#and dandelions!!!!!! coming soon!!!!! to a yard near you!!!!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

opaldraws · 4 years ago

Text

Dandelion

Billy never thought that he would become a dad. Besides believing that it wouldn’t be possible for a person like him, he also was scared shitless. He’d seen first hand what happens when the wrong kind of person became a parent, he knew how screwed up things could get. He had this huge fear that he would ruin a kid’s life. And even though Steve had assured him countless times that Billy would be a fantastic dad if they were to have a kid, he also accepted that Billy wasn’t ready for fatherhood and he may never be. So Steve never pushed the idea.

Then Max had a baby.

Out of the pair, no one expected Billy would be the one hit with baby fever.

Max was only able to get three weeks of leave from her work, so Billy volunteered to help out with little Julien. Julien was precious: He slept for long hours and rarely cried, he loved playing peek-a-boo and was easily entertained by crinkly paper, and when he got especially fussy, all Billy had to do was put him in his swing and Julien would knock right out.

Billy would come home from Max and Lucas’ and gush to Steve about whatever him and Julien got up to that day. It was usually the same sort of stuff, babies don’t really do that much, but Steve would listen fondly to Billy’s report while they cooked dinner together. Eventually Max found a sitter and changed her work hours, so Billy didn’t spend as much time with the runt.

A few years passed and Billy mentioned having kids of their own. Steve and him were in bed, the light on the nightstand casting enough light for Billy to read but not too much that Steve couldn’t doze off.

“Steve.” Billy ruffled Steve’s hair gently, letting his hand wander down to rub his back. Steve blinked over at him sleepily, his eyes a little unfocused without his glasses.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, frowning.

“No, nothing’s wrong. I just… I’ve been thinking lately, maybe we could look into adoption?” Billy wrung his hands together nervously. When Steve didn’t answer immediately, Billy interjected, “Only if you want to, of course! Fuck, nevermind. It’s stupid, I shouldn’t have even brought it up.”

Billy picked his book up, not able to look back at his partner. Steve hadn’t seen him this nervous since Billy had asked him to marry him. This conversation caught Steve off guard- and not only because he was half asleep. They’d talked about kids before when they were freshly married (technically unofficially, but whatever), Billy said he didn’t think he’d ever want to go down that path. And now, Billy was bringing it up.

“Babe, it’s not stupid.” Steve said seriously. “I want to do that with you.”

...

Adoption for two gay men in 2000 wasn’t easy. They were basically at the bottom of the ‘list’ of candidates and they’d been through multiple near adoptions that eventually fell through in just the past two years. Steve was beginning to lose hope, but Billy stayed determined. He called the adoption agency every week and he stopped by in person once a month. Steve told him he was probably bothering the agency, he said that they had their application and when the right kid came along, everything would work out. Billy’s perspective wasn’t quite as rose-colored as Steve’s: He realized that the agency didn’t want a same-sex couple adopting a baby. They may not outright say it, but he could tell. Billy wanted to show them that they were just as serious as any other couple.

In November of 2001, they got the call from the agency. The weekend before they brought their daughter home, Billy and Steve prepared the second bedroom for their new addition. Steve excitedly put up a fresh coat of paint while Billy struggled through assembling furniture for the bedroom. When they finished, they stood side by side in the doorway, misty eyed and excited for their daughter’s homecoming.

“We’re going to be parents.” Steve sighed, he let his head fall to Billy’s shoulder.

“Fuck, I’m so scared.” Billy admitted. He took a deep breath and tried to ease the panic creeping in. Steve gently wrapped his arms around him, pulling Billy in to hold him. Billy sagged into the hug.

“I am too, but I know it’s gonna be okay.” Steve said.

“How could you know that though?” Billy asked fearfully. So many things could go wrong, what if this was a mistake? Steve tightened his arms around Billy and leaned them against the doorframe.

“Because I know you. I’ve seen you grow into the man you are today and I know you’re going to be an amazing dad.”

...

Billy knew that for every developmental milestone that Abby passed, he should be excited. Don’t get him wrong, he was beyond happy to see his daughter growing and becoming a little person… but he also got sad? Abby was growing up so fast, one day she was crawling around on the carpet and the next she was racing around the apartment wreaking havoc. It felt like only a few days ago she drooled and needed to be spoon fed, now she was talking in barely formed sentences. Sometimes Billy would just curl up next to Steve in bed at night and have to cry about how big Abby was getting. Steve would rub his back, comforting his partner as best as he could. These breakdowns started happening more frequently as Abby’s 2nd birthday got nearer and nearer. Billy was aware that he was being dramatic, but his little girl was growing up way too fast. He felt like he was going to blink and then she’d be gone, old enough not to need her dads anymore.

“Billy, stop worrying about the future, Abby’s barely two! You have got to just live for today.” Max scolded him during one of Abby’s and Julien’s playdates after he had opened up to her. It was a sunny June day and Julien was happily keeping Abby occupied on a blanket in Lucas and Max’s yard. Lucas had been called out of town for a work emergency and Steve had gotten stuck covering a late shift. The step-siblings watched the kids from the porch, periodically bringing out new toys and snacks.

“Yeah, that’s what Steve keeps telling me. That’s what everyone keeps telling me, shitbird.” Billy huffed, rolling his eyes. “I can’t help it!”

“Listen to me, I felt the same way. Every time I had to go into work, every time I left Julien with you or Lucas, or the babysitter, I was so afraid that I was missing out on his childhood. Even when I was with him, all I could think about was how I could never get this moment back. But it’s useless to think that way! I realized that I couldn’t stop time from passing so I needed to enjoy it while it lasted!” Max insisted. She grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Billy squeezed back. Even though Max was younger than him, he appreciated the wisdom she occasionally provided. He was happy that their days of fighting and heated arguing were left behind at the house on Cherry Lane.

Billy looked out at the yard, he watched the way Abby would giggle when Julien ran circles around her with his toy airplane. She made grabby hands at him and squealed, “My turn!” Julien passed the toy plane to her and she zoomed it around. Max gave his shoulder a hard pat and announced that she was going to get food ready. Billy walked over to the rainbow blanket and sat down beside the duo.

“Daddy attack!” Abby jumped up, discarding the airplane to wrap her arms around his shoulders and climb onto his back. He held onto her chubby little legs and she laughed into his ear. He tried not to dwell on the future, let himself enjoy the moment. “Down.” Abby instructed him and he helped her back to the ground. She plucked a nearby dandelion from the ground and held it to Billy triumphantly. “Present for you.”

“Thank you baby, I love it.” He smiled at her, taking the dandelion. She beamed at him, clearly happy that her gift was well received. He tucked the yellow flower into the breast pocket of his shirt. Julien came bounding up to them excitedly, hiding something behind his back.

“I have a present for you too, Uncle Billy!” Julien grinned and offered him a wiggling pink worm clasped between his fingers. Billy chuckled and took the worm and Julien bounded off - probably to find more worms.

Abby went back to playing with the airplane and some of Julien’s matchbox cars. She pretended that Billy’s arm was the road and rolled the cars over it, back and forth. Every so often, she would show Billy a new car, telling him which color it was or if she liked it or not. Steve had been working on colors with her a lot recently, and Abby had gotten into the habit of pointing out the colors of things frequently. It was really adorable and she always looked proud when she got the color right. And when Billy would catch those intrusive thoughts about the future, he gave it his all not to dwell on them and instead focus on Abby rolling her car over his arm. Max rejoined them with a big plate of fruit and sandwiches to share for an early dinner, calling Julien over to eat.

Before Billy knew it, a few hours had passed and the sun was beginning to set. He helped Max bring all the toys back in the house and the kids savored the last few minutes of light while they cleaned up. Billy caught a glimpse of the clock on his trip inside; It was nearing 7pm and Steve would be arriving soon to pick them up. Billy and Max tried to coax the kids inside with the promise of a movie, but Julien had other ideas.

“Five more minutes? Please? Momma, I wanna see the fireflies!” Julien tugged at Max’s pant legs, giving her his best puppy dog eyes. “I promise I’ll be good for bedtime!” For a five year old, Julien was quite the negotiator. Of course Max caved which meant that Abby also got to chase the growing number of fireflies blinking around the yard. Billy couldn’t help but grin watching the cousins running around- and periodically jumping up- to try and catch the glowing bugs. After struggling to jump high enough to reach any of the fireflies, Abby pouted at Billy.

“Hold me?” She asked and how could Billy say no? He lifted her up in the air and she swung her little hands around, attempting to catch at least one bug. Billy could tell that she was getting frustrated when each time she came back fruitless. Abby got distracted by Julien showing Max all of the bugs he had captured, a faint green-ish yellow glow coming from his closed fists. “Daddy! Want one.” Abby’s chin wobbled - one of her tell tale signs that a meltdown was coming.

“Okay honey, I’ll get you one.” He smiled and moved her so that she was propped on his hip. They walked slowly around the yard together and Billy caught one for her. He helped her get it in her hand and her eyes widened. “Now you’ve got to be real careful, you don’t want to squish it right?” Abby shook her head no, wanting to keep her new friend forever. Billy watched the way she would peek into her fist to catch a glimpse of the small bug, finding it sweet how gentle she treated it. She kissed the top of her hand and said “I love you” to the tiny insect hidden within. Billy was so transfixed with her that he didn’t notice Steve’s arrival; It startled him when a hand met the small of his back. Abby lit up even more once she saw Steve.

“Papa look! Bug!” She opened up her hand to show Steve the bug, but the firefly took the opportunity to make its escape and flew off into the night sky before Abby could close her hand. She gasped and tried to reach for it in a futile attempt. Here comes the meltdown... or so Billy thought.

“Oh Abby, it was such a beautiful firefly! Looked like it was a really good flyer too huh?” Steve smiled and Abby only pouted a little. “Now it’s going to go home and tell all of its friends about you. And we gotta go home too sweetheart, it’s getting pretty late. Let’s say bye to Julien and Aunt Max, okay?” Steve was great at de-escalating a situation, he always knew exactly the right thing to say to stop Abby’s tears. Billy put Abby back down on her feet so that she could go over to Max and Julian to say goodbye. Steve turned to Billy and gave him a quick peck on the lips before taking his hand and walking them over to the trio waiting for them.

“Seems like you were able to get out of your head today, I’m glad.” Max said to Billy during their hug.

Once their farewells were said and done and they were all loaded up into Steve’s car, the small family made the short drive back home. Steve’s hand rested over Billy’s atop his thigh, periodically giving it a light, reassuring squeeze.

Back home, Steve carried a sleepy Abby in from the car and straight to her bed (he hated for her to miss brushing her teeth, but made an exception because of the long day she had had). While Steve helped Abby get settled in, Billy headed into their bedroom. He picked one of the heavier hardcover books off the bookshelf and pulled the dandelion out of his pocket. He tucked the wilting flower between the pages, saving it so that he could remember the day. Steve came into the bedroom as he was reshelving the book, he walked straight to Billy and wrapped his arms around him.

“Had a good day?” Steve asked. Billy twisted in his grip, turning to face Steve. They shared a few slow kisses, with no intention to escalate, only to be in each other’s space after being apart for the day. Billy pulled back, hands still holding onto Steve’s waist securely.

“Yeah, it was really good.” He smiled. Sure Abby was growing up, but they had so many years ahead of them, so many warm summer days just like this one. Although Billy didn’t expect he could completely quell his anxieties about the future, he was ready to start enjoying the moments as they happened.

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #dads!harringrove #my fic

72 notes · View notes

westmoor · 4 years ago

Text

the ocean still roars

↞ ↞ | main post | ao3

(2.5k // tw: blood and violence)

When Jaskier left him on that mountain, something had shifted.

Geralt had found excuses for it at first. Told himself it was the sound or lack thereof; songs unsung, no lute strings plucked, no stories told or tangents pursued with details growing grander with each telling. That it was just the lingering smell fading over time, the perfumed oils and musk underneath, the trailing scent of herbs or flowers stooped for and picked on their way. Of dandelions in spring and apples in autumn, of wild berries and clovers at the height of summer.

But Jaskier had left before, too. Taken his voice and his scent and his lute with him, and it was not the same.

Something in the air had changed, its taste or its weight in his lungs. Colours looked strange to his eyes, like someone had changed their hue and no one else could tell. It was as though the world had tilted slightly on its axis, without proof or reason as to why.

Geralt found meaningful excuses for what he could and pinned his heart as the cause of the rest.

He still does.

But too much has happened since, too many solemn notes making his medallion tremble with the beat of the other’s heart to only blame his own.

There is a memory of lights in the forest and a woman in green, the taste of blood in his mouth and gentle hands turning his face to the sky, slipping from the grasp of his mind like fevered dreams.

At the bottom of his saddlebag, wrapped in cloth, is a broken silver bell.

He had hoped that the flicker of emotion that crossed the other man's face had been a sign that perhaps it could be fixed - that he’d be allowed near enough to start to chip away the wedge he had driven between them. That maybe, just maybe, his friend would walk back into his life and he’d be afforded a chance to make things right.

Most of that hope had gone down the storm drains by the time he made it back to Hagge.

Ever since waking up in his half-made camp beyond the forest's edge, head fuzzy and the taste of foreign magic on his tongue, news of his former travelling companion had dwindled. Jaskier hadn’t been there. He hadn’t been anywhere. No note or song, not even a rumour, not for weeks.

It seems that now, for the first time since the day a fresh-faced youth approached him in a tavern in a valley of flowers, the position in his life occupied by Jaskier the bard is truly vacant.

And still, he can’t give up.

He doesn’t know what Jaskier is, exactly, nor where, but he knows now there are places to look. In caverns and hollows where they first crawled into legend, glades and groves where their roots have grown deep with power and patience. Nooks and crannies where, with luck and circumstance, one can slip from this world into the one below.

He also knows that for whatever purpose, if they wish to find him, they will.

There are questions.

He doesn’t give a damn about the answers.

When it comes, it comes in the form of a guardsman with a debt to pay.

Odd things afoot, the man claims. A diseased harvest, unseasonably sour weather. Livestock acting strange and wildlife even stranger. And an overheard conversation in the next town over - word of a band of lawless men having captured the White Wolf’s companion.

If true, Geralt doubts they know what they have captured. In fairness, neither does he, but he knows this: They have his bard.

Geralt takes the bait.

No veiled pretense. No loosened horseshoes or impish little children, no stolen potions or fox tracks in the dirt.

He rides north toward the town in question, a hamlet nestled at the mouth of a river valley, along a road flanked by firs. The trees near the road are willowy and young, felled in rotation to keep the villages with firewood and kindling. But above, further up the slope of the mountain, they tower tall and dark against the afternoon sky.

His medallion stirs before they even leave the road.

He brings Roach as far as he deems safe, until the forest grows too dense to pass through with ease. Too far in and she’ll be more a hindrance than a help. He leaves her at the edge of a deertrodden glade, where the canopy opens enough to retain the light for a few more hours.

It’s a bit of a hike - needles of spruce and dead branches crunching underfoot, nothing to hear but the rustle of wind and birdsong, present but frantic in a way that sets his teeth on edge, as though they too can feel the thrum of foreboding reining him in - but eventually the trunks space out and give way to what seems to once have been a wide trail.

Years must’ve gone by since the last wagon passed this way, overtaken as it is by bushes and undergrowth. Life claws its way out of the grasp of barren darkness, to stretch its shrubs and saplings towards the sun.

There are no tracks but the ones behind him. He didn’t expect there to be.

It had been an outpost once, perched at a height to overlook wide open fields to the east and narrow passes to the north, sheltered from the west by the steep rise of the mountain proper.

Now it’s a derelict ruin, crumbling timber roof cast in shadow by the jagged rock face above. What had been a tidied yard for corralled horses and the loading of carts shrivels by the season as the forest eats its way closer, devouring fertile ground and reaching with many-fingered hands to a weathered tower hunched against the rock from which it once was built.

Standing in front of it, Geralt weighs his options.

It’s too quiet, too still, as though he stands at the shrine of a god he can’t name. Despite the open air and sinking sun, it feels enclosed. Walled in by trees as tall as city gates - their spiny crowns like battlements - the acrid scent of junipers is even thicker than it ought to be; the sound of the woods too uniform and dull.

On one hand, he has no hint, no proof, no true sign at all that the ramshackle structure hides what he seeks. On the other -

The hinges have rusted nearly solid, the frame warped by age and moisture, and he has to put the full force of his weight on it to shoulder it open.

His body blocks the light and when his eyes adjust, he is faced with a rough wall and a narrow walkway, moss creeping along the cracks between hewn stone. The air inside is as cold and damp as an earth cellar, except for the sour coniferous tinge prickling like needles at the back of his throat and burning his sinuses.

He rounds a corner and faces another door - this one slightly agape, tilting at a steep angle from its fastenings. Prying it open and sidling through, he scans another, longer hall, this one winding inwards to the mountain. It slams shut behind him and the world plunges into darkness.

And then it's blinding.

And then the scream.

Guttural and wild like a dying beast. Geralt is knocked back by the force of it, bile rising in his throat.

People never scream like that. In terror or pain, he never heard a human make a sound like that.

His heart knows the sound when his mind doesn’t.

There is a boy in a tavern and a man on a mountain and a creature in a clearing, and Jaskier was never human.

It rises and ricochets too loud in too small a space. Notes bend until they break, echoing and doubling back until he fears his skull might split.

Flashes of light and dark beating at his vision like frenzied wings, too quick to catch and too fast to adjust to. His eyes are burning with it and he screws them shut. Ears still ringing and he can’t see, can’t hear. He needs to get out, but he needs to find Jaskier.

Something scrapes against his shoulder like talons or teeth and he spins around, a lunge for his ankle nearly has him off his feet. When the walls prove too close for swords he pulls his hunting knife instead.

Fighting deaf and blind and hampered by the pounding in his head, there is still a weapon in his hand. He digs his heels in. Roots himself.

He finds his rhythm soon enough. The practiced ease of combat gives respite from his battered senses as he learns the pattern of his adversary.

There are noises around him, differing like voices, but melding together to a single mass of sound.

