We’ll have that one day.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

•••

[joeybelle]

Orange blossoms

Oberyn Martell x OFC

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: PWP, Smut, Semi-Public Nudity, Semi-Public Sex, Oral Sex, Light Bondage, Unprotected Sex (not explicitly mentioned)

Setting: Once upon a time, somewhere in Essos

Words: 8200

A/N: This was meant to be short, but I guess this is my brain's definition of short. It's accidentally inspired by the kiss/snowdrop scene from the movie Stardust, but I realized that only after I plotted the beginning and felt it was incredibly familiar. If any Sand Snakes have been produced during the encounter is completely up to you. It takes place somewhere in Essos, at whatever point in time you feel like.

For an optimal reading experience, my lovely beta @llexeh would advise you to read it on a beach in the sun <3

Written with @writersmonth​ prompt “Summer” in mind, but posted early cause I have no chill

The air was hot and stagnant. The breeze that constantly caressed these shore cities seemed to have disappeared for the time being, leaving them all to shrivel under the scorching sun. Nothing was moving.

She was fanning herself with the colorful scarf she used to protect her head from the blazing sun. The awning above their stall provide enough shade to make it useless, so she’d taken it off, leaving her hair uncovered and wild, something she knew her Nana would thoroughly disapprove of. It made her look frivolous, she’d say, not like a proper, working woman. She’d also unfastened a few more buttons on her shirt than she normally would. Luckily, her Nana was napping in the back of the wagon, escaping the midday heat, so she was free to slump back into the large, wooden chair, lift her skirt up to her thighs and place her bare feet on the edge of the stand.

A drop of sweat was slowly making its way down her chest, traveling the valley between her breasts before pooling on her stomach.

There had been no patrons that morning anyway. It was much too hot, and the market was almost deserted. Although there was nothing better than a piece of fresh, juicy fruit on a hot day and she knew her beautifully stacked oranges were some of the best, none of the people walking through the market stopped by their shop. She didn’t mind. Selling citrus wasn’t the main part of their business, there were other affairs that Nana conducted in the back of the shop, but she still prided herself in the fruit she was selling.

The day went by incredibly slow. She watched a ray of sunlight slowly travel on the pavement to eventually land on her exposed thigh. She was too lazy to put her feet down and move the heavy chair, so she just stared at the strip of light warming her skin and continued to fan herself.

She noticed him the moment he entered the market. He was one of the few people actually browsing the stalls, looking at the produce. He didn’t seem to be interested in anything in particular, more like looking for something to pass the time. He was tall and well dressed in beautiful garments of warm, earthy tones mixed with yellows and gold that occasionally caught the light. Embroidered silk, if her eyes didn’t deceive her. The shoes were worn and dusty, like everything else in the city. She hadn't seen him before, so maybe he was one of those wealthy travelers sometimes passing the markets. She wouldn’t mind if he spent a few coins on her.

She watched him approach, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t excited to see him up close. Not that many things had happened that day and certainly none of those made her heart beat a little faster. He had black hair and beautiful, sunkissed skin. Dark eyes watched her intently from under even darker lashes.

He extruded elegance, from the way he moved to the way his garments were tailored to fit his frame perfectly. They weren’t ostentatious, like she’d seen so many others wear in these parts of the land, but everything he wore looked expensive. His robes opened in the front revealing a just as beautiful undershirt and a long strip of tan skin. The leather belt that kept it all together was hanging low on his hips, a shortsword fastened to it, hitting his thigh as he walked. She wondered if she unfastened his belt, what she would find underneath.

She suddenly felt the urge to fan herself harder.

His hand hovered over the neatly displayed fruit, barely touching the produce, but his eyes never left her. There was a hunger in them and not one that could be satiated by a couple of oranges. Eventually, he grabbed three tangerines from a pile, threw them in the air and caught them all in the same hand as he pretended to actually look at the fruit this time. This gave her the opportunity to study his profile some more. She liked the way his nose curved like he was some sort of bird of prey. She would certainly love to touch it, run the tips of her fingers along the bridge of his nose, down his cheek, caress the thin strip of facial hair that emphasized his strong jawline.

He brought a piece of fruit to his lips, making her eyes focus on his mouth. He had really beautiful lips that she’d love to be able to taste.

“How much for these?” he asked, showing her the remaining two tangerines he was still holding in his hand. His voice was deep and a little husky, bearing an accent she did not recognize.

She lazily put her feet down and got up from the chair. Her skirt fell to the ground, covering her legs, but her blouse had shifted to uncover her shoulder and a little more of her chest. She placed her hands on the edge of the stall and leaned closer to the stranger.

“Well,” she said, pretending just for the sake of pretending that she was thinking of a price, “for you, I’d say… a kiss.”

He smiled, his lips slowly curling upwards underneath his moustache, and sat on the other side of the stand, right opposite her. He seemed to take his time to consider as he was slowly eating another tangerine, but the new mischievous glint in his eye told her he wasn’t bothered by the offer. Not in the least.

“Isn’t it a bit steep?” he asked, leaning a bit closer, a whiff of expensive perfume washing over her.

“I promise you, my Lord,” she said, giving him one of her best smiles, one that always got her things. “You won’t find sweeter fruit in the whole market.”

“I think that might be right,” he said, inching a little closer, the intensity in his eyes making her shudder.

“And if you do, my Lord,” she said, their noses almost touching, feeling the radiating warmth of his skin on her own, “I’ll pay you back.”

He smiled properly this time, revealing a perfect set of teeth, before tangling his fingers into her hair and pulling her into a kiss. It was sudden and definitely welcomed. He tasted like the tangerines he’d just eaten, but also of something else, spicier, more enticing. His soft lips were really adept at capturing hers in a slow, but passionate kiss. He took his time tasting her, parting her lips to deepen the kiss, his fist in her hair keeping her in place, totally open for him to take whatever he wanted. And she surrendered willingly.

She was breathing heavily when he finally let go of her, but so was he. She could see his chest moving under the silk garments and it took all her self control not to reach into the opening to feel his skin under her fingertips. But she had to get herself together, she couldn’t let him unravel her so easily, so she fixed her blouse and ran a hand through her hair. Her Nana should be proud, she was playing coy for once.

She could feel herself burning, and it wasn’t the heat this time.

She moved a little further back, letting him follow the sway of her hips with his gaze. “Thank you for your patronage,” she smiled over her shoulder, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

He frowned, accentuating the fine lines adorning his face, but his cheeky smile was still there. He jumped off the stand and moved around the stall with a speed and agility that astounded her. In the blink of an eye he was right beside her, his dark gaze fixed on her lips once more.

“And what if I’d like more?” he asked, sitting in her chair and pulling her hand to follow him, with the confidence of someone who wasn’t used to being denied things.

She smiled and sat on his knee, placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning against him as she looked in his eyes. “Then you’d have to use actual money, my Lord,” she said, touching the tip of his nose with her finger.

One arm was securely placed around her waist, holding her close, while the other hand was feeling her thigh through the flowy material of her skirt. She could feel goosebumps forming in its wake so she covered it with her own hand, making it stop before it became too much.

“What if it wasn’t the fruit I was referring to?” He lifted his head a little, trying to steal a kiss, but she was faster and swiftly got up and out of his embrace.

“That can’t be bought with money, my Lord.” She knew she was playing with fire, but she very much enjoyed it. It was a slow day, and she wasn’t one to just sit in place and rot away in the heat. If she was gonna get burned, it wouldn’t be from the sun, that was for sure.

The stranger followed her, as expected. They both knew where this dance would lead to, but she happened to enjoy the journey just as much as arriving at the destination, so to speak. So she took a step back when he took one towards her until her thighs made contact with the fruit stand and there was nowhere else to go.

He towered over her, and not because of his height, but of the raw power he radiated when he placed his hands on her hips and held her close to his chest. She brought her hands in front of her, not to defend herself, but to let them rest on the beautiful fabric of his robes. Let her fingers slide in the opening, making contact with the warm skin underneath. She could see a gold chain with a heavily ornate piece hanging from it peeking from under his shirt, but she didn’t care. Gold was expensive, but wouldn’t give her the same thrill as touching his exposed chest.

“So if it can’t be bought,” he said, taking one of her hands and bringing it to his lips, “what can I do to get another taste?” His words vibrated against the back of her hand, his eyes never leaving her flushed face.

He didn’t have to ask, he really didn’t. Her decision had been made the moment he approached her stall, but she liked the courtesy of him asking and not just taking. She was trapped between the fruit stand and his strong frame and she was sure she wouldn’t be able to escape his embrace unless he wanted to let her go. And he didn’t seem keen on doing that, considering the way he was running a finger over the exposed part of her collarbone, slipping it under her blouse and slowly uncovering her shoulder. Her breath hitched when his lips followed his finger.

“For you, my lord,” she whispered, “just a kiss.”

The second kiss was nowhere as gentle as the one before. It seemed that once he’d gotten a taste he just couldn’t get enough of her, and it showed. His hands were all over her body while she clung on his shoulders for dear life.

His smell was intoxicating. It wasn’t just the perfume—a distinctive note of orange blossoms and some deeper ones of something woody—but also the smell of his skin so close to her. He smelled like a hot, summer afternoon spent under the flowering orange trees. It reminded her of home.

His lips on her jawline, however, kept her firmly grounded in the moment. She gasped when he nipped at the sensitive skin on her neck, and then she gasped again when his hand cupped her breast, squeezing it gently. Her skin burned under his touch, and he hadn’t even taken her clothes off yet.

But she wanted him. She wanted him then and there. She wanted him to undo her, to melt her with his fiery heat and then put her back together.

A crashing sound came from inside the tent and they both jumped. He protectively put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to his chest and she felt a thrill of excitement knowing that whatever happened, he’d be willing to protect her.

But she knew who was at fault for the ruckus. She angrily whisper-shouted a name a couple of times, until the curly head of a much younger girl poked through the door.

“What are you doing?” she questioned? “Did you wake her up?”

“No. I just knocked over a pot. She shouldn’t be able to hear it from inside the wagon,” the girl explained, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment. “I can still hear her snoring.”

“Well, she better not wake up,” she said, putting on a pair of sandals. “And get in front, I’ll need you to take over while I’m away.”

“What?! Where are you going?”

“That doesn’t concern you.”

“And who’s he?” she asked, finally noticing the stranger who was smiling amused by the whole situation.

“That doesn’t concern you either.” The small girl shot him a distrustful look, but the smile on his face only widened. He was even more beautiful when he smiled, his whole face opening in an expression of genuine fondness. It made her smile too. “Stop stalling,” she rushed the little girl, who was still giving him the stink-eye. “Come here already!”

“No, I don’t wanna,” she protested, crossing her arms and putting on a pout. “This is your job, not mine.”

“Oh really? Shall I remind you who does your ‘job’ when you sleep in? Who did your chores this morning so you wouldn’t get in trouble?” she said, hands propped on her hips, scolding frown, the whole package. The stranger chuckled and picked another tangerine off the stall.

“You did,” she whined, stepping out with the enthusiasm of a horse sent to slaughter. “But you can’t leave, what if Nana wakes up and doesn’t find you here? Then we’ll both get in trouble.”

“You better make something up.” She tied the colourful scarf around her head, tucking some of the hair in and sent an inviting look to the stranger, who didn’t need more than that to get the hint and follow her. “Tell her I’ve gone to check on the horses.”

The little girl mumbled something else and plopped down in the chair, but she ignored her and took the stranger’s hand, leading him out of the market through one of the side alleys.

“Sorry about my baby sister. She’s at the age where she refuses to do what she’s told anymore.”

