#and how i seem to leave loose threads everywhere i go and i can’t tell if it’s just a coincidence or if i do that on purpose but

[szczylpierdolony]

life is falling through my fingers more that usually

[sukirichi]

reckless [02.]

With a lackadaisical playboy as your boss, being reckless wasn’t an option. But on the one time you let loose and made mistakes, your life is shattered, and now you’re playing house with your insufferable boss who is the father of your baby.

✘ cw. angst, toxic situations

✘ note. yes, feel free to scream at me in the asks. but like don’t worry, i promise there’s more to come and there’s more to happen! it’s going to get fluffier as we go hehehehe. ALSO, I can’t help but feel that Zayn’s “Let Me” speaks perfectly to CEO playboy Gojo. hmph.

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One glance at the tall man beside you, and you would’ve thought he would pass out soon.

Satoru had been endlessly fidgety hours before the appointment. Flicking from music stations to another, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel or sighing at the sight of you calmly watching the city go by in a flash – it was clear he was restless. Judging from the dark circles he tried to conceal under a pair of shades, he probably hadn’t slept much last night as well.

Now that you were both inside the clinical room, with you laying back down on the reclined bed, belly exposed and all for him to marvel at, his knee hadn’t stopped bouncing. “Satoru, calm down. It’s just a doctor’s appointment.”

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, rubbing his sweaty palms on his pants. “I’m just…excited yet nervous, you know? It feels so real now.”

Real didn’t begin to cover it. Although you masked your nervous quite well, you felt your stomach tighten when a woman came in. Her smile was gentle and comforting enough, talking you both through the process and spilling little fun facts about pregnancy. She applied a cool gel over your belly before turning to a screen, where mixed dots and waves of black and white blurred in front of your visions. Your eyes widened in awe, throat dry from the inability to speak. The baby had always felt real, but seeing it with your own two eyes, a small figure barely even a comprehensible shape in the screen, you couldn’t help but tear up a little.

“That’s mine?” Satoru breathed out, absentmindedly looping his hands through yours. It made you stiffen for a quick second, but your attention was quickly pulled back to the sonogram. “We made that?”

Your heart clenched at his words.

He sounded so happy – like all his dreams came true and you’d just given him a gift that was beyond priceless. You supposed it really was; a baby was always a miracle and joy to have, but this child wasn’t made out of love. How could he have so much fondness for something he didn’t want in the first place?

“The baby is perfectly healthy. This pregnancy doesn’t seem like a high-risk one, but it’s too early to tell so we’ll keep checking in on you,” the doctor pushed her glasses back to her nose, the sound of her cool voice pulling you back from a dangerous path of self-doubt and wariness. “Do you guys want to know the gender?”

Glancing at Satoru, you shook your head. It was amusing that you didn’t need to share words before he got the meaning behind one look, and he squeezed your hand as if to say he understood.

“I’d like that to be more of a surprise. Thank you, doctor.”

“Congratulations on being a father, Sir,” she bowed, and it occurred to you just now she was probably a family doctor. Satoru did end up keeping his promise that your pregnancy be kept private for a while. This little detail made you turn to him with shock written all over your face, though his attention was centred in on the swirling monochrome colours on the screen. Whether the doctor noticed the brewing tension between you two or not, you were still gad when they bowed once more to excuse themselves. “I’ll leave you two to talk now.”

The moment she was gone, you sat up and pushed your blouse down. Satoru’s demeanour had changed as well. His smile was wiped from his face, replaced only by a slight downturn of his lips.

Sighing, you swung your legs over the bed, not minding one bit that he was inches away from resting his chin onto your thighs. “Is there something you’re not telling me? You’ve been so worried since we got here.”

Satoru winced.

“Am I that obvious?”

“Even if you aren’t, it’s not that hard to see through you,” you spoke gently, a spirit possessing you because there would’ve been no other logical reason on why you placed a palm over his. Satoru’s hands were warm and large as he cupped your knee, tracing little patterns over your jeans as he kept his gaze lowered to the floor. It was an odd sight to see; that the Gojo Satoru refused to look a woman in the eye. “Tell me. What’s wrong?”

Satoru’s sigh is painfully drawn out, though his chuckles took the brunt.

“I don’t know what to do – how to be a father, I mean. Don’t you ever get worried…that maybe we might fuck up and ruin someone’s life?”

“Hey,” you cupped his cheek, forcing him to look you in the eyes – which you really wished he didn’t, because you’d never seen such azure this up close before. It was no secret that his eyes alone stole the hearts of people, but you had to remind yourself he broke them as well, so that you pulled away right before he got too close for comfort. It wasn’t what he needed anyway. Satoru simply required reassurance, so you opted for an awkward pat on the shoulder. “Weren’t you the one telling me the other day we’ll work it out?”

“Yeah, but…”

“But what?”

“It’s nothing,” he shook his head, a smile lighting up his features once more. “Are you feeling good? There’s someplace I want to take you, as a celebration for our healthy baby.”

You pursed your lips. As much as you appreciated his enthusiasm, this ‘celebration’ didn’t sound like a good idea. You’ve made mistakes before and now you lived the consequence of it; being reckless was outdated. Caution, wariness, and space were the top three perfect recipes for the complete opposite of a disaster.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Why not?” he challenged, taking your hand in his as he guided you out the clinic. You made no comment on why he led you out the back where he’d parked his car, even going as far to bow for you as he opened your door. “Liven up a little, we got good news today! Plus, we didn’t both take a day for nothing. Come on, you’re going to have fun, I promise you!”

“And where would we go where people won’t recognize you?”

“Somewhere people are too lost in their own world to focus on others,” Satoru announced before sending you a side glance, smooth hands already on their way to rev the engine.

This wouldn’t go down well. Or at least that was what you wanted to believe, because his smile and excitement were too contagious that you couldn’t restrain the smile you wore.

“A carnival? Really? We’re too old for this.”

“We’re never too old for anything,” he insisted, placing his hands on your shoulders as he maneuvered from stall to stall. Everywhere around you, children and people of all ages milled by, laughter and screams that fading into the distance. One survey at the long, endless lines for the rides and crowded spaces, you grimaced, feeling an uncomfortable weight resting on your shoulders that was beyond Satoru’s hands. “Aw, come on, don’t be such a bore. Day offs like these are rare and think about the baby! Don’t you think they would’ve wanted us to get a long?”

“You’re just using the baby as an excuse to have fun.”

Of course he would – Gojo Satoru was like a man-child. Whether it was someone randomly bringing donuts or puppies into the office, he easily lit up like a firework, seemingly finding joy in every little thing. Being stuck in the office and forced to work his ass off under your supervision must’ve taken a toll on him too.

Add on the fact he hadn’t gone out on dates or parties ever since he found out he was going to be a dad, the desperation to go out and do something was written all over his face.

Satoru pouted. “That’s mean. Take that back.”

“No.”

“And I’m the childish one here?” he snickered. You merely rolled your eyes at him and gave in; too much time spent working and not enough time relaxing (not that being a carnival was your definition or relaxation, but alas, Satoru was dragging you around everywhere like always) wouldn’t be good for the baby.

“You see that bear over there? I’m going to win that for you. It could be my first ever present for our baby.”

There was no stopping him. You didn’t want to, either, because you just stood there, arms crossed against your chest as you let him do whatever he pleased. A literal man-child, a youthful soul stuck in an irritatingly attractive man’s body – these were the thoughts that ran through your head while Satoru kept swinging his arm back and forth. He chose a stall where you had to knock down stacks of cans down with one set of three balls, all because he wanted to win a bear. You would really rather go home than watch him fail four times now, but he wasn’t giving up, only flexing his shoulders before gesturing to the young man.

“Hey man, three more balls please.”

Nothing was funny about it at all. Watching your boss fail miserably even after ten tries shouldn’t have been so hilarious, yet sweat was dripping all over his face and his patience was hanging on a loose thread that you were giggling before you knew it.

His usual confident bravado began to tear down bit by bit, his face flushed from the sounds of your teasing.

“Satoru, stop,” you laughed, “We’ve been here for twenty minutes and your wallet might as well be empty! You can just go buy a bear at the mall.”

“You’re too functional. Where would be the meaning behind it if I just bought a random bear?” he huffed, pushing the sleeves of his denim jacket up to his elbows. Determined now more than ever, he even stretched his long arms side to the side with a shake of his hips. You could tell the young man manning the stall was hiding his amusement by whistling to himself, but Satoru really was such a ridiculous sight you couldn’t blame him. “No, I’m going to get that for you, then I’ll brag to my baby how cool their dad was when he knocked those cans down.”

“You mean, if you knock those cans down.”

His shoulders deflated. “Support me a little bit, will you?”

“Hmm, I don’t know, it might just inflate your ego and you’ll be too distracted by yourself to ever actually knock those cans down,” He threw a ball with a force so strong it hit the curtain above the cans, and it bounced back somewhere below the tables. It didn’t even touch the can by a smidge, and you snorted. “See what I mean?”

Expecting that Satoru would take insult to heart (as his ego was easily wounded, this much you knew when he refused to talk to anyone at the office for a whole day because one of his directors forgot his name) you smirked at him, but that smirk immediately dropped when he grinned back at you. He was no longer wimpy like before, an aura of confidence brimming from him. “That’s like the second time you’ve told me I was distracting,” he mused, leaving you baffled because he was right. “On the contrary, I think you’rea lot more distracting, so I take that back. Just stand there and watch me win.”

“Okay,” you drawled out in faux disinterest, thankful for the corny carnival music and chatter from the crowd that he couldn’t hear your poor beating heart.

You were too focused on pretending to be unbothered by him that you failed to see how the cans were knocked down. The counter guy was already picking them up as Satoru pumped his fists in the air, way too much like a child high on sugar.

Was this really the father of your baby?

“I won! I fucking won! That huge brown bear, please!”Satoru’s smile from holding the bear that was half his size couldn’t even compare to the city lights and sparklers. Even his eyes were lit up in joy as he skipped back to you, happily waving the doe-eyed bear in front of you. At your lack of reaction, he sighed before jutting his cheek out to you. “No congratulations kiss?”

“How about a slap?”

“Kinky,” he teased, sending your brain to overheat when he tapped his chin in thought. “Well, you did make my back bleed so I kind of got the idea you’re sort of extreme in bed – ow! Would you please stop hitting me? I just won you a wonderful prize and your first reaction is to hit me! This arm is exhausted from swinging endlessly, you know.”

“Maybe if you aimed better, you wouldn’t have had to exhaust yourself. Like I said, you could’ve just bought a bear,” you scolded, raising your arm threateningly when he opened his mouth again. Idiot. “Give me that.”

Satoru effortlessly swung the bear until it was under your chins, his white lashes ethereal as he peeked at you through them. He was close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath dusting on your cheeks, that same warmth that had been mixing with yours in a sloppy, heated kiss just weeks ago. “And who said I was letting you carry this?” he taunted, thoroughly enjoying how for once, you weren’t hitting him.“I’m supposed to wave this around proudly then place it in our baby’s room when we get home. Besides, your hand looks heavy already.”

“My hands? Wait, what do you mean our baby’s room?”

At your words and questioning gaze, Satoru did a quick turn, trying to use the bear as a shield.

“Yeah, I forgot to tell you,” he scratched the back of his head awkwardly, “I may or may not have had my parents’ guest room renovated as a baby room, although if you ask me, I think moving somewhere else would be much better. Raising a child in a penthouse doesn’t seem like such a great idea if you ask me,” opening your mouth to scold him, Satoru stopped you by placing a finger on your lips, noses grazing against each other. “Don’t scold me right now; I know that look on your face and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, okay? We can still decorate it ourselves. I just had the beds removed and the space cleaned out. Now stop over thinking and let me help you with your problem.”

You pushed his face away for the sake of your heart. In fact, you should be paid for your acting skills for looking so unaffected.

“What problem?”

“Your hands look heavy,” he beamed, long fingers looping through yours as he swayed them side to side. “So let me carry it for you.”

“Satoru, I—”

“Don’t get me wrong,” he blinked innocently while surrendering his free hand, “I’m not doing this for you, it’s for the baby. Did you know oxytocin is released and makes you feel good and reduces pain, maybe even stress? We can pump your oxytocin levels through touch. It also lowers your blood pressure, and we want you at your happiest and healthiest for this pregnancy, right?”

“Since when were you an expert on this?”

“Since I found out I’m becoming a dad,” his words struck you speechless, mouth pressed into a flat line as you stared him openly. You hadn’t mean to come off as rude in that moment; you were just trying to gauge the sincerity behind his words, to explore the depth in his eyes, but Satoru must’ve took it wrong as he cleared his throat, “I can let go if you really want me to.”

“N-no! It’s fine…can we move? We’ve been standing here for ten minutes now,” Embarrassed, you pointed to the closest thing in your sight – a photo booth. “How about there? That looks fun.”

Satoru followed where your arm was pointed, laughing when a couple exited the red curtains while giggling amongst themselves. The guy even leaned down to steal a long kiss from his lover, and if you were embarrassed before, you wanted to crawl into a hole and never come back again right now. “You know, if you wanted me to be stuck in a cramped space next to you, you could’ve just said so. I didn’t bring the limo with me, but the Audi could be pretty small for us, I guess…”

You hissed at him in warning, “God, you never shut up do you?”

“It made you smile.”

“I wasn’t smiling!”

“Sure, mommy, whatever you say,” bumping his hip with yours, Satoru led you inside the cube. There were a plethora of filters to choose from; ranging from heart frames and ones that placed shades on your face. Not really thinking of what to pick, you reached out to press the frog hats one, but Satoru was swatting your hands away for the effect with heart emojis everywhere. “This is cute. We can show this to our baby once they’re born.”

“They won’t really know what a Polaroid is, Satoru.”

“It’s still sentimental!” he grumbled before clicking the camera icon, a huge smile already on his face until he saw you squished on the other side of the booth. Only one side of your ear could be seen, and Satoru furrowed his brows at you. “Come closer, you’ll be cropped from the frame.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Jesus, Y/N, don’t act shy now, I already fucked a baby into you,” mouth falling open at the vulgarity of his words, Satoru took the chance to drag you beside him. “Relax, you’re always so stiff. Our baby might come out frowning if you keep huffing like that.”

“You’re too close for comfort.”

“My apologies, I’ll try not to be included in the photo when you’re the one who suggested this in the first place,” he muttered playfully, booping your nose before he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. He was close, too close, that his musky perfume filled the close space. You wanted to lean closer to his warmth and sturdiness of his broad shoulders; his mere presence bringing about a sense of tranquillity despite your words. You told yourself it shouldn’t be too bad to lean into him for just a little while, absentmindedly following him as he cheers, “Smile!”

One photo turned into two, and Satoru ended up inserting a few more bills into the slot to take more. He tried out as many filters as he wanted, acting as if you two had been long time friends from how easy it was for him to be around you like that.

You supposed it came from his heavy experience with women. You were so unlike; while he was open to touch and didn’t care too much about space, you craved it deliriously.

It was obvious none of this meant anything to Satoru. You were probably just another woman in his life, with the exception that you had a kid, but you couldn’t mean something more. If anything, he treated you more like an old friend than a lover. He’d said it himself before that you weren’t his type and you didn’t mind, so why did it hurt the longer you mulled about it? Sure, you may not be as attractive or luxurious as his previous lovers, but did you really not even have charismatic pull? Is it because you weren’t his type that he was so casual with you, while you on the other hand, felt like you would lose your mind at every little thing he did?

You watched as Satoru pulled out his wallet and kept the Polaroid of you both grinning at the camera, forming a silly heart shape with your hands per his request. It was silly and platonic – yet the gesture confused you to no end.

“Why’d you do that?”

Satoru’s hand paused. “Am I not allowed to…?”

“We’re not lovers. You can’t just put a photo of us in your wallet.”

As if to prove a point, Satoru pulled out more photos of his wallet and showed it to you. There were several more wallet-sized photos, mostly of his white cat with black shades, another of him and his best friend, Shoko, and the last photo was of him skiing. They were all placed in his wallet along with a small, faded out photograph of what seemed to be his parents from the younger days. You couldn’t understand why he was showing you this, much less how patient he was as he smiled softly at you. “It’s memorabilia. I keep photos of everyone I care about everywhere with me,” he said, pocketing his wallet back before gazing up at the night sky. “I like to think we’re friends, at least. We’re definitely not just boss and employee anymore.”

Then what are we?

There were so many things you wanted to ask. You always knew he was always this overly friendly and nice, but what did make you? What did a friend mean to him? Other than Shoko, who was his lesbian friend who was also the company’s resident doctor, you’d never seen him be platonic with another female before.

The realization made your mood drop.

Maybe you were right. He probably didn’t even see you as a woman, but what did it matter? You didn’t like him. You shouldn’tlike him. Even if he had no intentions of wooing you, Gojo Satoru was far too appealing for his own good. Being around him was dangerous for your heart.

“Wanna ride the ferris wheel? The night city always looks beautiful.”

He was just your boss...and you were just a friend. Things were going to be alright as long as no feelings were involved. You survived seven years of working with him with not a single moment where your heart fluttered when he spoke your name; a baby made between you shouldn’t change anything now. At the end of the day, you were both only doing this out of responsibility. Satoru was trying his best to become a supportive co-parent to you, and that was all it ever would be. Strictly business – purely professional – as it always had been and always will be.

Foolish girl, you could hear a voice whisper at the back of your head, don’t get too lost in his eyes.

“Y/N, are you tired? Do you want to go home now? We can just order dinner to be delivered if you’re exhausted,” Satoru tugged at your sleeve to get your attention, and you chuckled awkwardly, not meaning to have spaced out the whole time. Worry was written all over his face from the way his brows dipped, stunning blue eyes darkening like the night sky you both made memories under.

Don’t look at me like that...

“Are you okay? Do you wanna go home?”

“Yeah,” you chirped far too brightly than you would’ve liked. Right now, it was more of a mission of fake it til you make it. You would just have to keep exerting the same amount of effort into making this work for the baby’s sake. And if that meant pushing aside any budding desire for this to last any longer to focus on your ‘friendship’, then you would do it. Taking Satoru’s hand for the first time since the baby ordeal, you flashed him a genuine smile. “The ferris wheel sounds nice. Let’s do some sightseeing before the night ends.”

Neither of you speak inside the cab. Beautiful the night was as the city shone into awakening illumination beneath you, comforting you with the thought that in the grand scheme of it all, you were small. Insignificant. That somehow everything you worried about wouldn’t matter when there was a much bigger world out there, and you were but a fickle dot in the middle of its entirety. But that was you, and Gojo lived in a much different world than you did. For somewhere in the city, you could recognize several of the sky towers, buildings, and establishments owned by his family. He mattered in the grand scheme; you were a small factor in his world.

Glancing back at the man who’d been silent the whole ride, you smiled upon seeing that he was doing the same. Satoru was practically bouncing in his seat as he snapped several photos of the city, mumbling something about he’d never seen this view before.

He was so innocent yet so out there, igniting within you an urge to take care of him and wanting to be taken care of by him.

You’d already accepted that you may just never have him that way. That small, fleeting crush was like a butterfly – pretty look at, but damn near impossible to catch. You’d already stopped crying yourself to sleep over the new changes brought about in your body, that in a few months’ time, you’d look back into everything and see that everything had changed. The mistakes you made that night were still something you regretted because you wished you could’ve done better, but seeing him right in front of you now, there was only gratefulness blooming within. Grateful that he was right by your side, grateful that at least the father of your child was more than capable of giving them a comfortable life, grateful that he didn’t push you away like you expected.

Acting more on impulse than logic, you leaned over to press your lips on his cheek.“Thank you,” you mumbled, eyes closed as you let your lips stay there for a few more seconds.

His skin was warm underneath your touch, and when you opened your eyes, Satoru was gazing up at you with stars twinkling in the vast galaxy he called his eyes. You smiled at his reaction, watching as he reached a palm out to caress that spot your lips had landed.“For what?”

“For everything,” you crumbled,“You’re not a bad person, Satoru, I know that,” with shuddered breaths, tears sprung at the back of your eyes again. “I’m sorry for being so difficult. I just need time to adjust to…well, all of this.” Your voice cracked at the last sentence and you were crying before you knew it, face hidden behind your palms in fear he’d look at you differently. In his eyes, you were always his stoic secretary who didn’t even bat an eye when people gave you backlash after Satoru hired you despite the lack of a college degree.

This all felt new – to cry, to trust, to rely on someone – and there was a flurry of emotions you couldn’t quite place yet.

Scooping you into his arms, Satoru patted your back as your cries grew louder. “Take all the time you need. We don’t have to rush into anything at all.”

In the harsh world of conglomerates where the laws of business blurred thinner and thinner with each day, it was hard to believe that not rushing into anything would be possible. It was always a flurry of hurried phone calls, frantic preparations for emergency meetings, anxiety over presenting new proposals and hoping that your superiors would sign your documents so you could go about your way. Time was as imperative as money was to them, but Satoru had proved he could be beyond that.

From the moment you met him, he never treated time as if it was something that slipped through his fingertips. He enjoyed every second he had of his life, and perhaps that was why you hated him so much in the first place.

You thought he took everything for granted, when in reality, all he did was bask in the little things life offered.

This much, at least, you trusted him with. If he said there would be no need to rush and you could both take it slow, he meant it. Around him, time felt more like a secret whisper than a treasure you both had to seize to protect. The night drifted off until it was already midnight and the crew was ushering all visitors out. You and Satoru made it home safely and quietly, hands linked together as if it was the most natural thing ever. No rush, you kept telling yourself, and you plopped down on the couch heavily as you let your muscles relax from such a long, eventful day.

You stayed there for a solid minute or so when you felt warm hands take your heels off. Opening your eyes, Satoru kneeled before you, his fingers expertly rubbing and pushing against the sore muscles of your feet. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Your feet must be tired from all that walking,” he mumbled, looking up briefly to meet your eyes and tease your shoulder back. “Lean back for me. I’ll take care of you.”

Judging by the sentiment behind his smile, you figured it wouldn’t be harmful to enjoy this at least once. You’ve never gotten foot massages before but his hands kneading yours felt heavenly. You knew from experience beforehand that Satoru was quite godly when it came to the skills and magic his fingers brought, though this one was on a different level, and you were sinking deeper into the couch from the bliss. He was right; you were tired, and if having your boss massage you like this every night after dragging you wherever he pleased, then you wouldn’t complain.

The ringing of your phone made you sit up abruptly, surprising Satoru whose head you almost knocked into. “Sorry,” you croaked out sheepishly, “It’s my dad. I need to take this.”

“Do you need me to leave you alone?”

“Uh, no, you’re fine.”

Satoru gestured to your foot as you took the call, mouthing, “Should I continue?”