A shift in the order and a change of pace, his space is empty and he thinks his opponent has retreated - then a cry like a call of a name, and he adapts without thought. Rushing air and the warmt of a body provides direction; near-hits become deflections.

With a twist and a turn his blade hits home, sinking into solid flesh and grating against bone.

If life could give me one blessing -

Blood wells hot between his fingers and the feel of it, smell of it, is so close and so familiar -

Horror turns his gut.

- it would be to take you off my hands.

He can hardly hear himself shouting. Jaskier slumps against him.

Panic consumes the moment and the next, and he is staggering out into the fading light of day.

Jaskier's knees fold in the grass and Geralt follows him down, grappling at his shoulders, his clothes, anything to keep him righted and assess the damage he has done.

It’s a decent hit. Certain. Deep enough to stay embedded between his ribs. Had it been a contract -

He knows he’s talking, feels his mouth curl around Jaskier’s name, swearing, curses, promises he can’t keep - and all he can see is red, and tawny brown, and blue.

Jaskier is staring, silenced for once by shock and the fear rolling off him in waves. But when he is stopped from grabbing at the hilt of the knife to pull at it, he grasps for Geralt like a plea. Like he can save him, in spite of it all.

It can’t be real. He should wake in his camp, clouded and drained and relieved.

Pale silk drenches red, slow and steady, like ripples in a pond.

That fire in his eyes, lighting them like moonlight reflecting in a clear tarn, is burning white-hot, burning out. There’s no grounding but the shaking hands fisted in his shirt. He prays for that grip to stay firm.

He doesn’t know how this works, or if it works at all, but there is no choice but to try.

Geralt gathers him up, one arm below his shoulders and the other under his knees, and he runs.

It seems impossibly far. His own tracks through the grass make an even trail to follow. The forest passes in a blur.

At the sight of Roach, he grinds to a halt and lowers Jaskier to the ground as slowly as he can afford, ignoring the whimper in protest when he goes out of reach.

He ignores, too, the uncertain shift of his horse as he rifles through saddlebags without care for their contents, digging blindly under blankets and supplies for what has weighed on his mind for a month. And there, beyond a scrap of cloth wrapped around a warped piece of silver, his fingers find a bundle of twigs.

Rushing back and cradling his bard in his arms with as much gentleness as he can bear, he nearly hesitates, then. Jaskier is already too pale, life ebbing steadily out of him and this - this is a waste of time.

But the hilt of his own blade moves with each laboured breath and he’s not- he can’t- it can’t end like this. He curls his and around the knife, and braces for the strangled scream and struggle that comes.

Presses the handful of now-dried heather against the wound in Jaskier’s chest as he begs for whatever power, whatever luck or chance has followed them this far to take hold.

The prickly stems soak quickly, white flowers dyed red, then black, in seconds.

Willing his voice to some semblance of steadiness he taps a pale cheek, trying not to cringe at the cold creeping in.

“Jaskier.” He shakes the arm beneath his back to keep him waking, and is rewarded with a flicker of attention. “I need you to sing for me, lark. Can you do that?”

A grimace, or possibly a smile, sluggish and wan but he tries - the notes sound roughened in his throat, words garbled, more a mumble than a song but he tries.

The silver pendant between them quivers in response to each rising sound and for a moment, he hopes, maybe - but the heart beneath the press of his touch staggers on, rabbit-quick and panicked. Geralt can’t see his own hands for all that red.

There are lessons to this, ones imprinted in him since childhood, the cost of loving what is mortal. Reasons for tempering your heart, for why Witchers do not feel. None of them matter now.

In their place is a barrage of moments, fleeting glances, the hand at his elbow by instinct when he comes back weary and injured, half-formed melodies by dying fires hummed to no one in particular. The scent of camomile and lavender and ink, ringing laughter, the rustle of silk. The lightness of a pack with provisions just for one, the deafening silence of a thousand lonely mornings, the chill of a bed too narrow for two.

Jaskier’s voice dwindles and fades and he doesn’t know what to do, he does the only thing he can think of. He pulls him so close he fears his bones might break, and he kisses him.

It’s desperate and too forceful and wet with his own tears and Jaskier gasps for air against his lips, and it’s nothing like the stories.

And nothing happens.

“Please, Jaskier, I can’t -” he chokes out, and it’s all he can muster against the waves that clog and tear at his chest. “I can’t lose you. Not like this. Fuck, I wish I hadn’t let you go.”

There is a deep, ragged breath shaking the body in his arms. His medallion stills on its chain.

And then another breath.

And when Geralt forces his eyes open the ones that meet his gaze are wet and dull with pain, but awake and alive, blinking up at him with confusion and something like disbelief.

“Geralt?”

Something breaks in him, then. A wall or a barricade, something old and rigid, shatters like glass and he crumbles with it.

“I’m here,” he murmurs into Jaskier’s brow, and for now his world is only that: Hair tickling his nose. The smell of blood, still, but less bitter; tempered by earthy musk and summer flowers. Grass under his knees. Jaskier in his arms.

Breath against his neck, calmer, pained but not panicked. Stutters a few times, stops and starts before the words form softly to his collarbones. “Don’t let me go.”

“Never.” It’s barely a whisper, but he doubles down, makes it a promise. “Never.”

And the world tilts slightly on its axis.

--------

Tag list: @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @elliestormfound @love-more-today-than-yesterday @fontegagrilledcheese @geraskier-trashh

#geraskier #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher au #geralt #jaskier #*gestures vaguely*!jaskier #the witcher #the witcher fandom #creature!jaskier #inhuman!jaskier

108 notes · View notes

varietysunsets · 4 years ago

Text

My Right Hand Man

Pairing: Diavolo/Kira Yoshikage Rating: T Tags: Domestic AU (with stands!), canon-typical violence, vague descriptions of murder, fluff, enemies to lovers? 👀 Word count: 7700

Description: Kira gets blackmailed into spending Christmas with his new neighbours.

A/N: happy holidays @doctorrosalia, here’s your @jjba-secret-santa ! sorry that this is so long, i havent written since last year’s secret santa so i was a little backed up lol. try to stay safe and relax in these bizarre times 🍹

Read on AO3!

August 28th, 1999

It all began when Kira spotted the moving truck next door.

It was fancy—a name brand with about three or four men in matching uniforms hauling furniture inside the house. Nice-looking furniture, at that. Mostly black leather or white suede, practically new. Modernist style.

Kira couldn’t imagine why someone would move into their Morioh subdivision if they could afford furniture like that. Either they were broke and trying to overcompensate for the fact, or they recently came into money but still weren’t sure how to handle it. Personally, Kira hoped it was the former; if this new neighbour had exorbitant amounts of money, they would probably try to remodel the house. Kira dreaded to think about listening to a construction crew for weeks at a time.

Kira watched the moving crew for a good fifteen minutes while he sipped his coffee. The crew hauled in a large, plastic-wrapped mattress, followed shortly by another, much smaller one, too.

Kira nodded his head. His new neighbour had a child. That wasn’t surprising. A lot of people in the neighbourhood had families. This was a relatively safe place, after all.

The thought made Kira smile a bit. With another sip of coffee, he checked his watch. Almost time to leave.

The movers continued to do their work, steadily unloading the huge truck. As Kira went and rinsed out his mug, he realized that he hadn’t yet seen his new neighbours. And then, it came to him that he would need to learn the schedule of these new neighbours, too. That left a sour note in Kira’s mouth—before, an old man lived there with his extremely young girlfriend. It was easy to bypass them and do what he needed, because the man was senile and the girlfriend was never home, probably partying or seeing other men.

Kira drew a steady breath, calmed himself. He turned to the table, where his girlfriend sat. Stiff, perfect, angelic, almost. All negative feelings washed away from him.

Lovingly, he scooped her up and held her to his face. He kissed the back of the corpse hand, savoring the feel of her soft, cold skin against his lips. She was fresh and delightful; really, he didn’t need to worry about the new neighbours for now, his current girlfriend would last for a good week or so. Maybe longer.

With another quick kiss, Kira wrapped his girlfriend back up and returned her to the fridge. He straightened his tie, collected his briefcase, and went for the door.

He took his time locking the door outside, if only hoping that he might catch a glimpse of his new neighbour. Unfortunately, the curtains were drawn tight and there was no sign of them outside, so Kira began his commute to work curious and unsatisfied.

—30—

September 5th

A week passed. Still, Kira hadn’t seen any sign of life from his new neighbours’ house. Kira tried to break it down rationally, to find clues to tell him anything about these new people; he assumed there was only one parent, given the fact that the furniture brought in was near-immaculate, but missing any feminine touches. Possibly a single father. The problem with that was Kira hadn’t seen a parent or even a babysitter come or go yet. Given the time of year, the child would be out of school, so someone needed to be watching it.

There was so much mystery surrounding these people that it made Kira nervous. He tried to mind himself and rationalize his anxiety, but every time he passed a window, he found himself staring out at the neighbours, desperately grasping for anything he could find.

The only thing different he could see since the neighbours moved in were the slightly open purple butterfly curtains in one of the second-floor windows. Every other set of blinds or curtains were drawn, blocking the inside off from the rest of the world. It was frustrating, so frustrating.

After waking up, Kira did as he always did; he dressed, went to the kitchen to start his coffee, and pulled his girlfriend from the fridge. A rank smell followed her; black rot began to take the edges of her wrist. Kira’s heart sank with despair and disgust.

He couldn’t focus on this right now, otherwise he would get frazzled. Kira shut the fridge door and walked through the house, all the way to the back porch.

The early-morning air was fresh and warm outside. Calm emotions ebbed through him as he breathed steadily.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Kira caught movement in the neighbours’ backyard.

Kira tensed, though he knew he wasn’t in any danger. Killer Queen materialized behind him, set and ready as it peered over Kira’s shoulder. In the neighbours’ backyard was a young child walking around, easily only a kindergarten student or younger, with bright pink hair wearing a sundress.

Kira relaxed, even laughed inwardly at himself. He waved Killer Queen away, though the Stand stayed where it was. Curious, Queen drifted to the porch railing and leaned over, as if closely observing the child. At this point, Kira could have gone back into the house, but there was a strange nagging feeling inside him that made him stay put.

A quick survey of the neighbours’ backyard told Kira that this little girl was completely alone and unsupervised; no one was on the back porch, and as always, the blinds were drawn. Kira knew that he was the most dangerous thing in Morioh, yet he felt uncomfortable leaving the girl alone. Odd, because she wasn’t his responsibility in the slightest. Perhaps only to keep his illusion of being a good person, Kira quietly observed the girl a little more.

She explored around the yard, plucking grass and dandelions. Her curly hair was cropped short around her head, bright pink. Kira had never seen anything like it. Queen beside him stared intently, unblinking, like a cat watching prey.

The girl knelt, scooped another handful of flowers, then happened to turn around. Kira jolted slightly as they made eye contact. Queen jumped to hide behind Kira; the cold feeling of its hands grasped Kira’s shoulders. Without any idea of what to do, Kira waved at her gently.

The girl didn’t smile. Her chubby cheeks perched in an almost-frown, but her yellow eyes were bright. She raised one grassy hand and waved back.

Kira thought she was cute for a child. He never caught onto the baby craze or any particularly paternal instincts, but perhaps now he could understand why women swooned over them. He waved again, smiling softly, then lowered his hand. The little girl put her hand down, too. She kept staring, then decisively started walking towards Kira.

There was no real divide between their yards, only a small grassy slope leading to a shallow valley. Kira kept his yard immaculate and mowed, the neighbours’ grass was almost to the girl’s knees.

The girl made it within three feet of the divide when a man came around the corner of the house. Killer Queen dematerialized, and Kira stood up straight again.

The man was tall and lanky, but despite that, his arms were obviously defined under the sleeves of a black rock band t-shirt. He had a wild mat of long pink hair, and a sharp face with dark circles under hard set, black eyes.

At first glance, Kira could tell the man was his age, but somehow, he seemed much younger.

“Do you have a problem?” The man asked sharply, with an obvious Italian accent. He walked past the little girl and stood partially in front of her.

Kira was taken aback, but he kept his cool. He smiled slightly and bowed his head a little.

“No problems,” He assured the man. His mouth felt dry. “I was just standing here.”

“You were watching my daughter, like a pervert.” The man accused.

Kira almost reeled. His stomach curled at the accusation. “I wasn’t watching her... That way. She looked alone; I was just making sure that she didn’t wander off. No ill-intentions, I assure you.”

Kira sweat bullets under the hard, distrustful stare of his neighbour. It felt like forever before he finally spoke.

“You mind your business next time.” There was no threat attached to the end of the man’s statement, but Kira felt it in his tone.

Shivers rushed up Kira’s spine. Nothing normally scared him, certainly not people, but this man made him feel things. A little bit of fear, maybe excitement at his audacity. It wasn’t the type of attitude people usually took in Morioh, especially not with mild-natured Kira Yoshikage.

“Welcome to the neighbourhood.” Kira offered, trying to recollect his composure. “I apologize that this is our first meeting.”

The man narrowed his eyes. He glared Kira up and down.

Kira forced a smile, even as he held his breath.

Without a word in reply, the man grabbed his daughter by the shoulder and ushered her back towards the house. “Come on, Trish,” he mumbled, so quiet Kira almost didn’t hear.

Trish went willingly, but not without casting one last glance at Kira. Expressionless, she waved.

Kira considered waving back, out of politeness, at least. But soon Trish and her father disappeared into the home again.

Killer Queen’s presence radiated behind Kira’s shoulder. Glancing back, Kira saw that Queen had its hand up, waving back at Trish. Kira rolled his eyes.

“Stop that. She can’t see you.”

Kira returned to his own house. Queen lingered a second longer, staring out unblinking at the lawn, before dissipating and following Kira.

—30—

October 12th

Summer fully ended, and with it came mild Autumn days. As always, Kira went to work, did his errands and chores, and over time he stopped thinking about his odd neighbours as much. He caught glimpses of them here and there, but hardly enough to focus on. Sometimes in the morning Kira saw Trish leave the house for school and join the other neighbourhood children for the commute. Other times, just after dusk, Kira caught glimpses of his strange neighbour creeping to the mailbox.

Through vague conversations with the mailman, Kira pieced together that his neighbour went by the nickname Diavolo. That was about the extent of what Kira really cared to find out; he knew this Diavolo’s schedule and that was all he needed.

So, life went on as usual for Kira.

He met a waitress at a restaurant with exceptionally beautiful hands. He stalked her home to a bustling apartment and strangled her before she had the chance to scream. Killer Queen disposed of the evidence, and the TV playing perfectly hid the sounds of carnage. The exhilaration from killing carried Kira all the way home as though he were walking on air. Kira kept his new prize nestled in his suit pocket; the lingering warmth from the corpse hand was delicious, and her skin was so soft when Kira stroked her.

Kira’s new girlfriend was exactly what he needed in his home; she fit in perfectly, like the missing piece to a puzzle. For the first time in what felt like forever, Kira was completely at peace.

Though every day of the following week was identical, Kira savoured it. Perfect peace in his quiet life, unnoticed and left alone—he couldn’t ask for anything more.

Before work on a Thursday morning, Kira checked his mailbox. He flipped through, sorting the junk from the important letters, almost mindlessly, until he got to an unmarked manilla folder at the bottom of the stack. Curious, Kira pursed his lips. He set the rest of his mail aside and opened the folder.

His heart stopped.

Inside were photographs. Photos of himself, taken through a window, kissing his girlfriend in his kitchen. Photos of him lovingly painting his girlfriend’s nails. Even photos of his girlfriend, from all angles, sitting out on the table and in the fridge, taken from inside his home.

Violent nausea washed over Kira. His stomach twisted into a knot, his chest clenched with anger. He wanted to collapse and scream and throw up all at the same time. Not only was he being watched, but whoever took these photos was inside his home. They touched his things and invaded his space, handled his girlfriend.

As Kira slid the photos back into the folder, he noted a letter tucked inside. Despite the waves of sickness washing through him, he managed enough coordination to read it.

And then he read it over again. And again. And Again.

The letter detailed extremely specific instructions for Kira. A time and place to be, down to the minute, and a gracious description of a man Kira was to kill, “however he usually does”. Then there were threats at the end—promises that Kira’s life would be upturned with the photographs and more if the task wasn’t completed, or if he tried anything suspicious. And that there would be more tasks to come later.

Kira couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. Almost in a daze, he brought his mail into the house.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Kira gnawed his nails until blood seeped down his fingers and dripped onto the table. Easily, Kira could see himself falling into a slippery slope, constantly running around killing for this blackmailer until he either got caught or got himself killed. Unless he figured out who the blackmailer was and struck first.

When Kira snapped back to consciousness, his hand was covered in blood. He licked his lips, and then went to wash up.

He called out to work that day, his first sick call in months. Kira faked a cough and apologized profusely. His boss wished him well and told him to get some rest and feel better soon.

Kira had no intention of doing either. He spent the day fretting, thinking and mulling over the letter—one part on how to kill and another on how to find his blackmailer.

—30—

October 20th

All things considered, the kill was easy; the target was passed out drunk when Kira arrived. Kira rigged the home with bombs as instructed, and quickly he discovered why his blackmailer wanted this man killed.

The target’s home was littered with photographs—ironically, Kira assumed they were to be used for blackmail, too. He took a moment to examine a few and found that both his and his neighbour’s homes were pictured. Another showed his neighbour leaving the house, in one of his mad dashes for the mailbox.

Though he had many questions unanswered, some of the mystery clicked. Kira finished his task and fled the scene. He was long gone by the time firefighters arrived to put out the blaze that was the target’s home.

—30—

October 22nd

Another letter arrived mysteriously in Kira’s mailbox. Just as Kira feared, the slippery slope had begun.

Once again, the letter listed everything down to the minute detail; Kira was to leave his home at 1:35pm that day and arrive at a nearby park by 1:48. Apparently, the sender had measured the exact time window it would take to get there. As with the last letter, this one was incredibly detailed and well-written, until the very end, that is. The final line read,

Find a young man named Doppio.

Talk soon.