“Feisty one, isn’t she?” he said, stepping in front of her and taking both her hands in his. His face still had some of that gentleness, but his eyes had regained the playful glint they had before. “But I think you’re even feistier.”

She laughed and ran a finger on his chest, right where his skin met the fabric of his shirt. She felt him suck in a breath and took a step closer. “I can be, if my Lord wants it.”

He smiled, looking pleased with her answer. His fingers cupped her chin, tilting her head to look up at him. “Well, aren’t you a beautiful one,” he said to himself, but his words were like sweet molasses. She snaked her hands under his coat, splaying them on the hot skin underneath. She wished she could just rip all his clothes off and have him take her right then and there, but he didn’t seem to be in any rush. Now that he knew he’d obtained what he wanted, he was going to savour it.

And savour he did. He slowly pushed her back, until her back touched the cold stone of the building behind her, trapping her once again. The passageway was offering a little discretion—although she doubted that mattered to him much—and some much needed shade. He guided her lips back to his, letting her take control this time, meeting her needy kiss, but not pushing forward. She let her hands roam over his taut chest, enjoying the feeling of finally getting to discover what was hidden under his robes.

Her hands dropped to his belt, taking her time unfastening the clasp. If he wanted things to go slow, she’d do them slow; if he wanted her to be feisty, he just needed to ask. Her lips placed teasingly soft kisses along his jawline, down the side of his neck, tasting the saltiness of his tanned skin. His robes opened with a swishing sound once the belt was no longer holding them in place.

“Your sword’s really heavy, my Lord,” she said, surprised by it, before letting it fall to the ground with a clank.

He laughed, a low and guttural sound, and pulled her closer to his chest, enveloping her in his frame. He was intoxicating, not just his smell. The way he ran his thumb over her lips before kissing them, his hands seeking her breasts through the flimsy material of her shirt; the way his fingers almost glided over the buttons, undoing them one after the other.

Her own hands explored the nakedness of his chest, the tips of her fingers tracing the ridges left by his toned muscles until they were met with the fabric of his trousers. She didn’t waste any more time and went straight to undoing them, eliciting a sigh of relief from the man currently kissing down her neck. She laughed in response, taking him in her hand and giving him a tentative squeeze, feeling him tense for a moment under her touch, before bucking his hips to get her to move.

She didn’t. Instead, she wiggled out of his embrace and slowly sunk to her knees, keeping her eyes on his face the whole time. He looked pleased. Even more so when she ran her tongue along his shaft, the smirk on his face getting a little broader, his eyes still burning into her being. It crossed her mind to tease him a little, see how long it would take until he’d lose patience, flip her over and fuck her against the wall, but he placed a hand onto her head and stroked her forehead with his thumb.

“You’re good girl, aren’t you?” he whispered in his deliciously foreign accent, as if he somehow knew what she was thinking.

“Yes, my Lord,” she said, sucking in a breath before taking him into her mouth, letting her tongue drag along the soft skin and her hands cover any length she couldn't fit in her mouth.

Of course she was going to be a good girl. For him. Not too good, though. No, that would be boring, but she’d be good enough for him to take her scarf off, stroke her head in a sign of fondness, before grabbing a handful of her hair. She didn’t let him set the pace though, and he didn’t try to shove himself down her throat, after the first try which she stopped with a frown; but he still used the hand in her hair to nudge her to move a little faster when he felt like she was slacking or she was teasing him a bit too much.

She was enjoying herself. His long coat was acting as a curtain between her and the rest of the world, where it was just her and the handsome stranger who was currently almost on the verge of spilling on her lips. No matter who he was and how rich and powerful, he was currently at her mercy and she liked that sense of power. She lifted her eyes and smiled.

"Hey! You can't do that here!" came a voice from down the narrow alley, making both of them jump. "That's not permitted!"

A guard, of course. Neither of them had taken this into consideration, but by the nonchalant and almost lazy way the stranger fixed his trousers and turned around to look at the guard, it seemed like he didn't care.

"But why is that, my friend?" He asked, picking his belt up from the ground, but not making any effort to fasten his robes back up. "Why stop people from enjoying themselves?"

She jumped back to her feet and hastily buttoned up her shirt, staying just one step behind her newfound lover, hiding behind his frame. The guard was taken aback by his smile and the threatening way he was approaching him, but she knew once the initial shock would pass, it could get ugly.

"Because it's not permitted," the guard blabbered, taking a step back.

"Says who?" The smile was still there, but it was almost menacing. By the way his hand was now on the handle of his beautifully ornate sword, she doubted he’d just back down once the fight started.

"Let's go," she whispered, placing a hand on his back and making him look at her over his shoulder. "It's not worth it, let's run."

"But…" he replied, gesturing towards the guard.

"I'll have to go back soon," she said, hoping that this would make him reconsider. "I know we can outrun him, and that's faster."

He seemed to consider his choices for half a second, before swiftly turning around and taking her hand. "Let's run then," he said, completely disregarding the guard.

They took off with the guard yelling after them, but she knew the city and how to hide better than most people, so they quickly lost him. When they stopped, they were up in the rich parts of the city. She took a few moments to catch her breath. It wasn’t so much the effort as it was the adrenaline of the chase, combined with her still very much present arousal.

"Hmm… not great where we've ended up," she said, looking around the unfamiliar streets. Everything looked orderly and well cared for, with flowering trees peaking above the tall, stone fences, with beautiful, ornate gates. It radiated a sense of luxury, from the ochre coloured stone of the pavement, to the dark roofs of the buildings in the back. "Let's find another place."

"Why? I like it here." He was already smelling some flowers that were hanging low over a fence. Yeah, she was sure he's like it there, it was probably where he'd be spending most of his time anyway. He looked like he belonged, even with his robes still undone, swords still in hand, the golden chain dangling freely against his bare chest.

She looked around a bit wary. "Too many guards. People here like their peace and quiet.” And don’t like people like me, she thought, but didn’t voice it. “A little less interruption would be nice, don’t you think.”

She took his hand and tried guiding him to a more secluded place, but he stopped dead in his tracks.

“You don’t think I can handle a few of these guards?” he asked, looking a little offended.

“Of course I do!” she assured him, and it wasn’t just to make him feel better. There was something in the way he moved that made her honestly believe he could handle himself well in a duel. “But what would be the point, my Lord?” He shrugged and pulled her closer, so she was once again in his embrace. “You’re one of those people that just like the thrill of it?”

“Is it wrong?”

She didn’t know how to reply, so she shrugged. He kissed her briefly then let go and started walking down the street, like he was looking for something. She followed him, a bit confused, missing his warm embrace. She really resented that guard for interrupting them, but at the same time, she should have expected it. His taste still lingered on her lips and his smell in her nostrils, and her skin really yearned for his touch. Maybe they could find a room somewhere, if he could afford it.

“What’s the point of life if you don’t enjoy the thrill of living?” he continued, jumping to look over a stone fence, then moving towards the next house. He checked the gate, but it was locked, so he moved on.

“I’m not that adventurous.”

He seemed to have found what he was looking for, because after looking over the fence for a few moments, he climbed it. “Really?” he asked, before disappearing into someone’s garden. Her breath hitched, especially when the gate opened a few moments later. “I wouldn’t have guessed that,” he said, leaning in the gateway. “After all, you ran away with me,” he added, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

“What are you doing?” she asked, ignoring his statement, still not believing that he would just jump into someone’s garden to unlock the gate.

“You… wanted privacy?” he explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He took a step back, inviting her in.

“They’ll kill us,” she whispered, but followed him anyway.

He shook his head and took her hand guiding her through the garden. “They don’t have to know.”

The garden was as close to her image of paradise as something on earth could ever be. Old, majestic trees were offering some much needed shade, while flowering shrubs filled the air with their scent. There was a water fountain in the middle, sprinkling crystal clear streams in the air. It felt like the unforgiving sun was just a bad memory in there.

He kissed her in the shade, slowly, deeply, completely unconcerned that they were currently committing a crime. Or maybe that just added to the thrill. It did for her, at least. She’d been spirited away to this mysterious world by an enchanting stranger and she had yet to decide if she wanted to go back home.

He pulled her to the side towards an alcove. There were flowering vines climbing on the stone wall, and if it weren’t for the colourful, stained glass window in the middle of the alcove, she would have certainly overlooked it. Looked like a great place to hide from accidentally being spotted.

“My lady,” he said with a slight bow, taking her hand and inviting her in the small space.

“I’m no lady,” she said, following him through the veil of hanging vines that partly obscured the entrance.

“I don’t care.”

She smiled. She had no doubt that it didn’t matter to him, otherwise he wouldn’t have picked her from behind a market stall. He knew full well what she was, or rather, wasn’t, and didn’t seem to care. If he did, she was sure he would have introduced himself. People who cared about titles always tried to make them known. But like this, he could very well be a prince or a beggar wearing some very fancy clothes.

But there was no need for formal introductions when his lips were already pretty well acquainted with that sweet spot on her neck that made her shiver and moan. However, she wanted more than just his lips on her skin, slowly moving down her neck towards her chest. She wanted all of him, the whole experience. She wanted him to take her, mercilessly possess her, to hold her in his arms while she cried in ecstasy.

Her hands hastily went down to his trousers, trying to let him out as fast as possible, but he stopped her.

“In a rush, are we?” he said, taking her hands and placing them on his shoulders. “I think it’s my turn now,” he whispered in her ear, before grabbing her thighs and lifting her on the ledge under the stained glass window. She parted her legs to allow him to step closer to her, her skirt still an annoying barrier between their bodies. She wished he’d just rip it off in one quick motion, but instead he lifted it slowly, his fingers caressing the sides of her legs, lifting her knees to place them around his waist. His hands massaged the skin on her thighs, getting dangerously close to where she wanted them, but never quite touching her.

He was slow and deliberate. She could feel his erection through the strained material of his trousers, but he didn’t pay any attention to it. He was focused on unbuttoning her shirt, slowly revealing her breasts, a look of hunger in his eyes. But she was hungry too, and not entirely willing to play by his rules, so she let her hands slip from his shoulders and go much, much lower.

He caught her wrists and shook his head. “What did I tell you?” he asked, looking her in the eye.

“I don’t remember,” she said with a cheeky smile that was meant to rile him up a bit.

He frowned as he brought her hands above her head, but he still had a wicked smile on his face as he pressed an almost brutal kiss to her lips. “I don’t like repeating myself,” he growled in her ear, taking out her scarf from one of his pockets. She was surprised to see it—she was sure he’d lost it somewhere on the way—and even more surprised to see him tie it around her wrists and secure it somewhere above her head so she couldn’t bring her hands down.

He took a few steps back, admiring his work. By the very pleased smirk on his face, she knew he liked what he saw: she was perched rather precariously on the stone ledge, her back against the coloured glass, her feet dangling above the ground, shirt completely unbuttoned, hands tied above her head; her hair was wild and her cheeks had reddened under his scrutinizing gaze. Although she wasn’t a prude, it was the first time she’d been left in such a vulnerable position by anyone. She liked it.

“If you leave me here like this,” she said, pretending to sound menacing, “I will find you, and make you pay.” It was an empty threat, because she was sure that if she wiggled her hands a little she could easily set herself free, but she just wanted to let him know that he had a job to finish.

“Hmmm…” He scratched his chin, making her eyes focus on that chiseled jawline once again. “I’ll think about it.”

He took a few more seconds to look at her from a distance, making her feel like he was fucking her with just his gaze. She could feel something stirring up inside her, heat pooling between her legs making her want to rub her thighs together for some sort of pressure. He just watched, appraisingly.

Eventually, he took a flower from one of the vines and tucked it behind her ear. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, lifting her chin to look at her before kissing her hungrily, his hands cupping her breasts. His fingers brushed over her nipples, the ghost of a touch almost, but enough to make them perk up. She arched her back, trying to elicit more than a fleeting touch from him.