“Yes, please,” you answered back, palm pressed over the mic before you answered. “Hey, Dad!” Your father greeted you back with much enthusiasm, his energy heard even by Satoru who sent you small smiles and curious glances every now and then. A part of you wanted to ask if he was fine kneeling on the floor like that, but his knees were on the fur carpet anyway that it shouldn’t hurt him. He extended your leg and trailed up your calves, pulling a soft moan from you when he kneaded the flesh and rid it of its knots. His ministrations distracted you until you were nodding absentmindedly to your Dad every now and then, not really paying attention to what he was saying.

Then the call ended, and his last words kept ringing back into your head ominously. Satoru took quick notice of this as he tapped your knee, bringing your attention back to him. “Is something wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I...” you started, helplessly fumbling around Satoru. “My dad is in Tokyo. He said he wants to have dinner with me.”

“You don’t look particularly happy about that. Do you not want to meet your father?”

“I do but...”

“But?”

“I have to tell him about this,” you shivered, refracting your legs back to the couch until his touch disappeared from your skin. For a moment, you had the urge to crawl back to his heat, but you were restless, agitated. “About us. He’s going to want to meet you and I don’t want to hide the pregnancy from him either,” Satoru remained unmoving as you rambled, and you hid your face behind your arms again as you remembered the rules you asked him to follow. “Listen, I’m sorry if I sound unfair right now, I know I said I didn’t want anyone else knowing—”

Warm lips brushed over your knuckles, large hands peeling your wrists to reveal your face. “Hey, it’s fine. He’s family and you can tell him. It’s not like your Dad would ruin your image or something like you expected to happen.”

“He won’t but...” you frowned, “My dad isn’t going to like this. I can’t guarantee he’ll be civil the whole time, especially towards you.”

“You told him about me?”

“A few years ago, yeah, when I still couldn’t tolerate you.”

“So you can tolerate me now?”

“Only a little bit,” you corrected, pushing his hands away as you opened your phone to check your schedule. It was mostly Satoru’s schedule, truth be told, but you were free for the most part tomorrow. Satoru could just longue back in his office while you clocked out early to meet your dad. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. On second thought, he doesn’t have to know at all. I’m only a few weeks in and it’s not like he’ll notice—”

“Y/N,” Satoru interrupted you, rudely snatching his phone from your shaking fingers. You would’ve scolded him had he not sounded so worried. “I did promise I would take responsibility for you, right? I want to meet your dad and introduce myself properly. As a father-to-be, I think I can somewhat understand that he might react strongly to this, but I also need to reassure him you’re in safe hands,” taking your hand in his, Satoru leaned into your palm, the smile he wore way too charming than what your heart could handle. “As long as you’re okay with it, I would like to meet him.”

“I’m sorry if he does something stupid.”

“Don’t be,” he reassured with a chuckle. “I’m sure everything will go well.”

It didn’t go well. Your father wasn’t throwing a fit or causing a scene like you originally feared, but the current situation wasn’t any better either. He looked like he was on the verge of tearing Satoru’s head apart, his grip on the bread knife so tight his knuckles flashed white. Your father was the literal definition of unpredictable and out of nervousness, you held Satoru’s hand under the table for comfort.

In complete opposition of yours, Satoru handled it with class and composure. His head was ducked down in respect, making sure to be curt and precise in counters to your father’s harsh accusations.

“I’m really sorry for everything, Sir.”

“Did you ruin my daughter’s life?”

Satoru finally tilted his head back up to look your father in the eye, both your hands turning cold and sweaty in between the seats. “Pardon?”

“I asked if you ruined my daughter’s life by getting her pregnant.”

“I would never intend for that to happen, Sir,” Satoru straightened up. From your perspective, he looked every bit the man parents would want their children to be with – handsome, elegant, educated, polite, respectful and well-off – but your father was no ordinary parent. He sized Satoru up like a predator hunting his prey even as the latter acted cool about it. “Granted, it was an accident and neither of us are prepared for this, but I promise I’ll take care of her. I take responsibility as the father and you have nothing to worry about.”

Your dad slammed his palms down on the table, the loud smack catching the attention of nearby tables. “How dare you tell me I have nothing to worry about?”

“Dad, please don’t do this.”

“No, he needs to know,” he snapped. Unable to help it, you groaned inwardly and scooted closer to Satoru, knowing where this was leading. “I lost her mother right after she was born; raised her by myself when I was barely out from high school. Rich men like you may never understand the struggles of taking care of a baby all by yourself, but I did everything I could to make sure she grew up well. My daughter had a happy, comfortable life. When she told me she wanted to follow her dreams in Tokyo, I supported her, and then you go take everything away from her because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself? You dare defile her like that?”

“Dad!” you roared, clutching Satoru’s hand who’d gone limp. “It was equally my responsibility as it is his! I wanted this; we both got carried away but we’re doing our best, so please stop being difficult to us.”

“You wanted this?” he laughed dryly, “A child with this man you kept moaning to me about; the same man who went to clubs every night while he left you all by yourself to work, to clean up his mess from him? You wanted him?”

“Dad,” you gritted your teeth, nails sinking down onto your thigh. Satoru remained silent between you both, although you could feel his burning gaze penetrating through the back of your skull. “It’s both our mistake. But this child...we don’t see it as that. We like to view it as a blessing. It may be true we harbour no affection for one another, but we want to be good parents. That’s all you need to know and I find no reason to explain myself to you. If you have nothing else to say, you can go back home. I’ll pay for your ride,” slamming down a few bills his way, you glared at your father, who shrunk back at the anger radiating off of you. “You’re not welcome here, Dad. Just go back home.”

“I’m just worried for you.”

“You don’t have to. I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“I never said you were,” he sighed, rubbing the sides of his temples. “But he just took all your opportunities away from you! What about your dreams? What about your plan of having your own career once you have enough experience? What about—”

“Are you implying that because I’m pregnant, suddenly I’m not qualified to fulfil my goals?”

“Sir,” Satoru cut you off, releasing your hands as he leaned forwards on the table, becoming more and more like the CEO he was trained to be – all authority and gentle command that won the hearts of multiple investors. “I assure you that I won’t be holding your daughter back from the things she wants to achieve. As her co-parent, I’m perfectly capable of supporting her in the dreams she wishes to achieve. I’ve worked with her for years; I know she can reach for the stars if she wanted.”

Your mind blanked.

“Young man, don’t talk to me as if you know my daughter better than I do,” your father scorned, “I’m not questioning your capability to support her, but what about your credibility? How can you assure me you’ll really be there for her? How can you assure me you won’t leave my daughter stranded in the middle of nowhere? How can you assure me you can protect her from the harsh criticism of society? Money can’t provide nor does it solve anything,” your father copied his gesture by leaning forward, but it was to poke Satoru’s chest. “From what I’ve heard about you, I suppose you understand perfectly well why I don’t trust you.”

“Sir, I do plan on marrying your daughter and to give her the life she deserves,” Satoru confessed, effectively stealing from you the ability to speak as he glimpsed your way. “If she lets me.”

“You’ll marry her? Be faithful to her as your wife and have a family? Are you sure you can do that?”

“Yes, Sir, I’m highly confident I can. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Then that’s all I need to know,” your father leaned back in your seat, arms crossed against his chest and a stern expression on his face. “And if I find out you hurt or make my daughter cry in any way, I’ll beat up that pretty face of yours. I have two more sons that’re willing to do the same, if you don’t watch your actions.”

Satoru beamed at your father’s ‘approval.’ “I’ll face any consequence if I fall short on my duties, Sir, but I assure you, it will never have come to that.”

“So we’ve come to an agreement?”

The two men linked and shook hands across the table, completely disregarding the fact you were right beside him. You were beyond appalled, but mostly hurt that you’d been reduced to this way. And they were unaware of it, too, sickening and satisfied yet tense smiles were masked on their faces as they decided your future.

You stood up and left the restaurant.

You kept walking as fast as you could in the cold night, hands shoved into the coat of your pockets. Thousands of pin needles pricked at your heart and your skin the more you replayed the memory in your head. How stupid were you to think that Satoru would be different? And marriage? Was he serious? It all made you sick to the core to the point you wanted to throw up and disappear, until a heavy set of footsteps echoed behind you and tugged your wrist.

“Y/N, wait!” Satoru panted, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. “What’s wrong with you? You just up and left—”

“Seriously, Satoru, you’re asking me that?” your face fell flat at his cluelessness, “What’s wrong with you? You men are sickening; planning my entire future like that right in front of me as if I don’t have a say in what I want. None of you asked if I’m okay with this. You really went ahead deciding we’ll get married when I told you already, I don’t want to marry you and I never will!”

Satoru brushed a hand over his hair, a hand on his hip. You could tell his patience was being tested – after being verbally harassed by your father and now with you pushing back in the same heat, it was only a matter of time before he lost his cool. Surprisingly enough, however, his voice remained levelled as he sighed. “What did you expect me to do back there? Tell your father that we’re just going to be roommates and raise a child together as if we’re not already family?” he defended, words slow and pronounced with a hint of hurt behind them. “I respect you and I truly do want to be with you, that’s why I wanted us to get married.”

“You respect me?” you laughed incredulously, “Are you hearing yourself right now? No person respects another by deciding what happens to my life without my consent!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask, okay? I apologize for it and I acknowledge my mistake that I didn’t give you much of a choice. Me being cornered and pressured isn’t a good excuse, but I wasn’t lying when I said I want to take care of you and—”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Why do you want to be with me?” you demanded, “Why do you want to take care of me so badly? How did you even take this so well? You weren’t even that angry when I told you I was pregnant.”

Satoru paled. “Was I supposed to be? Should I have pushed you away and kicked you out my life? Is that what you wanted me to do, or is that what you expected from me, considering you’ve made it extremely clear I’m nothing but your airheaded boss and a man who always wants his dick wet, right?” the sting of his words pricked you both – you with your guilt, and him with his pride crushed. But he didn’t let on, didn’t waver and didn’t match your anger as his chest shook with impatience. “I’m trying to be good to you; I want to be good for you and the baby because despite what you think of me, I’m not the devil the tabloids make me out to be. I sleep around, yeah, but I wouldn’t go so far to turn someone away especially when I know I’m supposed to be there.”

“Satoru, if you’re only doing this out of obligation, you can be a good father without marrying me. Marriage is not a requirement; I don’t care what people say that I got pregnant without getting married. That’s the least of my concern, I just want the baby to grow up healthy but I don’t want to be involved with you.”

With how stunned Satoru looked, one would’ve thought you slapped him right in the face. That mere sight of seeing your boss tear his walls down in front of you almost made you feel bad, but you had to be strong.

You had to be firm with what you stood for.

“I really don’t want to be with you, Satoru. I’m so sorry.”

“What do you want me to do?” his voice cracked, begging and pleading as he stood before you, looking every bit of a man lost in uncharted territory. “I don’t know what you want me to do, Y/N. One moment, you’re telling me you want me to be a good father, and then the next you’re pushing me away. People are so sure that I’m a man who can never settle down because they believe I have commitment issues, but I’m telling you I can commit to you right now,” he held your hand, rubbing some of his warmth at your comparably cold ones. You didn’t fail to notice that he was trembling, but what about what you couldn’t decipher. “Are you really sure I’m the one here who isn’t capable of that? What are you so scared of that you can’t trust me?”

“Because you’re you! Because you’re a fucking asshole who’s been treating me like I’m an overworking machine and always expects me to undo your shit for you! Because you make me sick and I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t know what love means!” Exploded. You exploded. “I regret everything that happened between us that night. No, in fact, I regret ever meeting you at all.”

Satoru took a step back.

All the light and joy that fit so perfectly with him had now disappeared.

“I’m sorry,” he demurred, “I’m sorry that I’d been so repulsive that you’ve felt miserable for all this time. I’m sorry I haven’t been a decent boss and I’m sorry I’m not good enough for you.”

“Gojo, stop. Stop doing that; stop apologizing!”

“Then tell me what you want me to do,” he barked desperately. “Because I can’t read your mind and I just want to be good for you.”

“What if I don’t want you to? I don’t want you to be good to me, I don’t want you to care about me. Be there for the baby, but don’t involve yourself too much in my personal life. Stop asking me to marry you because you and I would never work out. We’re impossible, okay?”

“How do you know we’ll never work out when we haven’t even tried?” he pushed, “You never even gave me a chance.”

“You’re not worth that chance.”

If someone could receive an award for effortlessly trampling over someone repeatedly, you would’ve been crowned winner a long time ago. You had no idea what came over you as you spat all those hurtful words to Satoru, but did your words bear no truth? The fact that he no longer defended himself meant he also knew that he wasn’t worth it – that he wasn’t someone to be trusted. It wasn’t that you were completely unfair too; of course you considered it. Weeks of living under the same roof as him and you most definitely considered it. Say you did get married and became a real family – what then? It wasn’t a marriage out of love, but rather out of responsibility and obligation.

As much as you loved your child, you couldn’t imagine throwing away your future and living miserable for the rest of your life like that.

A life built on lies wasn’t a life worth living.

“I would never hurt you.”

Your heart cracked. After everything you said, after all your efforts to keep him away from your own safety, after all the hurtful things you’ve done to him, and he was still apologizing? Why did he have to make it so hard to let go? You were tired, so tired that you could no longer refrain your lip from quivering as tears caked your face.

“Gojo, please, don’t—”

“So if me stepping away from your life is what would really make you happy, then I’ll respect it. But there’s one thing I have to ask,” Satoru swiped a thumb under your eye to catch the tear. His smile was forlorn, his touch cold and words melancholic. “Do you want the baby? Do you...want to keep the baby and be a mother? You don’t have to do anything for me, I just want to know if the mother of my child even wants to be one. And please be honest, because everything you say right now are words that I’ll mark seriously.”

The word left your mouth before you could stop it.

“No.”

“No what?”

“I don’t want to be a mother,” you admitted, hands trailing over your belly. It felt like you were betraying your own child, but you hadn’t planned this. “I’m too young, Satoru, I-I’m not ready for this. With you there beside me or not, I really don’t want this.”

“Then,” he cleared his throat, turning his head to the side to catch a moment. You swore you saw his eyes shine under the city lights with tears, but it was gone so soon that you might’ve just fooled yourself with it. Once he deemed himself ready to talk, Satoru took a deep breath. “Do I have your consent that once the baby is born...it’ll be under my care? Would you prefer to reach your own dreams, then? You’ll never have to be a part of the Gojo family if it’s really not what you want, even though I could support you as much as you need me to.”

Your eyes widened at his proposition. “You’ll take care of our baby?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Can I...can I visit them, at least, once in a while?” It was more than just your heart that broke that night. There was no telling whether you’d hurt yourself in the long run with this decision. It was no easy choice to make – to actively pursue your dreams somewhere else more than being a mother. You wanted to do your best, of course you did, but it wasn’t that easy. Gojo didn’t have to tell you for you to understand that once you married him, you’d be expected to run the business with him and be involved in his family and their dramas. Now that wasn’t a life you wanted.

“You’re free to visit them whenever,” he promised, voice fading even lower into the background. “So is this it? We’ll just be living under the same roof until the baby is born and once they’re here...”

“We’ll part ways.”

“We’ll part ways,” he nodded in agreement, sniffling for a brief second before fixing his tie. The Gojo Satoru you got to know for a few weeks had now disappeared. Not even the goofy boss you spent seven years with could be found in the coldness of his eyes, almost as if he’d put up such impenetrable walls around him and nothing could pass through. The sudden shift in aura made your heart clench as he offered his hand to shake. “Okay. Let’s stay professional until then?”

“Yeah, Sir, I can do that,” your hands shook as you enclosed it around his, but now all the warmth had disappeared – from his eyes, his touch, his soul. It hurt, but this was necessary. It was what felt right. “Thank you – for everything.”

“You’re welcome. Anything for you and the baby,” Satoru proclaimed, perplexing you both when he suddenly pulled you in his arms. Just like that, the dam broke, and you were staining his precious suit before you could stop it. His arms rubbed up and down your back the longer he held you there, almost like a final moment to lean on one another before you had to say goodbye eventually. Beneath your palm, his heart beat exuberantly loud, so much so that you might’ve heard the prayers it whispered. “Stop crying now. The baby might feel sad too. We’ll both be alright – we just have to get through this.”

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[sunnyville36]

Mamihlapinatapai {part 5}

I am so excited to share the last part of this story with you.  It means so much to me to be able to share my work and have people enjoy it, so thank you to everyone who has read this little fic.  Huge shout out to the extremely talented @fizzydrink698 for being an inspiration to my writing and an all-around sweet and supportive human.  And the biggest thank you of all to my beta reader, @harry-on-broadway, for being the most encouraging and wonderful friend, without whom I never would have had the confidence to write this, let alone put it out into the world. 💜

Hope you enjoy the finale of Mamihlapinatapai.

Need to catch up? {overview} {part 1} {part 2} {part 3} {part 4}

Pairing: Bang Chan x Female Reader

Themes: royal au, medieval au, court intrigue, arranged marriage, original characters, mutual pining, slow burn

Warnings: smut, emotionally abusive parents, usage of degrading names

Rating: Mature

Word count: 6k

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As Soft As Petals  |  Kingdom of Gu, present day

It was late into the evening, maybe even so late it was actually early, and you were standing outside the prince’s door, frantically knocking on it.

“Y/n, what’s happened?!  Is everything alright?”

You walked straight into the room, not even bothering to wait for Chan to invite you in.

“It’s my mother.  I can’t find her anywhere.  I assumed she went with a separate wagon party the way she came when we left Lajor, but everyone in the servants’ quarters says they haven’t seen her in hours and I’ve looked everywhere I can think of and - “

“Shh, shh, Y/n calm down, it’s alright,” Chan said, taking your hands in his.  You were full on hyperventilating at this point, your body starting to physically shake with worry.

“I-I just… these past few weeks I almost lost you and then we almost went to war and I can’t handle not knowing where she is.  I just can’t imagine what I’d do if she - ” your voice caught in your throat, unable to bring yourself to say your worst fear.

“I know, I know, but it’s going to be alright,” Chan soothed.  “I’m sure she’s fine and we’ll find her, but you are in no state now to continue looking for her.  Why don’t I ask a few of the guards to keep searching the palace grounds, and I’ll send a rider to Lajor to make sure she would have made it back with us?”

You looked up at him.  “You would do that?”

“Of course, Y/n, this is your mother we’re talking about.  We’ll do everything we need to until you know she’s safe,” he said, guiding you gently with him towards the door, knowing you wouldn’t want to let go of his hand based on the vice-like grip you currently had on it.  He leaned his head out into the hallway, calling for one of the guards stationed at the end and relaying what he wanted done to continue the search for your mother.  All the while you were watching him with an expression of awe and gratitude.  It still surprised you, how he seemed to know exactly what you needed, and even more so that he was willing to do whatever it took to do it for you.  He walked you back into the room, taking the both of you to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Thank you,” you breathed out, still catching your breath from your moment of distress.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said gently, leaning down, his lips ever so slightly grazing the crown of your head.

You felt a shiver run through you.

“Your Highness,” you lifted your head to say something, hoping to avoid talking about what he had just done, but were stopped in your tracks by the look on his face.

“I was actually hoping to see you tonight.  I need to tell you something, Y/n.  And you might not like what I have to say, but I can’t keep denying it for the rest of my life.  These last few weeks have shown me that I can’t take anything for granted, so I intend to stop right now.”  He paused and stood up, giving you room to stop him if you wanted, but when you remained silent he took that as permission to keep going.

“I’m in love with you.  I think I always have been.  I’m in love with the way you hum that same silly tune to yourself when you’re doing chores.  How you can read a map of any terrain, how you’re not afraid to correct me when I make a mistake while drilling our sword fighting techniques.  I’m in love with the smile you get on your face when you ride through the woods and the way your hair looks when the light shines on it through the trees.”

You were aware your mouth was slightly open, your eyes staring at Chan like a dumbstruck deer, but you couldn’t quite wrap your head around the words he was saying.  You’d always known you still had feelings for him, and could only dream he reciprocated those same feelings.  But hearing him say all the little things you didn’t even notice about yourself, hearing him say he loved you for those things, your mind was at a loss for what to do.

“I love how you care for our people, how you always have their best interests at heart.  How you would be willing to never speak about these feelings I know we both share so as to not jeopardize your ability to serve me, to serve them.  But most of all I love that you see me.  Not the statesman or the fighter or the ruler, just me.”

You made up your mind then.  To hell with the king’s threats, with the questions your mother had asked you about responsibilities and sacrifices.  You had been making the greatest sacrifice of all for the last sixteen years, but no more.

You launched yourself at him, his arms wrapping around you immediately and your lips meeting his.

It was somehow exactly like that night five years ago and nothing like it at all.  You’d both grown in experience since then, having had other partners over the years.  Your lips moved smoother against one another’s, and it was more passionate than it was gentle.  But you felt that same feeling of euphoria glowing inside you, knowing that you were here with him and he was here with you and you were both finally admitting to what you’d always felt but never dared to acknowledge.  You felt yourself sinking into him, willing to let the tide of his love carry you away if it meant you could stay in this moment forever.  Your lips parted from his, Chan titling your head up to look at him.

“I need to hear you say it.  I need to know that you love me, too.”

You took his face in your hands, willing your voice to convey how sincere you were.

“I love you Chris.  I love the way your hair is always ruffled in the morning and that you sing to yourself when you think no one can hear.  I love how you take three cubes of sugar with your tea instead of two.  I love your determination to better yourself and your dedication to better your people.  I love that you have always treated me as an equal.  I love your dimples and your eyes and the way you make me feel safe when my hand is in yours.”  You brought your thumb up to wipe away a single tear that was sliding down his cheek, his eyes shining as he listened to your words.  “It has always been you, Chris.  It will always be you.”

He smiled then, that same blinding smile that had bound you to him from the day you met.  He kissed you again, then began moving his lips down the side of your neck, your head tilting back to allow him more skin.  His hand reached back and in a few quick motions the laces of your bodice were loose enough for your dress to fall off your shoulders.  He kissed downwards over your chest, and your breath hitched as the dress moved lower and lower, eventually dropping to the floor, leaving you almost bare for him.

Your hands came up to thread through his hair as you mocked, “You are entirely too clothed for my liking, Your Highness.”

At that, Chan whipped his shirt over his head, exposing his soft skin and toned abs, then pulled you to him, tone light but face serious. “I never want to have to hear you call me that ever again.”

“Chan,” you laughed, lightly smacking his chest, “what we’re doing right now is staying confined to this room; I’ll still have to call you that in front of everyone else.”