Kira was given no description, no call to action, nothing. What was he to do when he found this Doppio? How was he even supposed to find him? What if he couldn’t?

Worry wrought Kira’s body. He chewed his nails the entire walk to the park, despite trying his best to remain calm. The signs of a beautiful fall day were around him; golden leaves tumbled from the trees and danced in the gentle breeze. All he could think about was whether his not-so-secret blackmailer would expose him completely.

Kira got rushed by violent thoughts of what he might do to this Doppio person when he found him. He wanted nothing more than to use Killer Queen and erase this fool completely, but he couldn’t. There was too much he didn’t know yet. And there were people walking around everywhere in this park.

Most notably, a younger guy with purple hair and a matching sweater struggled to keep a little girl, wearing a backpack and child-leash, in check. He laughed nervously to himself and chided the child gently.

At first, Kira paid them no mind, until he looked closer; the child looked strangely familiar. He paused to observe and realized that the little girl on the leash was his next-door neighbour.

Trish noticed Kira staring first. She glanced over her shoulder and stopped tugging on her leash; instead, she waved her hand at Kira, expressionless and silent. The man with her glanced back as well.

He looked Kira over, then his eyes lit up.

“Oh! Oh!” He said. “You’re mister Yoshikage? Um— Kiri— No, Kira, right?”

Kira bristled slightly. He dug his nails into his palm, in an attempt to soothe the desire to chew them. “Kira Yoshikage, yes.”

The boy sighed deeply in relief. He smiled a weary grin and dropped his shoulders. “Oh, thank god. I’m Doppio. The boss told me to come find you. He said— ha! He said I’d find some old blond guy in a suit walking around the park like a creep. But you’re not— you’re a lot younger than I was expecting.” Doppio laughed awkwardly.

Kira stared at him. His expression slipped into something intense and unimpressed.

Doppio’s laughter petered off. He cleared his throat. Trish tugged viciously on her leash, in a desperate attempt to chase a stray cat strolling by.

“Um... Should we... Walk and talk?” Doppio offered. His body jerked as Trish pulled. “The boss gave me some stuff to talk about with you.”

Kira couldn’t explain the feeling inside his chest. It was a seething anger; not only was he being blackmailed, he had to deal with someone like... This. It was almost insulting, in a very specific way.

Outwardly, Kira tried to seem calm. He bowed his head briefly to Doppio.

“Yes. Let’s go.”

For the most part, Trish led the way. She jerked Doppio every so often, in some violent pursuit of this or that, and without fail every time Doppio laughed awkwardly and gave Kira a ‘what can you do?’ sort of glance.

There were a few people in the park, strolling around and enjoying the day. Normally, Kira blended in well with the crowd, but he felt now that walking beside Doppio and the unruly child made them the centre of attention. Kira’s palms sweated; Doppio remained oblivious that people may be staring at them.

“So... You got the boss’ letters pretty easy, huh?” Doppio said, as though he were making small talk. Trish jerked his arm again, as she rushed towards a small playground in the middle of the park.

Everything about this felt surreal to Kira, like he was living in a fever-dream, or inside a carnival mirror. Maybe this was an elaborate prank, or Kira’s tailored personal hell.

“I did.”

Doppio waited a second for Kira to say more, but when it became obvious that he had finished his statement, Doppio awkwardly filled the silence.

“Well, the boss told me he respects how quickly you got the job done. And effectively! He’s really impressed by you, mister Kira. He thinks you have a lot of potential.”

“That’s... Good.” Kira approached the conversation carefully, lest he accidentally offer unknown information.

Together, they approached the edge of the playground. Doppio knelt and unclasped the leash from Trish’s bookbag.

“Stay where I can see you,” Doppio said to her, but the moment she was free, Trish took off in a sprint towards the jungle gyms.

“If I can ask... Why didn’t your ‘boss’ come out here to meet me?” Kira inquired.

Doppio rolled the leash up in his hand and stood straight. “Oh, uh— he doesn’t really like being out in public, he’s kind of a hermit. But! This is confidential, I promise you can trust in me. I know everything, I won’t rat you out.”

Doppio led them over to some benches on the outskirts of the playground. No one else was around. Despite his weariness, Kira sat beside Doppio.

“I know I don’t seem very trustworthy, and you probably think I’m kind of a dork,” Doppio continued. Kira side-glanced at him. “But I’m Diavolo’s right-hand man. The only reason he sent me out here is because he doesn’t want any more paper trails, get it? This whole ordeal is pretty hush-hush.”

“Diavolo.” Kira repeated softly to himself. That confirmed it. He crossed his legs and leaned his elbow on his knee. “What does he want from me?”

Doppio fiddled with the leash in his hand. He watched Trish run around closely, in case she made a break for it.

“More jobs. The boss has a lot of enemies, you know? But he’s lying low right now, he can’t risk dealing with it himself.”

“Then why would he pick me, a complete stranger?”

Doppio laughed a little. “It’s not like you’ve never met. You live right next door, after all. It’s easier to keep track of you and everything.”

Silence settled between them. For a long second, Doppio and Kira stared at each other. In the background, gravel crunched as Trish fell off the monkey bars, only to quickly jump up and try again.

As the silence and its implications seeped in, Doppio’s expression dropped. Horror etched across his face.

“Oh, shit. I wasn’t supposed to say that. I— I...”

“I already figured that out,” Kira offered. His methods were always perfect, he had no enemies, no reason for anyone to suspect him; it only made sense that his new neighbour, Diavolo, the only new thing in his otherwise perfect life, was the cause of it all.

Doppio seemed slightly relieved, but still there were some hints of terror in his expression. He fiddled more with his hands and glanced around nervously. Then, he started to mutter, “Ring, ring, ring...”

Kira blinked. Doppio got up and paced, all while muttering to himself.

That was one way to leave a conversation cold, Kira thought.

“Ring, ring... Where is it...?”

Almost triumphantly, Doppio picked up a crushed, empty soda can. He put it to his ear and said, “Hello? Doppio speaking.”

Despair settled in Kira’s stomach. He was supposed to trust this man? This entire interaction already felt like a slap in the face, but this was too much. Kira hoped even more now that this was an elaborate prank, or maybe even just a long dream that he would soon wake up from.

Doppio’s eyes lit up. “Boss! Oh— yeah, yeah, he’s here. One sec.”

Doppio turned to Kira and held the can out.

“He wants to talk to you,” Doppio said.

At this point, Kira didn’t know what to think. He felt a thousand eyes staring at him, even though there were only a few people walking around, ignoring them.

Despite the absurdity of this, Kira took the can. Under Doppio’s expectant gaze, he put the can to his ear and said, “...Yes?”

“Yoshikage.”

Kira jolted. Directly in his ear was the voice of his neighbour—Diavolo. Deep and calm, yet heavy and serious.

Kira jerked his eyes to Doppio; the man stood there smiling, waiting patiently. Only then did Kira notice that one of Doppio’s eyes wasn’t quite right—the pupil was darker, twitching, in an uncanny familiar way.

“Listen to me, Yoshikage.” Diavolo whispered to him. Kira watched Doppio’s face the entire time; his lips moved with the speech. “You’re going to do exactly as Doppio says. If you lay a hand on my Doppio or my daughter, I will ruin your life in such a specific way that you will wish you were dead.”

Panic and fear gripped Kira’s lungs. He couldn’t breathe.

“Doppio has more power than you realize, and he will not hesitate to use it against you. And don’t forget, I have your life in the palm of my hand. Check your mailbox when you get home.”

Kira lowered the can from his ear and stared, shocked, at Doppio.

Doppio smiled back innocently. Both his eyes matched again, the irises a bright golden colour.

Kira couldn’t find the words to speak even if he wanted to. Doppio’s smile was almost haunting.

“Let’s talk about your next task then, mister Kira.”

—30—

November 1st

A woman this time, and a pretty one, at that. She had beautiful skin and excellent, gorgeous hands. Manicured. Adorned in expensive rings and a bracelet. Kira imagined she was a pianist, or even a harpist. Something about the delicate nature of her hands led Kira to believe she played an equally regal instrument.

Even though he was there on business, Kira saw no problem with keeping her hands. It would be a waste otherwise, he thought. After some quiet contemplation, and comparing them both, Kira settled on taking the left hand; her right index finger had a broken nail, while the left was completely intact.

Kira finished the job with a quiet blast from Killer Queen. He went home satisfied, with his new girlfriend safely tucked into his blazer.

As soon as Kira stepped into his home, the phone rang.

Confused, Kira glanced at the time; it was late, far later than when he usually got calls of any kind. Wearily, Kira moved to the phone on the wall and picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Kira Yoshikage.” Diavolo greeted. “Did you have fun tonight?”

Kira felt shivers go down his spine. He considered hanging up, but something kept him standing there, waiting for Diavolo to say more.

And he did.

“I assume you did. Did you bring home a souvenir, by chance?”

Kira’s stomach wretched a bit. “What do you want? Can’t I have an evening in peace?”

Diavolo laughed. “Oh, sure. I don’t have another task for you yet, I just wanted to thank you for your work. Based on your reaction, I assume you got my gift.”

“...What do you mean?”

“I picked her out special for you, couldn’t you tell?” Diavolo stated, as though it were obvious. He laughed again, a haunting sound. “You’re a despicable man, Yoshikage, pretty perverted, but your taste is obvious.”

Suddenly, the corpse hand in Kira’s pocket felt impossibly heavy.

“No need to thank me,” Diavolo continued. “I’m sure you’re beyond grateful. I have nothing else for you right now, but we’ll be in touch. Ciao.”

Diavolo hung up, leaving Kira standing there, stunned into silence. Up until now, he assumed that everything about Diavolo was despicable. Weird and despicable. This, however, felt bittersweet; possibly the strangest gift anyone had ever gotten Kira, but also... The most thoughtful.

Kira didn’t want to dwell on it for too long. He did his best to push it out of his head, to Zen out while he went about his nightly routine.

Still, his mind wandered back to Diavolo. The strange gift. His deep voice.

It all haunted Kira, but not necessarily in a bad way.

—30—

December 10th 1:15pm

Over the course of the next month, Diavolo’s tasks shifted from murderous in nature to more... Domestic.

It was frustrating and borderline insulting at first that Kira was expected to go around collecting dry-cleaning and groceries—Kira was much more than someone’s errand-boy—but at the same time, Diavolo found intriguing ways to reward Kira for his service. Money and dropped hints to help him find new targets, always beautiful and model-worthy, in Kira’s opinion.

Though originally he despised Diavolo, now Kira couldn’t help but see some merit in the strange man, at least as far as his taste went and little else.

That being said, Kira’s next task was... Unexpected.

Kira got the call while he was at work, which jarred him, but he supposed that he shouldn’t expect any less from Diavolo at this point.

“Hello, Yoshi.” Diavolo’s voice pierced through Kira, giving him a gut-reaction shiver.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Why not? Does it make your skin crawl? You should consider it a term of endearment. I think more people should call you it.”

Kira sighed. “These calls are recorded, you know.”

Diavolo sounded amused. “I figured. I need a favour of you.”

Kira glanced casually over his shoulder. Though his expression remained calm, his palms started to sweat.

“A favour?” Kira ventured carefully.

Diavolo hummed in his ear. “I need you to pick Trish up from school today. And then take her to go get Christmas decorations for an hour or so.”

Kira furrowed his brows. As Diavolo spoke, Kira poked his pointer finger to his lips and chewed the nail.

“This is an odd favour from you,” Kira muttered, choosing his words carefully.

“I know. But you’re the only person I trust to do this.”

Kira wanted to laugh. Diavolo trusted him? Given the chance, Kira would strangle him and chop him to bits, then use Killer Queen to erase all evidence that he existed. He wouldn’t hesitate.

Yet at the same time, deeper down, Kira felt hesitation. He tried to play it off as self-sustaining worry, but he knew better.

Eventually, Kira replied, “I get off work at four.”

“Good. I’ll see you later tonight, then.” Then, Diavolo teased, “If anything happens to Trish, I’ll skin you.”

Kira chuckled at that, even though he knew that Diavolo was completely serious.

—30—

December 10th 4:25pm

Trish had no emotion and no expression when Kira came to pick her up. She left the other children playing on the playground without looking back and willingly approached Kira’s car. She was bundled up warmly in a jacket with matching splash pants and a knit hat.

“Hi Yoshi.”

Kira pursed his lips. “You ought to call me ‘mister Kira’ instead.”

Trish frowned and took an attitude to her tone. “Papa told me to call you Yoshi.”

“It’s more respectful for you to call me Kira.”

Trish paused a long moment. She pulled the knit hat off her head, revealing a tangle of short, frizzy pink hair.

“I’m gonna call you Yoshi,” she said decisively.

Kira couldn’t believe the audacity of this brat.

“At least call me ‘Yoshikage’.”

Trish wrinkled her nose. “Yoshi.”

Kira gritted his teeth. His mind was plagued by violent thoughts, and his hands twitched at his sides. Inside his chest, he felt Killer Queen itching to be released.

“Didn’t your father teach you to respect your elders?” Kira asked calmly instead.

Trish glanced up at Kira. Her expression soured further, and she stuck her tongue out.

“He told me I’m not s’pposed to go anywhere with strangers. Where’s uncle Doppio?”

“I’m not sure,” Kira said, holding in his annoyance. He opened the car door and ushered Trish inside. “We’ll have to ask your father later.”

Trish crossed her arms and pouted. After getting buckled in and settled, she stared angrily out the back window as they drove.

“...Is your ghost still following you?” Trish eventually asked.

Kira glanced back at her through the rear-view mirror. “I’m sorry? My ghost?”

“Yeah. The pink one.”

“I don’t have a ghost following me,” Kira lied.

“It waved at me,” Trish continued to say. She stared hard at the back of Kira’s head, as though it would make the ‘ghost’ in question appear. “It was big and pink and had kitty ears.”

Kira’s hands were clammy. He felt Killer Queen swell inside his chest, almost desperate to materialize after being talked about. Kira pushed it down.

“You have a wild imagination. There are strange things in this world, but I doubt ghosts are one of them.”

Trish didn’t seem satisfied with that answer fully, but seemingly she took it. To stave off further questioning, Kira turned the radio on. It worked well enough, until they reached their outlet mall destination.

Normally, Kira avoided the mall whenever possible, especially around the holiday season. It was too busy for his liking and the appeal of Christmas never really resonated with him personally; if anything, it felt like a waste of time. However, his anonymity laid on the line, so Kira put forth a forced smile.

“Your father wants you to pick out some Christmas decorations.” Kira told Trish. “Do you have any ideas of what you’d like?”

Trish shook her head. She intentionally looked away from Kira as they walked through the bustling mall.

Kira seethed quietly. He led Trish towards a specialty knick-knack store and shooed her in. “Well, think about it. Let’s look around.”

There was no shortage of Christmas decorations in the store. Everything was covered in red or green tinsel, doused with fake foam snow. Sparkly ornaments and colourful decorations flashed and sang everywhere. Kira couldn’t help being a little overwhelmed by the amount of pure, unadulterated Christmas spirit he was surrounded by.

Finally, Trish’s expression shifted slightly. Though she didn’t smile fully, she did seem mildly impressed by everything. She wandered further into the store, following singing snowmen and dancing Santa’s.

Kira tried to follow, but easily became distracted. For the most part, he wondered about how anyone could find these annoying traditions endearing. Personally, Kira preferred modest, if any, Christmas decorations and quiet nights by himself throughout the holidays.

While Kira wasn’t paying attention, Killer Queen materialized. It lingered behind Trish, glancing around and inspecting her as she admired a wall of Christmas tree ornaments. Curiously, it reached its hand out to swat her shoulder.

Kira caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. Before he could stop Queen, a separate entity appeared. All Kira saw was a flash of hot pink before it reeled back and punched Queen full force in the mouth.

At the exact same time, Kira also felt the punch being delivered on himself. The force made him reel, lose his balance, crash to the ground. Thankfully, no one else was in the aisle to stare and gape. Pain ebbed through Kira’s face, anger and confusion welled up inside his chest.

Kira stared at Trish in utter disbelief, clutching his jaw.

For the first time since Kira had met her, Trish emoted. She decisively picked a sparkly, pink disco-ball ornament off the shelf and held it close to her chest. She looked Kira over, and then said with a smile, “I have a ghost, too.”

—30—

December 10th 6:01pm

Kira wanted to drop Trish off on the doorstep and vacate. However, before he could he even ring the doorbell, Doppio threw the door open. He seemed flustered, his face slick with sweat and his smile wild and nervous. He had his sleeves rolled up his elbow. Kira noted a small, dark stain on the bottom hem of his sweater.

“Oh! Mister Kira, perfect timing. I was just cleaning up. Come inside, won’t you?” As Doppio spoke, Trish took the chance to slip inside. She brushed by Doppio, and he acknowledged her by ruffling her hair and saying, “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

Kira awkwardly held a paper bag of assorted ornaments and decorations by his side. His jaw still throbbed from the assault earlier.

“I don’t want to impose,” Kira said, though deep inside he wanted nothing more than to see the inside of Diavolo’s home; even just a glimpse would suffice.

Doppio opened the door further. He ushered Kira inside. “Not at all! Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable.”

Kira did come inside, and though normally he felt uncomfortable in barrages of social settings, he felt quite relaxed now. Maybe it was the relief of moving from a bustling mall to somewhere much, much quieter. Maybe it was that in combination with the excitement of finally seeing Diavolo’s home.

Doppio motioned Kira in and closed the door behind him. He smiled, and led the way towards the living room. The walls were crisp white and mostly clean; Kira noted a few criminal spots where crayon was smudged low on the walls.

“Did you want a coffee or a tea or anything?” Doppio asked. Obviously, he was just as excited about having guests as Kira was to be there.

“Tea would be nice. Whatever you have.”

Doppio grinned and nodded. “Okay! Sure, one sec. The boss’ll be right down, too.”

“No rush.”