“Greedy,” he said, kissing down her neck, making her belly squirm in anticipation. He nipped and sucked at the skin on her chest, making sure he'd leave at least one mark. She’d have to do her best to hide it in the days to come.

But her mind emptied of all coherent thought when his mouth closed over her nipple. Hot and wet and exhilarating, setting her nerve endings ablaze. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair, guide his mouth where she wanted it, force him to taste her, and please her, but the scarf around her wrists didn’t let her bring her hands down. He lifted his eyes to look at her, sensing her shift and smiled. She was exactly where he wanted her to be, completely in his power.

He hiked up her skirt, slowly sliding his hands over her thighs. She eagerly spread her legs to allow him better access, but he was taking his time, mapping her skin with his hands, just never close enough to where it ached. She whimpered when his lips left her breast. He took a few seconds to look at her, before finally letting his fingers slide over her slit.

She gasped, and once again wished her hands were free to grab him and pull him closer, to urge him to hurry, to give her what she wanted. But she realized that once it was over, she’d have to go back and this would end.

“Already dripping wet for me,” he breathed, pushing past her folds, letting his fingers explore the wetness between her legs.

He was deliberately slow. Keeping her pinned between his body and the window, drawing out small whimpers from her parted lips. She could see the coloured light dancing on his face, the smell of his perfume enveloping her like an embrace. The heat between them melted any remnants of logical thought from her mind. The only thing that remained was the feeling of his fingers moving inside of her, drawing out raspy breaths from her parted lips.

She didn’t fully register what he was doing when he tucked the hem of her skirt under the waistband until he kneeled in front of her. He nipped the inside of her thigh, hard enough to leave a mark but not to cause any real pain, especially not in the aroused state she was in. His lips placing kiss after kiss on the sore spot that were both enticing and teasing at the same time.

But it wasn’t the skin on her thigh he was most interested in. She had to bite her lip hard to keep herself from moaning when his tongue parted her folds, tasting her greedily. Her eyes fluttered shut, her head leaning back on the glass, hands gripping tightly the fabric of the scarf keeping them together.

He was really good at what he was doing. He didn’t hesitate, he didn’t fumble. He seemed to already know her intimately, or at least, read her like an open book, because with every flick of his tongue or curl of his fingers he made her tremble with arousal. She felt like putty in his hands, ready for him to make whatever he wanted of her.

Through the haze in her mind, she could hear people talking on the other side of the window. The words were muffled and her mind refused to make sense of the ones she could hear clearly, but the people sounded pretty cheery. She wondered if they could see her, the silhouette of her back leaning against the window while a charming stranger was kneeling between her legs, setting her nerves on fire. She wondered how outraged they’d be if they realized what was going on in their garden. The thought made her smile.

It didn’t matter if they did, anyway. She wasn’t willing to stop and move somewhere else and the sense of danger only added to the thrill. What would they think if they saw her like this, tied up, clothes undone, having to bite her lip not to cry too loud. She was shameless.

It didn’t take long for him to bring her to the edge, but before she could reach the much needed release, he stopped. She cursed under her breath as he got up, smirking.

“You wouldn’t want to finish without me,” he whispered in her ear, as he untied her hands.

She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him closer, crushing her lips to his. “I just might, if you don’t hurry,” she said, kissing the growing grin on his face, opening his shirt more to be able to slide her hands over his skin. His trousers were undone—she hadn’t noticed when—and he was already hard and ready.

He pulled her closer to the edge of the stone ledge and in one strong thrust of his hips he plunged himself into her, making her bite the fabric covering his shoulder in an attempt to muffle her whimper.

“That fast enough for you, my Lady?” he chuckled in her ear, giving her a few moments to adjust.

“Oh, shut up and fuck me,” she snarled, scraping the back of his neck with her nails, but that only made him laugh harder.

However, he did do what he was told. He did fuck her. In long, hard strokes that would have driven her through the glass if she hadn’t been holding onto his broad shoulders for dear life. He held her ass in his hands, keeping her in place for him to ram almost furiously into her, as if this was the first and the last time he’d be having sex.

She was moaning loudly now, completely indifferent to the people on the other side of the window—if they were going to hear her, she could only hope they liked the show. He didn’t mind, more than that, he seemed to really enjoy it every time he managed to make her a little more vocal, chuckling slightly in her ear and thrusting harder.

She had her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent every time she inhaled, her lips brushing against his hot skin. She could taste his sweat on her lips. His low grunts made his chest vibrate against her breasts and she pressed herself flush against his shoulders, wanting to feel as much of him as humanly possible.

The almost frenzied pace he was setting quickly brought her to release. She trembled, arching her back and letting out a long sigh as her orgasm took over, numbing her mind and setting her ablaze.

He lasted a little longer, but in the end he succumbed to his own climax collapsing into her arms with a hoarse, almost wild growl. She could feel his raspy breaths in her hair as he pulled her closer to his chest.

They stayed like that for a while, entangled in a silent embrace, just holding each other as close as possible. It was a comforting feeling holding someone and not bolting out of there the moment you’re done. It felt a bit surreal. She could still hear the people going about their lives on the other side of the glass, but she felt like she was in a completely different world from them. Here she was calm and satisfied and oddly at peace.

Eventually, she climbed off the ledge, letting her skirt fall to the ground, watching him refasten his garments.

“I’ll keep this,” he said, placing her scarf around his neck and tucking it under the shirt, so only a small part of it was visible above his collar. “You can have this in exchange, if you’d like,” he added, producing from his pocket a delicate fan, made from some sort of carved wood. “Since I’ve stolen your scarf, you might have more use of it that I do.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking it from his hand, leaning in for a languorous kiss.

He helped button up her shirt, his forehead pressed against hers, his fingers trailing the shape of her breast giving her the impression that he hadn’t had enough. But the voices were getting louder and more defined. She jumped a little, her breath catching in her throat, when she heard a gate open and close nearby.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said when the noise settled a bit, holding her close to his chest as he listened intently.

She nodded and let him lead the way. She was a bit sad having to leave the idyllic garden, but she knew that sooner or later she’d have to go back. His hand was warm, fingers tangled with her own and she allowed herself to enjoy his presence a little longer.

The streets were still pretty much deserted, the heat just as awful as before, but the city seemed varnished in a deeper shade of gold. The sun had gone down considerably, and she feared she’d been missing for too long for it to go unnoticed. But she still stopped on the side of the road to admire the brilliantly blue sea underneath them and the ships floating in the distance.

“Have you ever been at sea?” he asked, snaking a hand around her waist, pulling her into his frame. He was even more beautiful now, the golden light accenting his features. He looked almost regal.

“No,” she answered, letting her head rest on his shoulder. “I’ve been on a fishing boat once, but I’ve never left the port.”

“Would you want to?”

She giggled. “Where will you take me?”

He smiled and kissed her temple. “Where would you like to go?”

“Braavos. To see the Titan.”

“It is an impressive view,” he said, but he sounded like quite the opposite. “It gets boring fast,” he replied to her amused giggle, and dipped his head to kiss her neck.

“Hey! You there!” came a somewhat familiar voice from behind them.

It was the guard from before, now red with anger, breathing heavily, like he’d been running. Had he been looking for them? For all that time? She’d already forgotten he existed, but by the way he pulled out his sword and menacingly propped himself on his bowed legs, he didn’t seem to have done the same.

“Can I deal with him now?” said her temporary lover with a very exasperated look on his face, his accent becoming a little more pronounced. He was cute.

“Of course,” she replied, although she knew that he’d already made a decision. His hand was already on the hilt of his sword, and his eyes had a mischievous glint. “Who am I to stop you?” she added, running her fingers through his hair. Making him look back at her.

This was probably going to be the last time she’d see him, so she made sure to take a long, good look, have his features embedded in her memory for years to come. She smiled. Her heart was a little heavy knowing that she’d have to go, but so happy that she’d got to meet him.

He kissed her deeply, passionately, and she desperately replied, clinging onto him like her life depended on it. For a brief moment time stood still, and it was just the both of them once again, two lovers trapped in a frozen moment in time, entangled in each other.

But then the real world claimed them once again, and she had to go.

She looked back one more time, admiring his elegant fighting stance, before running down the stairs. She could hear their boots hitting the pavement, the clanking of swords and an occasional curse word, but she didn’t stop. She kept running until she was back in the familiar market that had been her home for the past few weeks. She stopped for a moment to fix her clothing and her hair before appearing in front of everyone, but she knew she was flushed and sweaty and the smile on her face was probably a little too wide for it to go unquestioned.

“Where have you been?” her Nana asked the moment she stepped into view, one of her greying eyebrows arched to heavens.

“To check on the horses,” she said with the confidence of someone who had been lying to her Nana since she’d learned to form coherent words.

“Don’t believe you. You don’t smell like horses,” she croaked.

“Well thank you, I try.”

“Listen here,” she said grabbing her arm, and making her turn to look her in the eye. “Don’t you dare try to be clever with me. When I found you and took you in you didn’t even know how to blow your snotty nose on your own. I bathed you, I fed you, I clothed you—”

“ —I put a roof over your head,” she mocked the older woman as she continued saying the same speech she and her sisters had heard ever since they could remember. It was always the same, how she’d done so much for them and how ungrateful they were. But she knew her Nana would tire easily and forget about the whole thing in the end, especially if she’d make her favourite tea, with an extra sugar cube. So she pretended to listen, and occasionally bowed her head in pretended shame.

The old woman’s yammering was interrupted by a ruckus coming from one of the gates. They both leaned over the stacked fruit to get a better look, just in time to see the beautiful stranger dressed in golden robes run through the market, sword out and a very satisfied grin plastered over his face.

“Oh no, not him,” the old lady groaned, her face turning from anger to annoyance.

“Do you know him?” she asked, her heart beating a little faster as a group of visibly out of breath guards followed the stranger. “Who’s he?”

“The devil incarnate, that’s who he is,” she grumbled, walking back and busying herself with some pots in a corner. “The Red Viper they call him, and rightly so. That damned Dornish prince,” she said to herself, then frowned at the growing smile on the girl’s face.

“Dornish prince, you say?”

“Is that the only thing you heard? He’s bad news, you stay away from him!”

“Is he?” she asked, but her eyes were scanning the area, trying to get another glimpse of him. Her fingers brushed over her lips, his fiery kissed still fresh in her memory.

“Stay away from him, child!” she repeated her warning, pointing a finger at her nose. “If you see him walking down the street you run like the hordes are following you.”

She smiled and collapsed in her chair, once she was sure he’d left the market. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to get involved with someone like him. Dornish prince…”

“You’ll get burned one day, ” the old lady snorted, “and then you’ll regret this smart ass attitude of yours.” She turned on her heels and entered the tent behind the stall, still mumbling something about how she’d sacrificed everything for the girls and this was how they treated her. She wondered what the Dornish prince had done to her to hate him that strongly. Probably owed her money, there were few things she loved more.

“Mhm, I’ll stay away from him,” came a mocking voice from the tent, before her youngest sister stepped out. “What if I tell her where you’ve been this afternoon?” she said with a shit eating grin on her young face.

“I’ll throw you in the sea and leave you to the fish.” The young girl shuddered as she was terribly afraid of deep waters. While she wasn’t serious with her threat, younger siblings sometimes had to be reminded who was older and in charge. But she was sure that no matter how much they bickered, her younger sister would never tell.

“He left these on the stall before you left,” she said, taking three gold coins from the pocket of her skirt. “For the fruit I assume. I didn’t tell Nana, she would have asked questions.”