“Fine,” he all but growled, “I will settle for never hearing it in this room.  For now.”  His lips returned to pressing featherlight kisses to your jaw and found your sweet spot below your ear.  A sigh escaped your lips as Chan lifted you up and placed you under him on the bed, your hands roaming over his shoulders and back as he shed the rest of his clothes and removed the final layer separating you from him.  You could feel his hardness against your dripping core and you looked down, holding in a moan when you saw how big he was.

“Ah ah ah,” the prince purred, “I don’t want you to hold anything back tonight.  I have waited so long to have you like this, and I want to hear every sound that falls from your lips.  I want to know how good I make you feel, Y/n.”

Even if you’d wanted to, you couldn't hold back the sinful sound that left you as he brought his mouth to suckle and nip at your breast, his hand reaching down to rub the pads of his first two fingers against your heat.  Slowly, he increased the pace and the pressure as he kissed down your body, bringing his head between your thighs.  You moaned when you felt his tongue lick a long, languid stripe up your core, then brought your hands to tangle in his hair as he stroked small circles against your sensitive bud.  Desperate for him, you pulled his head back up to meet yours, back arching as you whimpered, “Please Chris.”

He lined himself up with your entrance and slowly pushed in, the feeling of him against your walls far better than you’d ever imagined.  Being this close to him, feeling his cock reach places inside you you hadn’t known could feel this good, the intimacy was almost overwhelming, so you clung to him, reveling in the feeling of being with the man you loved.

“How did I get so lucky?” Chan was whispering, praises falling from his lips.  “Fuck Y/n, you’re so beautiful, an angel, my perfect girl.  Taking me so well, like you were made for me.”

“I was,” you breathed out, “all of me is yours Chris, only yours.”

His thrusts increased then, both of you teetering on the edge of your highs.  You captured his lips in another burning kiss, sealing your love as the ecstasy coursed through you both.  You laid there for a few moments, relishing the weight of his body on yours and the quiet sound of his heartbeat.  Then Chan rose and fetched a cloth to clean you both, your body already starting to succumb to the pleasant exhaustion.

When he returned to the bed you heard his voice whisper one last I love you before you drifted off in his arms.

Runaway  |  Kingdom of Miroh, 28 years ago

The girl had been running for two days.

She’d prepared her knights and her attendant, told them the story she’d fabricated for them to repeat, and paid them handsomely for the trouble she was surely causing them.  Her parents would be frantic, but eventually they would mourn her and move on.  The kingdom would survive without her; in fact, it had to, because she knew nothing would ever make her return, force her to take on a responsibility she never asked for nor wanted.

Only five more miles to the border, she thought.  Then I can start over, be whoever I want to be.

By the time she reached the marker for Gu, she could barely stay upright, having taken as little rations with her as she dared.  She wandered across, hoping some small border town would be close by where she could eat, maybe get some rest.  After another few miles some buildings started to pop up, small cottages and what looked like a market and an inn.  The girl squinted at the prices on the inn’s sign, trying to remember the conversion rate of the currency she’d brought with her.

“Hey!  I saw you come in to town; you look a little lost.  Can I help you find anything?”

The girl realized the voice was talking to her, and turned to see a boy about her age, maybe seventeen, tall with shaggy brown hair, looking at her curiously.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the boy said.  “It’s just… you seem to be having a little trouble reading the sign and I-I’m uhh... pretty good with numbers; I could help you, if you’d like?”

“Oh umm… yes… p-please… thank you.”

The boy walked closer, the girl showing him the money she had so he could count out the equivalent of the price.  “So, is your family visiting from Miroh?”

The girl balked at his perceptiveness.  Despite all her planning, she hadn’t thought about what she would tell anyone when they asked for her story.  She tried to come up with something quickly, stumbling over her words.  “Umm no, m-my parents are… they’re uhh… they died.”

“Oh, I-I’m sorry to hear that,” the boy said, looking at her sympathetically, and the girl felt like he really meant it.

“Well, umm, here’s what you’ll need for a night’s stay here,” he continued, handing her back the money.  “If you want I can show you a good place to eat that’s close by; you look like you could use a hearty meal.”

Despite knowing him for all of two minutes, the boy seemed trustworthy.  And he was right, she could definitely use some nourishment.

“That sounds nice,” she answered.

“Great!” the boy said, stepping down from the inn’s doorstep and walking towards the village center, the girl following.  “I’m Minhyuk, by the way.  What’s your name?”

“My name’s Julietta.”

Revelations  |  Kingdom of Gu, present day

You awoke, startling for a moment at the unfamiliar surroundings until you remembered what had happened the previous night.  Smiling to yourself, you turned in the sheets, expecting to see Chan laying beside you, but you were met with emptiness on his side of the bed.  You frowned, scooting over and feeling the spot still warm from his body.

He must have only just left, you thought.

You glanced over and noticed a small note sitting on his bedside table, letters written in his artful penmanship.  You picked it up, eyes running over the words.

Good morning my love.  How I wished to have you wake up in my arms, but I’ll only be gone for a few minutes.  I’ve gone to speak with my father about something, and when I return, the whole kingdom will be able to hear my name spoken by your beautiful voice. 

A wave of dread washed over your entire body, threatening to pin you to the spot where you sat.

Chan knew his father could be cold, knew he was a callous man who cared for little more than his own self-interest and what he deemed acceptable.  But you knew he’d always believed maybe he could change the king, could open his heart to the same degree Chan and his mother had shared.  You, however, never saw the man through such rose-colored glasses, having been the recipient of his threats and intimidation too many times to believe he could be redeemed.  And your beloved prince was about to find out the true depths of his father’s loathing towards the relationship you shared.

You sprung into action, body moving without thinking as you dressed in last night’s clothes and ran from his chambers, heading to the throne room.  Maybe you could reach him in time, spare him the pain of hearing his father’s rejection.  You’d have to convince him you didn’t want to bring your relationship public, and he’d be hurt, devastated, but it would be nothing compared to the anguish of what he was about to bring on himself.  Or the punishment he was about to unknowingly inflict on you.

Chan was nowhere to be seen in any of the hallways leading to the throne room.  Your feet moved faster, desperately trying to prevent what was about to happen.  But when you burst through the thick oak doors, you saw Chan kneeling at his father’s feet.  Both men looked up to face you, Chan’s expression one of blissful optimism, his father’s one of knowing anticipation.

You were too late.

“Hello, Y/n,” the king said darkly, mouth morphing into a sneer.  “You already know what he’s asked me, don’t you?”

“Your Majesty… please...”

You shuddered at the sound of your own voice, tone betraying your agony, your fear.

“You never told him, did you?” he questioned, the trace of pity in his voice making you all the more uneasy.

“How could I?” you sighed.

The king nodded contentedly, then motioned for the guards on either side of you.  You felt their hands capture your arms, body going all but slack in their hold.  You couldn’t find the strength to fight anymore.

Chan had stood up and was now looking frantically between you and his father.  “What is the meaning of this?!” he asked, tone laced with bewilderment and shock.

“I’m sorry Chris,” you murmured, heart breaking at the look on his face.

“Christopher,” King Bang said, standing and approaching his son, “do not fear.  I will take care of this disobedient whore and then you will be free of her influence.  I should have never let her remain for as long as I did, look what it has done to you, my ingenuous boy.”

You felt it, the moment Chan realized what his father was implying.  His whole body shifted, backing away from Geun as he spoke, voice void of emotion.

“What did you just say?”

For once the king seemed genuinely surprised, eyebrows raising and voice the tiniest bit unsteady as he answered, “I-I mean, certainly that’s the only reason you would ever come to me with this request.  Clearly this woman has convinced you to denounce what I’ve taught you about tradition, about knowing one’s place, through what means I dare not say; but I don’t blame you Chris, this is my fault.”

Chan stopped moving then, having almost reached your side.  His face contorted into an expression of dismay, of grief, as he shouted.

“Are you really so ignorant, so far removed from reality, that you think my actions are a sign of disloyalty?!  Of neglecting my responsibilities?!  Because they are nothing of the sort.  And even if they were, Y/n would not be responsible for convincing me to do anything.  Your outdated principles and misguided sense of your own virtuosity could have done that on their own!  You were blind to a plot happening in your own palace because of your desire to have me bend to your will, but I won’t let you do it anymore.”

He turned, ordering the guards, “Release her, now!”

“You will do no such thing,” the king’s enraged voice rang out.  “Christopher, you will never get my permission for this.”

He turned back to Geun, eyes furious but voice calm.

“I was not asking, father.  I will marry her.  And I am not betraying you, or our kingdom, or our traditions.  And I’m not doing it because she seduced me.  I’m doing this because I love her.  Because she supports me, and cares for me, and knows our people intimately, probably better than I do.  And because, for my whole life, she has been the only person besides Mother who has ever truly loved me for who I am.  So you’ll have to throw me in prison too if you intend to stop me, because I refuse to be here without her.”

“No!” you yelled, straining against your captors, energy rushing back to your body at his words.  “No, Chris please, you have to let me go!  I’m so grateful we had last night; it was the best night of my life and always will be.  I knew the consequences I might face, and getting to tell you how much I love you was worth every one, but you were never supposed to suffer because of me.  I can’t let you do this.”

Your pleas were interrupted by a herald entering the room.

“Your Majesty - “

‘WHAT?!” King Bang whirled on him, outrage blatantly evident on his face.

While the king was distracted, Chan shoved the guards away from you and took your shaking form into his arms, cradling your head against his chest.  “Y/n, you’ve protected me and sacrificed for me my entire life.  Let me be the one who takes care of you now.”

His whispers stopped when you heard the announcement of the herald.

“His Majesty King Peter Soleil of Miroh is here with his wife, Queen Margaery, as well as one of our palace servants, Julietta, Your Majesty.  They are insisting on an audience with you.”

“Your mother?” Chan questioned, meeting your equally confused face with his own.

The king glanced to where the pair of you stood, rolling his eyes obnoxiously.  “Fine, bring them in.  Let these two have their last embrace before I rid us of her presence.”

The herald opened the doors, and there stood your mother, dressed in a beautiful gown you could tell was made for royalty.  She entered, followed closely by the king and queen of Miroh.  You’d seen them a few times over the years at various palace functions.  They seemed like steadfast and benevolent leaders, reflected in their small kingdom’s reputation for nonviolence and generosity.  In fact, the only turmoil you could remember them being involved in was the disappearance of the crown princess, several years before you were even born.  Not much was known about the circumstances of the disappearance, but it was said the king and queen had never given up hope of finding her.

They came to a stop in the middle of the room, the sovereigns flanking your mother.  Looking at the three of them, you couldn’t deny the resemblance of your mother to the elder two people, and a memory stirred in the back of your mind.

“King Peter, Queen Margaery,” King Bang addressed them tersely, “I would say I am pleased to see you but I am at this moment engaged in a personal matter and would like very much to return to it.  If you could please explain why you have one of my palace servants here with you playing dress up, I would appreciate your cooperation.”

“Certainly,” came King Soleil’s placid reply.  “We are here on a personal matter as well, one that Julietta, and indeed Y/n, are involved in.”

Chan’s arms tensed around you, preparing to defend you against any allegation, any harm or threat or danger to your wellbeing.  But, as had happened once before in that very room, no one was prepared for what the Mirohan king said.

“You see, Julietta is our daughter.  Almost thirty years ago, she left our kingdom, because she felt trapped in a life we had not prepared her for.  Her mother and I should have supported her, should have taught her to confide in us, but we were very different people then, and different rulers too.  We would have done what you are attempting to do to your son, forced her to betray her own self to mold to our will.  However, when she left, we saw how wrong we were, and vowed to do better.  Now, Julietta has come back into our lives for the sake of her daughter, our granddaughter, Y/n.”

Every set of eyes in the room was trained on you, your own frozen wide in disbelief at what was happening.  King Bang seemed to be at a loss for words, having fallen back into his seat on the throne.  Your mother left her parents’ side and walked to you, smiling tentatively.  Chan reluctantly released his hold on you as she took your hand and brought you to stand with her away from the others.

“My dear, I know how much of a shock this must be to you, and I am sorry, so very truly sorry for never telling you,” she said quietly.  “But I was ashamed… When I ran away, I did what I thought I needed to do at the time.  Looking back it may have been reckless, irresponsible and selfish even.  But most importantly, it had been my choice.  And I took that from you, the ability to choose what path you wanted in life.  I thought we would be better off away from the life I grew up in, and for a while we were, with your father.  But when he died, I was adrift and had no idea what to do and somehow we ended up back in a palace and at the whim of an arrogant king, but this time without even an inkling of the power I once held.  I thought about returning with you to my parents then, but how could I be sure you wouldn’t resent me for forcing you into the life I had tried so desperately to escape?  I struggled with my choice for years, until eventually I saw that you were happy with your training with the prince, getting to do all the things you used to do with your father that would have been scorned had you been the one in the boy’s position.  But then I saw the signs of your feelings for him, your realization of the insurmountable barriers that would prevent you from being together, the way you resigned yourself to unhappiness.  I knew I could do something about it, but I had to be sure you were ready to accept the responsibilities that would come with having the ability to be with the man you loved.”

You looked up at her, recalling your conversation at the coronation, and she nodded.  “I am sure now.  Which is why I went back to Miroh, back to my parents and the position I despised a lifetime ago.  Because if I can give you the ability to make this one choice, maybe I can make up for all the other mistakes in my life.”

“Mother... “ you started, wanting to tell her you understood her choices, that you didn’t think they were all a mistake, but were quieted by her hand on your cheek.

“I know you are quick to forgive, just like your father, but let me take responsibility for this.”

You looked back at your grandparents.

“They won’t force you to accept,” Julietta said.  “That was my one condition.”

Your head was spinning with the onslaught of new information.  Searching the room, your gaze locked with Chan’s, reading the utter adoration in his eyes that you knew mirrored your own.  You knew his father would never accept your relationship at your current status.  And despite feeling confident you wanted a chance to make an impact as a ruler, you didn’t know everything about what it would mean to take on this responsibility.  But there was one thing you were absolutely certain of.

You turned back to your mother, squeezing her hand.  “Thank you.”

She led you back to the group, your hand linking with Chan’s as you came to stand beside him and your grandparents.

“We are aware of the young people’s affection for each other…” King Soleil began, but King Bang seemed to have recovered himself enough to realize what the other was about to say.

“That girl will NOT marry my son!”

“Geun,” your grandfather warned, “that girl is my granddaughter, a Mirohan princess.  I strongly suggest you watch your tone when you speak about her in front of me, or anywhere for that matter.  Now, it was already quite unreasonable to want to prevent your son from marrying a woman he loves, but it would be wholly irrational of you to deny a match for the prince to the heir apparent to the throne of Miroh, wouldn’t you say?”

You stood up straighter, feeling Chan’s hand tighten around yours.

The king was silent for a while, but finally gave an acquiescent sigh.  “Very well.”

The two of you smiled but kept your composure, bowing to the king and turning to your grandparents.  They pulled you both in for a hug as you thanked them, saying they were eager to get to know their new grandchildren, and your heart skipped a beat at those words.  You didn’t hear anything else after that, your focus entirely mesmerized by Chan who was pulling you towards the door, your pace quickening before breaking into a run as you left the castle, heading for the stables.  You rounded the building first, then felt him reach around your waist as he gathered you in his arms and spun you around, laughing his brilliant laugh and pulling you close to him as he placed you back on the ground by the pond.

“Does this mean I have to call you “Your Highness” now?” he asked, giggling at your stunned face from the use of the term.

You playfully put your hands up to shove him, but he captured them in his own, kissing your knuckles and bringing your palms to rest on his chest.  You could feel his heart beating as you knelt your head to meet his and heard his soft voice ask.

“Y/n, will you marry me?”

You had never been happier to say yes.

Epilogue  |  Kingdom of Gu, 1 year later

You were standing in front of the mirror, your mother behind you pinning your hair into an extravagant twist when a joking voice came from the door.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”  You turned to see the smiling face of the queen of Lajor.

“Korenna!” you exclaimed, dancing happily in place, too afraid to move while your mother continued her styling as your friend came to sit next to you.

“You look stunning, Y/n, truly.  Chris is going to lose it when he sees you.”

Chris, your mind echoed lovingly.  You’re marrying Chris today.

“And how come I don’t get a hello from my favorite little princess?” you teased.

“Paige is a bit preoccupied practicing her petal tossing abilities with her Uncle Felix,” her sister responded.  “She definitely has the upper hand in technique, but I’m not sure who looked cuter in the flower crown.”

“Speaking of flower crowns,” your mother said, turning you to face her, “Chris left this for you.”

You looked down at her hands where she held a sealed letter, on top of which rested a single wildflower.

Your mother saw the tears prick in your eyes and started to gather up her things, motioning to Korenna.  “Let’s give Y/n a moment before the ceremony while we - Oh! Your Majesty, my apologies, I didn’t see you there.”

You turned to see King Bang milling awkwardly at the entrance of the room.  Putting the gift from Chan down, you ushered your mother and Korenna out then came to sit in front of his father.

The two of you had avoided each other as much as possible over the last year, which hadn’t exactly been hard since you had moved with your mother to Miroh to catch up on all the instruction you’d missed these past twenty-three years.  You’d seen him at the Four Kingdom Competition and at various dinners and balls, but Chan always made it a point to keep you as far away from him as possible.  You weren’t going to complain about it to your fiance, but you’d almost wished he’d let the two of you talk, tension clearly still lingering between you.  And though this visit was unexpected, considering you were going to be family after today, now seemed just as good a time as any.

“What can I do for you, Your Majesty?”

“Actually, Y/n, I-I came here to apologize,” the king said, his voice sounding almost as taken aback as you felt.  “I have spent my whole life avoiding saying that phrase, but I realize now you are one of the few people I feel I really must say it to.”  He took a deep breath before he continued.  “I’m sorry for the death of your father, I’m sorry for my insults and threats over the years, and I’m sorry for trying to keep you and Christopher from being together.  I had no right to try to do that, whether you were noble-born or not.”  He paused, and you could tell it was getting harder for him to keep his voice steady.  “After my wife died… I had this blind rage I felt towards everyone, but especially towards you, and when I finally took the time to analyze it, I realized I had been jealous.  Jealous of your skill and your talent, but mostly jealous of my son’s devotion to you.  This year has shown me that I was wrong to think his love for you would turn him away from me or his responsibilities; in fact, his happiness at being with you has only strengthened our relationship and made him a more present, more thoughtful ruler.  So I came to apologize, and to thank you for bringing the light back to my son’s eyes.”

You were stunned, but grateful, and the king seemed to read that in the expression on your face.  “You don’t need to say anything,” he said, standing up and heading for the door, “I just wanted you to know.”

You stopped him before he could leave, placing a hand on his arm.  “Thank you.”

He nodded and shut the door, leaving you alone.  You turned your attention back to the envelope on the desk and gently opened it, unfolding the paper in one hand and holding the blossom in the other.

Y/n,

Since the beginning, my love for you has grown like the roots of a flower.  Even on this day, we are but tiny buds, only just beginning to sprout.  I look forward to every day we’ll spend in the garden, tending to our love until we reach full bloom.  And just as flowers slowly fade, may we grow old together, enjoying the memories of those sunny days when we used to ride through the meadows we planted.  Know that my love for you will remain long after our petals are reclaimed by the earth, my beautiful wildflower.

Yours forever,

Chris

You held back the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks, placed the flower in your hair behind your ear with trembling hands, and walked out to meet your mother standing at the entrance to the courtyard.

She took your arm in hers as you made your way to the aisle.  You saw Minho and Felix on the right, both grinning from ear to ear, and Korenna and Paige on the left, the younger’s sparkling dress and tiny braid matching the elder’s.  And in the center you saw Chan, looking to be on the verge of tears, but his blinding smile on full display.  Your mother walked you to him, your gown glinting in the light of the setting sun.  He took your hand in his and held it while the priest recited the hymns and blessed your marriage, pronouncing you husband and wife.

Later, while the celebration was in full swing inside the ballroom, the two of you made your way out to the balcony.  He took you into his arms, both of you swaying to the music floating out on the breeze.

“You look breathtaking tonight,” Chan whispered.

“You told me that earlier, Your Highness,” you responded, wiggling your eyebrows at the term he used to hate, recalling the conversation you’d had the first time you shared a dance on the balcony.

“I know,” he said smiling, catching on to your words.  “I wanted to tell you again.”

You pulled his lips to yours, kissing him before whispering, “We’re married.”

“I know that too,” he responded, the two of you giggling and bringing your foreheads together.  He reached up to tuck your hair that had come loose behind your ear, revealing the flower, and you let the feeling of peace wash over you, knowing you had a lifetime together.

“I love you, Chris.”

“I love you too, Y/n.”

{end}

[awanderingdeal]

I vote leo meeting the harvard team! 💕

So this fic has been a bit of a mare to write, but we are here!

You can read the first part of this here

Rating: T

CW: Alcohol, academic superiority complex and coming out.

Logan, Finn, Leo, Percy, Will and the general Sweater Weather universe belongs to @lumosinlove. The other team members were made up by me for this fic.

“Okay, tell me their names again,” Leo said, tugging at the rolled neck of his sweater as he shut the car door.

“Nutty,” Finn laughed. “There’s not going to be a pop quiz. We’ll introduce you when we meet people.”

Leo scowled, letting Logan thread their fingers together. It was weird being able to do this in public still and Leo couldn’t help but glance around. “I just don’t want to make a fool of myself.” Logan squeezed his hand reassuringly, meeting Leo’s gaze with a soft smile.

“Nobody expects you to know anything. And everybody’s great.” Logan wrinkled his nose like he’d just smelt something bad. “Except Wesley, he’s an ass, but I’ll point him out.”

Like many of the others in Harvard square, the building was all exposed brick and white accents, blending in seamlessly with those around it. Inside was different, more modern. Leo didn’t get to see much of the first floor, the one dedicated to the restaurant Finn, Logan and the rest of the team had dined at previous evening, before he was ushered up a grand staircase, but he’d seen the photographs. The cherry blossom ceilings and walls of glass provided the perfect backdrop for the instagram feeds of the hoards of celebrities and influencers that flocked there. Hence his surprise when, after checking their invitations again, an employee pushed open a set of double doors to reveal a room that more resembled a 1920’s speakeasy than anything 21st century. A loud cheer went up as they crossed the threshold.

“Is this a team thing?” Leo mouthed at Logan.

He got his answer from Percy Marshall. Leo had met him a few times before when they’d played the Rangers. “You’re the last to arrive,” Percy chuckled. “I’d say I was surprised, but that would be a lie.” He slapped a hand playfully against Finn’s bicep. Is this outfit change number 52, Finn? Don’t worry, you didn’t disappoint. You look wonderful.”

“Fuck you, Marshy,” Finn laughed. “Tremz was on a call to his sisters actually.”