Kira glanced around the living room, openly taking in everything that he could see. There was an odd dissociation between the niceness of the furniture and the children’s toys laying around on the floor. A collection of Barbie dolls lay discarded in the middle of the floor, along with an open case of pink glittery makeup, dangerously close to spilling on a lovely white carpet. In the very-most corner of the living room was a tall, fake Christmas tree; unsurpising, Kira doubted Diavolo would manage to find a real Christmas tree in Morioh. Upon closer inspection, Kira noted that there were drops of blood on one of the branches. And below, the floor was sparkling clean, but still wet; obviously recently cleaned.

Kira couldn’t help wondering what happened here. Potentially something to do with the fact Diavolo needed someone to pick up and distract Trish.

“Good to see you again.”

Kira twisted around. Diavolo stood in the doorway of the living room, and it occurred to Kira then that he hadn’t actually seen Diavolo since their first meeting. Kira’s heart skipped a nervous little beat, which he chose to ignore.

Diavolo looked much more well put-together than he did before. His hair was combed and fell neatly across his shoulders, his lipstick looked rushed but still befitting. Kira noted that along with a mesh shirt, he wore the same pants as Doppio.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Diavolo continued. He offered out a mug of tea to Kira. “Sit down. Make yourself comfortable while you’re here.”

Kira took the mug cautiously. Kira couldn’t help noticing that Diavolo painted his nails black; sloppily, at that. Kira tried not to let it linger in his mind, but as he sat down on a white suede chair, he couldn’t help thinking that, given the chance, he could have painted Diavolo’s nails much nicer. That thought, Kira realized, would probably haunt him for a while.

Diavolo took the paper bag of ornaments and brought it to the tree. He rooted through it, nodding his head.

“Excellent. I appreciate your help, Yoshikage.

“You know, you’re the only person who calls me by my first name.” Kira stated over the lip of his tea. “Everyone else has enough respect to call me Kira. I don’t even know how you found my full name.”

Diavolo grinned. He procured a box of white Christmas bulbs from the bag and turned it over in his hands.

“I respect you,” Diavolo said. “People I don’t respect don’t get referred to by name at all. And it wasn’t hard; I have my ways.”

“The same way you found my work phone number?”

“Exactly. You’re quick, Yoshi. That’s why I like you.”

Diavolo opened the box of bulbs. Kira’s eyes followed his hands; they were slender, with long fingers and smooth skin. Hands that hadn’t seen a day of hard labour in a long time, Kira figured. Aesthetically, they were perfect.

Kira forced himself not to stare. Live hands seldom intrigued him, but something about Diavolo’s seemed different. Perhaps it helped that he was an attractive man, even if his personality could be annoying and almost abrasive.

“Doppio said you liked me because I’m easy to control and watch over.” Kira said, to distract himself. He looked around the room, away from Diavolo’s working hands.

“Give yourself more credit. That’s only part of the reason.” Diavolo said. He placed another bulb on the tree. “You’re self-motivating, and handsome, too. I like surrounding myself with beautiful people.”

Kira sputtered on his tea. That wasn’t the response he was expecting. It left a mixed-feeling in Kira’s chest, wherein he felt pleased by the acknowledgement but also startled.

Diavolo looked back over his shoulder. “And look, you’re good with children, too. I took a chance on you with that, but I didn’t have many options today.” He smiled. “Work related business, you see.”

“I see,” Kira muttered, still processing this all. Deep down, Kira felt... Giddy. Excited, almost. He shouldn’t have, but he did. He couldn’t help it.

Little footsteps came running down the hall. Trish appeared in the living room door, having ditched her school uniform and winter clothes in favour of a princess play-dress.

“I wanna decorate the tree.” She said, intensely.

As if nothing had happened up until then, Diavolo nodded. “Go ahead. It’s all yours, sweetheart.”

Kira then sat there, quietly processing the entire interaction, while Diavolo helped Trish decorate the tree with sparkling, mis-matched ornaments.

—30—

December 24th

The phone rang. Thinking nothing of it, Kira pulled himself up from his seat and went to answer. He kept his eyes on his TV program the entire time.

“Hello, Kira residence.”

“Ah, so you are alone tonight.”

Kira pursed his lips. “Can I help you, Diavolo?”

“I want you to come over.”

“Right now? I’m in the middle of something.”

“You’re watching TV by yourself. Christmas is a time to spend with friends and family.”

Kira quirked a small smile. “Are we friends and family? Also, it’s considered rude here to spy on your neighbours.”

“Close your curtains next time. Are you coming?”

The TV shifted into a commercial. Kira turned towards the window instead; through a crack in Diavolo’s curtains, Kira spotted a sliver of pink hair peeking back at him.

“Why not come over here and ask me in person?” Kira inquired. He picked up the remote and flicked his TV off. “Or leave a letter under my door.”

“This does just as well, doesn’t it?” Diavolo shot back. His smirk could be heard through his tone. “I’ll see you shortly?”

Kira hummed. “I suppose.”

“Good.”

Life was certainly strange for Kira right now. He hung up the phone and slipped his shoes on instead. Over his shoulder, he casted a glance towards his girlfriend, sitting still on the table in front of the TV. Kira blew her a little kiss; he didn’t want her to become jealous, after all.

Snow blanketed the ground outside; it crunched under Kira’s shoes as he crossed the lawn to his neighbour’s home.

With Kira’s help earlier that week, Doppio had outfitted the porch and doorway with sparkling Christmas lights. They glittered and glowed as Kira knocked on the door.

Diavolo appeared almost instantly. He was dressed nicely in a dark button-up and matching pants.

“You could have just come in,” Diavolo said, stepping aside.

“It feels more professional to knock, I think.” Kira replied.

Diavolo smiled. “This is a professional visit?”

Kira quickly looked Diavolo up and down. “You’re dressed like it is.”

“I enjoy looking nice. And you look...” Diavolo stepped close, more into Kira’s space than Kira would allow from anyone else. He plucked the shoulder of Kira’s purple sweatshirt. “...Comfortable.”

Diavolo’s fingers only barely brushed Kira’s shoulder. A small shiver ran through him, unnoticed.

They stood close to each other for only a moment, before Diavolo took a half step back.

“Glass of wine?” He offered.

“I don’t drink, really.”

“It’s wine, Yoshi, not hard liquor. Children drink wine.” Diavolo said that as he slipped into the kitchen.

Kira followed him with his eyes and said, puzzled, “No, I don’t think they should.”

Diavolo laughed at that. Kira smiled to himself, pleased, as he went for the living room. He sat on the couch, facing towards the TV and the twinkling Christmas tree.

“Trish is asleep, I take it.” Kira said.

“Long asleep.” Diavolo replied, as he came into the room. He sat down beside Kira and stretched his arm across the back of the couch. His hand laid close to Kira’s shoulder; close enough that Kira almost felt its presence. “Waiting for Santa now.”

Kira nodded towards the plate sitting on the coffee table. “That explains the milk and cookies.”

“Trish insisted. I can’t stand sweets, so help yourself.” Diavolo sipped his wine, then said, “Maybe next year we can leave Santa a bottle of ‘92 vintage.”

Kira chuckled. Diavolo’s hand was in the very corner of his vision, close enough to touching him that it made Kira’s heart race. He tried to play it cool, though he had no doubt Diavolo knew exactly what he was doing.

Diavolo lifted his glass to his lips again. Kira glanced, then shifted his gaze between Diavolo’s perfectly painted black lips and how delicately he held the glass stem. Effortlessly. Kira wanted to stroke and hold Diavolo’s fingers the same way he held the glass.

“It’s not... Easy for me to make genuine connections with people,” Diavolo admitted. Kira quirked his brow with interest. “But meeting you... It’s been nice.”

“Meeting is a bit of a stretch,” Kira commented. Despite this, he still clung to every word Diavolo said. “Blackmail is more accurate.”

Diavolo waved his hand dismissively, dangerously close to Kira’s face.

“It still stands. I’m glad I met you, Kira Yoshikage. I feel like we’ve helped each other in a lot of different ways.”

Kira nodded his head. “You aren’t wrong, I suppose...”

Diavolo grinned. He raised his glass of wine and shifted ever-so closer to Kira.

“Here’s to another year of violent success for us,” Diavolo said.

Kira leaned forward and took the glass of milk left out. He raised that and clinked it against Diavolo’s.

“No pun intended, I hope.”

Amused, Diavolo drank. His lipstick left a black mark around the rim of the glass. Then, with a sigh, Diavolo leaned forward and set his glass down. When he came back, he gave Kira a cocky look.

“...Would you believe me if I said that there was a mistletoe above you?”

Kira scoffed with a smile. “No, I wouldn’t.”

Diavolo smirked. “Would asking for a kiss be out of place?”

Kira, amused, lowered his glass. Diavolo did the same. With a carefully practiced elegance, Kira swept up Diavolo’s hand in his own. He wrapped his fingers beneath the wrist, his thumb stroked the soft flesh there. Likewise, he felt Diavolo’s pulse pump.

“Not... Per se.” Kira sighed, his heart racing to hold such a warm hand. It was unusual, but in a new, exciting way. He brought Diavolo’s hand up to his lips and adorned it with a kiss.

Diavolo smiled. Kira smiled back.

#jjba secret santa 2020 #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #kiraboss #kiravolo #kira yoshikage #jjba diavolo #jjba doppio #trish una #this fic was brought to you by my butt buddy johnathan who wrote the ending while i got ready for work #and my partner who harassed me until i let them read it < 3

48 notes · View notes

thehubby · 3 years ago

Text

Couch to Compost: Composting 101 - What You Need

Getting started with personal composting is pretty easy. (Those looking to start a professional compost farm may want to obtain better resources.) Here's what you'll need to start composting:

- "Brown" matter such as dried leaves (best), dried grass/straw, black and white newspaper (the colored inks can be toxic), or sawdust from non-treated wood. You can get by with just leaves, but a mixture of 2-3 of these is better. For leaves (which I generally make out to 66-75%+ of my brown material), you need actual brown leaves, the kind that typically fall off in autumn. If you cut leaves from vines or trees and they dry out and are still green, they're not a brown, even though they are dead and dry. Green leaves and grass have chlorophyll in them, and that is comparatively high in nitrogen, which is no good for a "brown". Start gathering leaves as soon as they fall in your area and are dry. You want lots of these for the coming spring, or if you intend to boldly compost over winter.

- "Green" matter such as leftover fruit and vegetable parts, fresh grass clippings, or flowers. (Unless your every meal is a TV dinner, you have these, trust me.) Organic isn't necessary, but all "greens" should be not sprayed with insecticides or herbicides that you know of, since those could be hazardous to you or your plants. Anything you buy in the store for consumption should be fine, and anything you harvest yourself from un-sprayed areas works. "Green" in this case just refers to the type of matter, which still retains moisture and was most recently in a near-life condition. You can compost plant material of any color like peppers, tomatoes, bananas, apples, eggplant, berries, dandelions, and so on.

- A spot to place your compost. This is likely the only problem that you may actually face. If you have little or no yard space, finding a spot to compost might be tough. An apartment balcony might work (be considerate of your neighbors), but you do not want to do this inside. If your spot is on open ground, be aware that you will kill your grass there because all sunlight will be blocked for a lengthy period. To keep pests out and make it easy to move your compost when desired, I recommend using a bin. Fancy, expensive ones can be found online, but I personally use a 20-gallon Craftsman bin that runs about $20. If you use a bin, you'll want to drill holes in it, so... Borrow a drill, too.

- OPTIONAL BUT REALLY RECOMMENDED: Something to mix your compost with. I use a gardening claw, which is technically called a hand cultivator, and can be had for less than $10. It just allows you to stir up the pile, and make sure that oxygen gets to all spots occasionally, which is important. If your compost pile is large (like, much larger than that bin I was talking about), you might want a pitchfork. You can get by without this entirely, but your compost will be a slow, slow process that could take months or years per batch. We have a nearby neighbor who does this. Just one big pile where they dump food and such. I don't think I've noticed much progress on their pile all summer.

- OPTIONAL: Gardening gloves. (Dishwashing gloves can work. Thin, disposable gloves like nitrile, vinyl and latex are handy for preparing food to add to the compost, but will easily tear on straw or twigs when working with the compost pile itself.) Early on, your compost may smell, it may be slimy, it will definitely leave dirt, mud and food stains. There will be times you want to just dig in with your hands and mix it up really good. That's a lot more pleasant when your hands are covered, not to mention safer if you have any hand sores or wounds.

- OPTIONAL: One or more small, cheap plastic lidded buckets (a gallon or less is fine) are handy for storing your food waste until you're actually ready to add it. Sure, you can just toss it in your pile straight from the kitchen, and a lot of folks do, but you'll get far more mileage if you pulverize it a bit first, which means some of it may accumulate until you're ready to do that. Speaking of pulverizing...

- OPTIONAL: A food processor (not blender) is not required, but very recommended. This can massively increase your composting speed by pulverizing your food ahead of time. It's like pre-chewing the food for all your little organisms, but oh lord please don't chew it yourself, use this thing. Check your local Goodwill or thrift store. We picked up one there for under $10 from, like, the 1970s that operates like a champ.

If you have the first three items on this list, you're ready to enlist the forces of nature to your side in this battle to... Grow things, I guess. The next post in our series will tell you how to do just that.

#Couch to Compost

3 notes · View notes

essays-for-breakfast · 4 years ago

Text

Together, Always

Kiane Week Day Six: Promise

Everywhere the eye turned, a colorful bouquet of flowers decorated the forest. Trees seemed to bow under the load of thousands of roses, dandelions, and daisies. Daisies in particular, in garlands, stacked in bunches, or blooming between the grass blades. An uninformed guest might believe chance had let the flowers sprout from the earth for this special day, but Diane knew better. Creating flowers from thin air was an easy feat for the Fairy King.

With a little more time on her hands, she would have wandered through the flower garden for an hour or two, but for now, she had to make due with the view from high up on the Great Tree, the heart of the Fairy King’s Forest.

Diane stepped away from the window carved into the bark, brushed the hem of her dress back into place, and reminded herself that today had finally come. The realization didn’t want to settle in. Every other moment, she looked over her shoulder in expectation to find the Demon King or Cath Palug there. But the dream refused to dissolve. No one played tricks on her eyes or mind. The white silk and velvet hugged her fingertips, entirely real.

Today had finally come.

“How do I look?” Diane asked and turned on her heels. The elegant slippers left the faintest discomfort on her toes. Unsurprising after a life of worn-out boots.

Matrona placed her hands on Diane’s shoulders and fixated her gaze. “Wonderful. I’m so proud of you. And I’m sure your parents would be too if they were here. Are you excited?”

“Are you kidding? I can’t feel my knees anymore. I’ve waited for this day for a solid two centuries.”

Matrona laughed. “I can’t say I know how you feel, but you’ve looked more composed when fighting a horde of Demons. Relax. You’ve earned this.”

“I’m not sure this a good idea.” Diane’s eyes darted back towards the window. The sun neared its midday peak. So soon… “Scratch that, it’s a terrible idea. How many guests have we invited? It must be the entirety of Britannia at this point, and each and every single one of them will stare at me. We should have held the ceremony in private, just like Ban and Elaine plan to do. Why did I agree to this? Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Diane, look at me.” Diane released an uneven breath and then looked at her former mentor and the closest person she had to a parent. “The only reason these people will stare at you is because you look wonderful in this dress. You want to unite the Giant and Fairy Clan, don’t you?” Diane nodded. “Then give our people a symbol to hold onto and remind them that a bond between two different clans works. That it really works.”

“But won’t our people be appalled when I’m so small? Most of them have never seen me shrink to human size, not to mention the fact that none of them know what a marriage even is.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. We went over this a thousand times. Our people respect you for what you have achieved, not for your size. And should anyone do so much as cough at you the wrong way, well, I haven’t forgotten how to throw a solid right-hander, human size or not.”

“Thank you, Matrona. I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

“Stop talking nonsense, you would lead these blockheads just as well without me. This wedding tradition humans have might be a little strange and overblown if you ask me. But after a war, a little excess of splendor and happiness is just what all of us need. Ready?”

Diane swallowed. Sweat ran down her neck, and she tucked a loose strand back behind her ear.

“No,” she said. But she straightened her back despite the lump in her throat and gave Matrona her arm. The firm grip offered her something to focus on other than her racing heartbeat.

Half-leaned against Matrona, Diane managed the first steps on the moss-covered ground. If only she hadn’t agreed to hold the ceremony on top of the Great Tree. The mighty boughs formed a clearing large enough to hold five hundred people, sure, but the familiar music of the earth seemed awfully far away. What if Diane stumbled? What if she fell from the tree and broke her neck?

No time to think about all the horror scenarios that were throwing images around in her head, there the curtain of magenta-colored leaves waited for her. Matrona pushed the vines aside, and the glimmer of daylight replaced the dimness from inside the tree.

Rows upon rows of people had gathered between the massive boughs, a crowd of Giant heads and shimmering Fairy wings in green, yellow, and milk-colored shades. Course leather and finest silk hugged as members of the Giant and Fairy Clan stood or hovered next to each other, and in some cases on the shoulders of the other. Amidst the colorful parade, the handful of humans near the front almost disappeared. Unlike with their traditional weddings, no one had set up chairs or benches. And apart from an aisle aligned with daisies, the top of the Great Tree could not have fit another person. The tree’s magenta-colored leaves created a ceiling, grander than any human hall, and bathed the porcelain faces of Fairies in pink hues. Six hundred pairs of eyes stared at Diane.

But all the people blurred and vanished the moment she caught sight of King. He floated in front of an archway of ivy and dog roses, dressed in the white suit he had sown and re-sown to perfection over the past week. With the four ornate Fairy wings and the tidy locks in the color of fall leaves, he looked too good to be true. The biggest smile adorned his face when he and Diane locked eyes.

Only Matrona’s grip around her hand prevented Diane from storming forward and throwing her arms around him. The Great Tree’s scent of ever-lasting spring tingled her nostrils, enough to make her tipsy. A good thing she had declined the bottle of ale Meliodas had offered her this morning. To calm the nerves, he had said. Ha! Such methods might work for Ban, but Diane was already losing faith in her feet without the added punch of alcohol.