She frowned at the money. Their whole stall was worth less than that, let alone three tangerines. She knew she had to give the money back, but there was no way she could run after him and catch him now, so if their Nana didn’t know… well…

“Keep one,” she said, taking the other two from the girl’s open palm. “Take good care of it, this is probably the most money we’ll ever have.”

“Really?” The young girl hopped from one foot to the other in excitement, shoving it deep in her pocket before anyone could take it away, and running inside. Their Nana, even though she loved them a lot, never allowed them to have any money. She was a really stingy woman, but she assumed that part of it was also due to the fear that if they’d have their own money, they’d leave. It was an honest concern, for she’d always dreamed of leaving the nest.

Once the atmosphere went back to normal, with her Nana in the back preparing something to eat and mumbling at her youngest, she took out the fan and studied it. It was sandalwood she realized, and now she knew where the woody scent on his skin came from. Tiny golden suns matching the ones on his robes were encrusted all over it. Dorne. She’d heard of it, but it was so far away it was covered in mystery. That would explain his foreign accent and the foreign looking clothes. She wondered what Dorne was like. She wondered if he’d take her there.

She propped her feet on the stall once again, hiking up her skirt, smiling when she noticed the red mark on her inner thigh. She started fanning herself, the perfumed air moving an unruly strand of hair from her forehead. It smelled like sandalwood and Dornish princes. And orange blossoms. And kisses under the unforgiving summer sun.

She kept fanning herself.

[damienthepious]

[spoilers re: the new ep redacted]

Scattered On My Shore (Chapter 11)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [ao3] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [Ch 15] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol)

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: It is just the three of them, for a while. Until that begins to feel almost normal.

Chapter Notes: Psst. Happy Lizard Kissin' Tuesday! I am tired and have ceased to be creative. Chapter specific warnings for... hm. Some fraught arguments, I'll say. Not much more than that, this time.

~

Damien prefers to stay in the room, if Rilla and Arum are sharing space. Paranoid, Rilla thinks, but she can usually keep the frustration of it from biting at her. He's mostly harmless, anyway, and if she can get him talking enough to where he seems to forget Arum is there, it's almost pleasant. Arum pretends not to care one way or the other, but Rilla knows his body language well enough to tell when he's either nervous about Damien's scrutiny, or alternatively when he's just as drawn in to Damien's stories as she is.

"Amaryllis… explain the muttering to me," he asks, some afternoon when Damien has left to report back to the Citadel.

"The muttering?"

"Incessantly," Arum growls. "The muttering of your little knight. He is a poet, that much I understand, and the constant spinning of tales is not entirely disagreeable, but even leaving that aside, must he be always chanting to himself?"

"Yeah," Rilla says. "He actually does kind of must."

Arum frowns. "What do you mean?"

"It's important to him. Praying to Saint Damien."

"Saint," Arum hisses darkly, rolling his eyes.

"It helps him think, helps him keep himself calm."

"Tranquility," Arum mutters, his frown deepening. "Hm. That does not bother you, then? His chattering?"

"It's important to him," Rilla repeats. "Saints know I have my own irritating habits, anyway." She pauses as Arum scoffs, and then she shrugs. "I mean, I'd be lying if I said I never got annoyed with him, but I love him. Talking to himself- talking to his Saint doesn't hurt anything. If it makes him happy, I wanna do my best to support that."

"How magnanimous of you," Arum drawls, his teeth bared in a vaguely malicious smirk.

Rilla frowns. "Don't."

He blinks. "Don't- what?"

"I know that look," she says. "I know you like pushing his buttons, and I know he's cute when he's flustered, but this- it wouldn't be the same, Arum."

"I- cute? I don't have the first idea what you are talking about, takatakataka."

"It's fine if you tease him," Rilla continues, "but I'd really appreciate it if you made an effort not to make fun of him for that."

Arum opens his mouth, then snaps it shut, and then he flinches and looks away from her for a long rattling moment. "I… I do not intend to do the knight any favors, Amaryllis, but I am perfectly capable of verbal sparring without taking a cheap shot," he mutters, and she buries a smile because of course he wouldn't agree because she asked, but if it's about his own pride-

"Thank you," she says anyway, and then she changes the subject before his growling gets too out of hand.

~

Rilla leans in the doorway of her hut in the morning, coffee steaming in her hand, slowly rounding out to awake as she watches Damien go through his routine with a lazy sort of hunger curling in her stomach.

She hears Arum behind her, limping slowly from his room on the crutch, and she tries not to feel irritated that he's pushing himself instead of asking for help. He is getting stronger, she reminds herself, and she buries the little flash of nerves that comes with the thought.

"Morning, Arum," she murmurs over her shoulder, and instead of going towards the table she hears him pause, and then approach, the crutch thumping rhythmically against the wood of her floor.

"What are you doing, little doctor? Why have a door at all if you intend to leave it hanging in the… wind…"

She doesn't turn towards him, tilting her head to better watch the way Damien is stretching instead. "Morning routine," she mumbles, her voice catching on a yawn at the end. "His, and mine too."

"A-ah," Arum says, and she hears him whir out a strange sort of exhale. "Routine?" he echoes. "He does this… regularly, then?"

"Almost every morning." She takes a slow sip of coffee, and then tilts her head the other way, watching the light gleam off of Damien's skin as he rolls his shoulders before he moves into his next set of forms. "Mm."

"And the- his- clothing-"

Rilla hums again, sighing a light laugh. "No point in getting his shirt all sweaty if he can avoid it," she says, making no effort to disguise the pleasure in her voice. "You won't hear any complaints from me," she murmurs, and then she takes another sip. "Anyway. You sleep alright, Arum?"

He doesn't answer for a moment, and Rilla glances over her shoulder. Arum's head is tilted as hers had been, his lips just barely parted, his tongue is flicking lightly, and his eyes are very obviously fixed on Damien.

Huh.

"Enjoying the view?"

"Hmm…" Arum trails off, then he blinks quickly as he seems to realize what she actually said. He flinches, the crutch skidding a step against the wood, and Rilla reaches automatically to stabilize him as he hisses in alarm. "Ah-"

"Whoa, easy- I've got you-"

He shakes his head, readjusting and then taking a large and decisive step back from her, back from the door.

"I-" his frill flutters, but he clenches his teeth and it settles before it can flare entirely. "Certainly you will forgive me for being distracted by the sight of the outdoors, Amaryllis. I have been cooped up in this hut for- for entirely too long. I am unused to prolonged captivity, I am sure you understand," he hisses, looking very deliberately away from both herself and the door, and then he hobbles over to sit at the table, growling low as he goes.

Rilla watches him go, too stunned to really respond to that. After a moment, the monster still refusing to look her way, she bites her tongue, and then she closes the door.

~

When Rilla comes into his room Arum is sitting on the edge of his cot, shoulders stiff, and he has her recorder in his claws. He stares up at her, eyes narrowed to vivid violet slits, hard and flat and angry, and Rilla feels a little pang of confused dread drop through her.

“Arum?” she says, and the monster’s lip curls into a sneer as he presses the button down on the device.

“Subject is severely injured,” says Rilla-in-the-past, her voice crackling through the recording and noticeably detached. “Wounds consistent with… attack by another monster. Likely, multiple.” The version of herself on the recording sighs. “Injuries will likely prove fatal. I’ve done what I can to stabilize the subject, but it hasn't regained consciousness, and it's unlikely that it will. Honestly, I would be surprised if it survives the night. Which is unfortunate, since this seems like it might actually be some sort of new and undocumented ashdragon variant, or possibly something even less documented than that, which would make it utterly unique. I guess I’ll see if it regenerates when this particular body dies, and then I’ll have that answer, at least.” Another sigh, some shifting noises. Rilla imagines herself moving some papers aside, possibly a bestiary being closed. “Well, either way I’ll get some interesting data out of it. Even if it doesn’t regenerate when it dies, I’m sure I’ll be able to learn something useful in dissection.”

Arum stops the playback. He drums his claws off of the recorder in a rapid-fire staccato, still staring up at her in silence.

“Arum,” she tries again after a moment.

“I hope, human, that I have provided enough useful data in my convalescence that I have made up for the inconvenience of not dying and presenting you the option of weighing my internal organs.”

“That's not-”

“I knew it was all a lie, I knew there was no possibility that your precious little I am a doctor nonsense was genuine.”

“It was, Arum, I didn’t lie-”

“You kept me alive to gather data. You’ve been spoon-feeding me so as to get a better picture of how your knights might take me and my kin to pieces. None of this was because you-” he cuts off. “How long were you planning to maintain this little play-act? How long until your pet knight was meant to slit my throat? Did you simply want to get in sight of my nest before you destroyed me? How much data were you going to gather before you decided you had properly wrung me dry, Amaryllis?”

“That wasn’t what I-”

“Don’t lie to me, human! I have had enough of this farce.”

Rilla presses her lips together, her throat feeling tight. He’s not going to listen, right now. Not to her, not to-

He won’t listen to her now. But…

“Skip ahead on the recorder,” she says.

“What?”

“Skip to entry four two one one. Should be… eighteen to twenty after the one you just played, I think.”

“Why?” he snarls, ducking his head and clutching the recorder close against the bandages on his midsection.

“Because there’s something else you should hear, too. You heard what I said when I first found you. You should hear what I said after. If you really think that I’ve been using you for some sort of spy work, then the rest of it should interest you too, right?”

He hesitates, his expression tightening. “Perhaps I have no interest in hearing myself cataloged, doctor.”

“Please. Just- listen to it. And then you can decide if you want to- I don’t know. How you want to proceed. But before you make any sort of decision, please- please just listen, Arum.”

Arum stares at her for another long moment, suspicious with a growl in his throat, and then he moves his thumb, sending the recording forward with a thin squeal of sound. He overshoots the start of the entry a little, and it cuts in just in the middle of a word.

“-ter than that, and it seems like his frill is really starting to knit together properly. Finally. It’s been tricky since it’s only a half-conscious thing, the flaring, but- I mean, it’s hard to complain about. It’s always so funny when he gets indignant and it just- fwoops out like that and-”

She laughs on the recording, breathless, and Rilla remembers this moment with exact clarity. The door to his room had been cracked, she could just see half his face through the gap as he rested, the gentle light of early morning on his scales and his expression untroubled in sleep-

“He’s beautiful,” she says, and she still feels the little stunned swoop that realization had made her feel. “He’s… I didn’t know a monster could be so beautiful. I didn’t know they could be funny either, honestly, or- or-”

There is a pause.

“Saints…”

Another pause. Quite long.

“He… um. He’s improving by leaps and bounds, now,” she says, her voice a little clipped, a little muted. “He can almost stand on his own, though it tires him out. He’s… soon he’ll be well enough to travel, I think. Which means we’re going to have to have another conversation, soon, about- about exactly how we're gonna get him back home. And that shouldn’t… it shouldn’t hurt to think about that, should it? It’s good. It’s a good thing that he’s… soon he’ll be well enough to go home, to be free again, to go back where he belongs and rest and recover where he’ll be comfortable and safe, but-”

A little half-laugh.

“I’m gonna miss him, is the only thing. I’ve gotten so used to having him around, and- and even if he’s always arguing about the methodology he’s been so- it’s been nice to have him around when I’m doing my experiments, I mean- it would have taken me ages to think of modifying my bandages with machracnid silk, and the improvement to the elasticity is- but that isn’t even the point, you know? He’s just- he’s-”

Less of a laugh.