“Oh, I do apologise,” Percy clasped his hand to his chest. “We wouldn’t dare break up a Tremblay soiree.”

“You’re an ass,” Logan scoffed, plucking at Finn’s slacks. “I was only talking to them because Finn was taking so long. Did you know there are several shades of mustard and only one of them goes with this shirt?”

“Oh look, they argue like an old married couple too,” William Morgan, another of those Leo knew, and Percy’s teammate on the Rangers, teased. “Marshy, these hands are looking too empty. Get these men a drink.”

“Aye, aye, capt’n.” Leo set to follow as Percy led the way to the bar, stumbling slightly as he found Will’s firm grasp on his shoulder stopping his movement. Logan turned as his fingers slipped from his hand.

“Go ahead, Tremzy. I’m going to introduce Leo to some of the team. We want all the gossip without you two around to censor him.”

Logan frowned. “I’m not sure -”

“Relax, Logan. This isn’t a hazing. We’ll be right over there,” Will pointed towards a group perched on stools around two of the tables in the centre of the room, a mix of the old team and what Leo assumed were their partners. “Knut’s a big boy. He can object for himself if he really doesn’t want to come.”

“I’m sure I can hold my own,” Leo cocked his head slightly and smiled. “You better not leave Harzy with Percy for too long. They’ll be three shots down by now.”

The next few hours passed in a whirlwind of introductions. Leo had lost count of the number of hands he'd shaken and the new names he'd learned. It reminded him of those first few days in Gryffindor, being shuffled around from place to place and everybody telling him he'd get used to it.

The quiet of the bathroom was a welcome reprieve to the chaos. “Sweetheart,” Leo laughed, listening to Finn sing to himself in the stall. “Are you okay? You’ve been in there a while.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” A concerningly loud crash preceded the door being pushed open. “I’m here.”

“You’re drunk,” Leo chuckled.

Finn pulled his hands from under the stream of water, shaking droplets everywhere as he squeezed the tips of his thumb and forefinger together. “Maybe just the tiniest bit.”

Leo shook his head fondly. “Let’s go and find Lo.” Glancing back to check Finn was following him proved to be a mistake. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he apologised, rubbing at his forehead and stepping back from the wall of muscle he’d just crashed into. Of course, the tall man with his hair pulled back into a loose ponytail was the one person Leo hadn’t yet met.

“Leo, this is James. Call him Hunter,” Finn grinned with his hand resting in the small of Leo’s back. "Hunter, this is -"

"Leo Knut. I know. Everybody knows," Hunter said and Leo noted the familiar notes of his own accent in the words. He faltered with his hand thrust halfway in Leo's direction, letting it fall back by his side. "Oh fuck, sorry man. Did you want to introduce him as your boyfriend? Go ahead."

"It's cool, no worries." Finn shrugged, the rounds of his cheeks tinged with the slightest of blushes. "Aww, what the heck!" He squared his shoulders, standing a little taller, the corners of his mouth splitting with pride. "Hunter, this is Leo, my boyfriend."

Hunter extended his hand again for Leo to shake. “Nice to meet you. Please excuse me, I have to use the bathroom now, but we’ll talk later.”

***

"Boys." The call had come from behind them and Logan groaned low in his chest as they turned to acknowledge it.

"Wes! You made it," Finn smiled, the corners of his mouth tight. "We weren't sure you'd be able to. With all those big meetings you have to attend and such. Is your wife, Renee, wasn’t it, here? I'd love to meet her."

Something flickered in Wes' smug expression. "They stayed in California. Nate has a very busy schedule. Harvard is very important to me, as you know, so I came alone."

“Isn’t Nate three?” Logan blinked.

“You have to give them a good start if you want them to get them to get into a good college these days, I’m sure you understand. Where was it you went, Leo?"

Leo pursed his lips, letting the same calm wash over him that he channelled for interviews. “I didn’t go. I got drafted straight out of high school.”

“Oh, well, that’s a shame,” Wes said. “College isn’t for everybody though, is it?”

Logan bristled beside him, and Leo placed a placating hand on his shoulder. “Indeed,” he blinked. “I didn’t need my intelligence validated by a degree then, and I still don’t now. And I was hardly about to turn down an offer from The Gryffindor Lions now, was I?”

Wes grumbled something that sounded vaguely like an agreement before turning on his heel and walking off in a manner that Leo could only describe as petulant.

“You’re so hot,” Finn took Leo’s face between his hands and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’m going to get a drink. Do you want another?”

“Please,” Leo nodded. Logan raised his still mostly full glass as a rejection of the offer.

“You should have let me punch him,” Logan huffed. “He would have deserved it.”

"And get blood on your shirt? Let’s leave that on the ice, shall we?” Leo tugged at the lapels of Logan’s jacket.

***

"So," Logan started as they claimed one of the low tables in the corner, a little tucked away from the rest of the room. "What do you think?"

"It's always nice seeing where you two started," Leo hummed, threading his fingers through the thin curls on the nape of Logan's neck. "I just don't know how you used to do this everyday. Live amongst all this energy. The guys all seem great, but it's a lot even now and I'm assuming you've all mellowed somewhat with age."

"I am not old," Logan scoffed. "Mais non, I agree. Wasn't always like this though. There's more than one graduating class here and we've been apart a long time. A lot of excitement."

"Sorry, sorry, I got caught up with Biscuit. He has triplets now, isn't that crazy?" Finn said, pressing a glass into Logan’s hand and setting Leo’s in front of him before flopping onto the couch opposite. "One Margarita for the fine sir."

"Thanks, Harzy," Leo laughed lightly.

"I can't believe him and Vanessa are still together," Logan hummed, taking a long sip of his drink. He leaned back, crossing his left leg over his right thigh and snaked his arm across the dark leather, brushing his fingers against Leo's shoulder. "I only introduced them because she was flirting with you at that party, the one just after we got back from winter break my junior year, and I wanted to distract her."

"Oh, so that's why you got all moody," Finn said. "She wasn't flirting, she needed help with an essay, idiot."

"The fact you remember Logan's mood on a night seven years ago says more about you than him," Leo snorted.

"First of all, Tremzy being grumpy? That's just a good guess. Second, some of us were still stupid at 20, Knutty." Finn sighed wistfully. "Hey, at least it doesn't feel like I'm being stabbed in the chest these days when I think about it. Progress, right?"

Logan tipped his glass in Finn's direction, nodding his head briefly. "I'll cheers to that."

"To -" Leo started, letting the toast die off as another of Finn and Logan's old team mates approached. He hoped the disappointment he felt wasn't written across his face; whilst he hadn't really expected to be left alone for too long, he had hoped for the brief respite to have lasted longer.

"Hey." The newcomer had his hand shoved into his pockets and his shoulders stooped, almost as if he was trying to hide himself. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Ken!" Finn patted the empty seat next to him. "Of course not. Come, sit."

Leo extended his arm, offering his hand. "Nice to meet you. Ken was it? I'm Leo."

"Ken's what the team always called me. Don't really hear it much these days." Leo thought he saw something sad in the smile sent his way. "My real name is Obi."

"That's because you went off the radar," Logan gave a pointed look.

"About that -" Obi swiped Finn's drink, ignoring his disgruntled protest. He drained what was left of it, pulling at an non-existent loose thread on his sweater. "I wanted to say thank you, you know. For having the guts to come out. I know Black and Lupin were first, but that was forced wasn’t it. You made a choice. I know that must have been hard. It was one hell of a ballsy move."

Leo looked between Finn and Logan, expecting them to answer, but neither of them spoke. "We didn't have much of a choice, not if we didn't want to be watching our back every second of every day."

"It was still brave," Obi muttered. "I couldn't have done it."

"Ken, what are you saying?" Logan never did have much patience for others taking their time to get to the point, even though he was a fan of the scenic route himself.

"They gave you a whole Harvard degree and you need to ask that question?" Obi huffed a laugh. "I'm gay. I met Marco, my now husband at the end of senior year, and freaked out. I didn't know how to make these two worlds work, so I didn't. I moved to DC with him, and started a new life. I'm an accountant, he works in marketing. We have four rats, and a Vizsla called Poppy. It's all very domestic. I love it, but I was a coward.”

"You're not a coward. You don't owe that information to anybody, Ken. Not the others, not the media, not the NHL and not us. Not now, not then, not ever.” Finn took a breath, holding up his finger to signal he wasn’t finished. “Besides, it's not as if Lo and I planned this. We went into this with every intention of stuffing this deep, deep into the depths of denial, never for anybody to find out. Including ourselves. And then Nutty came along.”

Obi smiled at Leo, turning his attention back to Finn. "When did you become Gay Yoda?"

"I spend way too much time in our psych's office. Just spreading the wisdom. Heather would be proud."

"Do the others know?" Logan asked.

"Not yet, I think I'd like them to though."

Logan shifted, leaning forward in his seat. "There's no rush, Ken. We've got your back, whatever you decide."

"So, do you have photos?" Leo cocked his head. "We got to show off. Now it's your turn. Even if it's only for us."

"Of Marco?"

"I'm sure he's wonderful, but I was actually talking about Poppy. And the rats," Leo teased.

There were moments when Leo wondered whether they had made the right decision. When he was playing in front of hostile crowds, or fending off stupid media questions, or blocking bigots on twitter. And then there were moments when he knew the decision they had made was 100% perfect. Right now, that was one of those moments.

[oddaodd]

·A Conjured Up Death Wish·

Summary: Y/n begins to worry about how much damage Grace’s ghost can cause. 

Author’s note: This was requested by the lovely @captivatedbycillianmurphy  and I just have to say I instantly fell in love with this request because I love ghosts and the occult so I really hope I did it justice. As always, I wish you all the loveliest of days. ❤️

Warnings: mentions of death, ghosts and death wishes. 

·

“Could we take it down?” Y/n spoke almost timidly one night as she laid in bed next to her husband.

“Take what down?”

“Grace’s picture in the staircase” she said looking at tommy’s face assessing his reaction

She saw the way he seemed to stiffen at the mention of her name, specially if she was the one mentioning it.

“Why?” He asked although he knew it was unnecessary. Did he really need a reason other than her just not wanting to keep the picture of his ex-wife?

Y/n knew she had to thread lightly. Grace had always been a sensitive topic. She could lie and say she didn’t want her picture in her walls because it pained her, but she decided to go with the truth.

“I feel her eyes following me whenever I walk down the stairs”

When Tommy didn’t answer she took his hand in hers, soothingly rubbing her thumb on the back of his hand. Bringing his attention back to her

“Im not asking you to get rid of it, just maybe hang it someplace else so I don’t have to see it everyday”

Tommy squeezed her hand meaning he understood her reasons before pressing a soft kiss to her lips and giving a soft sigh

“Alright” he said before turning around, his back to her.

She scooted closer to him and pressed a kiss to his exposed freckled skin “Thank you”

A few hours later Y/n woke up with a jolt after a rather horrid nightmare revolving around the painting. Tommy, oddly enough was still in bed next to her, sleeping soundly. After trying to fall asleep again and failing miserably, she got out of bed and made her way towards the bathroom for a glass of water. She took a few deep breaths and some gulps of water trying to calm herself down.

She felt somehow guilty of having asked Tommy to take the painting down and she felt angry at herself for feeling guilty. If she was honest with herself she had never been entirely comfortable with Tommy’s previous wife’s painting hanging there She had always wanted to take it down but never felt she had a good enough reason. Had she provoked herself a hallucination out of her need to take the blasted painting down?

After pondering for a while she settled assured it wasn’t the case. There had been after all, several occasions when she had seen a whisper of Grace lingering about the house and Tommy himself. At first she blamed her tiredness but when those tiny glimpses of her never vanished y/n didn’t know what to think.

She took a long look into the the mirror hoping for her own reflection to answer all the questions she had, prioritizing her main concern.

“Are we going mad ?”

But she didn’t get an answer, what she did however get, was another glimpse of Grace gliding behind her and out the door, her cold eyes staring deep into y/n’s warm ones.

Y/n turned around so fast she knocked the glass of water off the sink and it shattered as it hit the tiled floor. She cursed at herself before bending down and picking up the shards.

Tommy was across the door a few seconds later.

“Are you alright?” He asked .A slight tone of panic evident in his voice, consequence no doubt of being woken up by the silent crashing sound of the glass.

“Yeah” Y/n dismissed. “I accidentally dropped it, sorry for waking you” she said as she continued picking up the glass.

“Leave it, love. Someone will pick it up in the morning” Tommy said a bit more relaxed.

Y/n then walked towards him with shaky feet, careful not to step into any poignant glass before turning off the lights and taking one last look at the bathroom, half expecting to see Grace there. She felt a bit relaxed when she didn’t see her.

They made their way back to the bed and as she laid there in Tommy’s arms she wanted to tell him what she had seen but decided against it.

The next day Tommy took the painting down.

Some months passed and Y/n grew accustomed to Grace’s sporadic appearances and began ignoring them. In Y/n’s eyes there wasn’t much Grace could do, she was a ghost after all. No matter how many vases she knocked over and how many deadly stares she sent at Y/n to startle her, she wasn’t afraid.

Her calmness and acceptance however began to waver when she noticed Tommy was becoming distant. His stare was always lost, his opium intake had increased significantly and his omnipresent death wish was becoming more and more evident as he made alliances with men of dubious intentions. Much to y/n’s dismay her mind began to wonder how her life would be without him.

His presence suddenly felt jeopardized, the constant invasion of a sick feeling of knowing he wouldn’t be next to her forever followed her everywhere. She felt she was walking on thin ice and at any moment, she would plunge into the ice cold water beneath against her will and she didn’t know if she could survive its gelid temperatures.

She had taken to talking to Ada about it since she didn’t know what else to do. Y/n found out Ada was worried for Tommy too and far from comforting her, knowing so made her nasty feelings feel more real because it meant she wasn’t only being paranoid.  

One night when Y/n was hanging around Tommy’s home office (a habit she had picked up when he began spending less time at  home) she got a phone call from Ada. She told her that Tommy had just been to her place talking about standing on bridges and seeing Grace. The moment her name rang through Y/n’s ears she repressed a shiver. She thanked Ada for telling her, hurriedly hung up the phone and began to cry.

Now she was afraid of her.

Her cries echoed through the big office as dread filled her body. Her throat became sore and her eyelids heavy. She had never been in such despair before. She didn’t know for how long she cried until the sound of tires against gravel made her look up from her mascara stained hands and as she did she saw Grace standing before her. Clear as day. She wasn’t smiling but her expression held a certain glee. Did she like to see Y/n cry?

“Leave him the fuck alone!” She shouted at her, violently standing up from his desk hoping it would intimidate her.

When Grace didn’t even flinch Y/n threw an ashtray at her. The heavy object flew right threw her and then she disappeared.

Suddenly the doors opened and in came a worn out looking Tommy . His dull expression turned worried as his eyes fell on y/n’a disheveled face.

“Y/n, what..” but Y/n interrupted him as she engulfed him in a desperate hug afraid he would disappear too.

“You can’t listen to her” y/n cried urgently into his chest “Don’t do what the voices tell you to do, don’t do what she says”

Tommy didn’t have to ask who she was talking about. He pulled away from her grasp and looked into her face.

“Love, Don’t listen to what Ada tells you about me” he said in a fake nonchalant tone.

“I love you, Thomas and I don’t want to loose you” she confessed shamelessly “I don’t know what I’d do without you”

“You won’t loose me” he spoke hypocritically as if Y/n’s worries were completely irrational.

“Don’t do that. Don’t pretend everything is alright when it isn’t” she said with red eyes. “You are falling apart and I’m here watching you and I can’t do anything while Grace lures you away

“Don’t say that” he said weakly, feeling confronted.  

“She has to leave and the only one who can make her leave is you”

Tommy’s eyes glazed with sudden vulnerability coaxing a few more tears out of Y/n’s eyes. What If he  didn’t want Grace to leave?

“This path you’re walking is not a very long one and if you’re holding her hand it’s going to end sooner” she said cradling his head in her hands. “Please let me in”

She could see conflict brewing in Tommy’s eyes, before he sank into her embrace in acceptance. Would things ever be as they were before?

·

@peakyxtommy @writeroutoftime @nyotamalfoy @lilymurphy03

[chockfullofsecrets]

Critical Role: Waiting For My Mind To Go To Sleep

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Teen & Up for Caleb having a pretty bad day

Summary: He levers himself up from the little nest he’s made of his arms, his sudden suspicion the only thing keeping him from stumbling over the word. “This does not tickle one bit, by the way.”

“Okay,” Caduceus says. “Did you want it to?”

Caleb can't sleep. Caduceus decides to take matters into his own hands.

Wordcount: 5.3k (SAVE ME)

A/N: so this turned into... something... i think it’s safe to say in general that if you ever feel like Caleb, please take a deep breath and do something nice for yourself <3 

For anyone who's trying to keep track - set after Difficult, with a bit of reference to Staying Warm.

---

Caleb has not possessed a desk in a long time, so it is a shame that he is currently wasting his new one as a place to rest his head while he waits for exhaustion to take him.

He’s counting off the end of twelve minutes, growing increasingly frustrated as the simplicity of the numbers fails to stop his brain from running itself in ragged circles, when slow footsteps sound out from the hallway. “Oh, you’re still up.”

It’s Caduceus. Caleb peels himself off long-dried sheets of spellwork and tries to make himself look a little less like an empty shell of a person. “Ja, I am up, what can I do for you.”

The slight downward tilt to Caduceus’ eyebrows in an otherwise placid expression radiates disappointment. “You said you were going to sleep, earlier.”

Earlier being an hour and forty minutes ago, when Caduceus passed by him with a full teapot on his way to the roof. Strange, given that the kitchen is just next to the staircase and his study is on the opposite side of the house. He sighs and rubs at his face - there is a chance, however slight, that this time pressing at his temples will actually help with the headache even if he deserves the fucking thing for getting them here in the first place. “I am working on ah, a new spell, I am a little distracted.”

It’s not a lie, exactly. Studying is distracting him from sleep, and the cold comfort of possessing a house and certain debt gifted to them by a major political faction of the Kryn dynasty is distracting him from studying, no matter how nice his desk is. The last time his life took such a turn, he was a young man recently arrived in Rexxentrum with his two best friends in the entire world - he can think of many, many good reasons to prise the jaw of this particular gift horse open.

The problem, then, is stopping. Easy enough, when he can turn himself into a bat, but his distracted attempts at study and the resulting failures have removed even that avenue from him today. It is lucky that the Dynasty has yet to ask a new favor from them that would require him to cast.

But then, he has never held much hope for luck - and, oh, Caduceus has moved much nearer at some point.

“I will sleep,” he acquiesces, nodding in the vague direction of a flowing sleeve, and refrains from adding any sort of incriminating time frame. “You should get some rest as well, mein freund.”

Caduceus clears his throat, somewhere miles overhead. “Your arms are going to get sore, if you keep doing that.”

He looks down. Takes a deep breath and lets it out as he pulls his hands away from the scars and lays them flat against the fine wooden grain of the desk. “Thank you.”

That should be the end of it, he thinks, and he can go back to counting miserably, but the smudge of pink in his peripheral vision stays stubbornly present. “Is… is there something else?”

“You know,” Caduceus says with that unruffled serenity of his, “I think I’m going to make some more tea. I’ll bring you a cup, and we’ll sit for a while.”

Caleb winces.

He is fond of Caduceus, very much so, as he is of all his friends. It is just - it is not that he doesn’t know he is terrible, anymore, he has revealed all but the worst of it in Felderwin and their group has decided that his contributions are worth the trouble of associating with him anyway. But Caduceus, who cares so naturally and unselfishly, who operates with a faith in everything around him that Caleb cannot begin to understand - something about his knowing gaze is unsettling, when Caleb cannot tell what he knows or how he is judging him.

The part of him that is tired would welcome a friendly presence to lull him to sleep, instinctively knowing by now that they are safer here than nearly anywhere else in the world. The other part, bitter and exhausted, trusts no one. Least of all himself, when he cannot even think through political machinations.

He’s waited too long to respond - he can feel Caduceus’ gaze now, prickling at the side of his head. “I can bring some of this to the kitchen, if that is where you are going.”

“Oh, I was thinking we could use your bed,” Caduceus says. The visual of Jester waggling her eyebrows suggestively springs to mind, and he bites the inside of his cheek before he can smile. “Why don’t you go lie down, and I’ll be there in a minute with the tea.”

It sounds more like a command, really - Caduceus wanders off, and there’s nothing to do after that but to retreat to his room. He begins the rote process of shucking his boots and socks in deference to the warm night and reaches up for his holsters.

His fingers close around the buckles, and suddenly he is frozen, possibilities of disaster everywhere. It will be safer if they stay on him, even though they are in the middle of a residential neighborhood, he has to keep them close-

He breathes out, slowly, through his nose and strips them off as well. It feels like a punishment, but then, maybe that is how he can stop himself from thinking too much. Not that it has ever worked before, piling discomfort upon discomfort like a stone wall, but if it is what he has to hand at the moment then so be it.

Next, the bed. He takes a step towards the bed, knowing that is where Caduceus will expect to find him - but his mind is still spinning with a dozen different threads, spells and spycraft and a sudden curiosity as to what the Kryn stuff their mattresses with, surely they do not grow hay or cotton here-

He’s still standing there when Caduceus ducks through the doorframe, large fingers wrapped with delicate care around the handles of two mugs, and shuffles one of them forcefully into his hands. “There we go. It’s not too hot, is it?”

He gulps the first sip down inelegantly. It’s the perfect temperature to warm his throat without burning his tongue, as Caduceus’ tea always is, but it feels - wrong, somehow - “Is there something in this?”

Caduceus blinks down at him. “Oh, did some of the tea leaves get through the strainer? I mean, they’re probably pretty tiny if they can do that, but I can try to pick ‘em out if they’re bugging you.”

“Ah - I mean - it tastes-” He pauses, proceeds more delicately. “There is not anything in this meant to put me to sleep?”

Caduceus looks surprised, for a moment, before patient amusement washes over his face - Caleb glances down, awkwardly, and hopes that the gentle steaming of the cup in his hands hides the way his face flushes. “It’s not drugged, if that’s what you’re asking. But with how tired you look, I’m not surprised that’s what it feels like.”

“Oh,” he says. Maybe if he downs the entire thing in one shot, it will do him the mercy of knocking him out here and now anyway.

Suddenly Caduceus’ hands are on his, gently pulling the empty cup away from his fingers and setting it down next to his holsters. “Mind if I sit?”

“No,” Caleb says, and then “Uh-” as Caduceus takes him by the elbow and starts leading him in the direction of the bed. “Wait, what are we doing?”

“C’mere,” Caduceus tells him, easing himself down at the edge of the mattress and folding his legs up beneath him.