She straightened and listened to the heartbeat of the earth, several hundred yards below. Beat, pause, beat. She had practiced this part of the ceremony with Elizabeth countless times. Just one foot in front of the other. Sixty paces, and then she could hold his hand and never let go again.

The quivering in Diane’s legs ebbed as she walked down the aisle and decreased the distance between her and King. And although her toes throbbed in her slippers, she managed the way without a stumble. Meliodas and Ban grinned at her from King’s right side. Both looked surprisingly regal in their matching capes; indigo for Liones and crimson for Benwick. Ban had even found a shirt to cover his chest, a rare sight on the best of days. On the other side of the altar, Elizabeth and Elaine had taken position as Diane’s bridesmaids.

And then, finally, Diane reached King’s side. Matrona offered him Diane’s arm and sat down in the first row between Gerheade and Zalpa.

King squeezed Diane’s hand. “You are beautiful.”

His gentle fingers felt so natural when intertwined with hers. As if they always belonged there. “You’re one to talk.”

They both turned towards Gowther, who regarded their hushed exchange with a smile. King and Diane had appointed him as their wedding guide – or priest as humans called them – the instance Elizabeth had discussed this role with them. No one fit this task better. With a nod, King and Diane signaled Gowther to begin.

“We have gathered here for both an historical event and a deeply personal affair,” he began. Since he had memorized around three dozen texts regarding human marriages in the past week, he didn’t need a book to regurgitate passages from. “Never before in the history of Britannia have the Giant and Fairy Clan forged a bond of the kind these two people in front of you have knitted. Mistrust has always stood between the five clans, as historians tell us. Mistrust will always stand between different clans, they argue. Let us prove these stories wrong. Today, we celebrate the union of the Giant and Fairy Clan, a sense of respect and comradery forged in the fires of the Holy War. Today, we celebrate the union of their leaders, who have ensured the survival of their people through the battles they fought as members of the Seven Deadly Sins. Today, we celebrate the union of two people who have overcome all odds and whose love endured centuries of separation and hardship. Many of us have watched them a portion of their way towards each other. And now they have asked us to be their witnesses as they dare to make the most important step. The promises they exchange today will forever resonate within all our hearts. Diane, Queen of the Giants, will you begin?”

Diane collected her missing confidence in Gowther’s encouraging look. And when she turned towards King, her King, her one and only love, the words tumbled out of her mouth all on their own.

“Even when I had nothing, I had you,” she said. “You were my friend in times of isolation, my light in the dark, my teacher and protector. It’s only through you that I became the person I am today. You’re the sole reason I’m still here. Back when we were kids, I never told you how I felt, but I want you to know this: King, I love you. I love you so much that I feel like half of me is missing every time you aren’t near. Whatever happens, I promise to always stay by your side and support you in any way I can. No gods or armies or loss of memory will stop me. From this day on, I’m yours. The same as I have been for all these years. Will you be mine?”

Tears shimmered in King’s eyes when he nodded. “I promise.”

“Then,” Gowther said, “Harlequin, King of the Fairies, what do you offer in return?”

“Everything I have and everything I am. Diane, I’ve always loved you, and to have met you all these years ago is the most wonderful gift of my life. You gave me shelter when I had nowhere to turn, you showed me a warmth and a kindness I had never seen before. It’s only thanks to you that I learned to forgive and not judge others by their looks or their past allegiances. Nothing can ever compensate the happiness bursting my heart every time I’m near you. I’ve made mistakes, I’ve let you down, and I have taken your memories from you. But if you will give me another chance, I promise you will always have a home to return to and a shoulder to lean on and a hand to hold yours. No matter what the future brings, I’m yours. From now until my final breath and long after that. Will you be mine?”

Diane’s heart raced in her ribcage, and through their interlaced fingers, she felt King’s heartbeat in sync with her own. “I promise.”

While they battled their tears and the desire to fling their arms around one another, Gowther continued. He needed to adjust his glasses twice before the calm returned to his voice, and even then, joy swung with each of his words. “As symbol of your union and your undying bond, you will now exchange the crowns of your clans. From this day forward, you will lead your people as one and begin an era of peace and understanding.”

On cue, Ban and Elizabeth stepped forward, each with a velvet cushion in hand. With shaky fingers, Diane took the circlet of unrefined copper from Elizabeth. A multitude of jewels adorned the crown, rubies, garnets, and other stones found deep within the earth. Elizabeth placed a supportive hand on Diane’s shoulder before she returned to Elaine.

Ban likewise handed King a flower crown with a hundred blooms in all colors of the rainbow. And although Ban saved himself a snarky comment, the nudge of his elbow hit the mark. Freed from his stupor, King placed the flower crown upon Diane’s head. Then Diane tiptoed to return the favor.

One of her slippers escaped her foot, but she barely noticed.

“You may now—”

The rest of Gowther’s word remained unheard because Diane threw her arms around King’s neck, and he bowed forward to seal her lips with a kiss. Their first kiss as a married couple, the taste of raspberries and gold Osmanthus and an unparalleled joy.

Cheers erupted from the crowd, applause from the hands of human, Giant, Fairy, Demon, and Goddess. A shower of magenta-colored leaves rained down on them. Their wedding bells took on the form of the wind and the beat of the earth, a most marvelous chime Diane only heard once in her life while she held King, and he held her.

She stroked his hair while deepening the kiss.

Today had finally come.

#kianeweek #kianeweek2020 #nnt #nanatsu no taizai #nnt fanfiction #my writing #king #diane #king x diane #kiane wedding #my take on the wedding #has anyone actually written this scene before?#or is everyone waiting for Nakaba to show it?#why are my paragraphs so long?!#why does everyone monologue so much?!

9 notes · View notes

ari-shipping-stuff · 5 years ago

Text

Monochrome Week 2020

Day Seven - [Fake Dating] AU

@monochromeweek

———

you people seem to be enjoying this au lmao

so i extended the storyline a bit for y'all. hope you enjoy

———

Weiss was in Blake's dreams. She wanted to panic. But how could she, honestly? She couldn't possibly feel distressed when the mere thought of Weiss made her feel so relaxed.

Blake picked a fuzzy dandelion from her front yard. It was dark already. Actually, rather early in the morning. But she couldn't sleep.

She didn't want to be faced with Weiss rejecting her. She didn't want to panic. She'd been on cloud 9 since that night at the restaurant. Even more so when they finally stood up to Henry. Weiss had been so much more carefree around her.

She could almost pretend they were dating for real.

Blake embraced her legs to her chest, pursing her lips. She stared forward at the white picket fence, contemplating the past few weeks. The last few perfect weeks.

Her phone buzzed next to her. Blake picked it up with her free hand, stretching her legs out on the dewy grass.

She clicked through the phone, checking the inbox.

The dark jabs of red in the contact's picture made her pause. Her finger hovered over the message as she read through the little preview.

I'm getting desperate, B...

Blake stared at it blankly, feeling her Cloud 9 evaporate. Replacing it, a dark, familiar feeling. She wanted to throw her phone across the yard. Hear it shatter. Feel the fact of him being unable to contact her anymore. An irrational fear mixed in with anger.

She clicked the message.

As she read through it, that feeling grew on her like toxic vines. Creeping around her chest. Squeezing tightly.

Blake turned off her phone, leaving him on seen. The vines seemed to pull back, but lingered near. Laying her phone back down beside her, she pulled her legs back to her chest, staring at the picket fence.

As she sighed, her dandelion blew away, little spring snowflakes flying into the night.

Blake just wished this would stop.

•

Saturday night. Weiss never imagined being in another rampant dance club so soon. But it was Yang's birthday, so she had to relent.

And Blake would be there. Of course, Weiss was coming.

But even if Weiss wasn't so infatuated with the mere thought of Blake, she still had to come. If not for Yang, then for her and Blake's apparent relationship (which she was enjoying very much, to her surprise).

The news had been absolutely buzzing for weeks. Internet or in person, there would be people eyeing them together. Or even just Weiss when she passed through the hall, a smug expression painted on her face like, 'Hah. I got her first.'

With the amount of attention they were getting, Weiss was somewhat surprised they hadn't heard from Adam yet. Especially with Blake's belief of him keeping tabs on her.

But regarding Blake, Weiss sensed something was off.

She looked distracted. Tired, even. She'd already downed two cosmopolitans within the hour and was already ordering another. Weiss couldn't possibly think of any other reason for her to be pushing her alcohol tolerance this much. Blake barely even took alcohol.

Weiss bit her lip, hesitating. Then she placed a soft hands on Blake's wrist.

"Uh.. Blake?"

Blake turned to Weiss attentively, and suddenly, Weiss felt absolutely ridiculous. Blake was perfectly sober anyway. Of course, she was. She clearly knew how much she was drinking. What was there to worry about?

Weiss shook her head, raising her own drink to her lips.

"Nothing," she said. "Just checking if you were still sober."

Blake snorted, licking her lips. Weiss could see the faint red stains on them, clear as day. She gulped down more of her Blue Lagoon.

"Actually, Weiss.." Blake winced. "There's been.. Something I wanted to talk to you about."

The pink on Blake's cheeks must've been coming from the neon lights from the ceiling.

"Oh?"

"Yep." Blake replied. But just as she began to speak, something caught Weiss's eye in the distance. She craned her neck, trying to see.

".. You know, it's been on my mind.. A-A while, and.. I wanted to..—" Blake looked up at Weiss nervously. Her face fell as she realized her attention was somewhere else. Though she had to admit, it was a bit annoying that this thing could steal her attention so easily.

"Um.. Weiss?"

Blake turned, searching the club for whatever (or god forbid, whoever) Weiss was supposed to be looking at.

"Weiss? I can't see it."

Her only reply was the background music raging through the speakers.

"Weis—?"

"Did you know that he would be here?"

Blake frowned, squinting at the crowd. But there was nothing to see. Everyone was on the move, shifting positions, dancing. No one could be identified.

"Who are you talking about?"

But she was looking in the wrong place. Weiss held the sides of Blake's face, steering it in the right direction.

Weiss's gaze wasn't in the crowd, after all. Rather, beyond it. In a darker, remote corner, Blake's very own nightmare stood there, unnoticed by her as his red was bathed neon green in the light.

And he appeared to be looking for something.

"Fuck," Blake muttered, earning a questioning look from Weiss. She began to stammer incoherently, stumbling off her chair.

"Blake, what are you—"

Blake grabbed Weiss's wrists, eyes wide with panic.

"We need to get out of here." she hissed, turning slightly so her back was turned towards him.

Weiss's eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Blake, it'll be fine." she whispered, breaking a hand free from her grip. She tucked a strand of hair behind Blake's ear, lightly stroking the dark hair pulled up in her bun. "I'm here. We don't have to pursue him."

"He's already looking for me." Blake mumbled.

"And he'll find us." Weiss reassured, holding Blake's hands in her own. "He'll find us together, being the most amazing couple to ever exist and he'll have to back off since we're in public. Has he ever made a scene in public before?"

Blake shook her head like a sad child.

"Good." Weiss smiled. "He definitely won't now."

She let go of one hand, but held on tight to the other, leading Blake through the dance floor.

"Wh-Where— What're you doing?"

Weiss smiled at her. "Let's just go dance."

•

Blake was still wary of Adam. She couldn't see him anymore now that she was in the crowd. Heck, she didn't even know where she was.

He could've come into the crowd. What if he was going to find her? What if he was behind her right now?

Blake looked behind her, before sighing in relief.

Okay, nevermind.

She needed to relax. She was with Weiss. Ruby and Yang weren't far, of course. Since Weiss made them promise to stay near (Blake could almost gush about the fact that Weiss felt the need to clarify, 'It's for Blake').

What if he always knew you were there?

Blake wanted to stop panicking. Maybe it was the alcohol making her emotions rage. She wasn't used to more than a glass, usually.

He's waiting for you to let down your guard.

Blake stumbled, almost crash-landing on Weiss.

"Blake, are you alright?" Weiss asked. She held Blake by the shoulders, sliding a hand to her cheek. Blake held that hand gently, nuzzling into her touch.

"Still bothered?"

Blake nodded, looking away.

Weiss sighed, raising her other hand to Blake's face.

"I'm here. It'll be alright." she smiled. "I'll always be here."

Blake raised her eyebrows at the way Weiss phrased it. It was probably nothing. They were close again. Far more affectionate, but with their line of work, that was to be expected. It was probably nothing.

But Blake felt something. An electricity. Not a giddy excitement like she had with Adam and her other past crushes.

It was more of a connection. An intimacy. Just like that night at the restaurant. Where the heavens danced in Weiss's eyes. And everything was nothing except the two of them. A whole lightning bolt striking.

All Blake could hear was her own heartbeat, thumping violently in her ears.

Weiss's lips read her name.

And suddenly Blake's lips were on hers.

And nothing else mattered.

She could taste the bittersweet citrus from Weiss's cocktail and the pure ecstasy when Weiss started to kiss back. The petrichor and vanilla never hit Blake as strongly as it did then. And her eyes only half-lidded, yet was blinded.

It was the strongest feeling in the universe. So strong, it would linger on Blake's tongue for who knows how long. She was so blinded by it, she couldn't gain her bearings when she realized she was being pulled away.

———

don't kill me 👉👉

please.

— ari

———

part one | part two | part three | part four

#monochromeweek2020 #day seven #blake belladonna #weiss schnee #rwby #shipping #fake dating au #high school au #au #monochrome #checkmate

53 notes · View notes

greatshell-rider · 4 years ago

Text

21. walking barefoot on sidewalk (sensory prompts)

Jerry knows this is a dream.

Not because anything feels wrong. There isn’t any fuzzy confusion or strange twisted logic or a slight uncanniness to the scene. It feels real. And that’s what tipped him off.

The prickly smooth cement under his bare feet.

The cool still air of evening, just minutes after sunset.

A dandelion growing in a crack in the tar-patched road beside him.

Yesteryear’s leaves layered over a grated drain in the gutter.

Down the street, streetlights blinking to wakefulness, haloing the sloped driveways that border lumpy squares of weeds in front of small crumpled homes.

A distant dog’s incessant barking.

The pale sliver of the moon hanging in a sky too light-polluted to unveil the stars burning in galaxies both near and far.

The hoodie he’s wearing, soft and faded and pilled. It smells like it. Home.

It’s a summer night and Jerry’s standing in the streets of his childhood, of his native ’scape—planet, he means. Earth, he means.

He’s on Earth.

And that is how he knows he’s dreaming. He hasn’t been on Earth in . . . a long time. He knows that much, even if he can’t calculate the exact number of years on Earth’s clock and calendar.

He sets off down the sidewalk, shoving his hands in the hoodie’s front pocket. His bare feet slap against the cement and he doesn’t bother trying to walk quietly. No windows of any of the houses are lit, and there’s no people outside—no one playing with dogs in their yards or working on cars or going out for a jog. Not anyone. It’s very quiet. No wind, just that dog’s far-off bark. The blinking light on the horizon could be a plane though, so maybe it’ll pass overhead and he’ll hear the roar of its engines.

Imagine that, he thinks. Hearing the roar of a flying machine, not dragons. And that was normal once.

He comes to a signpost but when he stops to look at it, he doesn’t recognize the street names. Not a big surprise, not knowing where he is, where these streets lead, why the houses have similar but different numbers. If this dream is structured around his own memories, as he suspects, then it makes sense that a picture so aching familiar feels so alien. He was very young when they were taken away.

He starts walking again but there’s a new urgency to his step. A quickness in his blood that makes him move faster, fleeing from lamppost to lamppost as the night grows darker and the shapes around him become more and more like a stranger. The scene blurs as he runs—whether from the dream’s coding malfunctioning or the tears in his eyes, he doesn’t know—and the ground falls away, the slap of his bare feet on the sidewalk disappearing, the scent of his hoodie fading, the sound of that stupid dog buzzing into nothingness as he just runs—

And runs into something.

A very solid something.

Jerry bounces off it and lands hard on his rear, skinning his elbow on the sidewalk. He grabs it with the opposite hand and begins to wail.

“Oh my!” the something says, and Jerry’s dimly aware of them going down on one knee in front of him. A large hand, palm up, is proffered to him. “May I see, kiddo?”

Jerry clutches his elbow to his chest and shakes his head fervidly. “It hurts!”

“Mmm, I bet you’re right. Let’s see if I have a . . .” The hand retreats and Jerry watches through blurry tears as it slips into the person’s jeans back pocket. it remerges with a folded brown leather wallet, from which they pull out a band-aid. “How about this? Do you think this will help make it feel better?”

Jerry hesitates, then gingerly nods.

The person removes the plastic wrapping and holds out their hand again. “Okay. Should we try it?”

Cautiously, Jerry holds out his arm. He reluctantly loosens his fingers so the person can see the red scratches on his skin. The person extends the band-aid, and, suddenly scared, Jerry jerks his arm back again. “What if it hurts!”

The band-aid draws back. Jerry peers up to see a pair of brown eyes regard him in gentle seriousness. “I promise that it won’t. I will be very careful and make sure it doesn’t, okay?”

Jerry doesn’t think he believes them, but . . . “Okay,” he whispers.

Moving slowly, the person again brings the band-aid in close. Jerry wants to look away but can’t; his free hand flies to his mouth and he bites at his nails as one sticky side of the band-aid touches his skin, then the middle part covers the blood—he gasps, but it doesn’t hurt—and finally the other sticky part is smoothed down by a careful finger.

“There!” the person says, leaning back. “All done!”

Jerry examines his elbow closely and is amazed to find that he can’t see the scratches at all.

“Does it still hurt?”

He frowns and nods. “A—a little less.” He sniffles, then rubs the tears and snot on his face with the back of his fist, trying to get it off. He only smears it around, though. At least Lani isn’t around to see.

“Well, we should make sure it doesn’t hurt at all, shouldn’t we? You know how we can do that?”

Jerry looks up, a little less uncertain now. “How?”

“We get you back to your family! Here, let’s get you stood up—” they lift Jerry up to his feet— “and can you tell me if you have a parent or sibling who can help?”