“It's almost time for him to go home. It’s the only way to keep him safe. The longer he stays here- I know Damien won't hurt him, not anymore. I think he’s seen it too, he’s seen how- how much- he’s seen Arum, really seen him. I know he has. But every day Arum stays here is another risk, is another chance that he’ll be seen or- and if that happens, then what? I don’t care what they do to me, I’m not afraid of them, but Arum- he’s still not strong enough to defend himself, and even if he was, what would he do against an armed squadron of knights? I wouldn’t be able to do anything to protect him, and- he- I can’t let that happen. I won’t. I won’t let the Citadel hurt him. So- so… so he has to go home. It doesn’t matter that I- it doesn’t matter how I feel. I have to get him home. He deserves- he-”

“Amaryllis?”

Arum’s voice, distant and a little distorted on the recorder, and Rilla-in-the-past gasps lightly. Rilla remembers pressing a hand to her mouth. Remembers plastering on a smile.

“I’m here, Arum. Just a second.” A rustle, and then, quieter, “I’m gonna make him well again. And then I’m gonna get him home. I’ll miss him… I’ll miss him so badly. But I’ll get him home. End of log.”

Arum stares at the device in his hand, his frill flaring around his head in a way that Rilla would otherwise think is appropriately comical. Now, it just makes her want to do something foolish.

The next entry starts a little too loud and they both jump, Arum pressing his thumb decisively down on the button to stop the playback. When he finally looks up at her again, his eyes are still guarded, but no longer furious.

“What… what was the point of that, then?” he asks, voice thick and low.

“To show you how I think about you now. That first day- I didn’t know you, Arum. And that’s not an excuse. Monsters aren’t- you aren’t what I thought you were, and I had no idea- I was cruel. I was callous and clinical in a way that I hate, and I’m sorry you had to hear that. But I was never, never doing any of this to get information on monsters for the knights. Never. And I would do anything to keep them from hurting you now.”

“You… why?”

“I care about you.”

“You do not. I heard- what you said, you wouldn’t simply turn-”

“I don’t agree with how I dealt with the situation, Arum. I- I don’t see you in the same way. Not anymore, and- honestly? I stopped seeing you that way the first time you woke up and I saw- I saw that look in your eyes. And then it got more and more obvious the longer I was around you, the more I talked to you. You… Arum, the luckiest moment of my entire life was when I happened to look at the lake at just the right time to see you. If I hadn’t- if-” she has to stop, to press a hand to her mouth. “I hate the thought that if I just hadn’t looked, you would have died out there. Died alone, in that much pain, out in the wilds. That- Arum, you’re- you deserve- you’re special to me, and I had no idea how special you would be when I first found you.”

“So why keep those notes, then?” he asks after a pause, his tone carefully blank.

“Because,” she says, frowning. “Because of this. Not you finding them, I mean, but because you don’t learn from mistakes if you try to bury them. I’m not going to try to make something go away because it’s inconvenient. I was horrible, the way I talked about you, the way I thought about you, about all monsters. There’s- there so much more out there than I ever knew, and I can’t believe I let myself be so ignorant of it for so long.” She shakes her head, then after a half second of hesitation she steps towards him. She reaches a hand out and- he misinterprets, lifting out the recorder for her to take. She moves her hand aside, instead, slipping her palm along the back of his hand and wrapping her fingers around his wrist. He inhales, sharp, his eyes widening as he looks up at her. “I’m sorry, Arum. Sorry that I talked about you like that, and sorry that you had to hear it after I- after I finally convinced you to trust me, even a little. I’m sorry, and I hope I haven’t- I hope I haven’t broken anything that can’t still be fixed.”

“Amaryllis,” he says, and then he drops his eyes. He does not move his hand, his grip on the recorder flexing awkwardly. “You- you’ve broken nothing, Amaryllis. We- you-”

His voice scatters off, unsure and lost, and after a moment he raises two more hands, one to grip the hem of his cape, and the other reaching by slow inches to brush his palm down her forearm until he can loosely wrap his fingers around her wrist, an echo of the way she is holding him. Her skin tingles at the touch, the gentleness and the cool strange texture both.

“You’ve broken nothing,” he repeats in a low murmur, and then he finally looks up at her again, that gentle violet pinning her in place. “You… you are meant for mending, Amaryllis.”

Her dark cheeks darken further, her lips parting in wordless surprise, and their arms are still clasped as they stare- they are simply staring at each other, now, and-

“Your…” Arum swallows, his thumb on her wrist moving just barely, just gently, tickling the skin at the heel of her palm. “Your heart is beating quite quickly, Amaryllis.”

“You know what a- a quick pulse feels like, in a human?” She asks, raising an eyebrow despite the slight breathlessness in her tone.

“I know what your pulse sounds like. I know when it is…” he trails off, possibly at the way she blinks, startled.

“You can- hear my heart?” She gives the smallest breath of laughter. “Your hearing is ridiculous, huh?”

“Vastly superior to you mammals, anyway,” he mutters, and he barely makes an effort to act as if he means it.

“Your heart is beating pretty fast too, you know,” She says quietly, and his hand flexes against her skin.

“Y-yes, well,” he glances aside, then he sits up a little straighter without pulling away before he meets her eye again. “I apologize, also. For- for ambushing you with this.”

“You don’t have to,” Rilla shakes her head. “I know that what I said was-”

“I have been searching for things to distrust. Digging for proof of deception, for anything that would indicate that your intentions were false, so that I could have some fuel for my anger. I wanted to be angry with you. It is not… easy for me, to accept help, or to- to indulge in hope.” His mouth presses into an uncomfortable line, his frill pressing tight against his neck. “Always you are harping on evidence and proof, and I know- I have seen-” he exhales sharply, not quite a sigh. “I know that you are… genuine, in… caring for me. I do not understand it, but I know. And if- if you- if you are willing to show me such so readily, I should be able to…”

“Arum, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything,” Rilla says, and he shakes his head.

“If I ever-" he pauses. "When. When I return home, at last, I will… I will miss you as well, Amaryllis.”

Their eyes are fixed, each with a hand still gently clasped around the other’s wrist, and Rilla finds that she doesn't quite know how to breathe, with him looking at her like that. Not a great response, Rilla, keep it together-

“In fact,” Arum says very quietly, and his thumb brushes against her skin again and she shivers with gooseflesh instantly. “In fact, Amaryllis, I would say-”

“Rilla?”

Rilla only glances over her shoulder at the suddenness of Damien’s voice in the front room, but Arum pulls his hands away as if burned, his expression going shuttered and distant again. She can’t help the sting of frustration, at that. It’s not fair, of course. Damien is still… well, it’s difficult, anyway. But Rilla is stuck with her mind five seconds ago when Arum’s thumb was gentle on her wrist and he had started to say something. Something Rilla gets the feeling she’s not going to get the chance to know, now, like it’s been chased away. She feels like a glass that got struck on the edge of a table, still ringing. She wants to know where that moment was supposed to go, but now-

She sighs, smiling despite herself. “One sec, Damien,” she calls lightly. “Probably good that he reminded me,” she says, more casual than she feels as Arum looks up at her uncertainly. “I just got done making lunch. It should still be warm. Did you- do you want to join us? I promise I’ll make Damien behave, and if he doesn’t wanna he can just go eat on the stump outside again.”

She’s only half kidding, and the mild mischief in Arum’s eyes at that possibility manages to creep past his guarded veneer.

“I suppose that sounds… agreeable enough. I shall be interested to see if the little knight will stoop to share a table with a monster, today.”

“He’ll deal,” Rilla says. She takes the recorder back from him, and then lifts her hands out again. “Steady enough to stand, Arum?”

He frowns, but he looks aside and reaches an arm to allow her to help pull him up to standing. It’s still a little odd, looking up at him after spending so long with him in that bed, where he has to peer up at her. He still leans on her, just a little, though. Just a very little. Just enough that he could deny it, if asked. His body beside her own is heavy, slightly cool, fascinatingly textured, as always. She does her best not to think about that.

Damien watches them exit Arum's room with guarded eyes, but he does not mention their proximity, nor does he comment on it when Rilla helps Arum settle himself on one of the cushions around the table. After a quiet moment, while Rilla takes her own seat between them, Damien takes the pitcher of water, and he fills three glasses.

~

"What…" Arum pushes a small stack of books aside after dinner, pulling one thin volume out from beneath the rest, and his eyes are narrowed and confused when Rilla glances his way. "What is this?"

Ah. Damn. Rilla absolutely hadn't meant to leave that out- she must have slipped it in with the wrong pile before she put her dads' books back under the floorboards. "Oh," she says, trying to sound casual. Damien is looking at the book too, now, which isn't exactly great. "Uh. I'm not sure. I haven't been able to translate it properly, so I only kind of have an idea what's in there."

Arum frowns, something that isn't quite suspicion crossing his face. "… is this why you asked me about monster languages, before?"

Rilla blinks. "What? No, I just wanted to make sure I wasn't gonna bring you a stack of books you couldn't even read."

Arum seems satisfied enough with that answer, but still he turns the slim book in his hands, eying the cover. "Hm. This is simply a coincidental curiosity, then?"

"It- I couldn't find you in my bestiaries, so I wound up pulling out… well-"

"You kept your fathers' books?" Damien asks softly, and she doesn't look at him, trying hard not to wince. "I thought their more…" he coughs, "questionable possessions were- were confiscated."

"Most of them were," Rilla says, her tone going bitter. "Not all. I kept what I could."

"You were looking for me?" Arum says, an eyebrow raising.

"Well-" Rilla glances between the pair of them. "Yeah. I figured that if I could find out exactly what you were it would help me figure out how to treat you more effectively. No such luck, by the way."

Oddly, Arum smiles at that, something smug in the expression as he flips through the pages, his scales making a whispery noise against the paper. "It seems you managed my treatment quite skillfully, regardless, Amaryllis."

Damien narrows his eyes, as if he's trying to find a way to make that sentence fit as a dig instead of a compliment, and then he shakes his head and refocuses on Rilla.

"Why did you not tell me?"

"It- I mean, when we started seeing each other it wasn't like-" her eyes flick around the hut, noting uncomfortably the way that Arum is watching her too. "You're a knight, Damien, I didn't know when I met you that you wouldn't get me in worse trouble for-"

"Oh, my darling flower-"

"It wasn't like I lied, Damien, I just- I didn't know how to bring it up. I-" she pauses, and tries a vague sort of smile. "It just kind of got to the point where I hadn't talked about it for so long, you know? Got to a point where it seemed- like it'd been too long already, and I couldn't change my mind about it."

Damien sighs deeply, reaching a hand out to cup her cheek. "Oh, Rilla… I am sorry you felt that there was anything you could not share wi-"

"I could translate this for you," Arum interrupts, and the both of them turn towards him. He isn't looking at them in return, his eyes firmly on the book as his tail coils tightly around an ankle. "The dialect is somewhat more eastern than I am entirely used to, but the bones of the language seem familiar enough. I suppose you already inferred from the illustrations and the size that it is a rather limited botanical census."

"Yeah," Rilla says, her voice bright with surprise. "Yeah, that's exactly what I was hoping." She pauses. "You'd really be willing to do that?"

"It's a book of herbs, Amaryllis. You can hardly do any harm with it." He glances towards her, his eyes guarded, and then he looks to the book again. "Seems a small sort of service I can easily provide. It shall not even begin to edge the scales between us towards even, I should think," he mutters, and then before she can respond to that, he points to one of the entries in the middle. "We can start here. I do not suppose you are familiar with this herb at all. It grows in a rather small range, quite a ways to the East."