He stares stupidly. “Where?”

“On the bed, ideally.” Caduceus says, and tugs him a little closer. “Didn’t seem like you were gonna make it there yourself.”

He should walk around to the other side and lay down there, he knows, but months of travel with these people have ruined him - he sits automatically next to Caduceus and leans into his side as he might if they were stopping for an hour of rest before realizing what he’s done.

He jerks away. “Ah - you meant to lay down, of course, I will just-”

“Nope,” Caduceus says, and promptly snakes his arm around Caleb and pulls him over into his lap.

His back hits Caduceus’ knee with a solid thump - he flounders for a moment, trying to figure out where all his limbs are among the tangle of long firbolg legs, and then he realizes that Caduceus is watching him.

Their eyes meet. Caduceus smiles down at him, seemingly unbothered by the presence of an idiot in his lap. “There, you’re laying down,” he says. “Comfy?”

“Hnnnng,” Caleb whimpers. He rolls over as best he can and buries his face in his arms, unwilling to bear the eye contact - how many more things can he do wrong today?

Caduceus hums thoughtfully.

The next thing he feels is softness as gentle fingers undo his ponytail, combing through the strands, and arrange his hair to lay loosely around him - they smooth the last of it down and start massaging the back of his head, rubbing gently behind his ears.

It is so completely unexpected that it undoes him; he spares a single moment of thankfulness that he’s washed his hair recently and succumbs to the simple bliss. “Oh, Scheisse, that feels good.”

Caduceus’ belly, pressed warm against his side, shakes in quiet amusement. “Thought it might,” he says. “You’re not easy to calm down, are you.”

“No,” Caleb says, honestly regretful. Even as the rush of tingles from having his scalp scratched washes down his back, he still cannot make himself stop thinking - about whether he has manipulated Caduceus into doing this by being too lazy to take himself to bed earlier, about what he can do to return the favor-

“I know you think that I am neglecting myself,” he says finally, groaning a little as Caduceus drags a thumb firmly down the back of his neck. “I know I need to rest so that I can cast, I just - ah - it is tricky-”

Caduceus pauses, rubbing at the edge of his shoulder blade for a moment. “Of course you can take care of yourself.” He punctuates the statement by untwisting Caleb’s spine with a loud crack that leaves him gasping in sudden relief as a good amount of the tension in his back disappears. “Doesn’t hurt to have a little help, though.”

He scratches lightly at the backs of Caleb’s ribs. It’s pleasantly sharp, little pinpricks of sensation rushing up and down, and Caleb squirms happily for a moment into his hands before he realizes.

He levers himself up from the little nest he’s made of his arms, his sudden suspicion the only thing keeping him from stumbling over the word. “This does not tickle one bit, by the way.”

“Okay,” Caduceus says. “Did you want it to?”

Squirming a little more, he bites back the traitorous yes, please that forms on the back of his tongue. “No.”

“Then be good and stay still,” Caduceus says, and keeps scratching.

Caleb huffs and sticks his nose back into the crook of his elbow. “You are very bossy sometimes, you know that?”

He tenses as soon as he says it - there is a reason he keeps these things to himself unless he is talking about Beauregard, who seems to prefer his annoyance to most other things that leave his mouth.

Caduceus just chuckles. “You don’t have any siblings, do you.”

“No,” he says - and then, if only because they have been on his mind of late as he thinks about politics and consequences - “old friends, though, growing up.”

“Shame,” Caduceus hums, hands sliding down to scuff at his sides. “Then I guess you’ve never been in a tickle fight.”

There is the familiar, guilty, sting, thinking of the past - but one more thread of thought could hardly make the tangle any worse, could it? Of course Astrid and Wulf had known he was ticklish, they knew everything about one another. In the beginning, when there was still time for such things, he remembers them abusing the knowledge at times when Ikithon’s clear favoritism rankled a little too much, or, more rarely, to play - it had been much easier, then, to make him smile.

And then Molly, with his infernal grin and equally devilish fingers prodding for every sensitive spot he could find, the teasing - and that night by the fire, just before Hupperdook, his arm blazingly warm around Caleb’s shoulders in the winter chill as he jostled him around and assured him that it was perfectly normal to want such affections.

They are kind memories, even with the bitter regret of his own blame in their ending, and -

Verdammt, his ribs are starting to get sensitive.

He tries to breathe through it, but his lungs are fidgeting as badly as the rest of him would like to, startled and giddy; instead, he presses the edges of his fingernails into his palms and tries to see reason in the dark cradle of his forearms.

This will not help him sleep. He is wasting Caduceus’ time, if he lets this continue. It does not matter what he wants, when he has no right to ask for any of it.

“Caduceus,” he starts. The syllables shiver on his lips, too close to laughter for comfort. He tries again. “Caduceus, I - I am feeling much calmer now-” His heartbeat pounds loudly in his ears. “-if you would let me up-”

“Hey,” Caduceus says. “You got all tense again, stop doing that.”

“I just-” The path of Caduceus’ ministrations drifts over his sides, sending already-tingling nerves into high alert, and he panics. “Let go of me!”

It is the exact worst thing he could say, made worse in the harsh tone in which he spits it - the hands that have been chasing pleasantly up and down his spine still and lift away, the simple action radiating just as much disappointment as Caduceus’ furrowed eyebrows earlier, and his back arches in a miserable attempt to follow them before he can stop himself.

He bites his lip. He needs to apologize. He needs to crawl away and back to his desk like the worm he is, as heavy as Caduceus’ judgment is weighing down on him. He needs to do something other than lie here-

“Well, you don’t look very calm,” Caduceus says mildly. “You okay?”

“I am fine,” Caleb grits out automatically. He cannot be incapable of even the simplest of thought, he cannot-

“Huh.”

One of Caduceus’ hands makes its reappearance, suddenly, at his neck, two fingers slipping along the stubble under his chin to rest on his racing pulse and catch him in his lie.

The other, even more inconveniently, reappears just by the exposed hollow of his left armpit.

Suddenly, he cannot think of anything at all - he jumps and squeaks and curls away as best he can, fighting back the tremulous ah-ah-ah-! of burgeoning laughter that bubbles up behind his teeth as five fingers flutter merrily against the thin cotton of his sleeve.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Caduceus says placidly. He stops moving his fingers, but they just stay there, just barely touching, as if he is daring Caleb to try and crush them under his arm and see what happens.

Things seem very dangerous in a completely different way than they did seconds ago - if he was at peril of sinking, before, the feather-light presence against tender skin makes him feel like he might float away. He holds as still as he can, waiting.

Still, he shivers all the way down to his toes as Caduceus clears his throat. “You know, I have a sister - had? - uh-”

“May have, if you are uncertain,” Caleb says automatically, decades-old Common grammar lessons rushing to the forefront in lieu of any instinct that might actually be useful, and promptly bites his tongue.

“Sure,” Caduceus concedes, and gives his armpit another good tickle. Caleb squeaks again and tries fruitlessly to wrap his arms more tightly around his head. “She’d swear up and down that she wasn’t ticklish too, when she didn’t want to be. Not that it helped her much if you got a hold of her feet.”

Caleb becomes suddenly, horribly aware of his own exposed soles - he is facedown on the bed, his knees will not even bend the right way to let him hide them against the mattress-

Caduceus must catch the involuntary scrunch of his toes - he laughs, low and pleased, and pats him warmly on the back. “I think your ribs were working out just fine, but if you’re curious-”

“I am not.” Caleb says hastily.

Something swoops, low and excited, in his belly.

It really isn’t fair how tall Caduceus is, especially when it means that he can keep one threatening hand pressed to Caleb’s ribs at the same time he reaches for his feet. Caleb, still bundled facedown in his lap, only realizes what is about to happen when he feels a soft, fuzzy palm close around his heel. “Oh - oh, bitte-”

The first pass is a single fingertip, drawing tiny circles on the calloused ball of his foot. It hardly feels like anything at all, and for one foolish moment Caleb lets himself relax.

Then the fingertip drifts down to the softer arch, wriggling into a crease as his foot curls reflexively, and it tickles like a motherfucker.

“No, no, NO,” he yelps, and scrambles blindly through the next few moments -he jabs something solid with his elbow, cool air rushing on his face as he twists and pulls his knees in, but all that is secondary to the rush of relief as he gets something beneath his feet and jams them against it. He squeezes his eyes shut and pants, clutching his chest as if he can will his lungs into proper behavior.

Something knobbly vibrates against his shoulder.

He freezes. “Um.”

It takes a long moment for him to realize that he is, somehow, still in Caduceus’ lap - his shoulder is pressed to homespun cloth and a bony chest, his feet are crowded up against one of Caduceus’ thighs as the rest of him perches on the other.

His seat shakes a little as Caduceus continues to laugh at him. At this point, Caleb can hardly blame him.

Caduceus lets out a long, happy sigh just above where he’s pressed his face back into his hands in blatant embarrassment. “Oh, we’re going to have to hold you down for that, huh.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, like it is a foregone conclusion that someday Caleb will find himself with his ankles pinned and teasing fingers coming for him, helpless to stop them. It’s far too easy to picture, just now, and despite himself anticipatory giggles start to well up in his chest.

Unacceptable - Caleb presses his lips together, burrows as far into his hands as he can and tries fervently to pretend that he is not still well within range of someone capable of doing all of these things. What is wrong with him? Nothing is happening, no one really wants to tickle him, it is not funny-

Caduceus’ fingers, though, are still moving - one hand is dancing over the tops of his feet now, hardly touching, worrying at his ankles and the sparse hair on his toes. It doesn’t even - it shouldn’t tickle, but he can’t stop thinking that it might, or that Caduceus might reach for his ribs again, and he is too tired to redirect his thoughts anymore, he feels halfway to dreaming already, and - “Hnnmm - heeeh -”

His cheeks are already warm from the desperate effort of not laughing, but they burn even brighter as the giggles start flooding out.

Caduceus can surely hear him, for all that he is hiding his face and never intends to reveal it again, and besides that he is squirming, winching his arms to his sides and scrubbing his feet uselessly against the rough fabric of Caduceus’ trousers to try and get away from his fingers without lifting them. “Heheeeh - ahaha - oh, stop, stop, help, I cahahan’t-”

Curling up in a ball doesn’t seem to help at all - a small part of him knows that he’s more or less tickling himself at this point, but all that means is that there’s nothing to get away from as he twitches and begs, no mercy from his own overtired brain, no one to help him get out-

Just as the panic really starts to choke him, something warm and grounding wraps around his shoulders.

He regains just enough awareness to feel Caduceus’ huge palm cradle the side of his head and pull him into his chest. “Shhhh,” he soothes, so low that it rumbles through the both of them. “I’m here, I’ve got you. Breathe, breathe.”

Caleb comes back to himself slowly, like the tide pulling back from the rocky cliffs of Darktow - the exhaustion is still there, burning behind his eyelids, but the thunderous crash of his heart in his ears slows to a steady echo under Caduceus’ touch. He takes in a tentative breath and nearly buckles from relief as it stays in his lungs.

Caduceus murmurs something to himself, pensive. Caleb hears it more through his chest than his ears. “Better?”

He sucks in a few more breaths before he feels calm enough to answer, slumping further against Caduceus and drawing his hands cautiously away from his face. “I am fairly sure that is not how ti- ah, how that is supposed to work,” he says tiredly. “But at least it is over. Caduceus, I am sorry-”

“Oh, I’m still going to tickle you,” Caduceus says, and Caleb nearly starts choking again.

A thousand startled exclamations catch in his throat. “Why,” is the one he gets out, and oh, he does not even begin to know what to do anymore with the excited little twist in his belly at hearing Caduceus’ words.

Gentle fingers take his chin and tilt it up until he can see Caduceus looking back softly back down at him. “You’re not being very nice to yourself, are you.”

That wrenches a rueful little smirk from him. “And why should I be?”

“Don’t do that,” Caduceus admonishes. He doesn’t - frown, exactly, just looks at Caleb more intensely until he has to fight the urge to wriggle himself loose.

“You were disappointed, earlier, when it didn’t tickle, don’t think I didn’t see it.” He tries to shake his head, but Caduceus holds him still. “I saw how you looked when I said we’d have to hold you down later, too - you want me to tickle you, Caleb, so I’m going to. That’s enough.”

Caleb opens his mouth to tell Caduceus that he doesn’t want it, that he has long since accepted that tickling is a happy and childish thing for those who do not have to try all the time to not be terrible, but he can’t quite get the lie out under his steady gaze. “I shouldn’t,” he says instead. “I should sleep, I am just wasting your time.”

Caduceus huffs, cuddling him impossibly closer and rubbing a thumb over his cheek, and Caleb has to close his eyes - he does not know, sometimes, how these people can be so careful with him, so willing to offer affection, unless he has tricked them somehow. He does not know how to repay it, either. It is hard to tell which piece of his ignorance is worse.

“You’re not. We’re going to talk about that, someday, when I’m not trying to put you to bed,” Caduceus tells his eyelids. “But that night after the dragon, a little tickling put you to sleep just fine - and you were doing all right until you decided you were going to be stubborn.”

Caleb has to smile at that, just a bit - Caduceus sounds openly affectionate, if mildly frustrated, and even though he does not deserve that it is a little funny to think that he might be as much of a troublemaker as Jester or Beauregard simply for refusing to sit still in Caduceus’ lap.

Caduceus pokes lightly at the slight round of his cheek. “There, that’s better.”

He loosens his grip, then, letting go of Caleb for just long enough to loop his arm around his chest. Caleb opens his eyes, curious - Caduceus is smiling at him, slow and mischievous, and his elbows automatically twitch halfway to his sides before he realizes that Caduceus’ arm is in the way and blocking him from getting them all the way down.

That tricky, light feeling takes hold of his chest again. “Ah - Caduceus?”

Caduceus adjusts his grip a little and raises his other hand, wiggling his fingers in a way that might be considered thoughtful if they were not pointed distinctly in Caleb’s direction. “Yeah?”

Despite everything, Caleb finds that he is fairly good at reading people when he needs to be. Which means, in this case, that he can tell - Caduceus is trying to make him more ticklish.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop it from working.

He widens his eyes entreatingly. “I was not being stubborn! I - I just panicked-”

“I told you to be good and stay still, didn’t I?” Caduceus’ arm is more than long enough to wrap all the way around his skinny chest, especially without the holsters - his hand curls carefully under Caleb’s arm, and he has to press his lips together tightly to avoid laughing then and there.

“I couldn’t!” he pleads. “You - you were-” He stumbles over the word itself, half hoping Caduceus will interrupt him again - but he doesn’t, just holding him steady. “I was trying,” he finishes lamely, willing himself not to blush and failing entirely.

Caduceus is grinning at him now, through his beard, smug in that gentle way of his. “And I was trying not to rile you up too much.” he muses, “Suppose we’ll just have to tire you out instead, how’s that sound?”

Caleb gapes. Caduceus is the nicest and gentlest of all of them; surely he is not about to trap Caleb in his lap and tickle him until he cries. And surely he should not want it, the traitorous squirmy feeling in his belly up and fluttering like a live thing.

The long, downy fingers of Caduceus’ free hand pluck his shirt loose from where it’s just barely still tucked in and slip underneath to tease at the fuzz of hair on his tummy, and such logical reassurances suddenly lose much of their weight.

“You - you planned this,” he accuses breathlessly. “You did, I didn’t - hm! - even do anything-”

“I mean, I don’t plan a lot of things. Dinner, mostly.” Caduceus prods at his belly button and he jumps, completely off guard for what comes out of Caduceus’ mouth next.

“You’re just really, really ticklish.”

Caleb whines. Just saying it makes every nerve in his body hum with anticipation, now, and when Caduceus pokes his belly button again he’s sensitive enough that he can’t hope to fight back the peal of laughter. “Don’t.”

Caduceus snickers and just keeps poking at the same spot, sending him into a tumble of frantic laughter as he twists this way and that and fails to escape. “Oh, that helped, huh?”

“No, no, oh nohoho-”

The hand holding him in place tickles gently through his shirt at the softness just above his ribs - usually he is protected by layers of leather and paper there, enough to hold off one of Veth’s crossbow bolts, but all he can do now is whimper.

Caduceus’ free hand sneaks up his other side and repeats the process under his shirt, and he shrieks.

“Heh,” Caduceus chuckles, and eases off for a moment. “You gonna be good if I’m not holding on to you?”

Presumably he wants to get his other hand under Caleb’s shirt and torture him even more, but that’s not the reason Caleb reflexively clings to his arm. “No, no, I need-”

He cuts himself off before he can say that he needs Caduceus to hold him, largely because he does not want to admit it even to himself.

Luckily, he does not need to say more. “Okay, I’ve got you,” Caduceus says easily, and squeezes him a little tighter. “Let me know when you’re done, yeah?”

Before Caleb can ask what that means, Caduceus’s fingers spider under his shirt and start kneading, gentle and merciless, at the top of his ribs.

Caleb breaks instantly. He can’t get his arms far enough down to protect himself, can’t hope to get loose - he tries to bite his lip for a moment to stop himself from laughing, flinging his hands back over his face, but all his breath rushes out in a sudden squeal as the first shock of ticklish sensation hits him in full. “Ahahaaaaa - aaa!”

Caduceus tickles one side of his ribs until he’s sobbing and kicking, completely insensible, and then lazily spiders down over his sides and belly and back up to the other side to tease and tickle as he pleases. He tickles up into his armpits, around the soft curve of his tummy, and rubs his thumbs into the bony outcrop of his hips through the pockets in his pants - he goes back and forth, back and forth, until Caleb loses track of time and numbers and which language he’s begging in and can only measure how much air is left in his lungs before he starts wheezing again.

At some point, he can’t hold himself upright any longer - he sinks down against Caduceus’ bracing arm, but it only stretches the skin over his ribs further. He wails.

It goes on until all he can do is gasp and snicker weakly as Caduceus prods his way back up his side, stopping to trace at each ribin turn. His eyes drift shut, at some point. He doesn’t think he’s ever been tickled so badly in his life.

Still, it seems that there is the possibility for it to tickle even worse - Caduceus’ hand finally, finally slips out from under his shirt, and he just manages to gasp out a sigh of relief before it closes gently around his ankle.

His eyes spring open. “Mein Gott, bitte, bitte, not there,” he hiccups. “I’ll die, I’ll die, please!”

Caduceus hums - held upright, he can just see Caduceus’ wrist pinning down the top of his foot as his index finger traces a light, tickly circle around the thin bone of his ankle. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

Caleb grasps for the threads of his thoughts, heedless of confession in the face of being tickled more, but to his surprise there is little left to worry about - even the exhaustion feels far away now, his whole world narrowed to the warmth of being held here.

“Nothing,” he says honestly. He giggles a little as Caduceus’ fingers keep moving. “Ankles, maybe.”

Caduceus laughs aloud at that, letting go of his foot and untangling their arms as he briefly nuzzles his forehead. Caleb’s seen him do it to the others, before, but never to him. He sighs at the warm, fuzzy pressure against his hairline, the light huff of breath that stirs the mess of his hair. It’s nice.

“Alright. Off to bed with you, Mr. Caleb, come on.”

He’s already dreaming, he thinks - Caduceus has to help him over to the pillows, where he flops out and curls contentedly into the blanket tugged over him. Maybe it’s that he can barely move from exhaustion, cheeks still sore from laughter, but the bed has never felt better.

Drifting off, he allows himself to hope foolishly that this might not have to be the last time.

[builder051]

The talk

Chasing Ghosts

(I generally do not play in this arena; DO NOT ask for other stories with PMS, etc., as illness features. I do loosely plan to continue this thread, though. Or @mohini-musing might pick up for me.)

Warnings: weight (though not ED context), SA inc. prostitution, blood, emeto

____________________________

Tasha comes down the hall and stands like a ghost behind the sofa.

James is in the recliner across the living room, and he barely looks up from the textbook he's pretending to peruse. The quiet music he's had playing in one ear has long since captured his attention more than the multiplication of matrices. He's fairly sure he'll never use the skill lest he become a software engineer post-graduation, and the prospect of that's looking pretty slim.

He sees Tasha out of his peripheral vision, but doesn't move his head or lift his eyes for acknowledgment. She's probably drifted down from her weekend high, realized it's Sunday night, and gotten up for a Gatorade and maybe a glance at her homework.

Steve, though, who's lying on his stomach and taking up the whole of the couch, practically jumps to attention. He stands, scoots, and sits again in the amount of time it takes James to blink and make the first inhalation of a laugh.

"Sorry," Steve says, as if he's personally offended Tasha and just been called out. "I didn't mean... I was just, like, studying..."

Tasha shrugs. "Didn't come to sit with you," she says, in a voice that recalls the 'boys are gross' tone of young teenagerhood.

"What's up, then?" James asks, trying to bring back the balance of the room's atmosphere.

Tasha makes an ugly face. She opens her mouth, then shuts it. "Can I talk to you alone?"

James scoffs. "You think there's privacy in this apartment?"

"I can go, I don't know--" Steve looks around.

"Just talk," James says. He almost rolls his eyes, but the undercurrent of Tasha's affect seems to hold an air of seriousness. If there's something she needs to confess or ask for help with, he doesn't want her to feel less than secure.

Tasha lets out a breathy sort of sigh. "Blood," she says. "There's blood."

"Huh?" Steve responds first. "Where?"

James takes a little longer to contemplate the admission. Has she cut herself? There's no visible damage; Tasha's not holding an injury or howling in pain. Bloody vomit? That's nothing new, really, and even with vampire-red teeth, which she doesn't have, Tasha probably wouldn't come crying to him.

James is still thinking when Tasha points vaguely down the hall and to the left, which is, technically speaking, her side of the apartment. Or at least the bedroom and bathroom they'd parceled out for her when they'd unofficially moved her out of her dreary campus housing.

"What, in your room?" Steve asks.

"No." Tasha screws up her eyes. "I mean... I'm bleeding."

The cogs continue to turn in James's head, and just as he lands on an answer, Steve gives up, shaking his head and saying, "I don't get it."

"Fuck you," Tasha mumbles. "Both of you." She turns and starts to head back down the hallway.

"Tash." James jumps to his feet, his algebra book falling to the floor.

"You guys are fucking gay..."

"Hey!" Steve interjects.

James flaps his hand at Steve to shut him up. "Maybe we're gay, but I'm your big brother." He shoots a quick glance at Steve, hoping this won't surpass his no privacy promise. They've done some pretty wild stuff together: partying, puking, cleaning the carpet... Period talk shouldn't be too far out of their wheelhouse. At least, not if Tasha wants to talk about it.

Tasha huffs and rounds the edge of the sofa. She stands beside the arm, leaning her hip against it for a moment, before finally deciding to sit down, as far away from Steve as possible.