Jerry scuffs the ground with his foot, not meeting their eyes, but reluctantly nods.

“Do you know where they are?”

He looks uncertainly over his shoulder. “Um . . .” Suddenly Jerry realizes he has no idea where he is and starts to panic, tears welling up in his eyes again.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, buddy, we’ll figure it out, I promise. Uh.” They run a hand through their hair. “Hmm. What do I . . . Well. You were running from over there, right?” They point behind Jerry.

He hesitantly nods.

“Do you want to walk with me back over there? We’ll play a game and try to figure out which house is yours, okay?”

Jerry chews at a fingernail. “Okay.”

The person stands up—they are very, very tall—and offers their hand to him. He slips his much smaller one into theirs and they walk side by side back down the sidewalk, the person pointing out different houses as they pass and asking what looks familiar.

A door painted yellow?

Flowerpots lined up on the porch railing?

Pink curtains in the window?

An abandoned hose snaking through dead grass?

Hopscotch chalk scrawled across the driveway?

A bush with purple-red leaves?

The chainlink fence with a broken gate?

Do you remember? Is any of this familiar? Why can’t you remember your own home, Jerry? Shouldn’t you know it better than anything? If you want to return here so badly, why can’t you even recognize it? How can you expect to call somewhere a home if you don’t know it? Why go back? Why go back? No one you love remains on Earth, why do want to ret—

Jerry wakes up.

He’s swinging in his hammock, deep within the belly of the mechbeast, staring up at dull grease-stained bronze. The hilt of his sword digs uncomfortably into his side, so he shifts, pulling the sheathed blade out from under him and laying it across his stomach, fingers tapping on the battered leather.

How much of that dream was from real memories, he wonders, and how much of it was simply a nightmare? He doesn’t remember running from home and hurting his elbow, or a tall kind stranger, but that isn’t to say much. He can’t remember . . . most things about Earth. It’s been . . . Yeah, it’s been a long while.

Jerry folds one arm behind his head, tapping fingers against his neck. “Just little kids,” he mumbles, to no one. It’s just him in this big hollow contraption. Him and the glues.

Speaking of. Jerry reaches out to the side and digs his fingers into the metal wall, finding a tiny hatch and pulling on it until a square of the bronze slides to the side, creating a tiny porthole in the side of the mechbeast. In pours a dim beam of sunlight. When Jerry squints he can see that no, the landscape has not changed, just the same empty flat plains, dusty and desolate. The setting sun lights the horizon aglow in rich purples and glimmering silvers, making Jerry’s eyes water when he stares at it too long. The glues will be coming for him soon, but until then—

Leaving the outlet open in case a cool breeze happens to blow in, Jerry rolls over, holding his sword so it doesn’t fall out the hammock, and buries his face into his arm. Until they come, he’ll try to get a little more sleep.

#writing #my writing #Lani & Jerry #in which: jerry gets a boo-boo in dreamland #this was probably half-unconsciously inspired from listening to tma s3's finale #dream time babe-y!

3 notes · View notes

fericita-s · 5 years ago

Text

The Sky Will Be Blue

After seeing the Royal Sommerhus and this family portrait, I wanted to write some happy fluffy family times of Agnarr, Iduna, Elsa, and Anna. It takes place in the canon-compliant When All is Lost series but can stand alone. Thank you @the-spastic-fantastic for beta-reading!

Agnarr gripped Iduna’s hand with a nervous energy that made her smile. He had promised a delightful surprise for her and the girls - one that would last a whole month. Maddeningly, he had refused to answer any of their questions about what it was. Iduna knew their summer schedule was usually busy with travel in and out of the harbor of their northern kingdom being easier in the warm weather. The resulting influx of visiting dignitaries meant summer was their peak season for official meetings and events. To have Agnarr take this time away from the council and from the castle felt like a gift, no matter what the surprise actually was.

With Anna and Elsa asleep in the back of the wagon, Iduna readied herself to show enough enthusiasm for all three of them. But as they rounded the last bend in the dirt-packed road, she gaped in open-mouth surprise, dramatic gestures forgotten in the expression of her genuine shock.

“There it is! Our summer cottage! What do you think? I had it built for us; a special place for us to spend time away from the castle and the bustling town. So we can feel more like a family and less like royalty.” Agnarr smiled at her and she smiled back, laughing as she brought her hands to her face and then to his arm, squeezing him tight.

“Oh, Agnarr, it’s beautiful!” She looked at the cabin, painted brown and red and white, and the grassy roof that made it look like it was part of the mountain rising up behind it. The way it looked carved out of the earth reminded her of the earthen dwellings of her childhood. She then noticed a sign and laughed again. “The Royal Sommerhus?” You wanted us to feel less royal so you named our cottage The Royal Sommerhus?”

Agnarr jumped down from the wagon, and offered his hand to Iduna as she climbed down. “Well yes, but notice my restraint. Not one letter in gold! And I left some things unfinished so we could do them together. The window boxes could use your attention. I thought you would rather plant those than have someone else do it. I had the servants deliver books and paints and brushes and canvas. Dolls for the girls and lots of room for Elsa to make snow without anyone noticing. And see? There’s a gate here to keep Anna from wandering off at night and falling into the fjord. The guardhouse is at the edge of the ridge - it will be quite private back here.”

Either at the sound of her name or because the wagon had stopped moving, Anna sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Mama? Papa? Are we at the surprise yet?”

Agnarr leaned over the side and lifted her up, cradling her against his chest. “Yes, dear one, we are here! A special house for us to live in this summer, away from the castle.”

Anna gasped and squirmed in his arms, desperate to go have a look.

“Elsa, Elsa, wake up, wake up! We have a new play house! Like a dollhouse! But bigger! But smaller than a castle!” Anna slipped from Agnarr’s arms and Iduna caught one of her hands. The dispatch of guards had pulled up behind them now and were beginning to unload the wagons and tend to the horses.

Elsa rose from her sleeping position and Agnarr scooped her up as well, placing her on the ground with a kiss. “Papa! It’s lovely! Can we go see?”

“Certainly!” Agnarr took Elsa’s hand and she took Iduna’s. The four of them walked to the cottage, the scent of rosemary and heliotrope in the air and beams of sunlight falling on the red door. It already looked like home.

***

“Anna! Elsa! Time to eat!” Iduna called up the stairs and braced herself for the leaping hug she knew would be coming from Anna, who had decided that instead of navigating steps she could just throw herself off the top of them and be caught by whoever happened to be there. Anna tossed down her dolls and then herself, and Iduna managed to catch her before her head collided with the trunk in the alcove at the bottom step.

“Soon you’ll be four Anna, and then you’ll have to start using stairs with walking feet instead of flying feet.” Iduna tucked the dolls under each of Anna’s arms and gave her a gentle pat on the bottom.

Anna laughed and ran to the kitchen. “No, Mama, I always fly!”

Elsa walked down the stairs, a lump of ice beginning to take shape in her hand. She had been making ice models of each of the flowers they had planted in the boxes and the yellow rose was her next project.

Agnarr was in the kitchen, a picnic basket on his arm and a blanket over his shoulder. “Shall we, ladies?” He bowed and gestured to the wide expanse of green grass just outside the kitchen door. Anna and Elsa ran ahead, already knowing where the best picnic spot was.

Iduna and Agnarr trailed behind, hand in hand. Iduna breathed deeply of the salty air and Agnarr watched as some strands of her hair danced in the wind.

“Being here, further north like this…the way the breeze is always moving, I…”Agnarr shrugged and shook his head, unsure of how to continue. “I sometimes think I’m about to remember something but it slips away before I quite have it. Your hair, floating about you, my whole body flying. But I can’t make sense of it. It’s maddening!”

Iduna turned her head to look at him. “We played in the wind.” She looked around to be sure the guards were far enough away that they wouldn’t hear, that the girls were occupied with their dolls ice flowers in the shade of the trees. “When the forest was open. We played hide and seek and the wind helped me find you.” For a moment, he was worried he had made her sad, but then she laughed. “The wind pulled you into the air and even then you tried to chase me.”

Agnarr leaned in close and kissed her behind her ear. “I’ll always chase you. And I’ll always catch you.”

Iduna laughed again, and then ran, shouting over her shoulder “I wouldn’t be so sure about that! Who’s carrying a heavy basket and a cumbersome blanket and who is as free and as fast as a fox?”

Elsa and Anna saw their mother running and joined in, dolls discarded haphazardly and ice flowers carefully set down. The shrieking laughter of a family of four echoed in the trees as the wind pulled and tugged at their hair, their clothes, their memories.

***

“Do you want to build a snowman?” Elsa and Anna lay on the blanket, full of food and starting to get sleepy. And when Anna got sleepy, she liked to quickly come up with a new activity to stave off napping. She sat up, pulling on Elsa’s hands. “Do the magic!”

Elsa sat up too, and began making a miniature snowman. “Here. This snowman likes summer and sun and all things hot.”

Anna giggled. “Snowmen can’t like summer! He can’t get hot!”

Elsa shook her head. “Not this snowman. He’s special. He likes picnics. And eating sandwiches outside. And taking naps when he gets sleepy. And he especially likes you.” Elsa handed the snowman to Anna. “I bet he’d like to take a nap with you.”

Agnarr swatted at a bee that buzzed near his ear and watched as Elsa paused in her storytelling to pick a dandelion and blow on it, sending a shower of fuzz over Anna that made her laugh and then sneeze. Elsa lay down again and Anna copied her, snuggling the snowman close as her eyes started to close.

Iduna lay down too, putting her head in Agnarr’s lap, pulling his arm around her like a blanket. “Wake me up when Anna’s awake. I’ll just – “

Agnarr and Elsa looked each other, silent laughter coming from them as they looked at the sleeping half of their family.

“Let’s look at the clouds, Elsa. I bet I can find one that looks just like The Duke of Weselton’s mustache.”

***

“Agnarr! She’s gotten the goat on the roof!” Iduna’s voice carried into the cottage from the front yard where she was considering the quickest way to scale the roof herself.

“Again?” Agnarr ran out of the front door, and bumped into Anna who was proudly looking at the goat she had led onto the top of the house.

“Goats like climbing! And grass! I like those things too!” Agnarr watched in horror as she swallowed, and saw the streak of green remaining in her unfurled fist.

Agnarr caught Iduna’s arm before she began using the shutters as footholds. “The goat will come down on its own when it’s ready. I’m more worried about the grass she ate.”

“Oh that’s fine. She might have a stomachache, but that will just teach her not to eat it again.”

Anna burped and laughed. “Yummy!” She pushed another handful of grass into her mouth and Agnarr slapped a hand to his forehand, groaning.

“Always check the other hand! I should know that by now!”

***

Bags packed, furniture covered, and goats hugged, the family said goodbye to the sommerhus and stood in front of it for one last look before the journey back to Arendelle proper.

“It’s a wonderful home, Agnarr. Let’s come back next summer. Anna will be easier at almost-five than almost-four.”

Agnarr draped an arm around her shoulders and leaned in close to her ear, whispering “Or perhaps earlier than that, just you and me. Judet has had the whole month off. I’m sure she can handle the girls for a time this fall so you and I can play hide and seek just the two of us.”

Iduna kissed him and then whispered back. “Are you so sure I’ll let you catch me?”

Agnarr lifted her up and twirled her around as Elsa and Anna pulled on his legs for their turn spinning with Papa. “I’ll always catch you.”

#agduna #when all is lost #royal sommerhus #king agnarr #queen iduna #mama and papa arendelle #toddler anna #kid elsa #olaf origin stories #happy family fun times #frozen

36 notes · View notes

splendidlyimperfect · 4 years ago

Link

Sting’s entire life changed when he was eleven years old and his best friend Rogue told a secret that he’d promised to keep. Taken away from the father who abused him and the best friend who’d tried to save him, Sting tried to start a new life with his uncle. But the trauma wasn’t easy to escape, and eventually Sting turned to drinking to forget the things that hurt.

Now he’s an adult, and he hasn’t been sober in years. But when drinking nearly kills him and a near-stranger saves his life, Sting has a chance to turn his life around, and maybe become the man that Rogue deserves to love.

Chapter Summary: Sting and Rogue talk about their wedding. Gray gets in trouble and Sting tries his best to help.

Chapters (19/?): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Natsu Dragneel & Sting Eucliffe, Gray Fullbuster & Sting Eucliffe, Sting Eucliffe & Weisslogia Additional Tags: modern au, childhood friends, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, child abuse, alcoholism, drug use, recovery

*cw for some blood (not abuse-related) and discussion of abuse *this chapter runs parallel with chapters 15 & 16 of how to become a wildfire

-----

em·pa·thy | \ ˈem-pə-thē noun : the action of understanding, being aware of, being sensitive to, and vicariously experiencing the feelings, thoughts, and experience of another of either the past or present without having the feelings, thoughts, and experience fully communicated in an objectively explicit manner

xix fall age twenty-four

Uncle Wes is right, and all Sting can do is hope.

He keeps visiting the restaurant, trying his best to make Gray comfortable each time he’s there. Rogue comes with him a few times, and when he manages to coax a shy smile out of Gray, it warms something in Sting’s chest.

Cool spring days turn quickly to muggy summer afternoons, and when Sting’s not working, he and Rogue spend their afternoons at the beach, or helping Uncle Wes with his garden.

“What kind of flowers do you want for the wedding?” Sting asks Rogue one afternoon when they’re both kneeling in the dirt and pulling weeds. Rogue’s hair is pulled back in a messy bun, but strands of it have escaped and are curling around his face. His cheeks are pink from the summer heat, and Sting thinks he’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

Continue reading on AO3

Rogue doesn’t answer right away. He tosses the handful of weeds into a bucket, then pushes himself back until he’s sitting cross-legged in the grass and looks up at the bright blue sky. A bumblebee zigzags through the patch of clover behind him, then takes off into the heat of the afternoon.

“Dandelions,” Rogue says eventually, and when Sting raises an eyebrow, he laughs. “I know it’s a bit unconventional. They just always remind me of you.” He leans back and runs his hand over a small patch that they’d left unmowed just for the bees. “Everyone says they’re weeds, but I like them. They’re stubborn.” He looks up at Sting and smiles. “Like you.”

“I resent that,” Sting says, grinning as he wipes his dirty hands on his shorts and leans in for a kiss. “I prefer ‘determined.’” He rubs his nose against Rogue’s, then nudges him to lie down and shuffles so they’re side-by-side, holding hands and staring up at the cloudless sky.

“We could have it in the back yard,” Rogue suggests, slipping his fingers between Sting’s. “The wedding, I mean.”

“That sounds perfect,” Sting says. They’d only moved in a few weeks ago, and it’s still a bit strange to think of the house as theirs. Sting tips his head onto Rogue’s shoulder and hums happily when Rogue kisses his hair, then closes his eyes as they both bask in the warmth of a perfect summer afternoon.

Three days before Halloween, everything changes.

“We’ve got a bar fight called in over at the Iron Horse,” the dispatcher says over Sting’s radio. “You wanna check it out? Kim and Janson are on their way, but you look like you’re close by.”

Sting sighs. Janson’s one of his least favorite officers, and Sting has been tempted to report him on more than one occasion. He’s rude and abrasive, and something about him reminds Sting of his father.

“On my way.” Sting doesn’t bother with the lights until he’s right outside the bar and sees the other cruiser parked near the door. As soon as he gets out of the car and heads over to the other officers, he can hear shouting from inside.

“This place is always full of idiots,” Janson mutters, rolling his eyes as they move toward the door. “But what do you expect from this kind of neighborhood?”

Sting bristles at the words, irritation tightening a knot in his stomach. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, keeping his voice even as he stares down Janson.

“Oh, lighten up, Eucliffe,” Janson says, rolling his eyes as he pushes the door open. “You’re always such a hardass.”

Sting doesn’t have time to argue with him once they step inside. Two men are staring each other down at the bar, one with blood dripping from his nose. The one who isn’t bleeding looks familiar in the dim light, and when Sting steps closer, he realizes it’s Joel. Gray is standing nearby, looking at Joel desperately and cradling his arm against his chest. Sting’s stomach drops when he realizes Gray is bleeding.

“You got these two?” he asks Kim, who nods as she moves forward to cuff Joel and the other man. Sting ducks though the crowd, avoiding Joel, and makes his way over to Gray. Sting hasn’t seen him in over a month – not since Natsu had called him in tears and told him that it wasn’t safe for him to visit Gray anymore.

“Hey,” Sting says gently, reaching out and touching Gray’s elbow. Gray blinks, dragging his gaze from Joel’s retreating back to stare blankly at Sting. He looks awful – pale and exhausted – and blood from the deep cut in his hand drips down onto the floor. “You’re hurt.”

Gray shakes his head, then stumbles and immediately leans forward and throws up on the floor.

“Son of a—” Sting grabs Gray’s arm to steady him, then looks over at the bartender. “I need a first aid kit – quick.”

The bartender nods and Sting takes Gray’s shoulders, guiding him carefully over to a chair and helping him sit down. Gray squeezes his eyes shut and makes a quiet sound of pain. The red and blue of Sting’s cruiser lights flash across his face, highlighting the deep lines of exhaustion.

Let me help you, Sting thinks as he crouches down in front of Gray and sets a comforting hand on his knee. He can feel Gray trembling under his touch and he desperately wants to comfort him. Everything about him is a painful reminder of Sting’s own past, and he has to hold himself back from pulling Gray into a hug.

“Here.” The bartender reappears, holding out an ice pack wrapped in a towel. Sting takes it, nodding in thanks, then places it carefully against the back of Gray’s neck.

“Take some deep breaths,” he says, but Gray doesn’t answer, just keeps his eyes shut and shivers. A woman appears with a first aid kit and digs through it for a bandage. When she touches Gray’s arm to press the gauze to his wound, he flinches, and his eyes fly open.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Sting keeps his voice gentle as he takes the gauze from the woman and carefully wraps it around Gray’s hand. Gray’s wrist is bruised, and the bruises look like fingerprints, and Sting wants to strangle Joel with his bare hands. “You’re bleeding pretty badly,” he says, trying to focus on the present.