Rilla doesn't want to let him deflect from the fact that he apparently sees her treatment of him as transactional, but she doesn't want to have that sort of conversation with Damien a foot away, either. She's already had one awkward conversation in front of someone who probably didn't want to be there, tonight. "Yeah, that would be- incredible, actually. Just let me grab the notes I already made, and-" she stands, and she tries not to look too uncomfortable or too eager as she goes to pull up the false floorboard in her bedroom to fetch the right journal. "Okay," she says as she returns, shuffling through the pages, "so I managed to work out the numeral system, I think, if you want to just check my work there before we dig into the conte-"

"Knock knock. "

The voice comes simultaneous with an accompanying actual knock, on the doorframe and not the actual door from the sound of it, and Rilla flinches hard enough that she drops the book in her hand to thwump to the floor. Damien rolls from his seated position to snatch it before she can, his own expression openly concerned, and Arum's frill is pressed tightly to his neck as he eyes the door in alarm, his tail coiling and then curling around his own ankle.

Rilla pats a hand in the air, a gesture for quiet, and no one moves for a long moment as she waits for whoever the hell to take the hint. It's late, even on a day when she was open she'd be unlikely to come to the door at this hour.

"Knock, uh, knock?" the voice comes again. "C'mon, Rilla, your favorite guest is here! I know you're home, there's smoke coming from the chimney-"

"Marc. Shit," Rilla scrambles, reaching to help Arum pull himself to his feet as she calls, "we're closed, come back- come back later. Tomorrow! Come back tomorrow!"

"Marc," Damien mutters, clutching the book to his chest with a scowl.

"C'mon, Rilla. I know you've got a minute for your best friend," Marc calls through the door. "Can you open up?"

"Dammit," Rilla hisses, and Arum chokes down a very nervous sort of laugh as Rilla presses a hand against his shoulder, making sure he's standing stable. "Marc, I really can't hang out with you right now! I'm- I'm right in the middle of-"

"I, uh, really, really can't, Rilla. Can you-" he pauses, and she can hear Dampierre's hooves shifting against the dirt. "Can you please open up? I… uh…"

Rilla stiffens, grits her teeth, and sighs. "You're… out of medicine."

There is a pause.

"I'm out of medicine," Marc confirms in a quick mutter. "But! But only just barely, Rilla, like, less than five minutes ago barely!"

"Marc!" Rilla complains, and then she stops herself to take a deep breath. She can handle this. She just- has to make up enough for the day, and then- then she can get him out of her hair for long enough to make a proper batch he can pick up tomorrow. She frowns at Arum, and then at Damien, and then she calls out, "Two minutes, Marc. Give me two minutes, alright?"

Marc gives some sort of relieved confirmation, but Rilla isn't really paying attention anymore as she walks Arum partway across the room, and then she passes the monster into Damien's arms as the knight splutters, his cheeks going dark as Arum hisses in alarm.

"Shush," she says with a scowl. "Damien, just walk him to his bed. Please? He can't be in here, we can't risk him being seen and I just- have to get Marc out of here."

"But," Damien squeaks, "but Rilla, I-"

Damien doesn't strain under Arum's weight, he's perfectly capable of supporting the monster, but he leans away awkwardly, leaving Arum to grit his teeth and sway in a way that makes Rilla instantly nervous. Her scowl deepens and she steps closer again to push Arum more securely into Damien's grip as each of them makes another quiet, indignant noise. "Into Arum's room, Damien, now. If you drop him I will be furious with you. No time to argue. Just do it."

Damien swallows, then meets Arum's eyes for only a moment before his cheeks darken further and he looks sharply away. He nods, though, and shuffles Arum into his room, the both of them wincing through the movement as Rilla marches in the other direction to throw the front door open and glower up at Marc as he raises an eyebrow at her.

"Is there- uh. D'you have company over, Rilla? Because you could have just said- "

"Marc? Please shut up," she says, already turning back and marching to start throwing together ingredients, her hands moving quickly over bottles and jars. "You know I'm busy, and if you and Tal want to stop by with no warning then you don't get to complain that I'm not ready to jump up and help!"

"Well I mean- it's just me, this time."

He sounds sheepish, and Rilla glances over her shoulder in surprise. "Wh- huh. Where's Tal, then?"

"Doing something dumb somewhere dumber," Marc scowls.

"Marc." Rilla turns away again, snatching up ingredients as she goes. "Come on."

"He stayed behind to take a job, and- if he just stayed with me we wouldn't have gotten lost and we definitely would have gotten here a lot sooner!"

"Sure," she says. "Whatever." Rilla can't actually decide if it would have been better or worse if the pair of them had visited a week or so ago. Might have been awkward for the boys to come knocking when Arum was collapsed by her front door, at the very least. Her lip pulls into a frown and she refocuses, rattling off the list of components as she mixes them together, but when she reaches for the last of the bunch-

She pulls down an empty jar. And then a second empty jar.

"Oh, come on. Really?"

"Uh, what's up?"

"The Numb-Cap. I'm out," Rilla groans, dropping her head to thunk off of the cabinet in front of her. "I used all of it because I had to make up so many batches of painkiller for-"

She pauses.

"For?" Marc calls warily, and Rilla grits her teeth.

"Another patient, Marc, because you're not the only person relying on me!"

"Well, I mean, uh. If you made up so much of it-"

"I made so much because I needed it, Marc! And even if I hadn't used it up, it's not even the same recipe as your pills. Which means- " she cuts off into an exasperated exhale, smacking her palms on the counter.

"Which means- what?"

"I need to go get more Numb-Cap. Now . And leave-"

She cuts herself off again.

"Well- I mean, if you're too busy to leave I can run off and collect the dumb mushrooms myself, right? I'll just grab a few and come back and-"

"There is no way I would trust mushroom identification to any untrained non-mycologist in the middle of the night, let alone you, Marc," she growls, marching towards the door and grabbing her boots. "You wanna have actual effective medicine, or d'you wanna wake up in a week with no clothes and no idea where you've been? Or, more likely, just choke to death on some fun magic poison?"

"Well, that first one doesn't sound so bad-"

"Marc." Rilla grips the doorframe tight. "This is, and I need you to understand this, wildly inconvenient for me right now, but I'm going to go out into the jungle with you, collect some stupid mushrooms in the dark, and come back to make more medicine for you. But first you gotta just- chill out here for a minute while I t- while I grab my stuff. Okay?"

"Yeah," Marc says, sounding just barely chastised enough as Dampierre whickers and stamps beneath him. "Uh. Yeah, Rilla, okay."

She sighs, then presses the door firmly closed so she can gather herself for a moment before she darts to the exam room. Arum is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the door as she enters, and Damien is carefully placed at the opposite end of the room leaning against a counter until he sees her enter, at which point he straightens up again.

"You're leaving? " Arum asks before she can say a word, and Damien stumbles as he crosses the room.

"What?!"

"That is what she just told the loud one at the door," he growls, gesturing towards her with narrowed eyes.

"Rilla you can't possibly-"

"I really can possibly, Damien," she says, grabbing a pair of work gloves from the counter and then coming close enough to grab Damien's hands tight. "Marc needs that medicine and it won't work without the ingredient I'm missing. It'll probably only be a few hours, I know where they usually grow, but it's a bit of a walk."

"But Rilla, surely- if you are venturing into the jungle then I must accompany-"

"I'll be fine, Damien, Marc and I can handle anything that happens. And I-" she squeezes his hands, winces. "I need you here a lot more."

"Here? But-" he looks towards Arum, and then they both look away.

"You realize that I do not require moment-by-moment babysitting, Amaryllis," Arum snarls.

"Precisely, and I-"

"Damien, I really don't want to have to deal with you and Marc fighting while I'm already stressed out about making sure he gets his next pill before his last one wears off," she admits in a rush, and Damien winces. "Please, please just stay here, don't fight for like, just a few hours, I promise, and- and everything will be fine. Just keep an eye on the stew and bring him a bowl when it's done, okay? That's your one job. Just that, and not fighting. And preferably not freaking out, either. Can you do that for me, Damien? Please?"

He wilts, just a little, his eyes going soft and his hands pulling her close enough that he can press a kiss to her temple. "Of course. Of course I can. Such small favors you ask of me, my love," he says, very lightly, and she laughs. "Of course. I should be used to the urgency with which your brilliance is needed, by now."

She breathes a laugh, then kisses his cheek before she pulls back from his hands, eying Arum (his own eyes carefully turned away from the both of them again). "You too, okay?"

"Me too, what, precisely?" he mutters. "I will not be going anywhere, and so long as the little songbird does not shoot me I cannot imagine I would have any way of coming to harm."

Damien scowls, but Rilla steps a bit closer to the monster, reaching out to tap the tip of his snout lightly, making him blink and hiss lightly in response.

"A couple hours. Just be nice, for Saints' sake. Or-" she laughs. "For my sake, at least."

Arum frowns (or pouts, more accurately), but something about the way his lip twitches makes her think he's trying to clamp down on a smile, and that makes her feel a little better about this whole thing when she returns to the door.

"Don't have too much fun without me," she says, and as they both splutter she closes the door behind her.

[->]

[shadedrose01]

Maybe There's a Reason (To Believe You'll Be Okay)

Relationships: Harley Keener & Tony Stark (platonic), Harley Keener/Peter Parker (at the end)

Summary: Harley has a crisis, and Tony helps him through it (with a hint of parkner at the end).

Tags: Remix, Parkner Remix Event, Even though its barely parkner whoops, Emails, Letters, Phone Calls & Telephones, Tony Stark Acting as Harley Keener's Parental Figure, Sexual Identity, Identity Issues, Coming Out, Kinda?, Sexuality, Gay Harley Keener, Crushes, Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Acceptance, Self-Acceptance, Love, Parental Love, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, tony stark is a dad, why is that not a tag, Parkner is only at the end, for like a paragraph, Just so yall know :)

For the Parkner Discord Remix Event!!

A remix of @official-impravidus ' fic "Sincerely, Me" (which you can read here!)

This is longer, so ao3 link is here!

Hope you all enjoy! Love you lexie!!

--

Wednesday, May 8, 2013, 1:24PM 

From: countryroadstakemehometotennessee@gmail.com

To: tes@starkindustries.com

Subject: Relationships and Mark V

I don't understand dating. Like, my friend Bryan started dating Rachel today, and that's fine, whatever, but I just don't get it. All they did was hold hands and kiss each other all day. Is that all a relationship is? What even is the point of it? I mean, I know humans are animals and our instincts give us our need to reproduce so we need to find a viable mate and all that stuff, but why do you need to always be together, and hold hands, and do all of that gross stuff too?

Either way, I finally got around to building a mark V for my potato gun! It's just a few upgrades up from the mark IV, for faster shots and farther range, but I think it'll be cool once it's done. 

I hope your day is going okay.

-Harley

 

~~~

 

Wednesday, May 8, 2013, 10:43PM 

From: tes@starkindustries.com

To: countryroadstakemehometotennessee@gmail.com

Subject: Re: Relationships and Mark V

Relationships are complex, and complicated. Humans are born to reproduce, yes, but dating, and finding a partner is more than that. It's finding someone you're compatible with, who can be there at your best and at your worst, and a bunch of other deep seeded emotions that are hard to explain.

You don't need to worry about that now, though. You'll understand more when you're older, anyways, so I wouldn't worry about it.

My day has been good. More of a lazy day today, Pepper and I ordered some take out and watched movies in our pjs. I didn't have my phone on me per Peppers request, or I would have answered sooner.

As for the Mark V, the updates sound good. Keep me posted, kid.

  -The Mechanic

 

~~~

 

Monday, September 8, 2014, 4:57PM 

From: countryroadstakemehometotennessee@gmail.com

To: tes@starkindustries.com

Subject: Middle School!!

I started middle school today!! And honestly? It wasn't as exciting as I thought it was gonna be. I knew that movies and tv shows oversell the wow factor of middle school and high school but I didn't think it'd be this dull. I'm still in the same class, with all the same classmates, and my classes are still crazy easy. I had hoped that the increase in grade would make it even a little bit harder, but I knew everything on the outline they gave out before the teachers even started teaching!! It's bonkers!