"I..." James starts, assuming it's his responsibility to keep the conversation going. "I assumed you hadn't been, um. You know."

Tasha's 100 pounds soaking wet. In her usual cutoff shorts and tank tops, he'd give her 95. Maybe 92 if she's detoxing. James assumes she has something like female athlete triad going on, except without the athlete. He doesn't like to think she's just too skinny to go through... normal biological processes. If he blames the drugs, sees them as wrecking her body instead of bringing her solace, then he'll have to turn eyes on himself, and there's no way in hell he wants to do that.

"Smart one," Tasha says. "And exactly how much thought do you give to the functioning of my uterus?"

Steve gives an 'oh shit' face, looking from James to Tasha and back again as if wondering how he's been so thick headed. James agrees, but is also relieved, in a way, that his boyfriend hasn't been thinking about his sister in, well, that way.

"Seeing as I have, more than once, pulled you out of an R-rated situation with iffy consent, and you have yet to become pregnant--" James starts.

"Yeah, ok, you don't have to..." Tasha shakes her head.

James decides not to stop his momentum. "Do you know how much sex you're having? How often you're using protection?"

"I said, you don't have to." Tasha glares at him. "I don't have one. A cycle, or whatever. I can't get knocked up."

"Well, I figured that, but you can still get an STD--

"I don't think you're hearing me," Tasha says. "I don't have one. I haven't. Like, ever."

"But--what?" James squints and cocks his head. "What about, what was it? Cheerleading camp?"

"That stupid summer program when I was 16?" Tasha bites her lip. "Yeah, that was a lie."

"You're losing me." Steve reminds them he's part of the conversation as well.

"What, didn't your mom send you to cheerleading camp when you were a sullen teen?" Tasha asks him, seemingly in all seriousness.

"Um. No." Steve withers a little under her stare. "There was a threat to beat it out of me with a bible when I was that age, but that never came to fruition."

"Mm. Fun times." Tasha scrubs her hair back from her face. "I told mom of the moment I started at camp, so then she couldn't go nuts about the moment I 'became a woman,' or whatever."

Tasha has always seemed like a little kid to James. Her stint at camp had only taken place... he quickly calculates... 3ish years ago. Tasha is a kid. She hasn't busted 20 years old yet. But, for the first time James wonders if other, more metaphorical factors are at play.

The idea quickly fades, though, when he remembers the actual topic at hand. "Ok, but Tash," James says. "What's actually going on right now?"

Tasha practically sinks into the couch cushions. She wraps both arms around her abdomen. "Blood," she says. "Kinda...everywhere."

"We'll clean the bathroom later," James says dismissively.

"And I'll do laundry," Steve offers. "I used to be the scrawny kid who got beat up a lot. I can do bloodstains."

"Not helping, babe," James tells him before Tasha can get a word in.

"Feel sick," Tasha admits, rather suddenly.

"Bathroom it is, then," James decides. "But, let's use mine."

Tasha seems to have turned into a shapeless blob on the corner of the couch, her chest meeting her thighs with her arms still wrapped around her stomach. Her face is in her knees, which James has to admit, would be easier to clean than the carpet.

"Come on," he says gently, taking Tasha's shoulder. "If you're gonna puke, don't do it here, please."

"But I already diiiiid," Tasha complains, drawing out the last word and adding the hiccup of a fake crying fit.

"Sorry." James hooks his flesh arm across Tasha's chest and lets her cling to him down the hall. He takes her into his and Steve's disorganized yet bleach-shined bathroom. Cleaning was practically Steve's hobby. Yet keeping down the clutter? Not his strong suit.

Unsure of exactly what kind of sick his sister intends to be, he sets her down, fully clothed, on the toilet, which, of course, has the seat up. Then he dives for the trash can and shoves it into Tasha's chest.

She gives James an appreciative glare, then sets her chin on the edge of the trash can, ostensibly to wait for an upcoming retch. James can practically see it, rising from the bottom of her spine, up her back, to her neck and throat before finally pushing a pitiful amount of spit and bile out of her mouth.

"Ok..." James sighs. If she's down to just that, she's been at it a while. Lost a lot of fluids already.

"Gatorade?" Steve asks in a chipper tone, putting voice to what James is thinking without a trace of delicacy.

"Hmph." Tasha spits. "If it'll... make it stop burning..."

"Lemme guess, vodka last night?" James tries to make her laugh. Maybe cough.

"Fuck you."

"Eh, we'll talk about that later," James says, hoping he doesn't sound threatening. "For now, how about I go with you?" James pulls on Steve's arm and heads for the bathroom door.

"Hey, you said no privacy here..." Tasha's irritated and sickly voice trails after them.

"Yeah, well, puking people aren't allowed to leave the bathroom," James says. "That's the house rule that trumps all the others."

"But I puke on the couch all the time--"

"That's because it's too hard to get your fucking limp-ass octopus body into the bathroom in the first place." James rolls his eyes. "Just sit tight."

He quickly drags Steve into the kitchen. "Ok," he says. "You have to know about this stuff. You took health class in high school, right?"

"I've lived with a woman," Steve reminds James, a little shamefully. "But Peggy was super private. You know, like inhibited, about, like, um..."

"Yeah, I get it." James shrugs. Then, "Did you know you can stem a nosebleed with a tampon?"

"Why would I?"

"I don't know..." James shakes his head.

"Why do you?" Steve looks a little take aback now.

"The field. Desert air's pretty damn dry."

"Ah. Ok."

"We'd get donations of shit from the states. Care packages, Costco overstock, you know. Just, whatever. When we got pads and stuff, whoever was unloading the box would just hold them over their head and yell 'who needs them?'"

"And I'm assuming people would just raise their hands?" Steve postulates.

"Yup." James pops the P. "No privacy. Everyone knows everyone else's bathroom habits. When you're deep in the field, there's no men's and women's facilities. Half the time the privies don't even have doors."

"Ok." Steve nods. "Experience, then. You have lots of experience."

James shrugs again. "You have to be chill, ok?" He opens the fridge and pulls out two bottles of Gatorade. He holds one to either side of Steve's neck, as if to physically cool him. "This is, like, super weird and awkward for her. She's really scared, I think, and her brave face just looks...jerk-ish."

"Yeah." Steve takes the Gatorade. "I can be good with this. I really care about her, even if she doesn't think I do."

"I know you do," James says. "It's all in the presentation right now, though. She's skittish. But, also, for some reason, willing to talk. We have to tease it out. And you can't ruin it, ok?"

"Ok, ok." Steve seems to understand, even if he doesn't appreciate the words.

They head back to the bathroom, where Tasha has, for whatever reason, decided to heave into the toilet instead of the trash. She squats awkwardly, sitting on one heel. From the angle he's at, James can see a spreading stain on the back of Tasha's shorts, which has made an imprint on her ankle and the bottom of her foot.

"Don't move," James says, reaching for a towel.

"The fuck would I?" Tasha coughs, holding her stomach and moaning.

"Well, when you're done, stand up slowly and wipe your feet."

"...Shit..." Tasha spits. "Like I said. It's fucking everywhere."

"Yeah..." Menstrual blood, James has no experience with. But blood in general, yeah. It does get fucking everywhere. There's that first moment when the entire body and all its systems are still in shock, like when the arm is first blown off, and then all he can see is red. Even the bone that was white just a second ago is lost in a sea of scarlet--

"Well, I suppose congratulations are in order," Steve says with a grin, clearly trying to be friendly, but missing out on one, or more, of the points. "You're not pregnant."

"Well, of course I'm not, you dingbat," Tasha replies, rolling her eyes so hard that James is sure it must give her a headache. If she doesn't already have one. "And besides. He used a condom."

"Wait," James says. He's been preoccupied by not looking at Steve. "You know that?" he pokes cautiously. "For sure?"

"...Yeah..."

"Every time?"

"To be honest," Tasha starts, spitting and pushing herself away from the toilet. She crab-walks to the towel, wipes her feet, then sits on it, criss-cross like a little kid. "I don't know if he actually gets off every time." She draws her mouth into a straight, defensive line.

"The fuck does that have to do with anything?" James asks.

Steve looks very much like he wants to get the bleach from the cabinet under the sink, pour it into one ear, tip his head, and see if it comes out the other.

"He pulls out," Tasha says bluntly. "And there's never any, you know. Gunk."

"Wait, he does both?" Steve's eyebrows disappear into his hair. "A condom and--"

"Ok, ok." James puts up his hands to shush them both. "And this is, what, this is your dealer we're talking about?"

"Yeah, I guess, if you want to call him that," Tasha says with a shrug.

"What else would we call him?" Steve now looks disgusted. "That'd be stupid to let him just, like, defile you every week."

"He doesn't--" Tasha starts, but then she hiccups, and maybe thinks better of what she was going to say. She still stares Steve down, though, then looks to James as if grasping at straws of support.

"He's, like, a manufacturer?" Tasha turns her gaze sideways.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." James puts his hand over his face. He'd assumed Tasha was getting her stuff on the street, through a framework of various interlopers. Now he's getting news that his kid sister is taking substances thrown together in some coed's bathtub? This is too much.

"Tash--" James starts, trying hard to keep his bubbling anger and concern from spilling over.

"He's a PhD candidate," Tasha says defensively. In Chemistry. And--" her eyes flicker from side to side as she seems to wonder what's appropriate to spill. "I won't tell you his name. But... I'll tell you that he got kicked off the football team for being too violent, but he still wears his green jersey all the time to prove how much better and calmer he's become since that happened, which was only in the freshman year of his undergrad..." Tasha babbles on.

The more she defends the guy, the more James hates him. He feels bad for him a little, slinging synthesized crack to get by. He feels better for Tasha, knowing that what she's taking is most probably pure. But the sex thing is--

"It's kinda creepy," Steve says, taking the words right from James's mouth. "Like, how much older than you is he?"

"I don't know." Tasha shrugs. "Not that much, I don't think. Started school early, finished fast. And I'm not sure this is his first post-graduate program..."

"Maybe shouldn't've added that last part," James says, screwing up his eyes. "So he's had, like, however long to prey on girls who are barely legal. Who might not even be legal..."

"Well, I'm legal, and I can do what I want." Tasha crosses her arms in front of her chest.

"Yeah," James sighs. "Unfortunately."

"But what about the thing with the handcuffs? The gang rape? Losing your bra?" Steve blurts out.

"Wait, you..." Tasha's eyes flash with anger. "You told him?"

"What did I say about privacy?" James quickly reminds her. "The non-puking kind? And, um," He looks to Steve. "Maybe a little respect?"

"Sorry," Steve mutters. "But--I really do--"

"I don't really remember that stuff," Tasha says.

James studies her face, but he can't tell if she's lying.

"Probably just party stuff that got out of hand."

'You mean you were too stoned to know the difference between your regular and some random dude off the street,' James thinks. 'What do you do at parties? And how the fuck do you slip past me?'

"He's your pimp, too, isn't he?" Steve asks, pointing at Tasha rather accusatorially, in James's opinion.

"No!" Tasha leans forward and brings her arms down to cover her clearly still sore abdomen. "Bruce wouldn't--" She swallows. "I didn't-- You didn't hear--"

James hasn't been a student long enough to know who was on the football team 4, 5, 6-odd years ago. He supposes he could look it up, crossing the name with accounts of any violent incident that amount of time ago. He's not sure he wants to, though he'll probably wind up looking it up later. Either that, or Steve will. James still has his ex-mil connections, a few of which were absorbed into the local police force. Steve, on the other hand, is better with social media and navigating the niceties of such mysteries as SnapChat and TikTok.

"Ok, fine," James says, just ameliorate his sister's panic.

"He doesn't even drug me at parties," Tasha goes on, probably unaware of how terribly young and desperate she sounds, making lame-ass excuses so she can keep her boy toy.

"And you've had other guys who did?" Steve asks incredulously, even though James shakes his head frantically at him to try to get him to shut up.

"You know Rumlow?" Tasha asks, since apparently she's now all about spilling names.

James shakes his head, but Steve screws up his eyes and says in a disgusted voice, "him?"

"Yeah..." Tasha sighs and looks down at her fingernails, which are stained rust-red at the root. "Remember the night I didn't come home?"

"Yeah, and scared the living shit out of us because your phone was off," James fills in the blanks.

"Well, I didn't turn it off."

"You mean that asshole kept you overnight without any means of getting yourself out of there?" Steve looks downright sick. "I mean, I know he looks slimy, but that?"

"I think Maria accidentally slept on the couch and found me at, like, 6am trying to stick my head in the linen closet because I couldn't find the bathroom." Tasha laughs, though the situation is anything bur funny.

"And I was so pissed at her for having you out all night..." James trails off.

"Yeah, maybe respect my choices a little more?" Tasha glares at him. "I mean, Maria's studying to become an EMT now. You can't think that badly of her."

'Great,' James thinks. 'Someone who'll drug Tasha to the gills every weekend.' She'll be less likely to overdose, but James has seen it all too often in the field. Newly minted medical personnel eager to sow off their skills and rushing into action.

"Yeah," James says, trying not to smirk. "So you got a girlfriend and a boyfriend now?"

"Ew, no," Tasha replies. "Friends with...benefits, I guess. If you even want to call it that. Folks who look out for each other, using a barter system?"

"Did you recently take World History?" James can't help but poking at her vocabulary.

"Fucking-a, I don't know. Once I pass, it's in my past."

"That's actually a good motto," Steve points out.

"Anyway," James says, bringing the conversation back to topic. "None of your...friends... are invited to this house."

"It's not like I want to bring them over for dinner," Tasha replies. "I guess drop off and pickup might happen, since, well, you know now, and I don't have a car." She shrugs. "Cool?"

James hates the idea of someone inebriated driving a car in which his sister is a passenger, despite the fact that he's done it before. Regularly, actually. Maybe he just hates the idea of the driver being someone who Tasha just fucked. The air might be heavy between them. They might smell like each other's deodorant and musk. They might kiss each other good bye. The thought makes James's stomach turn.

But, "sure," he says. "That's fine.” At least she'll come home.

James shares a glance with Steve, which seems to confirm the same sentiments, "Yeah," Steve echoes, as if his opinion counts for anything. "Fine."

[smallblip]

Yellow chrysanthemums

Mikasasha (they’re bffs here) + a side of Jeankasa | Rated G for ‘Goddamn I’m sad’

It’s on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/29415435

(Spoilers for S4E9)

Little gold flower.

Her mother used to tell her. This little gold flower, perfect like the sun. It’s the symbol of our people, of nobility, of beauty-

And of grief, of sorrow so great your heart shatters into a million pieces. Like petals so numerous they’re only significant as a whole.

It represents both beauty and grief? Mikasa had asked.

Her mother had shrugged. That’s just life isn’t it Mikasa, there’s always got to be a bit of both.

But Mikasa thinks her mother is wrong. There’s nothing beautiful about grief. Nothing beautiful about the endless rows of grey headstones, of the fog that seems to cling to the cemetery, heavy like its own atmosphere. This life leaves much to be desired, but there’s nothing beautiful about death.

Not even when day is breaking and the light catches the dew on the untrimmed grass. Mikasa wonders why the grass is so long. Wonders if death is as unkempt, or if it’s pristine as white walls. She can’t figure out which she’d prefer. And already the day is breaking, and the sun- a little gold flower- tries to tear through the fog.

“Wake up Sasha...”

She says, so quietly it settles atop the fog.

She thinks about the room they share and the turmoil on Sasha’s side- clothes strewn everywhere, sweet wrappers thrown in the mix, her bow and arrow tucked under her bed. Somehow, she manages to navigate her way around the mess. “Mikasa! Can I borrow your shirt? I don’t have a clean one!” Sasha would say. “No.” She would reply, but Sasha would help herself anyway. They would talk about breakfast- it’s the same gruel every day. But somehow thinking up possibilities with Sasha made gruel more bearable.

But today, like most days, Sasha doesn’t stir.

“Wake up Sasha...” Mikasa tries again, a little harsher this time. If they don’t get going soon they’re going to get scolded again. And Mikasa will have to think up some stupid excuse.

No response.

She wipes at her cheeks with the back of her hands. But the tears keep coming. She pulls her knees to her chest, burying her face in her arms. Mikasa closes her eyes, wishing for some kind of respite- in what form she isn’t sure. Sleep, perhaps? And when she wakes up, it will be to Sasha’s incessant snoring. It’s just a dream Mikasa... A bad dream... It isn’t real... But it’s so quiet, and Mikasa has never felt more alone.  

“Mikasa?”

It’s Jean, with Connie. Now there are a few loose stalks of carnations beside her little gold flowers.

“I’ll leave you two to it...” she murmurs, there’s no point hiding the fact that she has been crying. Her reddened nose and wet cheeks are testament. It has always been the three of them- Sasha, Connie, Jean. Always. And Mikasa is already on her feet, making space. All of a sudden she feels out of place, a little stone in the shoe, a splinter in the trinity.

“No, stay...” it’s Connie. He offers a little smile and Mikasa stays, hands clasped in front of her. So this is what a person looks like when he loses part of himself.

“I’m sorry Connie... Jean...” Mikasa blurts. It seemed like the right thing to say.

There’s a smile again, this time from both of them.

“I’m sorry too Mikasa...” Connie says. And they sit around the headstone in ritual silence. For a moment it’s the four of them, and Mikasa feels young again. She remembers meeting them for the first time, she would have never expected this back then. Falling in love with people just means the inevitable heartache. This Mikasa knows from experience. And yet she does. Maybe this is what makes life beautiful- its capacity for happiness and sorrow so great it fucking breaks you.

They sit and talk until the sun dips, casting pinks and oranges through the fog. In all its muted glory, Mikasa wants to be selfish, to think this is all for her, to think it’s Sasha’s way of telling her everything is fine.

“Should we get going? It’s getting late...” Connie says. And it’s a wise choice. They all have paperwork to fill in and it’s the beginnings of a terribly long week.

But Mikasa shakes her head, she’ll stay a little longer. Just a little longer. There’s still so much she wants to tell Sasha.

“Hey...” It’s Jean. Jean with a look of resignation that he wears when he grieves.

“Hey...” she replies, smiling at him. She shifts to make space and he takes the cue and sits beside her.

It’s quiet for a while, and Mikasa wants so badly to apologise again. But what would she be apologising for? That they had to go to Marley? That she feels guilty for. The loss they both share? The fact that Mikasa couldn’t save her? The fact that Jean couldn’t save her?

But it’s Jean who breaks the silence first.

“Sasha loved you...” he says with difficulty, like he’s trying his best not to conjure up more memories than he can manage, “she talked about you a lot...”

Mikasa pulls her scarf over her chin, withdrawing further into herself. Maybe it would have been better if she had been shot instead. One moment you’re laughing, and the next there’s crimson and everything fades to darkness. And maybe Sasha would remember the little gold flowers Mikasa told her about and they would appear by her headstone.

“I remember when you two were first announced as roommates... Connie was very convinced you were going to kill Sasha one day in her sleep...” Jean chuckles.

There’s a smile that pulls at Mikasa’s lips, “I did want to kill her...” she tells Jean about the mess in her room, about Sasha’s loud snoring, about the balls of knotted thread when Mikasa had tried to teach her how to sew. And she tells Jean about their secret food stash that Sasha maintains religiously, about the things Sasha had taught her about the forest, about her dream to have a cattle ranch after the war. She leaves out their conversations about the young Marleyan chef, the one who has his eye on Sasha. The one they giggle about in the darkness of their room. She leaves out letting Sasha sleep in her bed when she gets nightmares. And that one time Sasha did the same for her. It’s just a dream Mikasa... A bad dream... It isn’t real... she had said, carding her fingers through Mikasa’s hair more expertly and with more tenderness than Mikasa could ever manage.

“What are we going to do...” Mikasa says, more rhetorical than anything, and the dam breaks. She cries so hard that her lungs scream for air. Jean wraps his arms around her. It’s okay Mikasa... It’s okay... he leans his head against hers and there are tears falling from his cheek to her hair- tears that he would sheepishly apologise for later.

The walk back to their bunks is quiet. And with every step, it gets a little easier to breathe. Mikasa’s hand is in Jean’s, and she feels like a child, spent from crying, happy to be safe and walked home. Except this little thing they have between them happens too often, and she almost prepares herself for Sasha’s teasing later. Almost.

It’s almost too soon when they arrive at Mikasa’s door and Jean senses her hesitation.

“You don’t have to be alone tonight Mikasa... You can come join Connie and I...” Jean flashes a grin, “we have alcohol...”

Mikasa smiles, squeezing Jean’s hand before letting go. Maybe some other time. She needs this tonight. And Jean understands, “you know where to find me...” he says, pulling her head against his chest. She breathes in deep. He smells of fresh laundry and bergamot. Mikasa snakes her arms around his waist. She knows, she’s looked for him before in the dead of night.

And then she’s alone again. There’s a trail of mess where Sasha has been and Mikasa is careful not to disturb it, as if it has been arranged in some sort of sacred way. She changes, and crawls into Sasha’s bed in anticipation of a nightmare. Too many things have happened in Marley- a potent concoction for bad dreams. The sheets smell like her- a mix of the forest and something sweeter- like lilies.

It’s just a dream Mikasa... A bad dream... It isn’t real...

But between the wetness on the pillow and the silence that shrouds the room, reality is stark.

But when Mikasa closes her eyes, she sees a field of chrysanthemums. She’s running through the endless gold fields, feet bare, heart racing.

Mikasa keep up! She hears somewhere in the distance. It’s Sasha. She’s always been a fast runner.

Wait! Mikasa shouts after her, there’s a panic that courses through her blood. Sasha is going too far away. She feels small again, a child waiting to be swallowed up by the world. Sasha wait...

She’s tired of running after people. Tired of falling in love with people. Tired of hurting. Tired of grief.

I’m here... It’s just a bad dream Mikasa... she hears from past the field of little gold flowers. It feels so real that Mikasa screws her eyes shut. Please don’t go... and Sasha is there again, lying beside her in the field of chrysanthemums. Sasha is smiling at her, that stupid smile she always has on her face that comes with the promise of something good, something beautiful- like roast beef on a platter, or like a field of little gold flowers, each as perfect as the sun.

Goodnight Sasha...

[zombiekillerky]

[How Are You?] - SleepyboisInc Story

{Disclaimer : This story does not have any romantic relationships, Family Dynamic only! I hope you enjoy reading this :) }

Sweat poured from his forehead as he worked quickly against the stand he fought up against. It was his time off, no wars were going on at the moment in the area. No political affairs he was in or needed to be in at the moment. No big issues with enemies and yet here he was training to keep him and the voices in his head at bay. His body was tense and quick, a swing left and then right with only a few seconds to spare in between. His wrapped hands gripped on to the shoulder pads of the dummy, flipping himself over with ease like all the times he has practiced before this moment. One clean cut of his sharp blade and the dummies head was hanging loosely by a thread or two. Making the hybrid sigh in annoyance since he would have to sew it back in it's place later on in the evening.