“’m fine,” Gray mumbles, but Sting shakes his head. Gray frowns, then looks down at the blood soaking through the makeshift bandage.

“I’m gonna take you to the hospital, okay?” Sting says, squeezing his knee. They need to get out of here – out of the heat and stink of alcohol and sweat, somewhere Gray won’t feel so scared and overwhelmed. “C’mon.”

He carefully takes Gray’s elbow and helps him to his feet, nodding his thanks to the woman with the first aid kit as they move toward the door. “Careful,” he murmurs as Gray sways unsteadily. “I’ve got you.”

“What’s gonna happen to him?” Gray asks softly when they get to the cruiser. Sting opens the door and helps Gray in carefully, passing him the seatbelt and making sure he’s buckled in before having him put pressure on the bandage on his hand.

“They’ll keep him for twenty-four hours until he sobers up,” Sting says as Gray shuts his eyes and tips his head back against the seat. “After that, we’ll see.”

He makes his way around to his seat, flicking the lights off as soon as he gets in the car. The quiet inside the cruiser is a relief from the din of the bar, and he watches as the tense lines on Gray’s forehead slowly relax.

“Why don’t we just get you taken care of for now, okay?”

Gray throws up again when they get to the hospital, but Sting manages to get him through triage without running into anyone else. When a sweet-looking nurse comes to take Gray away, Sting almost insists on coming with him. His heart breaks at the slump of Gray’s shoulders; the way he curls in on himself like everything is a threat.

“You’ll be okay,” Sting says, squeezing Gray’s arm. Gray doesn’t answer, just follows the nurse down the hallway, gaze never leaving the floor.

The next few hours are a blur of paperwork and processing. Sting avoids the holding cell at the precinct – he’s not sure he can refrain from punching Joel in the face. When the officers at lockup refuse to release Gray’s belongings, Sting sighs and heads back to the hospital.

Waiting for Gray leaves Sting anxious. Even though it’s been thirteen years, being here still makes him feel small and scared. He spends the time playing games on his phone until he can barely see the screen.

“Hey,” he says softly when the nurse brings Gray back to the waiting area. Gray’s hand is bandaged, and he cradles it against his chest, fingers running absently over the edge of the gauze. Sting feels the pull to hug him again, but instead asks, “How’re you feeling?”

Gray shrugs.

“The painkillers might have made him sleepy,” Doris says, touching Gray’s elbow gently. She’s a sweet woman with kind eyes, and Sting can see the concern in them when she looks at Gray. “He’s got a nasty concussion and he shouldn’t be alone for a bit.”

Sting nods. “I’ve got it,” he says, and she gives Gray another sad look as she squeezes his arm, then walks away.

“Do you have somewhere to stay?” Sting asks, even though he already knows the answer. Gray doesn’t say anything, just stares at the floor. “Gray? You with me?”

Gray blinks, looking up at him slowly. His pupils are still dilated, and he looks like a lost, scared little boy.

“Do you have your keys?” Sting asks. Gray shakes his head and Sting sighs, chewing on his lip. Technically he shouldn’t offer, but there’s no way he’s sending Gray to a shelter after what happened. “Would you feel okay staying with me overnight?” he asks. “As a friend, not a cop. I’m off duty now, and I’ve got a guest bedroom. Rogue’s asleep but he won’t mind.”

Gray looks like he might say no, but eventually just nods, staring down at the floor again.

“Okay,” Sting says, breathing out a sigh of relief and gesturing to the parking lot. “C’mon, you need to get some sleep.”

It’s raining on the drive home. Sting watches the water make patterns across the windshield before they’re quickly wiped away, keeping an eye on Gray out of the corner of his eye. He’s curled up against the passenger door, head on the window, gaze vacant as he stares out at the rain.

It had been raining when Uncle Wes had driven Sting home from the hospital, too. He can feel himself in Gray’s place – rough fabric under his fingers, cool glass on his forehead, a dull, aching pain in his arm and his heart and his head. Gray looks so small and alone, and eventually, Sting can’t take it anymore.

“I’ve only been a cop for a few years,” he says softly. His voice feels out of place in the dark of the night, but Gray looks over at him, so Sting keeps going. “My dad was one, and I always wanted to be just like him.”

A knot curls in Sting’s stomach and he breathes through it, counting the inhales and exhales, in and out. This isn’t the same as telling Natsu while he struggled through withdrawal, or how he told Rogue, in pieces in the dark. This feels raw and so, so real, because Gray knows.

Gray knows, and Sting wishes to hell that he didn’t.

“He wasn’t a very good cop, though.” The words stick in his throat, but he forces himself to keep going, to keep telling the story no matter how much it hurts. Gray needs to know that he’s not alone.

Sting talks about his dad, about people trying to help him, about loving his dad and trying not to make him angry. Eventually Gray starts to cry and Sting bites back his own tears.

“I know how hard it is,” he says eventually. “I know what it’s like to love someone so much that you want them to be the best thing for you, even when they aren’t.” A quiet sob breaks out of Gray’s chest. “And I know you don’t want help right now, and that’s okay, just… none if it’s your fault.”

He knows Gray blames himself – he can almost hear the thoughts that he’s sure are going through Gray’s mind. It’s not always like this. He loves me. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have made him mad.

“Nobody should be hurting you,” Sting says, hoping the words make a dent in the armor of shame Gray’s been wearing for so long. “No matter what. And if ever do decide you want help, there are people who will believe you, and who will be there for you.”

For a moment there’s no sound in the car but the swish of the windshield wipers and Gray’s quiet crying. “I…” Gray manages after a moment. “I d-don’t… I can’t…”

“I know,” Sting says gently. “It’s been a long night.”

By the time they get back to Sting’s house, it’s clear that Gray’s too worked up to be on his own. Sting spends the next hour or so sitting on the couch with him until he finally falls asleep with Frosche curled up on his chest and purring happily. Sting grabs the blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over Gray, heart aching as he tries not to look at the bruises on Gray’s wrists. Part of him is tempted to stay here, stay up, make sure Gray’s safe because even though there’s no way anything could happen, the fear’s still there.

He ends up stumbling up the stairs and settling onto the bed next to Rogue, who’s lying on his back, fast asleep with his arm across the pillow. Sting watches him for a while – takes in the soft rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair spreads across the blanket, the freckles over the bridge of his nose. When Sting rests his fingertips lightly across Rogue’s wrist, the soft heartbeat he finds there helps loosen the knot in his chest.

It’s not enough, though, and now he knows how to ask for help.

“Hey,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb across Rogue’s cheek. Rogue mumbles something, blinking slowly awake and frowning at Sting.

“Hey, love,” he says softly, looking over at the clock. It’s nearly four in the morning already. “What’s wrong?”

Sting shakes his head. The words are stuck in his throat, and when he tries to push through, a sob breaks out instead. Rogue’s up immediately, arms wrapped around Sting as he holds him close and kisses his temple.

“It’s… it was…” Sting swallows, wiping at the tears on his cheeks. He’s so, so tired, and everything is blurry and sort of not real. “I was at the hospital. With Gray.”

Rogue’s fingers tighten on Sting’s arm and he pulls back, brow furrowed in concern.

“He’s on the couch,” Sting says softly, reaching out and rubbing the fabric of Rogue’s sleep shirt between his fingers. “I couldn’t—he didn’t have anywhere to go. I wanted to call Natsu, but I can’t, and Gray was hurt, and—”

“Hey,” Rogue interrupts, running his thumb across Sting’s cheekbone. “You don’t have to explain. It’s okay. Are you okay?”

Sting shakes his head, letting the mixed-up feelings he’s been holding inside all night spill out as tears. “No,” he whispers. “I’m so—I feel like shit. I’m so... I’m sad, and a-angry, and I can’t stop thinking about my dad.”

Rogue pulls gently on Sting’s shoulder until they’re lying on the bed together and Sting’s head is resting on his chest. Sting wraps an arm around Rogue, holding him tight as Rogue combs his fingers through Sting’s hair.

“I want to help him so badly.” Sting sniffles, pressing his face into Rogue’s chest. “I just wanna kill that asshole, and I know that’s not—it wouldn’t help, a-and I know Gray’s not ready. I just feel so useless.”

Rogue makes a sad sound and holds Sting closer, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re the farthest thing from useless, love,” he says. “You’re doing everything you can.”

“It’s not enough,” Sting insists. “I wish we could just keep him here, or call Natsu, or—something. I’m so scared for him.”

“I know.” Rogue sounds like he’s on the edge of tears, too. “I am, too.”

They lie together for a long time, listening to the rain patter against the window until Sting stops crying and his breathing comes back to normal. Lector, who had been sleeping on the foot of the bed, wakes up and stretches with a quiet mrowl, then saunters up and curls up between them, purring happily when Sting pets his head.

When Sting finally falls asleep, he’s warm and safe in Rogue’s arms, wishing desperately that Gray could feel the same way.

#fairy tail #stingue #sting eucliffe #rogue cheney #gratsu #gray fullbuster #natsu dragneel #ft fanfic #fanfic #angst #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #update #new chapter #my fic

2 notes · View notes

everlarkbirthdaygifts · 5 years ago

Text

Happy Birthday, blackgem01!

Happy Birthday, @blackgem01! We hope you’re having a marvellous day so far, full of cake and presents! To start your party off right, the lovely @mega-aulover has written a story just for you!

Title: Mr. Everdeen Loses A Battle

For: blackgem01

Prompt: Katniss' dad is alive and doesn't like Peeta but that doesn't stop him from trying to get him to like him.

A/N: for Blackgem01 Happy Birthday I hope your day is complete with presents, fanfare, cake, and Everlark! Sorry for it being late.

Rating: Warning it has Cannon mentioned violence, mention of child abuse -Rated T

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

"Katniss I don't think," Peeta said hopping around on one foot trying to remove his sneaker from his metal foot,

"Peeta you've got to be quiet," Katniss whispered. Peeta jumping could wake her father up.

He sat on the bed and the mattress made a squeaky noise. There was a noise out in the hallway. They both stopped to listen. After a long pause, they heard nothing else and continued to settle in for the night. Katniss had snuck Peeta in through her window.

"Your dad isn't going to be too happy if he finds me here," Peeta whispered as he removed his sneakers and gently put them on the floor.

Katniss frowned. Peeta was correct her father would not like to find his sixteen-year-old daughter with a boy. Well, Katniss reasoned not just any boy, her boy with the bread and fellow Victor. After the Games, she realized how much she came to need Peeta. She'd wanted to forget the Games and put it all behind her. "Peeta all we're doing is sleeping."

"I know, I know but...your dad..." Peeta shrugged he doesn't exactly like me.

After the explosion that nearly took her father's life, Katniss family had taken a tumble. Her father was unable to return to the mines to work. Katniss had taken it to herself to help the family with food as the mines wouldn't give him any compensation even though he'd lost his leg. Katniss thought her father would be sympathetic, but he wasn't. He was suspicious of Peeta.

Her father didn't want Katniss anywhere near Peeta. At first, Katniss obeyed, because she and Peeta weren't on speaking terms. When the games were over and they were on the train back she couldn't put into words what she felt knowing full well the Capitol wasn't happy with them. Scared she put distance between them, telling him partial truths. Katniss did want to forget the horrors of the Games, she was confused about her feelings about leading Peeta. In the beginning, she treated it as something she had to do to survive but there was a point things became blurry. Katniss acknowledged her emotions toward Peeta became genuine and when he asked her was it all fake she didn't know how to tell him the truth. The pressure Haymitch put her about the Capitol was immense.

According to Haymitch using the berries when the Gamemakers changed the rules made the Game Makers and President Snow look week. Katniss did it because she couldn't leave the arena knowing Peeta died because of her. He was bleeding and if he wasn't going to make it out of the Arena neither was Katniss. As the train arrived in the station Katniss was torn and her father read right through her fake smile. Her father knew her hidden unhappiness had to do with Peeta.

That first month after coming home Katniss was scared of what life in District Twelve would encompass with the Capitol looking down on them. She could not sleep. The nightly terrors of what she experienced in the arena affected her and her family. Her mother and sister confronted Katniss and together they hauled her to Peeta's house where they made up. That afternoon while sitting on his couch next to him, Katniss had slept a dreamless sleep. It had been the first time since arriving in District Twelve she'd felt safe.

"I feel like it's my fault, Peeta." Katniss sat down next to him.

"Katniss you've explained it to me," Peeta slipped his hand over hers. "You're scared of what the Capitol could do to me, your family, heck even Gale. I got mad and pushed you away instead of listening to what you were trying to say."

"Peeta my dad thinks you did something to me to make me sad."

"Well, we did break up on the train. I also ignored you and then there was that thing with Trixie."

"What?" Katniss hissed. Trixie Globe was the most beautiful girl in their class. She narrowed her eyes searching his face for that telltale trace of mischief in his eyes. She couldn't tell and her stomach clenched at the thought of Trixie putting her hands on Peeta.

Peeta winked, "Just making sure you're listening to me."

Katniss sat there a mixture of anger and relief. She took a pillow and hit him with it. He fell backward onto the mattress. He laughed.

"Peeta hush, my father is going to hear you!" Katniss grumbled as he laughed.

He grinned that mischievously and wiggled his eyebrows as if he were going to do something horrid but Katniss knew this was a bluff. Peeta would not dare cross William Everdeen. Her father was a deadly shot, just like Katniss. "I should shoot you."

"Yeah, I know you'll cook me like you would Buttercup."

Katniss narrowed her eyes upset at his quip, though he was correct she would never harm Buttercup nor would she harm him. Instead, she went to bed without facing him. Katniss was mostly upset because she didn't want to want him. She didn't want to need him. But no one understood what it was like to be in the Games.

She felt him settle by her side. He didn't touch her but just being by his side calmed her nerves. If she was honest with herself, Katniss had to confess while the Games had brought them closer, their bond began long before the Games. It began while her father was convalescing at home. She'd been desperate for extra money to help the family. Katniss had sold anything of value. They had nothing left. That winter was the harshest in recorded in the District with record snowfall and ice.

Katniss had given up when he burnt three loves of bread. Peeta did on purpose. He'd caught sight of her sneaking into his yard to look for food in the garbage bins while feeding the pigs. She thought he would call for his mother. Instead, he went inside and burned three loaves of bread and took on the full force of his mothers ire. His mother screeched to the high heavens, she dragged him out and slapped him with the back of her hand. Yelling at him to throw the bread to the pigs. She called him useless. Peeta took her hit, he was so young and tender like a vine, but he was also resilient and strong.

Once she left Peeta walked over to where she hid and handed her the bread. He said, 'Here for you. Run.'

Katniss had hidden the bread in her jacket to keep them from getting ruined in the ice rain that fell. Her family never knew how she'd gotten those loves. It gave them hope, her father promised to take her hunting and gathering in the forest once he healed. The bread gave him the strength to heal and one week later she and her father were traipsing through wood gathering and hunting.

Peeta had not gone to school for a week. She noted that when he did come back he had a nasty black and blue upon his fair face. Katniss wanted to do something for him. She glanced down and she'd seen a dandelion. The bloom reminded her of Peeta. In friendship, she plucked it and secretly put it in his desk at school. She would never forget the happy look upon his face when he found the small flower.

To this day they shared this secret. He with the bread and she with the small flower. She turned to him and settled on his chest, his arm shyly went around her middle.

"Do you think your dad will ever accept me?"

Katniss sighed. She turned to look at Peeta."I don't know."

"Your father thinks Gale is a better partner than me."

Katniss rolled her eyes and smirked, "Please Gale Hawthorne."

"You guys were friends."

"My father wanted us to be friends," Katniss sighed. There was a time she tried to befriend Gale, but he treated her poorly. Gale thought of her as annoying until Darius pointed out how pretty he thought she was. It was like he became this other person, always trying to get in her father's good graces, all the while trying to outfox her into going out with him. The laughable part of Gale's pursuit, not once, did he stop taking girls to the Slag Heap. "I don't want his type of friendship."

"I always thought you two were thick as thieves."

"Maybe once when I was nothing more than a small girl, now all Gale sees is that you stole me from him."

Peeta laughed, "As if anyone could control you."

"My dad kept on trying to have him come with us on our hunting trips Gale refused at first but later on ugh, our trips became boring. Gale is no archer, he takes too long to line up his shots, he doesn't hold his bow correctly, and he's always angry."

"So you don't like him, like him?"

"No," Katniss answered without thought. Peeta sounded so vulnerable. She stared into his earnest blue eyes. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just Gale acts as if he owns you."

"No one owns me Peeta."

"I know, you are your own person."

Katniss gently pushed away a lock of hair from his face. She put her face in his neck and breathed in his masculine scent mixed with cinnamon and dill. Soon she was asleep. She only awoke to her father's yelling.

"WHAT IS THAT BOY DOING HERE!"

Katniss blinked she turned to find her sister Primrose perched at the foot of the bed.

"Now William," her mother calmly said.

"What's going on?" Katniss whispered shaking Peeta awake.

"Dad came to wake you up and…" she pointed to Peeta who was sitting up rubbing his face.

The door opened up, her father stood heaving at the entrance of her room. His lips were thin and his eyes were like daggers as he stared at Peeta. "Both of you downstairs right now!" Her father growled. "Primrose go to your room."

"William this is madness," her mother said.

"Good luck," Prim mouthed as she skipped out of the room.

Katniss stood up and stood before her father. "NO."

"What?" Her father blinked then scowled.

"No," Katniss calmly repeated.

Peeta sat on the bed with the blankets to his chin.

"Katniss Everdeen," her father began.

"No, I will not go anywhere. You will not treat me as a child." Katniss put her hands on her hips she was tired of being pushed around, by Haymitch, the Capitol, her family, heck even Gale who was upset because of her friendship with Peeta. "I may be only sixteen, but I am no longer a baby father."

Her father raised an eyebrow.

"I told you, William. Katniss is not a child anymore. She's won the Games, she's seen the world and how cruel it can be and she's come out of it with a partner."

"He's a boy, look at him hiding behind her sheets." Her father jammed his hand through his hair.