Apparently this middle school also has a STEM, or "gifted" kid program for kids like me though, so hopefully that'll be harder. I'm still gonna be so bored in my normal classes though. Ugh.

I have the STEM classes tomorrow, so I'll tell you how it goes. I know you've been stuck in those awful meetings lately, but I hope your day is going better than mine.

  -Harley

 

~~~

 

Tuesday, September 9, 2014, 5:04PM

From: countryroadstakemehometotennessee@gmail.com

To: tes@starkindustries.com

Subject: STEM Program

I had my STEM class day today, and it went a lot better than yesterday did! My teachers are all super nice, especially my math teacher, Mr. Trevor. He immediately starting teaching today, which was awesome, because all of my other normal teachers had a Ice Breaker class first (which I hate, we all already know each other, why do we have to say our names and something about ourselves??), but he just went right into it, and started teaching us trigonometry. I haven't learned any of it before, and I'm super excited to dig into it and find out how it works. It's seeming pretty simple so far, just formulas and using calculators right.

The only bummer is the class I got put with. They all seemed to click and get along well together, but none of them really talked to me much. I don't mind though. I'm more focused on my education anyways.

Also! I saw that Captain America and Black Widow took down SHIELD's headquarters on the news. What was that about? Do you know?? Apparently they leaked files too or something???

I hope everything is okay.

  -Harley

 

~~~

 

Friday, September 12, 2014, 10:27AM 

From: tes@starkindustries.com

To: countryroadstakemehometotennessee@gmail.com

Subject: Re: STEM Program

Hey kid. Sorry for the late response, things have been hectic here, as you probably know. It's been a PR nightmare, with the whole "Cap took SHIELD down" fiasco. I can't say more than that though. Legal things, NDAs, you know how it is.

I'm glad the STEM classes are testing your abilities more. I know the regular classes can be boring for someone of your intellect, but try to enjoy them while they last, okay? Soon you'll be an adult, and doing adult things, and trust me, it isn't as fun as they make it out to be in the movies either.

Don't worry about those kids too. Give it time, they'll come around.

  -The Mechanic

 

~~~

 

Friday, September 26, 2014, 9:02PM

From: countryroadstakemehometotennessee@gmail.com

To: tes@starkindustries.com

Subject: Update?

Hi. Just emailed to give an update on me. Everything's been pretty normal, I guess. Abbie's loving elementary school, her teacher, Mrs. Millar, is really nice. I did my trig test today, and I think I did well. Mama's working late again tonight, but that's just normal at this point too.

Have you ever, I dunno. Felt like you were weird? Or strange, or broken? Like, all of your friends are one way, and doing some things, but you aren't, and everyone looks at you weird, and treats you differently?

I don't know. I don't know where I'm going with this. I just feel off tonight. Think I'm going to go to bed early.

I'm sorry.

  -Harley

 

~~~

 

Friday, September 26, 2014, 9:48PM 

From: tes@starkindustries.com

To: countryroadstakemehometotennessee@gmail.com

Subject: Re: Update?

 

You don't need to apologize, kid. You did nothing wrong.

I used to feel like that, quite frequently if I'm being honest. When I first went to MIT, I felt weird. I stuck out like a sore thumb, and had people talk about me behind my back because of how young I was. But then I met Rhodey, and things got better.

And then Afghanistan happened. And the invasion. Let me tell you kid, I've never felt more broken and alone after that. I had panic attacks, as you know, but I also struggled with a lot of paranoia. Lack of sleeping or eating properly, mixed with trauma does that to you. I was a wreck, and I was so certain I couldn't be fixed. That I'd be like that forever.

And to an extent, I will be. I'll always struggle with it, but it's much, much better now than it used to be. I went to therapy, talking about my feelings, which sucked ass (don't tell your mom I said that), and learned mechanisms to help myself. Learned breathing techniques, practiced meditation, focused more on self care, and now I'm doing so much better.

So, moral of this long, way too personal story. You aren't broken, kid. Whatever is going on, whether it's similar to me or not (I hope not), it'll be okay. You will be okay. Things will work out. And don't worry about what other people think. Focus on yourself, and do what makes you happy, no matter what.

I'm always here if you need to talk, Harley. I might not be much help, or be very good at this whole hormonal preteen emotions thing yet, but I can try.

I'm glad things are going okay outside of that though. I'm glad your sister's settling in well, and I'm sure you aced your test. You're a smart kid.

Goodnight.