The hybrid turned to the next stand to his right, this one had needed to be replaced a long time ago. Getting the okay a couple days early from Phil to destroy it however he liked to and just to clean it up after. The blade ran toward the dummy stand there, the breeze blew it slightly to the side. Yet it didn't even matter to the warrior as he ran up upon it. Sword was already deep in to the material of the dummy that stood there. The blade took out his blade, taking a few more quick steps as he practiced a parry move he has wanted to master through and through. With a satisfied smile his blade dug through the fabric, ripping off the arms. They fell tot he ground, two soft thuds along with a third of the head falling off and on to the ground as well. The warrior was never done with his training, he never wanted to be. Even though he has one countless wars, several fights among the greatest enemies he had, several sparring matches against Dream and even a few against Phil. He was never perfect, he would never be no matter how hard he tried to be. Leaving the empty pit in his stomach bare, not even his blood lust could quench the need of the emptiness that stowed away inside him.

As he stood there he felt eyes on him, the warrior held his blade tightly in his grasp. Wanting to turn and fight his next training dummy, just to restart and fight them or at least the ones with less damage all over again. Yet the feeling of a gaze never subsided within him, to many wars will do that to you evidently. Being able to tell someone was watching you from either a close or a far distant was a blessing and a curse at the same time.

"You do know that you could always relax once and a while ya know" A small smirk formed on Techno's face once he heard the smooth British accent of the musician coming outside on to the porch of their get away home out in the woods. The home where so many good memories were shared in over the years by the makeshift family they liked to call each other. Techno wiped his forehead of sweat before turning to face him. Catching the towel Willbur had thrown at him with ease, only catching the brunette roll his eyes softly as he slowly walked over and sat down beside him. A thud of the woods flexing from the sudden shift in weight of the two sitting there on the top step. The clang of the metal against the wood was loud as the warrior's sword rested behind him.

"Thanks" muttered the warrior softly in appreciation to the brunette's action. Techno's eyes stared out in to the woods as he rested his towel in his lap, folded neatly even though he would use it again. Feeling Wilbur's eyes staring at him like they were burning in to his soul. Something he always hated really, he always hated eyes on him, it made him feel on edge and anxious. It was something Phil always had done to him too, he always made him confess when something was wrong just from one stare. Techno turned his head slightly,  earning a small smile from the brunette as he fidgeted with the string on his sleeve that hung loosely by his wrist. Almost like he was hiding something...guilty is another answer that came to mind as well.

"How are you Techno?" Wilbur finally asked, confusing the hybrid as he sat there in silence. How could he even answer him? Wilbur knew about his anxiety, his past wars and nightmares on occasion that occurred in his messed up head. Maybe even a tiny bit about his voices from what he remembered Phil telling him years early when he had asked what was wrong with him. Techno sighed softly as he grabbed his towel and wiped the back of his neck, he didn't know how to answer honestly. How could he, he was never okay in the slightest, there was always something going on.

"I'm....okay" He had to think about his answer, earning a unconvinced look from the brunette sitting next to him. The brunette rolled his eyes as he rested his chin on his palm, the boards creaked as he fixed his weight to his other side. Tracing over his initials he carved in to the wood years earlier.

"Techno..."

"Yes"

"That isn't your real answer and you know it" The blade knew he could lie very well actually, or very well to some he should say. His answer was not convincing enough yes, but what could he have said to get a better reaction out of the bard he called family. "Yes I am totally fine Willbur thank you for asking?". He wished he could be okay though....he wished that answer was the truth, and yet it was far from it. A sigh left his lips, muffled on the sides from his small tusks he hated dearly. His grayish blue eyes stared calmly at the grass as the wind moved the leafs that laid upon the earth. For a normal person it would be easy to sit and relax, yet his head was filled with nonsense he couldn't tune out accept for rare occasions.

"I'm....anxious Willbur" The warrior used his formal name, keeping it business as pure usual like the gremlin child always said from time to time. The brunette's head perked up in surprise, never hearing his tense older brother figure speak his true feelings out in the open like this. It was always a lie, a lie anytime anyone asked him family or not. A lie to keep Tommy and Ranboo from worrying about him, a lie just to avoid the constant prying at him for the truth. For once he was an open book, his tall guarded walls lowered just an inch. But that was all it took for the brunette in the beanie to feel happy, to feel close to his distant brother again like the years before. The times he so dearly missed if dawned upon him sometimes when he would watch how his family would act sometimes.

"I could tell something was up....you seem more tense then usual out here...This place, it's supposed to calm us of the harsh world that eats away at out sanity bit by bit...Tell me what is troubling you Technoblade?" A small chuckle was all his reply was, the brunette turned to see the look on his face.

"Now you're starting to sound like Phil Willbur" Techno replied instantly, making Will bite down on his tongue almost to stop talking. He didn't want to ruin this moment, he didn't want Techno to feel like he needed to tell him anything. Techno's hands gripped on to his towel as he sat there, a quick glance was all it took to see Will's face. The look of anxiety, fear that was building up within him. He hated that look, fear was an emotion he experienced regularly. Fear was something he never wanted to see with his family. He didn't want to see him as the monster he truly was. A dark cloud now loomed over his head as the voices screamed and shouted at him. Yet he felt like he needed to reply in order to get the brunette out of this feeling his was having at the moment.

"I*sigh*...I feel anxious because nothing has happened...I know this place is shielded off from everyone and everywhere else for the time being. But I'm half expecting to have someone just come out of the bushes and attack me...attack us here. I keep having to side track myself in order to not think so much about it. Yet I can't seem to help myself at times..." His fists clenched as he sat there, hating that he was confessing what was in his head at the moment. Yet if it made Willbur feel happy then he would.

"My life if filled with surprises....*looks at hands* violence, bloodshed...being able to just sit and relax for the first time in forever doesn't sit well with me. I need to do something, I need to train in order to keep myself busy from everything else running through my mind. Sitting here wasting my time when someone could be destroying my base...All the possibilities are just endless of what could be happening out there. " The blade finally replied, confessing his dark feeling to his brother. As he turned to look at him though it didn't seem to help any like he thought it would. The warrior glanced at him confused, his brown eyes just avoided him some what as he sat. Moving his guitar over slightly since it was resting up against his back harshly from how tight the strap was around him. The brunette just gazed at his guitar in his hands, almost like it was going to do something right then and there. The pinkette just simply gazed back out toward his training dummies toward the side of the woods. How destroyed and badly beaten they looked, knowing he would need new ones sooner or later.

"How are You feeling Will?" Techno asked, not being one for sentimental moments like these. He never wanted to look soft and vulnerable, but the musician needed him now so that was what was needed. The brunette's eyes glanced over to the pinkette sitting there beside him, watching as he moved his leg to lay on top of the other one. The truth was, he didn't know how he was feeling either. Even though no words left his mouth, the warrior could tell what was running through his mind as he sat there. They thought to much alike at times it was sickening, so if he was thinking at all like him then he knew what was wrong. He knew what could truly trouble him as they sat in silence.

"I don't know..." The brunette continued with a solemn look written upon his face. Techno could only wait patiently for his answer, not intending to pry and beg for one in return.

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to, it's fine if you want to keep it to yourself" Willbur nodded his head, still trying to gather the right words in his head before he spoke.

"I....I don't think I belong here right now if that makes any sense to you...who am I kidding of course it makes sense to you Techno" Silence was shared between the two for a couple seconds. But that silence was agreed upon by both of them, the silence said many words then non like some would think. The pinkette's gaze was shifted over to the brunette sitting beside him. he almost felt bad for his so called brother to go through this mental trauma like he goes through. It will never be half of what the warrior has to deal with. But even some was enough to push some one over the edge even just a little bit.

"You feel trapped....almost like you are taking up space out here" Techno replied, only to get a nod of agreement in return by the musician. Techno truthfully didn't know how to cheer up his brother sitting there, when he had these thoughts he would try to push them away as far as he could. Sidetracking himself with something else or doing something like fighting in wars to prove his worth.

"You know I feel that way all the time too....ever since Phil found me I almost felt as if I shouldn't even be here with you all. No matter how many times he insisted that he found me for a reason, that fate brought us together. I would never listen, this feeling would just keep grinding away at my thoughts... I never felt like I belonged here...belonged with any of you...and yet here we are, what 21...22 years late and still everyone is together" The blade finally spoke, trying to show that there was nothing to fear about that emotion his brother was feeling at the moment. Reassurance was hard for the blade to achieve with the people he cared for, he normally was there to fight for them, to protect them. Talking and caring was more Phil and Will's side of things.

"Did you really feel that out of place?"

"Will....I literally have tusks and pointed ears....don't you think I sort of stick out some in my hybrid form I take?" The blade replied, hearing his brother's laughter soon after which was what he hoped for even though he wasn't trying to be funny and make a joke.

"I guess you're kind of right there....but you do belong here Techno, you belong here with us"

"And so do you...don't feel like you're trapped and taking up space here willbur....I know sometimes it feels that way...Sometimes it feels like you can't do anything for anyone but you can't let that dwindle  upon you when it's not true" The blade replied quickly, making the musician realize what the lesson was with his brother's words. The brunette gazed back at his brother, stretching as he sat there. With a couple satisfying pops of his back he was back to leaning on his knees. The brunette smiled warmly at him, noticing the quick glance over toward him. Techno nodded his head, not needing to take the thank you the brunette wanted to gladly reply in return. Techno's scarred hand grabbed his old iron blade that sat behind him. Standing up with the help of Will as he sat his hand on his shoulder to give him a boost. For living as long as he has he could never admit sometimes how hard it was to stand back up after sitting for long periods of time. The blade stood there, staring down at his brother that still sat on the first step of the old porch.

"Are you happy with your little intervention we had?" Techno asked as he raised his eyebrow, pretending not to care in the slightest. The brunette paused for a second, recalling everything that had just happened to him in the past couple minutes of sitting there. He quickly nodded his head, a smile was still on his face as he gazed at his brother standing there. He could see the small smile on his face as he stood there patiently.

"Very happy actually...you helped me think through some things...so thank you" Willbur replied as he fixed his position on the stairs to up against the house. His guitar was in his hands ready to play like he was wanting to do in the first place coming out here. The warrior nodded his head in return before turning to go and fight his dummies once more like he was doing earlier on.

"And Will"

"Yes?"

"Don't tell Phil I said any of that stuff alright...he already worries enough, I don't need to make him grow any more gray hairs then he already has from the two of you" Willbur chuckled softly at Techno's joke he was making.

"Sure Techno sure....I just want you to know you can talk to me alright...that's if you want to to get stuff off your chest ya know" They were silent again, the warrior stopped walking toward his dummies in the yard.

"I'll think about it alright"

"I'm here if you need me"

[soopersara]

Caught

AO3 | FFN

On a trip to the South Pole, the lack of sunshine takes a toll on Zuko, and Katara makes some time for snuggling.

AKA: Some ridiculously tooth-rotting fluff that I wrote for acorn_princess as a part of the Zutara Holiday Exchange (and tied to a Zutara Week Throwback prompt because that’s where I got the idea and I also don’t have the brain for titles at the moment).

⁂

They are scarcely through the door, Katara still pulling off her thick, fur lined mittens, when Zuko groans and leans against her back, arms twining around her waist and face mashing into her hair.

His weight nearly knocks her off balance, and Katara catches herself against the wall. With a laugh, she cranes her neck to look back at him.

"You could at least let me take off my coat first, Zuko."

He groans again and buries his face even deeper into her curls. "Nope. Can't."

There is a petulant edge to his voice, and Katara rolls her eyes. She peels her mittens the rest of the way off and tosses them onto the bench by the door, then kicks off her boots. For all that the cold shocked her when they arrived back at the South Pole a few days ago, she's grown accustomed to it now. She almost misses it, the coziness of the soft furs on her skin, and the delicate layer of fluff on every surface outside that mutes all the noises of the world. The comfort of a warm house after a long walk out in the snow, made all the better by the firebender by her side.

Or usually by her side. Right now, he seems determined to keep her wrapped snug in his arms, even while they're both dressed for a blizzard inside a warm house. Their house. At least for now. At least until the new embassy is complete, or until they have to turn back for the Fire Nation.

She peels his arms loose and turns to face him. Zuko makes a small, disgruntled noise, and opens his eyes just a slit.

"Oh, come on," she says, reaching up to pat his cheek. "The meeting wasn't that bad."

He considers for a second. "Not that bad," he agrees. "Better than I expected."

"So you're just pouting because you're cold?"

His mouth curves into a slight, soft pout. "I'm not pouting."

Katara brushes her thumb along his protruding lower lip. "So what's this?"

She almost expects him to cave in. She expects him to melt, to give in to her teasing and plant small, teasing kisses all over her face and as far down her neck as he can reach with the thick, fluffy collar in his way.

That's what she would do. What she has done when he teases her about the heat in the Fire Nation. What he usually does when she teases him about one thing or another.

But instead, Zuko yawns, deep and prolonged. When he is finished, Katara stares. That, she would never have expected.

Zuko catches her look of bemusement, and his face reddens. "I—um. It must be really late."

"Late?" Katara pokes him. "We still have two hours before we have to leave to meet Dad for dinner."

"But it's so dark." His pout returns, and Katara is tempted to run her finger along his lip again, just to watch his reaction.

She resists the urge and cups her hand around his cheek. "It's the South Pole, and it's not the winter solstice yet. It gets a lot darker than this."

Zuko rests his head against her hand. "It's late," he insists. "Has to be. I wouldn't be tired if it wasn't late."

She lets her voice drop into a softer, warmer tone. "I'm pretty sure that's not how it works, Fire Lord."

"Hmpf. I'm pretty sure it is." He closes his eyes and nuzzles into her hand.

He draws power from the sun, Katara reminds herself. That must be it. Without the sun to fuel him, he doesn't have quite the same capacity to push himself to inhuman limits. The limits he usually abides by, spending so many hours of his days in the Fire Nation in meetings, then in poring over treaties and trade agreements and correspondence from all the other leaders of the world. Usually, he has more energy to draw on than most people, and he can push himself farther than any of them ever could.

Here, he is missing his extra source of strength. Here, even more than everywhere else, he is only human. Here, his limits find him faster.

For a little while, Katara is perfectly happy to hold his face in her hand, watching the creases in his forehead, around his mouth and his eyes smooth away. He looks peaceful in a way that he rarely does outside of sleep—but then he leans harder on her hand and starts to tilt himself ever so slightly forward to rest his weight on her chest.

"Hey!" She flicks his shoulder. "Are you sleeping?"

Eyes still shut, Zuko mumbles, "Maybe."

Katara rolls her eyes and pushes him off. "I love you, but I'm not going to keep holding you just so you can sleep standing up."

There is a short pause before Zuko pulls away. "Fine." He yawns tremendously and yanks his parka clumsily over his head.

"Get some rest before dinner," she tells him, her hand brushing against his after he hangs his parka by the door—steel gray rather than blue, just different enough to set him apart from the tribe, but similar enough that he never looks out of place. "We still have two hours."

Zuko nods groggily and presses a quick, soft kiss to her forehead before wandering off toward the bedroom. There is a soft thump, and Katara smiles. She knows that sound. She's watched him crash face-first into bed enough times to see it even without turning around, even without being in the right room. She peels off her own parka and pads after him to peer through the door.

Just as she expects, Zuko lies sprawled at an odd angle across the bed, arms splayed out to the sides and his feet dangling off the end. She shakes her head.

"Aren't you going to at least take out your crown? That doesn't look comfortable."

Zuko gives a small grunt and turns his head just far enough to peer at her through one eye. "Can't," he declares in a mumble. "Too tired."

Katara smiles and crosses her arms. "Don't think I don't recognize a ploy to get me to play with your hair when I see one."

He doesn't respond, just closes his eyes and lets out a sigh, head still turned partway back in her direction.

Lucky for him, Katara doesn't like seeing him uncomfortable, even if it's his own doing, his own laziness. And she can never resist the urge to run her hands through his hair. She crosses the room, nearly soundless, to sit beside him on the edge of the bed.

Before she can reach his crown, Zuko's arm snakes out and hooks her around the waist. A surprised laugh bursts out of her, and he twists, pulling her down beside him.

"You're warm," he murmurs sleepily, and presses his face against her sternum, his arms wrapped snug around her middle.

Despite herself, Katara smiles. "And you're a ridiculous sneak."

"Didn't stop you from marrying me."

"Hmm." She rests a hand against the back of his head, playing with the binding on his topknot. "You've gotten sneakier since then."

He goes quiet, and Katara pulls the crown from his topknot, then slowly unwinds the binding until his hair spills free in glossy black streams against the fur bedspread. She runs her fingertips through his hair, then plants a small, soft kiss on the top of his head.

Zuko hardly reacts, and Katara leans back against the pillows, one arm draped around his shoulders while the other threads lightly through his hair. He must be exhausted. Normally, no kiss ever goes unnoticed, unreciprocated, no matter how small.

She trails her fingers through the length of his hair, and rubs slow circles into his scalp, soothing the places where she knows from experience that a topknot and crown pull the most against the scalp. His hair, its smooth silkiness, its fine, straight locks, never fails to fascinate her. Zuko, she knows, is much the same with her. He plays with her curls, letting them twist delicately around his fingers, at every chance he gets.

It's the contrast, she always believes. The stark difference between her curls and Zuko's straight, silken locks has to be what fills them both with such fascination. Whatever it is, though, whether she's right or wrong, she never has her fill of playing with Zuko's hair.

She feels him relax even further, the slight remaining tension in his muscles draining away. If he isn't sleeping yet, he will be soon, and she doesn't mind that. It's warm and comfortable being pressed up against him, even if she can't move without waking him, even if she has no desire to join him in slumber.

Her fingers keep twirling and smoothing bits of his hair, and before she realizes it, she is partway through braiding a narrow lock of hair just over his scarred eye. It looks nice, she decides, and stretches out an arm to retrieve a small box from the bedside table. From inside, she produces a few of the delicate golden beads he'd given her as part of her betrothal gift and begins weaving them into his hair.

When she is finished, he wears a thin braid punctuated with flashes of gold. It isn't as long as Katara's braids—he keeps his hair cropped a bit shorter than that—and it won't hang in loose, swaying loops the way that hers do if he chooses to pull it back, but she likes it. Fire Nation beads worn in a Water Tribe style look just as good on him as they do on her.

"What did you do to my hair?" His voice is sleepy and muffled, and he makes no effort to move.

Katara tilts her head to the side until she gets a clearer view of his face. His eyes are still closed. "I thought you were sleeping."

Face still pressed to her sternum, Zuko shakes his head. "Feels too nice when you play with my hair."

With a smile, she smooths the finished braid back to where his topknot would normally sit. "I gave you a loopy."

"Hmm." His hand raises clumsily upward and collides with hers before tracing the length of the little braid. He raises his head enough to blearily meet her eyes. "How does it look?"

With all his hair hanging loose and a single braid slipping out of his grasp to dangle in front of his eyes, it doesn't have quite the effect that she planned.

She sweeps his hair back away from his eyes for a moment. "Well, it isn't finished yet. But I think it's going to be very handsome with your topknot."

With a smile and a contented sigh, Zuko lays his head back down. "That sounds perfect."

Giving a small laugh, Katara lets his hair hang loose again and rests her hands on the middle of his back. "How would you know? You haven't looked in a mirror."

"I trust you." His voice is still gravelly, but his words are a little crisper, a little clearer than before.

"Terrible decision. I could do your hair up like King Bumi and you'd never know the difference."

At that, Zuko laughs too, and rolls just far enough off of her so that he can look her way without raising his head. "I really don't think you had enough time for that."

"Hmm." She turns onto her side too and scoots down the bed so she is in line with his eyes. She smooths his hair again and her hand rests against his scar for a second. "It's bold to doubt my hairstyling abilities." She watches his eyes slip shut again and leans forward to kiss his forehead. "But you win this time. No King Bumi hair."

He nods, eyes closed and expression peaceful. "Good. I don't think I could pull that off."

"I don't think King Bumi can either, but who's going to tell him that?"

He laughs again and opens his eyes, the soft golden irises skimming over her. "Have I mentioned how much I love you today?"

"Probably, but I can always stand to hear it again."

He doesn't speak, instead feeling around for her hand and pressing it gently to the lightning scar on his chest. Her heart flutters, just as it always has at the reminder of his near sacrifice.

This much, she hears his voice whisper in her mind. This much and so much more.

She can't think of a proper response, just holds her hand where he placed it, and wraps the other as far around his hands as possible. Sometimes it seems really unfair that his hands are so big compared with hers. She sometimes wishes that she could engulf him and hold him safe forever between her palms.

"I love you too," she whispers, and Zuko kisses her forehead this time.

For a while, they are both quiet, both still and content to just be. Katara watches his blinks growing slower again, his eyelids staying closed longer and longer. He's still feeling the lack of sunshine, she knows, and part of her wants to crawl out of bed just long enough to send a note of apology to Dad, just a few short lines to excuse them both from dinner, and then spend the rest of the night here beside Zuko.

But Zuko beats her to the point. "How much longer before we have to leave for dinner?" he asks, eyes closed, hands still closed around hers.

"An hour?" she guesses. "Maybe a little more than."

"Good." He moves a little closer and presses his face against her shoulder. "Can we stay here forever?"

A light laugh escapes her, and she cups her hand around his cheek, rubbing her thumb along the lower rim of the scar. "Not if we want to make it to dinner on time."

"No, here. At the South Pole."

There are too many problems they'd have to face for that, too many obstacles back in the Fire Nation and all around the world. She knows that. She knows that Zuko knows it too. She pushes back his silky hair again.

"And have you get all sleepy and silly on me every time the sun sets early? Wouldn't that bother you?"

"It's a nice kind of tired," he answers softly, nuzzling against her shoulder. "Besides, I'd get used to it. And if I didn't, still completely worth it if I could snuggle with my wife all winter long."

The beads in his single narrow braid glisten as they slide along his jawline, and Katara trails her fingertips lightly along the length of the braid. She would like that too. Her husband, her beautiful firebender, and someday, their children too, all calling this place home. All traveling the world together, but always returning here.

"Someday," she answers in a whisper. "Maybe someday we will."

[dear-yandere]

succor.

yandere! jotaro kujo 3. major spoilers for stardust crusaders (part 3). word count: 2,600+. tw: bullying, implied depression, drowning, death, gore, and grief.

art credit: ロク. 