"He's a boy I like," Katniss spat. "A boy who understands me, who has always…"

"He doesn't know you, Katniss, not like Gale does. He's better capable of…"

"GALE DIDN'T GET ME THROUGH THE GAMES!" Katniss shouted.

"Katniss," Peeta said taking her hand.

His presence calmed her. "Peeta did, he got me through the Hunger Games. He saved my life in the Games. If not for Peeta I would have died when the tracker-jackers stung me. He came back even though he was stung and told me to run. He fought off Cato, lured him away from me. He took care of me in the cave. He helped me beat Cato. He would have died for me…" Katniss stared into Peeta's face as she spoke. "He wanted me to win. Made me look desirable to all of those sponsors who gave me that balm that helped heal my burn wounds."

Peeta squeezed her hand.

Her father gave her a good long glance. "That doesn't mean he can sleep in your bed!"

"It's all we do, dad. We sleep. Peeta's too much of a gentleman…"

"Actually, I'm petrified of you sir," Peeta pipped up.

Peeta's confession made Katniss chuckle, "It's true. He is afraid of you and respects you."

"There you see William all they are doing is sleeping," her mother said gently.

Her father glanced at Katniss then at Peeta.

"He helps me chase the nightmares away."

"William, Peeta is the reason our little girl can sleep at night. You know how badly her night terrors tortured her after she came home. Since Peeta started coming around Katniss has become more of her old self."

"Sir if you want we'll leave the door open or we could even sleep on the sofa downstairs. I respect your daughter, sir." Peeta's voice did not waiver and Katniss couldn't help her grin. In his own way, Peeta was standing up to her dad.

"Fine, you can stay here at night with the door opened," her father barked and left.

Katniss had won a small battle, there were still more to come.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaygifts #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #fan fic #by mega-aulover

91 notes · View notes

cruzrogue · 5 years ago

Text

Roomies Part III

#Fictober19 @fictober-event

————————————————————————

for fanfiction:

Prompt number: 23 “You can’t give more than yourself.”

Fandom (AU if applicable): #arrow fanfiction #olicity #Flommy

Rating:PG13

Warnings/Tags: There might be adult language

Summary: Little more than two years later. Felicity is standing where her mother-in-law placed two tombstones in memory of Robert and Oliver.

(This is the last part)

Notes: This is a three-part with its own prompt story Part I Felicity/Tommy conversation. (The are past lovers/ but current best-buds)

Part I Felicity/Tommy friendship Prompt 21- “Change is annoyingly difficult.”

Part II Oliver enters the scene (Future tense Oliver/Felicity relationship) Prompt 22-“We could have a chance.

”Part III Fallout of the Gambit situation… Prompt 23-“You can’t give more than yourself.”

Part 3 of the dynamic that is Tommy w/Oliver and Felicity.

~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~sp@ce~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~

Roomies Part III on A03

Felicity has cried her eyes out. It is so unfair that she survived and so many on the yacht with her didn’t. Her father-in-law, husband, and the crew gone in a stormy night. Her heart is so heavy. Her mind reeling in the moments before the disaster took place. The peace she felt in her husband’s arms.

Oliver ushers her into their cabin. It has been an exciting day as they got to see whales, something Felicity had an excitement to see on this Pacific Ocean journey. Her husband holding her as she would just get closer to the yacht’s edge to feel the spray of one of the whales emerging from the deep ocean. It was a glorious moment.

“Oh my gosh Oliver, did you see that tiny one near its mama.”

“I sure did.” He’s already helping her off her garments in-between their kisses. “I think there were a few teenagers in the mix of the pod.”

Felicity kisses his neck just like he likes it as he’s already picking her up to deposit on the bed. “Oliver?”

“Hmmm.”

“I want three of those.”

Confused he pulls from her slightly, “Whales?”

Her sultry laugh gets him to hold her for a few more seconds before softly having her land on the soft mattress before him. “No silly! Children.”

“Well maybe after the one we are working on currently.”

Felicity pulls him down for another ravenous kiss. They seem to not get enough of each other especially since right before leaving Starling on the trip they find that they indeed are going to be a family of three.

The giggling coming from yards away pulls Felicity from her stupor. Her daughter’s laughter is contagious and has grounded her when she just didn’t want to continue on those harsh days. Getting up from her knees and dusting the dirt and some grass off as if talking to a tombstone can answer some of her prayers. It’s time to go back to the living she indeed has a little spitfire child that both her mom says it’s so like her and her mother-in-law keeps telling her that she is exactly like her father.

“Uncle Tommy! No!” And Ariel in another giggle fit. Her grandmother Moira placed a fence around the pool because this little cherub loves the water. She will jump onto every puddle she can pounce on. It’s like she really takes form from the mermaid in Felicity’s hallucinating dreams out on the ocean bobbing while holding on to a plaster piece with the word Gambit before being saved. Olivia Ariel Queen is a happy little girl.

As Tommy sees Felicity heading up the hill he gives her a warm smile. It’s been tough to mourn his best friend and see the little girl that Oliver will never got to know. She’s amazing and the perfect blend of her parents. The little girl wants a sibling so bad that she’s already adopted the unborn child his wife, Sara is carrying. Until Felicity graduated M.I.T he moved back to Boston to be of moral support. They were once roomies and it wasn’t hard to get reacquainted in those terms. Dating Sara Lance around that time frame could have ended if she wasn’t willing to help the widow of his best friend. Finding that Felicity was alive from the Chinese Embassy was a miracle in itself. Even if she was so distraught.

At first it was the repetitive action of going to classes and doing what she knew like the back of her hand. Then it progressed that her baby became a focal point and as she was approaching graduating her focus became in making sure her daughter would be around where her father grew up. Learning about her dad from the people who loved him.

“Look! Its mommy.” Tommy tells the little girl who is now finding a dandelion to be of the most important essence. Ariel whips her head to where her uncle is referencing to and it has her calling out for her mother.

“Momma, look what I found.” Running towards her mother as fast as she can go almost slipping before her mother has her safely wrapped up. “It’s so yellow. Y-E-L-L-O-W!”

Felicity can’t help but smile. Her daughter is already to be a genius of her time. “Yes baby. That is correct.” Kissing her temple.

“Can I go swimming?”

“Sweetie, you already did this morning.” She can see her little happy child sigh in defeat. She loves to swim or do anything water related. “Maybe we can have an evening swim later, okay?” Just like that the girl is gleeful once more as her eyes light up. As the dandelion is grasped again Ariel asks her mom if she can pick some more and Felicity lets the little girl go to gather more flowers.

“How was the conversation this morning?”

Felicity doesn’t need to ask because it’s something that is ongoing since she moved to Starling to raise her daughter after graduating. “Quiet.”

Tommy nods he’d usually add a joke but he can tell Felicity is holding on by a string.

“I feel like I’m failing her.”

“Who? Ariel?” Tommy pulls her in for a hug. “You can’t give more than yourself.”

“What if there is nothing left to give?”

“Felicity, hey, you’re doing an amazing job with her. She’s a well-adjusted free spirit. Who for some reason loves giant bodies of water? Still…”

She gives him a dry look but her eyes are filled with mirth. “Tommy! I didn’t make out with a merman in the Pacific Ocean so don’t even ask.”

“Sheesh, you always do protest to my great ideas.”

“Do you always need to be your crazy self?”

“Of course, you love me just the way I am.”

“I do.” She kisses his cheek, “I thank the heavens that you are in my life.”

“Come on Raisa made her famous cookies.”

Ariel hearing about cookies starts to make her little happy dance before running back to her mother’s arms.

“My baby loves sweets just like her momma.”

Off they go to spend quality time together. It isn’t until the evening hours that Felicity takes her daughter out again to swim. Just observing her baby enjoying herself around the pool. How she wishes Oliver was here to just confirm their daughter loves swimming just like how much his father enjoyed it. Sometimes thinking that Ariel won’t also get to know her grandfather hits her. The little girl is a mirror image of her family. Reminding them all that Robert and Oliver live through her.

~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~sp@ce~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~

“Felicity? Felicity!” Moira’s voice vibrates an urgency as the woman swiftly walks into the massive room that houses the indoor pool. Ariel’s nanny by her side. That is how Felicity knows this conversation is urgent.

“Moira, what’s wrong?”

“Gammie!”

Moira still in a hurried manner stops in her tracks still taking the time to show affection to her granddaughter as the girl is being dried by her mother. “Hi darling baby girl.” She lays a simple kiss to the girl’s temple. “Nancy will take over and ready you for bed. I need to talk to your mommy.”

“Okay. Night Gammie.”

“Goodnight sweetheart.” She watches Felicity kiss her daughter and tell her she’d be by to tuck in her in. Both women watch as Ariel is content to leave with the other woman who seems to be telling her of a fun activity they can be doing.

The moment the child is out of earshot Felicity is pressing for information and Moira looks a little more youthful. She’s hasn’t seen her mother-in-law show such happiness if not with the antics of her granddaughter.

“What’s is going on?”

“The American Embassy called. Our family has been located with a single crewman. They are alive.”

“What?” Felicity shakes her head she just thinks it’s highly improbable. “This can be a hoax.” Shaking her head furiously. “We’ve had false claims. I just…”

“I know. I know darling.” Moira has this smile that helps Felicity a tiny bit. “I heard their voices. They’re being cleared. Robert has sustained some injuries that need extra hospital care but they’re alive. I called Thea to come home. They will make another phone call to us soon. I want you both there when it comes through.”

“Of course.” Felicity just nods numbly she isn’t going to take this one call Moira seemed to get as the only evidence her heart won’t allow it for the growing hope that could finally be the nail to crush her spirits.

~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~sp@ce~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~

The wait is beyond any anguish she could feel. She misses Oliver and remembers their last moment together like it was yesterday. When he forced her to put that orange life jacket on telling her to just amuse him as she whined until he placed his on to. The storm vividly on her mind as it rocked their boat back and forth. They heard it was taking in more and more water. It wasn’t until a wave rocked them enough that she can’t remember much after as she tumbled and lost conscious to wake up on a floating debris while still wearing her lifejacket. Her heart drowning in grief as the sole survivor of this wretched wreck.

There are reporters and many photographers present here at the tarmac where the Queen family waits for the three passengers to disembark. The family of the crewman also here to welcome him home. As the door opens and some personnel from the plane disembark it’s the moment when the first crewman shows himself and the camera’s flashes go wild. It’s a miracle to man does stumble down the staircase. Then Robert Queen emerges but he has people steading him as he looks down at the crowd and looks pinpointing his family before he too makes it down the stairs slowly but surely. At the top is Oliver keeping an eye making sure his father will safely make it down.

Spotting Oliver is when Felicity’s heart truly can feel again. His voice on the phone was so sterile so far away. She keeps her eyes glued to the man slowly descending and she notices he hasn’t looked for her… for them. His family.

Its when his eyes roam around the tarmac and she can tell he’s taking in the amount of people there is at this moment and he seems uncomfortable. A part of her aches to reach him but another part of her wonders what is fueling his emotions. He looks to somber unlike his father who is smiling.

The security detail already ushers her into a vehicle before there is a reunion. These vehicles already heading to what the media thinks is Queen Manor and Felicity is beyond numb. She has no idea what just happened. Moira takes her hand as Felicity turns from the window with unshed tears. “I know it is more than expected, we both agreed before going out there we wouldn’t make a spectacle expose ourselves to the media.”

“I know Moira, I just…” Felicity doesn’t voice her concern she knows they are going to Starling General where the private rooms are already setup. Robert needs some surgery and Oliver is just going to get checked by their private physician. As for the crewman their going to give him a full physical before releasing him.

It’s the moment she opens the door to his hospital room Felicity feels trepidation she doesn’t know what she is going to uncover. Maybe her husband after all this time without her has found he doesn’t want her as a wife or in any capacity any longer. That he’ll shun his child he never got to know. So far, everything to this moment has pointed to dread.

“Oliver?”

He turns from what had his attention even though he knows the door opened and she is the one to come through if her silhouette from the glass window is anything to go by.

Its like the moment they met some years ago, how she hung back in the dinning room and he stood looking at her in awe. This time Tommy isn’t here pushing her closer or breaking the ice between them. He can tell his stoicism is scaring her. He doesn’t have a container in his hands to give her like all those years ago not that she’d want anything but to know where she stands with him.

For years he thought her dead. Learning to accept that he lost her on the island was a lot. Knowing he urged her to go with him on this ill-fated voyage the anguish of knowing he didn’t just kill her but also their unborn baby. It wasn’t until the embassy patched them through to his mother for a second time.

Learning that Felicity survived the storm’s carnage just has had him in a daze. She’s alive, the woman he saw in his nightmares telling him it’s his fault she’s gone is alive. Now he fears she hates him because of the ordeal or just the notion she lost their child. No one has spoken of this subject so he’s just so frightened. In the few hours it took to get back to the States it a question he is eager to find the answer to.

He is glad his mother and wife and even sister, oh he misses Thea so very much. They’ve remained a family. A part of his heart thawing out as once he learned to compartmentalize he made it where his heart would beat for nothing more than surviving. Taking care of his injured father. He and a crewman making due on a harsh landscape. An island where the natives allowed them to live as long as they stayed in their zone. They survived and now are home.

Just as Felicity lets a hollow breath go it propels him to be the one to move forward first.

“Hi.”

A simple word has her tear up. She knows of some injuries that are still healing on his torso she doesn’t close the distance yet. She doesn’t want to hurt him.

“This is when you’d say hi or hello back.” He says lighthearted as he takes her in. Tommy may not be here but he can hear the rumbling of how dismal they are at coming together.

“I’ve missed you so much.” She finally says between sobs as he holds her tighter to his frame. Holding her body to his he never thought this is would ever be a possibility. As easy as that thought came to him another darker one takes hold. Is she still his wife? Did she move on? Her voice cuts him back to reality. “There is someone I’d want you to meet. Got me through these tough times. If it’s too much right now I’d understand.”

Oliver afraid of losing her grips her tighter if that is possible. He doesn’t know who has helped her through but it’s just not fair. No matter how nice this man that has mended her heart he doesn’t really need to meet him. Not knowing she’d be going back with him in the end while he tries to survive again without her. “I don’t know.” He whispers. “I may never be ready to meet this guy.”

“Guy?” Her confusion taking hold. “There is no other man, I mean our child.”

He pulls her just enough from his hold to look down at her face. Same eyes that he adores even if she lightened her hair and doesn’t rock the Goth vibe anymore she looks so radiantly beautiful. She survived and the little bundle that he thought he lost also is actually a little boy or girl that he’ll get to meet.

“We have a child?”

“A little girl. Olivia Ariel Queen.”

Feeling the dread, he’s been holding begin to deviate. They have a child together. “A baby girl. Wow! Where is she?”

“At home, I told her about you in terms that a child can understand she’s a little confused but she can’t wait to meet you.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Her hands reach upward to hold his face. The fact that she can do this brings her to tear up once again. “You’re here.”

“I am. I’m not going anywhere.” There is no simple feeling that can converse what they feel at this moment as both happily embrace each other and finally kiss.

~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~sp@ce~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~

The couple take their leave with their daughter to a quieter room it’s time to get that father-daughter duo time with one another without prying eyes. Ariel in her father’s arms. Oliver seems he really hasn’t shared her with anyone yet. He can’t get enough of the small wiggling weight in his grasp.

The little girl is as fascinated by him as he is with her. She has asked a few times to make sure this man is who he says he is.

“You’re my daddy?”

“I am.”

She glances at her mother and a big sweet smile goes across her face knowing exactly what she wants to say as she gazes into this man’s eyes. “You’re my daddy!”

“Yes, baby I am.”

“That’s wonderful. I like a baby sister now.”

He’s looking at his daughter at how she looks quite serious as he can hear his wife make a strangling sound but he doesn’t turn to Felicity yet as his daughter just smiles even more.

“How long do you think it will take daddy?”

“I…” He doesn’t know how to really answer he wasn’t expecting this demand from his precious daughter. He’ll need to ask Felicity what this line of questioning comes from but he’ll ask a what if question instead. “Sweetie what if you get a brother instead?”

“That’s okay daddy. It may take lots of practice to get stuff right.” She tilts her head just like how her mom does. He smiles at the memories of Felicity doing that with him when she’s pondering something about him. “You’re my daddy.” She says that as an acknowledgement. Her smile contagious as she takes in the man she already likes so much. “You just have to put the dough in the oven.” Her hands fly out as she yelps out, “Tada!”

Oliver finally looks at Felicity who just has her mouth in that perfect ‘o’ shape as she’s just flabbergasted at their daughter basically demanding they create another child for her amusement.

“Guess your mommy and I will need to get the right ingredients huh?”

“Oliver? you shouldn’t encourage her.” He just gives a quick smirk to his wife. Ariel’s giving her mom a bothersome glare but her attention snaps back to her father. “Daddy, make sure she’s all organic. Okay?”

He nods and that’s enough for his baby girl to kiss his cheek. “Okay.” He places her softly back to the floor and just as quickly the little girl runs to where the other adults are. They hear her screaming at the top of her lungs that her daddy and mommy are going to bake her a sister.

Both Oliver and Felicity staring at the exit the little tornado went. Felicity finally shaking her head at the man she can’t believe is really truly back. “You could’ve promise her a dog instead.”

“Who says she won’t get one.”

“Oliver? I get your reasoning but she can’t get everything her little heart desires.”

“I get it. No spoiling but I also do recall someone here asking for three children.”

“Nah., I think I was talking about whales.”

He laughs as he embraces her. He is finally home and they’ll have to take time to get to know each other again.

“Welcome home.”

“No other place I’d rather be.” He winks at her as he already slightly tugging her back to where everyone else is. He’d like to spend more time with his two girls. Adding to the family may be somewhere on his list of future endeavors as he teases his wife, “I’d like have a pod, a school or a gam with you.”

“Well if that is the case, you better be as good the cook that I remember.”

-The End

The conclusion to the three part prompts…

tag: laurabelle2930

#fictober19 #olicity #flommy #felicity smoak #oliver queen #thomas merlyn

5 notes · View notes