  -Tony

 

~~~

 

Tuesday, October 7th, 2014, 3:38PM

From: countryroadstakemehometotennessee@gmail.com

To: tes@starkindustries.com

Subject: Call

Hey, can we call? I know you're probably busy, and we don't normally do that but I'm kinda freaking out about something and I don't know who else to talk to. My number is (___)  ___-____

  -Harley

 

~~

 

Tuesday, October 7th, 2014, 3:41PM

From: countryroadstakemehometotennessee@gmail.com

To: tes@starkindustries.com

Subject: Re: Call

Nevermind, ignore that last email. I was being overdramatic, and stupid. I'm fine, everything is okay.

Sorry for bothering you.

  -Harley

 

---

 

He didn't expect anything from the emails. He assumed the older man would've read his last email, and shrugged it off, pretending the previous didn't exist like Harley longed for him too. As he said, he was being dumb. It didn't matter that his heart was pounding, that his brain was screaming at him that he was a freak, and dirty, and so so so wrong , that he was shaking like a leaf and on the verge of tears. It didn't matter. It was stupid. It didn't matter.

He didn't expect that Tony would actually still call him.

He stares at his vibrating cell phone through teary eyes, blurry vision, the number unknown but he knows who it is, knows it because nobody else calls, because when his friends call, they call the home phone, not his phone, so who else could it be?

He blinks the tears out of his eyes, rubbing them away quickly when a few escape, swallowing down his fear and panic and self hatred as he scrambles to pick it up before the call ends (he doesn't think Tony would appreciate it very much if he let it ring to voicemail), stuttering out a shaky, higher pitched "H-Hello?"

"Hey, kid." Tony's voice, much lower and rougher than his, rings through the phone, and Harley braces for the questions, the interrogation he knows is coming, knows Tony's gonna ask him about it, about what's bothering him. Why, why did he email him? Now he's gonna have to tell him what's wrong, now he's gonna have to admit it, admit how wrong and messed up and broken he is- "How was your day?"

Harley jerks back slightly, mouth gaping and eyes wide, caught off guard by the unexpected tame question. "Huh?"

"How was your day?" The man repeats calmly, tone smooth, even, relaxed, like it's a normal conversation on a normal, boring day. Nothing like how Harley is feeling, nothing like the swarming thoughts in his mind, like the flood of emotions in his chest, like the churning in his stomach, the burning ache in his lungs. 

"U-uhm," Damn his stutter, he had grown out of it years ago, why was it suddenly coming back now? "I-it was good." He lies, trying to keep his voice from wavering, trying to keep it steady, trying to stay composed as the tsunami of emotions tries to pull him under. "Yeah."

"Yeah?" Tony prods lightly, voice softening slightly, and Harley shakes his head in a nod, firm, even though Tony can't see it, even as tears start to burn at his eyes again, even his chest winds tighter and tighter and tighter .

"Mhm." He forces out, not trusting himself to speak anymore, his throat closing as his feelings start rising up his esophagus, a sob clawing its way up his throat, trying to escape.

There's a pause, then, a moment when everything freezes. A moment right before the iceberg tips, right before everything crashing and burning down around him, right before the beginning of the end. And then, time starts again, as the mechanic asks, quiet, hushed "What's going on, Harley?"

And Harley crumbles .

The sob rips from his throat, echoing loudly in the large emptiness of his garage, a trembling hand covering his mouth as soon as he does. But the floodgates have already opened, tears are streaming full force down his face, his body shuttering through shaky gasps and shattered sobs. "I-I-Im sorry ," He chokes out as he sits down heavily in his old, pachy wheely chair, curling into himself as his body shutters again. He rubs his eye with the hand on his face, sniffling and coughing through a whimpered, "I-I know you're- you're probably b-busy, you- you don't h-have to-"

"I have nowhere else to be." Tony murmurs simply, cutting off Harley's poor attempt at waving him off, at delaying the inevitable for any longer. Harley lets out a small whine as the older man speaks up again, soft, soothing, repeating gently, "What's going on, kid?"

"I-I dont-" He hiccups, running a hand through his shaggy, too long blond curls, tugging slightly as his knee bounces rapidly. "M-My friends, or my classmates, they- lately, they've been, I don't know, they've been talking- talking more about crushes and girls and stuff." Harley sniffles, tugging his hair harder as his vision starts to blur again, the words tumbling out of his mouth now. "And- and I never really c-cared about it, you know? I never really- really unders-stood it, didn't see the appeal, s-so I didnt m-mind it. But they- they just keep talking about it, and getting g-girlfriends, and-and talking about their bodies and I didnt get the- the i-interest, so I thought maybe something was wrong with me-"

"There isn't." Tony chips in, but Harley just runs right over him, keeps blabbering. He knows it's rude, knows his mama taught him better, but he can't seem to stop talking now that he started, his words getting more and more wobbly, panicked the longer he goes.

"But there is , there is something wrong with me, I- I know there is now, be-because when I-I went to school today, the- the past few days really, I started- started noticing that I started f-feeling weird, and- and it sounds- sounds similar to how the- the others say they feel, but it doesn't make sense , it can't be that, I dont- I cant-" Harley's breath catches, and he grinds his teeth together, refuses to speak another word, refuses to accept it, refuses to admit the god awful truth, refuses to utter the words. Because it can't be right, it can't be true, it can't be-

They sit in silence for a few moments, when he assumes Tony thought he would continue speaking but he wont, he refuses , until the softer, calmer voice returns, slightly staticky through the speaker, but barely more than a whisper, as if he spoke any louder, Harley would shatter. He probably would. "So, if I'm understanding correctly, you think you have a crush, and you're... scared?"

He doesn't sound patronizing, just honest, if a bit curious, but it doesn't help calm Harley any, a higher pitched, frustrated noise escaping the back of his throat, his free hand going out of his hair going back to rubbing at his face, rubbing off the tracks of tears, trying to rub away any sign of upset, until his skin is red and raw. "No, I-I mean, kinda- its not- I can't- god , this is so stupid."

"Its not stupid. I get it." The man responds, and Harley wants to laugh, feels the bitter feeling bubbling in his chest, because does he? How can he get this? Harley doesn't even get this, it doesn't- he shouldn't- "What's her name?"

The sound erupts out of him at that, but instead of laughter like he thought it would be, it's just another pitiful whine, another loud, agonizing sob. Because that's the thing, the thing that's been haunting him ever since he figured it out earlier that day, the issue that's been plaguing his mind and freaking him out, winding him up more and more and more as the day went on until he got home and sent those messages. 

Because- because when he thinks back to earlier that day, he thinks of lunchtime, of sitting at his lunch table with his "friends", of them talking and laughing, of Harley feeling those weird feelings again, especially when he looked across from him, and saw big, forest green eyes, saw a big, toothy grin, saw two small dimples and scattered freckles, saw short, short black hair, saw a sharper, thinner jaw, saw male male male, felt butterflies flutter, and realized he was wrong, wrong, wrong .

Because- "It's not a girl." His voice is small, defeated, barely a whisper, his whole body tensed up in fear, waiting, waiting for his reaction.

There's a pause, before a faint, quiet, sympathetic, "Oh, kid." That Harley immediately the wrong way, because he hates him, oh god he hates him-

"I'm sorry!" He gasps, jerking upright, sitting ramrod straight and the apologies spilling from his mouth. "I'm so sorry, I didnt- I dont mean to, and I-I know its wrong, and I shouldn't, and I-I know I'm weird and- and a freak , and-"

"Hey, hey, woah!" Tony's voice is louder now, stronger, and Harley hushes up immediately, his mouth slamming shut, even as his body trembles with a silent sob. "It's okay, kid. You aren't any of that."

"But- but I am!" Harley whimpers. "I'm w-weird, and everyone else isn't like this , and-"

"Am I a freak?" Again, the random question sends Harley for a loop, trying to grasp onto any of his quickly scattering thoughts.

"W-what?"

He can hear a faint smile, faint amusement in Tony's tone as he asks again, still so so calm, so reassured, "Am I a freak?"

Harley narrows his shining eyes, still full of tears, staring down at the wooden table in front of him, at the chips and nicks covering the side of it, wondering if this is a trick question. "N-No? Of- of course not, you're Iron Man."

He can hear some noise in the background of the call now, squeaking as if someone's leaning back in a chair, before Tony speaks up again, voice full of warm amusement now. "Well, Iron Man has had a few rendezvous with men in the past, and still likes them to this day. Does that make him, and therefore, me, a freak?" When Harley doesn't answer, mostly out of pure shock than anything else, Tony keeps going, tone going serious again. "Kid, I'm gonna get this out there right away. There is nothing wrong with you for liking boys, you hear me?"

He swallows, and wants to agree, longs to agree, but- "But- but my friends, they all like- like girls , and mama, she- she said that traditional marriage was what God wanted and-"

Harley cuts himself off this time, and Tony only waits a few beats before murmuring softly, "Is that what you think?"

He just shrugs, picking at the table, sniffling, whispering quietly, "I don't know what to think anymore."

There's a soft hum and another pause. "You're different, Harley. I'm not going to beat around the bush, you are different." Harley stomach drops. "But," Tony continues, "Kid, you've always been different. You're so smart, way too smart for your own good, if I'm being honest. And there's nothing wrong with that. People may try to bring you down, or kick you while you are down, but you've gotta remember that, okay? There is nothing wrong with you."

Harley waits a few moments, let's the words wash over him and wrap him in a blanket of warmth, of security and comfort, but there's still one little thing that keeps rearing its ugly head, that's still making him antsy. "But, what if I'm just- overreacting? And I don't actually... y-you know." He finishes lamely, still not ready to completely admit to everything yet.

Tony doesn't seem to mind. "Then that's okay too." He says simply, a bit of shuffling coming through the line. "Kid, how old are you again, like twelve?"

He can hear the teasing in his tone, and rolls his eyes as he huffs out, "Thirteen." 

The older man chuckles for a second, before his voice goes back to calm, quiet. "Seriously though, you're thirteen , Kid. You don't need to have everything figured out right away." He snorts, then. "I sure didn't. I think I was a mess at your age, wasn't even thinking about relationships. At least, not long term." There's a pause. "Point is, you don't need to know right now. This might be a fluke, and you might end up liking only girls from here on out. You might end up just liking boys, liking both, or neither, who knows? But you've got time, kid, and that's the key. Give it time . And whatever it ends up being, whatever ends up happening..." His voice softens at the end, a smile prominent in his tone. "It'll be okay. You will be okay." 

For the first time all day, Harley finally takes a deep breath. His shoulders finally relax, his body practically melting back into his chair, and a smile grows on his face, warmth blooming in his chest. "...thanks, Tony." He whispers, hoping that the amount of pure, unfiltered gratitude he's feeling can be heard in his tone.

He thinks it can, as there's a hint of embarrassment and awkwardness in Tony's voice as he responds with a simple, "Don't mention it, squirt." 

Harley just chuckles at the sudden discomfort of the older man, before his eyes widen. "Oh! While you're here, did I tell you I passed my trig test?"

"Hey! I knew you would, kid, I had no doubt." Harley's grin widens, before he throws himself into another story, feeling warmer, safer, and happier than he has in a while.

A few years later, Tony was getting off of the elevator to his penthouse with a huff, having just gotten back from a rough meeting, when he freezes. His heart warma and a smile grows on his face when he notices Harley, now 17 years old (almost an adult, god he was so old ), curled up into Peter's chest, his face pushed into his neck, seemingly fast asleep. Peter's head rests on top of Harley's, eyes open but hooded, as if keeping them open was getting difficult. They glance over to Tony immediately, though (damn his spider sense and increased hearing), and a faint blush forms on his cheeks even as he smiles lightly, his eyes softening as he glances back down at his boyfriend and presses a firm kiss onto his head. Tony watches the interaction with a soft grin, before quietly stepping away, his chest full of mostly warm, sappy feelings, but also full of pride and joy, knowing his pseudo son is accepted, happy and loved.

[secondhand-trash]

Five Hargreeves(UA)- A Simple Guide to Understanding Love

A/N: Fun fact, this was not planned at all. I lowkey started writing this because I was having a major struggle with another fic I am writing and I got really inspired to try new formats after reading A Little History of Literature(really good, 100/100 recommend). The quality of this is questionable, I did write this out of impulse after all. Also, we don’t welcome pedos in this household and despite being 17 myself, the idea that there might be adults being attracted to a (physically) 13 character makes me uncomfortable. Let’s all be clear that both the reader and Five were, you know, actual grown ups in this one.

Description: Verified and recommended by his siblings, robotic mother and chimp caregiver(?), this is the best guide(since there is only one) to understanding how Five Hargreeves’ expresses love.

Wordcount: 1434

Playlist:

When The Day Met The Night//Panic! At the Disco

Perfect For You//Next to Normal

Making Love Out of Nothing At All//Air Supply

Here’s the thing, love can be very confusing to understand. 

Even more confusing when the person involved was a time travelling assassin who spent 45 years in a post-apocalypse world with a mannequin being his only company. Things got even more complicated considering that said person travelled back in time to stop the apocalypse with his highly dysfunctional family, all of which suffered from severe childhood trauma. To sum up, the person (at this point the reader of this guide should probably be informed that when we said ‘person’, we are talking about Five Hargreeves) has no experience with being romantically involved with a living, breathing human (he would argue that the mannequin was responsive to him, to which you would nod and try your very best to resist making any remarks that might come out as offensive). 

This guide is here for you, our dear reader who happens to end up in a relationship with this man under unknown circumstances that we will neither question nor judge since we already expect it to be rather strange (after all, it is Five you are dating), to understand Five Hargrevees’ many ways of expressing love.

 1. No, don’t expect him to tell you directly

You see, words hold different meaning to different people. To some, it might be the most sacred words in the whole wide world while some people throw the phrase around like it’s a simple greeting. What we’re trying to say is, no matter how you feel about saying “I love you”, don’t be too hurt/shocked/bewildered when he don’t say it back. After all, that man was raised under a harsh condition and direct expressions of affection really wasn’t something that he got to receive very often. The many years of complete isolation from human contact and countless cases of murder did not help with our case at all. Therefore, if you were expecting direct verbal expressions, we are sorry to inform you that you will be very disappointed.

However, this does not mean that there are no signs of love and affection in his words. For instance, you might notice by now that he makes sure to greet you every morning when he sees you at the table. Although it might seems like a mundane thing to do, we would like to point out that he barely acknowledge his siblings’ presence on a daily basis i.e. he does not bother to.

Take for example, that morning when Klaus came over. 

You walked down to the halls with the aroma of coffee in the air. You moved in with Five after dating him for a while and he always wakes up before you do, making sure that he does not disturb your sleep when he gets up (we would like to point out that this too, is a sign of love from him, see point 3 for further elaboration). You walked into the dining hall, surprised to see that instead of Five, it was his brother Klaus sitting at the table instead. 

“Why good morning, future in-law.” You smiled at the way he addressed you, you do find Klaus to be a joyful company and it feels nice knowing that he accepts your existence in his brother’s life. 

“Good morning to you too, Klaus.” 

“I’m just here to see if Five can help me with... Oh! Here he is,” Klaus turned to look at your boyfriend who just entered the room with a jar of coffee in hand, “Morning, dear brother!” 

You tried to hold back your wide grin, the over-the-top formality was almost reaching a comedic level. Five did not response to his brother’s cheery greeting. He walked over to your side and sat down next to you, mumbling a soft “good morning” in the process. 

“Morning Five,” you replied, “did not sleep well last night?” 

He hummed softly in between his sips of caffeine, giving you the answer you needed. You chuckled, “Klaus is here.” Five briefly looked up from his mug and poured himself another cup of coffee. 

The three of you sat in silence with only the sound of him slurping his drink. “Wait,” he finally said after finishing his forth cup of coffee, “how long has Klaus been here?” 

“Five, I swear to...”

You see, it is kind of like in The Princess Bride where “As you wish” held the same meaning to “I love you.” Well, we cannot argue that “Good morning” is nearly as romantic as that but, um, it’s the thought that counts we suppose.

2. He watches you a lot

Hm, that came out a lot creepier than we intended to. We swear that it is a lovely gesture on his behalf.

Now that we have point that out, you might recall that he does have habit of glancing at you ever so often. Whether you are right next to him or in another room. You might suspect that it is out of old habit from when he had to be observant of his surroundings to survive. Truth is, he simply likes watching you. No matter how much time he have spent with you, he continues to find your every move to be fascinating.

Move things forward and you’ll remember you first noticed that on a rainy day. It was pleasant, sitting on a couch with a book in your hands (Jane Austen? If you remember), hearing the raindrops tapped on the windows as you slowly flipped through the pages. Five was sitting next to you, a newspaper in hand (you like to make fun of how much his daily habits resembles those of an old man, to that he would scoff and protest that he did live a long life before).

Sometimes, you wished that you could spend every day like that. Hurdling a blanket on the couch, reading a book all while leaning on your boyfriend’s arm. Hearing the sound of the rain along with the soft noise of paper by your ears. You were so lost in your book that you did not even notice that the louder, heavier sound of newsprint stopped. 

Sensing how stiff your waist was from the lazy posture, you put down the book to stretch your arms. You got up from the couch to find Five’s eyes fixed on you. “What are you looking at?” you jokingly said, resting your chin on his shoulder. 

To your surprise, he did not try to brush it off with a witty comeback or pretend to be annoyed like you expected. Instead, he looked right into your eyes, “You.” 

Feeling the heat creeping up on your face, you smacked his arm playfully and got up. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw the corner of his lips tucked up ever so slightly.

3. He had a hard life, but he is trying

Even Five could not deny that he is messed up.

He never got to experience growing up, he simply aged. And no matter how hard he tried to mask it with his tough demeanor, there was no denying that all the things he had been forced into took a toll on him.

Five Hargreeves is by no means a gentle person. He could be impulsive, short tempered at times but he is trying to be better, he is trying to be better for you. Maybe you can see it in how he tried his very best to not wake you up in the morning as he knew that you stayed up too late watching that new show online or letting you hog the entire blanket in bed because he knows that you hate the cold. He is still trying to get used to not having to be defensive all the time, but at least he is trying.

(”You’re making me soft.” 

“What’s wrong with being soft?” 

“It’s weak.” 

“You’re not weak, Five. In fact, you’re the strongest person I have ever known.” 

“See, this is exactly what I meant.”)

There is a lot more we could discuss here, like how he always leave the lights on in the hallway when you are out late or that he would let his arms linger on your shoulder when you are pulling away from a hug. It is not much, some gestures might be so small that you could not even notice. But no matter how infuriating he could be and how oblivious you both are to the small signs of affection in each others’ every move, there is no doubt that he is truly, deeply in love with you. And that is something that you do not need a guide to tell you about.