He carries himself with poise, an assurity few could ever possess. He is the personification of perfect — alas, a man who appears perfect, like a statue which leaves many in awe, a statue whose marble insides have begun to slowly erode, a statue who’s already begun falling apart. There exists not a soul who can fix him, no sculptor skilled enough, no human kind enough to fix his flaws before anyone else can catch on; Jotaro Kujo is his own sculptor, and he’s forgotten how to mend his broken pieces.

For as long as he’s known, he’s been a soldier. A boy soldier, who bears the weight of the world atop shoulders of steel, shoulders which shake and tremble when no one is looking. He is a soldier without a commander, a soldier without a purpose, and he was content with that. But he is a soldier who’s fought a battle meant for ten thousand men, a battle which has long ended, a battle which still plagues him; he is a soldier who’s fought god and he is only seventeen.

When did it begin, he wonders? When did his marble bones and stone veins start to crack? Was it that day? Becaues he remembers being bullied. He remembers taking each insult, like poison-laced daggers, and thinking nothing of it. He remembers the wrinkles, the eye bags, the grey hairs which had started to pepper his mother’s face at around the same time. He remembers the questions, the sobbing, her desperate pleas, her hesitant knocks on his bedroom door. He remembers her somehow finding out, remembers her standing up for him, one day, in the school yards. And he remembers his bullies trying to hurt her, too.

He remembers nearly killing them.

It was like the flip of a switch, how quickly he changed. Mom became mother, bitch, nuisance. She can’t understand how he felt in those moments — she couldn’t — because until the day he dies, he won’t let her. Keep her at arm’s length, don’t let her in. No one can know, no one can get close — they’ll just get hurt, too. That’s the funny thing about love: it hurts. To feel loved is wonderful, to be loved is tragic, damning, dangerous. He is a catalyst for disaster, destruction, danger, and everything in between.

Death loves him, and love has never felt so lonely.

He lost a friend that day. Metal had bent around his body like silken sheets, water had sod his clothing without care; if his body hadn’t already run cold, the water would’ve made him sick. He would’ve smiled and laughed it off with his dear friend, would’ve said his injuries are no big deal. He can still see, can still move, can still dream. 

If he’d lived.

He lost a friend that day, the only one he’d ever had.

And then there is you.

You are no different from the rest. Just another body to protect, another set of eyes he must keep from prying. Death loves him, and he’d been foolish enough to fall in love; funny how easily it happened, really. Because when you look at him, he feels as if he’s baring his all. All his insecurities and worries, all the times he’s wanted to break down and cry. It’s a feeling he hates, detests, but it’s something new, something unexpected, something needed. You are not those women who look at him with indignant curiosity. You are not his mother who looks at him with worry. You are not his grandfather nor his dead best friend; you are you, and somehow, you are everything he’s needed.

Love is a funny thing, he recalls, and that thought is enough to clear the darkness around him. It’s calming, at first. The nightmare is over and he must be waking up. Your soothing voice will greet him, as it always does; you’ll hug him, cradle him like a child, and he won’t push you away. But you don’t. You shine, so terribly bright that he has to look away for a moment. There’s warmth, comfort, safety in your direction, but he doesn’t walk forward. He doesn’t deserve it.

Not him. Not the man who let his friends die.

Jotaro, a dark, playful voice begins, echoing from the depths of nowhere. It’s familiar; far too knowing, far too cunning, far too demonic. Jotaro feels his mind start to unravel like loose threads, and the voice feeds off this, like a parasite.  If you love your friends and family so much, why do you never tell them? 

“What do you want?” Jotaro barks at nothing and turns toward the dark, turns away from you. Secretly, Jotaro has always been scared of the dark, but right now it was oddly welcoming. The dull beat of that voice, distorted and tinny, still seemed clear, pristine, ethereal. As if the voice had hands which he could not see, they wrapped around his neck like a noose and pulled. Gravity itself seemed to pull at his neck, pushing him further and further into the unforgiving abyss of the darkness as if swallowing him whole. 

Why is he here?

Just as his back hits the waters, the sudden impact knocks the oxygen out of his lungs within a second, before he’s plunged right beneath the surface. His eyes are open, even as salt-water pierced and burned; he was certain before, but this is too real to be a dream. It it weren’t for the fact that he could’ve perished any moment now, the sight before him would’ve actually been beautiful. Nothing but a color palette of deep sea blue clouded his peripheral vision with colors that were excruciatingly breath-taking in real life. 

But he isn’t deceived.

I want to wrap my brain around that head of yours, Jotaro. So, enlighten me... The disembodied voice mocks, feeling like blood rushing against his the insides of his head. It’s closer this time, over his shoulder, next to his ear, and there’s a familiarity to its tone — a familiarity he doesn’t want to acknowledge just yet. Surely telling them you care is easier than breaking your body over and over again.

Jotaro chews on the question with a hint of unmistakable disgust before spiting it out. He hears the voice laugh that mocking song once again, and the light shining from above almost feels like they’re mocking his every movement, too. They watch his arm shoot upwards, silently and slowly for their help — and they laughed. The gears in his brain start turning, willing his limbs to work as legs weakly kicked up in desperate search for air. Realization soon beats itself into his slowly-drowning lungs, and he’s left to face questions that no one but he knows the answers to.

How did he get here? Is he awake? Is he alive?

Answer me, little mortal. We haven’t got all night. The voice goads, and it feels like sharp needles have stuffed themselves into the canals of his ears. Jotaro hisses, and the voice seems content with the response, at the least. Or, perhaps you’d prefer to drown? What a peculiar way for a marine biologist to go, but humans never cease to amaze me.

Jotaro struggles to answer the voice which claims to be inhuman, but dark waters only drain into his mouth like rapids. Time wasn’t even on his mind at this point, but he couldn’t help but wonder how long he’s been underwater. The ocean seemed to pin his legs and arms into icicles, keeping them from thrashing everywhere. Soon, his attempts on fighting for oxygen were getting much more pathetic — much weaker with each kick.

‘Is this how I die?’ He thinks, chuckling at the irony. The feeling of agreeing with the voice is bitter, but its words are not wrong. To think he’d die in the embrace of something he’s spent his life researching. And even so, he wastes no time in reaching a conclusion: ‘Still not a bad way to go.’ 

Not that he'd been holding onto hope in the first place, but witnessing the light stray further from his grasp was anything but welcoming. It’s clear that his mind and body were slowly starting to lose motivation in fighting against fate. His fate.

And right now, he’s drawing nearer to the finish line.

His limbs had eventually stopped responding and allowed gravity to drag his body into the never ending abyss he’d always marveled at when he’d been alive. And despite condemning himself to his fate, the hopelessness seethed in gradually. Human nature, he concluded; to want what you cannot have is human nature. He knows that better than most.

Once his air supply ran tight, his mouth instinctively opened up once again, allowing water to flow in through his nostrils and throat. Every 'breath’ made him choke on the saltiness of the ocean waters, lungs struggling to hang on as the water slowly crushed its cage from inside and out. Barely even able to hear his own thoughts, he assumed his eardrums burst from the insane depths he was being pulled into. His eyelids grew heavy like boulders and finally drooped; he had already succumbed to the thought of death — he couldn’t even cry in anguish or relief, but perhaps the downpour above the waters was crying for him instead. The thought was comforting, to know that someone, some thing would mourn his death.

His back hits the ocean floor like a sunken ship, and he believes he’s dead until the voice speaks again: Have you had enough time to think, little mortal? Its words are scathing, and by far the last thing he wants to hear on his death bed, but with it, came air. It seemed an impossible feat at the bottom of an ocean no human has visited before, but the air is crisp and fresh. Jotaro drinks it up, gulping it down in excess, reveling at how it fills his lungs with life. The water he’d inhaled and drunk doesn’t even seem to exist, at the moment, but he hasn’t the state of mind to dwell on that.

“Where am I?” He chokes out, still tasting the bitter tang of salt against the back of his throat. The voice seems to echo around him, and he finally realizes that he is still on the ocean floor. Sea creatures he’s never seen flit around him, and despite the stark absence of any light, he can see them clear as day.

Only you know that. The voices hums, creating a vibrato in the seawaters, a sound that seems to manifest into arms and once again coil around Jotaro’s neck, like a noose. He wants to scream and thrash and fight, but the comforting presence of Star Platinum within his core is... vacant. 

I shall repeat myself. If you love your friends and family so much, why do you never tell them? The question seems out of place at the bottom of an ocean filled with light and air, but the entity leaves no room for Jotaro to dwell. The heavy stench of iron is immediately recognizable, and Jotaro realizes there’s a gash in his chest. Pale fingers, topped with blackened fingernails which have grown awfully too long, held his intestines away from his torso, the flesh coiled tightly around the hands of a man he once knew.

A man who should be dead.

And yet, here he is. And yet, there is no pain.

“Because...” The words slip past his lips before he knows how to finish. Because what? Because he’s an asshole who can’t put his feelings into words? Because he’s a fool who deserves to suffer alone? Because...

“Because I’m afraid.”

The voice cackles, creating distortions in the sand bed and deep sea water, and yet he could recognize it as clear as day. DIO.

Oh? Is that so? DIO runs a tongue over his lips, deciding to humor his little plaything. Then, hypothetically, if you do tell them you love them, what are you so afraid will happen?

Jotaro doesn’t respond.

I’m waiting.

“...I don’t know.”

Liar. DIO bites and lightly pressing a claw-like fingernail into Jotaro’s jugular. It’s not polite to lie.

“I...” The pool of blood at his feet is disorienting, vivid and real despite the darkness around him. “It’s not that I don’t want to trust them, I...” He reaches out to cup the hand still jutting from his stomach. How odd it is to see such a horrific sight and feel no pain; and it all clicks into place. Jotaro chokes up for a brief moment, hoping a reply will make this all end. “...It’s dangerous to show you care. If they knew, and if my enemies knew how important they are to me, then...”

This isn’t real. None of this is real. How many times has he had this nightmare? And how many times has he imagined just that — the corpses of his loved ones plastered along the streets? The screams that won’t stop? The look of fear and hope on their faces?

That hasn’t happened, yet, and yet he faults himself: how can he be so weak?

There we go. DIO clicks his tongue and gently strokes his great grand-nephew’s hairs — something he no doubt imagines to be an affectionate pat. Not so hard, is it? Jotaro nods, too weak to stand up for himself. This nightmare never ends. You’re afraid of being too vulnerable. DIO coos and twists his blood-covered arm, deepending Jotaro’s unreal wound. You’re afraid of being too... weak.

The ghost’s words always sting, but this nightmare has become so commonplace, so normal — as easy as breathing, despite the waters around him — that Jotaro hasn’t the strength to feel anger. It’s not like DIO is wrong. He is afraid, he is weak, and above all, he’s afaraid of being weak.

But, how curious it is, little mortal. Hasn’t anyone ever told you— the voice begins to chastise, but is cut off; its words don’t reach his ears. Rather, there’s a soothing scent, with familiar aromas he can’t quite place. But the serenity is short lived. The air Jotaro seemed to be breathing dissipates, and he’s drowning again. His throat burns as if a thousand of needles were piercing it all at the same time, chest clenching itself suffocatingly tight; it’s hell all over again. He couldn’t help but feel pathetic for not acting sooner, especially when the exit was right in front of him, even if it wasn’t anywhere near his reach. Now that chance was thrown carelessly out the window, with no means on returning back to his grasp— 

And his sinks.

As he struggled to keep himself afloat and conscious, black spots started to paint his vision one by one, and that’s when time was obviously running out. His eyelids give up —

And then he wakes up.

There’s a gentle, shaking motion, like a boat — as if he’s being cradled and soothed like he had been as a child. He can’t place it immediately, but you’re whispering soft little assurances into his ear, brushing strands of ebony hair which had plastered itself to wet skin. He realizes that the sweet scent from before is you. He can’t discern your words, not fully, not over the sound of blood rushing to his ears. If your arms weren’t wrapped around him a like a safety net, he’d still think he’s drowning, dying; but, the glimpses of words he’d catch every so often were enough to comfort him. You assure him that he’s still very much alive, that he’s awake, that nothing can hurt him, that it was all a nightmare.

It was just a nightmare.

Hasn’t anyone ever told you? The undead voice chimes, but your voice, clear as day, replaces its mocking tone, and Jotaro melts. He gazes upwards, into your eyes which hold the moon and all its stars and he suddenly remembers that wishes are made upon them.

“It’s okay to be weak, Jotaro.”

inspired by this.

[nightingiall]

where the skies are blue // a niall horan au (coming soon)

Sonia has known Niall for what feels like their whole lives. He is her best friend, her anchor, and occasionally, a pain in her ass. They are polar opposites. This is a fundamental fact they have always known. She likes making lists and checking them twice while he thrives on spontaneity. He is destined to fly away to unknown places while she is doing just fine on the ground. 

So, it is not surprising that when they are forced to reckon with the fact that their corporate job makes them both miserable, Niall's first instinct is to uproot and leave. What does amaze Sonia, however, is that he wants to take her along for the ride. 

A roadtrip AU about stepping out of comfort zones, discovering what it means to be alive, and untangling a years' long web of really complicated feelings all on a journey that changes everything.

C O M I N G     S O O N

Start date and update schedule TBA.

sign up for the taglist here // wattpad // read a preview below!

“Sunny.” 

Niall is currently lying face down on her couch, worn out from the day’s work and the fact that Sonia made sure he was fed, showered, and in comfortable clothes. He is watching her with a frown. 

“Yeah?”

She doesn’t realize it then but this is a moment she will think about a lot. The two of them, there in her tiny apartment, Niall giving her this somber look and Sonia feeling tired and helpless. She doesn’t realize it then, but this is a turning point. 

Niall’s fingers are twirling around a loose thread on the pillow, eyes glazed over in thought. “Why exactly does your boyfriend hate me?” 

Sunny sighs. Her laptop is a blurry light in front of her. Dev. She can’t lie, she has thought extensively of this very thing herself. Mulled it over on sleepless nights. Watched every single one of Niall and Dev’s interactions like a hawk, storing them to memory to analyze later. She’s really not sure why her best friend and her boyfriend can’t seem to get along. Perhaps, she’s considered, that it’s mostly to do with the fact that they are both, coincidentally, attractive men. 

Otherwise, what else could it be? When they’re not around Niall, Dev is an absolute sweetheart. She loves him to death, really. Something strange happens when the two of them are in the same room together, though. Dev becomes reserved and curt. He’ll always stay close to Sonia, always will find a way to have contact with her. A kiss on the cheek. An arm around her shoulder. 

Just twenty minutes ago he stopped by to drop off a dress of hers that she’d left over at his. It was meant to be a quick thing; she needed the dress for an event tomorrow and he’d deliver it to her, along with a lingering kiss, and be on his way. When he learned that Niall was over, though, something shifted in him. His beautiful smile became stiff, his tall and lanky spine tense. He’d invited himself inside and stayed until he was called into work, but not before subtly interrogating Niall and adapting that weird sarcastic persona that only Niall could elicit from him. 

Sonia didn’t like it. One, because everyone always seemed to be so happy around Niall. And two, because she wanted her boyfriend and her best friend, two people she loved to the ends of the earth, to get along. 

But she can’t tell Niall all of this. So she simply shrugs and attempts to get back to typing up a memo for tomorrow. “He doesn’t hate you.” 

She doesn’t have to look at Niall to know that he’s giving her a look. “I’m pretty sure he does. Just now when you went to the kitchen he told me that he doesn’t understand why you and I are even friends when we’re so different.” 

Now she looks up at him, shocked by this statement. “He said that?” 

“Yeah, he did.” Niall is slightly upright now, resting on his forearms so he can send her the full force of his wry look. Be honest with me, is what it says, and now Sonia is sighing. 

“Okay, fine.” She saves the document she’s working on, just in case this is a long conversation. “I don’t know why he doesn’t like you.” Even as the words leave her mouth she knows that’s a lie. Dev is jealous of Niall, this much Sonia is aware of. Why that is the case is beyond her. Sure, she and Niall have been friends since they could toddle, but that was no reason to dislike a person. Truthfully, this is one thing that’s always bothered her about Dev. Niall is important to her; why couldn’t her boyfriend see that? 

“You’re doing that thing with your nose,” is what Niall says to this. For his part, he doesn’t look all that upset anymore. 

Inadvertently, she scrunches up her nose. “What thing?”

He is visibly repressing a smile now. “You do this thing when you’re holding something back. It, like, wiggles.” He attempts to demonstrate but it only makes her laugh and she throws a pillow at him. “Hey!” Niall throws it right back at her, but he’s laughing too. “Since you’re being mean I guess I should tell you that holding something back was just a euphemism for lying.” 

Sonia gasps, feigning offense. “I’m not lying! It’s not like he’s told me why he doesn't like you. Every time I try to ask he changes the subject.” This, in her defense, is true. She learned early on that Dev hates talking about anything having to do with Niall. Which, now that she thinks about it, leaves not much else to talk about. After all, most of her life is connected to something about Niall. Considering they’ve been best friends for over two decades and they work together, this is natural.

Niall just looks at her for a while, his smile fading. Sonia feels a sort of heaviness settle over them at the absence of that ever-present grin of his. This is important, she realizes now. She cares deeply about this blue-eyed boy. This is a fact of her life that she could never ignore. It follows her everywhere, the shadow of him. She doesn’t know how to breathe without him, so how could she just allow a significant other to walk all over him for seemingly no reason?

“I’m sorry if Dev has upset you,” is what she says next, voice quiet, the only sound in the room now that the playlist Niall had put on earlier has faded out. She didn’t notice how silent the apartment had gotten. As always, she’d been too distracted by Niall’s laugh. “I don’t like that you two don’t get along. I promise I’ll talk to him about it the next time I see him.” 

Niall smiles again but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “It’s okay. I’m not upset.” That’s a lie. She knows it from the rigid angle of his spine as he settles down on the pillow again. Guilt pools in her belly. “You’re happy with him. That’s all that matters.” 

This moment. You’re happy with him. These words will play on repeat in her head for the rest of the night. Is she really? She loves Dev, this she knows. They’ve been together for nearly a year. He listens to her, respects her, makes time for her. But the truth is, lately, she’s okay with being away from him. He’ll go away to assist on a surgery at some out-of-state hospital or she’ll be away on a business trip or they could spend weeks apart, and she won’t miss him. Not in that aching, longing sort of way. 

Yes, she’s happy with Dev. But she’ll also be okay if he wasn’t in her life at all. 

That, she knows, is not the kind of love that keeps a relationship standing.

Silence settles over them then. Niall doesn’t prod the subject and Sonia doesn’t offer any more information. Her laptop screen, true to her prediction, has dimmed out, so she enters in her password again and gets back to work. She somehow falls right into it, her workflow, moreso because it’s a distraction from her current predicament. Dev and Niall. Dev or Niall. She never thought she’d have to choose between them. While no one is making her select one out of the two of them, she gets the feeling that it may be something she will have to do soon. 

She nearly thinks Niall has fallen asleep when he speaks again. 

“I’m so tired,” he’s mumbling into the pillow. She glances up at him, softening when she finds that he looks about two minutes away from passing out right there. “So tired.”

She sighs, adjusting her glasses on the top of her nose as she tries to finish up her work for today. There’s only one more item on her to-do list and she intends to complete it before hauling herself to bed. If she doesn’t, she won’t sleep. “You don’t say,” she deadpans, but mentally adds something to her list: get Niall his favorite sheet so he can go to sleep. 

When the quiet stretches on between them again, Sonia can’t say she’s glad for it because, suddenly, she can’t focus. There’s something heavy in the quiet between them, and she doesn’t understand why until she sees Niall shift his head to look at her, the shadows under his eyes more prominent than ever. She doesn’t realize she’s staring until he blinks.

“What are we doing with ourselves?” It sounds like a nonsense question at first, but the way Niall’s voice shrinks to match his feelings exposes his vulnerability. Their vulnerability.

“What?” She tries to brush him off, make it seem like she has no idea what he’s going on about, but her voice gives her away—breathy and uncertain. They’re definitely not talking about Dev anymore. She doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not now. Probably not ever, really. Even though they’ve been skirting around the topic for months.

Niall sits up slowly, and Sonia realizes that she’s never seen him look so defeated. It makes her feel defeated too. “This.” He gestures around them, her scarcely decorated apartment, the piles of files and paperwork currently burying her coffee table. “What are we doing? Why is it so hard to get out of bed in the morning? Why do I hate my job?”

I just want to be happy. His voice is suddenly as clear as day in her head, and something else comes back to her in that moment. She remembers what she said to him afterwards: “Yeah. Me too.” She remembers actually believing it, even up until she was standing in front of her parents’ smiling faces, their cameras held up as she posed with her degree on graduation day; she just wanted to be happy. 

“Niall,” she sighs, and the words suddenly escape her. She doesn’t know what to say to him, how to make any of this better. All she knows is that she feels the exact same way.

Neither of them say anything after that, but the look in Niall’s eyes tells her that it won’t be long until they won’t be able to escape the remainder of this conversation. She never pictured Niall with a desk job, and she knows why when she looks at him now. This bright, free-spirited boy was always meant to fly, as high and as far away as it took to reach those dreams of his that seemed to stretch miles and miles. But Sonia’s not sure she’s meant to fly with him. And maybe she’s selfish, but she doesn’t want to let him go before she can figure it all out. 

He’s done it once before, and she’d let him with promises of flying out to visit each other at their respective college campuses, despite there being hundreds of miles in between, and she doesn’t think she can do it again. At least not right now, not when she realizes how incomplete she’d been when the hundreds of miles between them had them losing touch.

It’s nearly midnight when she finishes her work, and when she looks over at the couch, Niall is already sleeping. As she drapes the sheet over him, she wonders how long she has until he decides to fly away again.

[queenlists]

Wedding Mishap

Request:  I was wondering if I could request a Sam x Reader fic where the reader thinks that Sam does lover her anymore after he calls her Jess. Much angst and fluff please! - @biscuitfam​

Date: 06/26/2020

A/N: Thank you for the request @biscuitfam​ <3 Thank you all for your support! I really hope you all enjoy this ✌ masterlist

Tag list: @morguleth​ @yeolliedokai​

Today was magical.

Everything I had ever hoped for.

Everything I had ever dreamed of.

The lights were bright, but not too bright.

The venue resembled a magical fairytale.

Plates full of delicious food.

Beautiful bouquets.

Smiles all around.

Everything was just...perfect.

The clinking of glass grabbed my attention. Sam was standing up, gently hitting his knife against the glass as everyone turned to look at him. Clearing his throat, he smiled "I want to thank everyone for coming tonight! I'll make this quick since everyone is enjoying themselves, but I just wanted to say that I didn't think I'd ever have this night. Me getting married? I thought that was only in my wildest dreams, but here we are. It's all thanks to my beautiful wife,"

I smiled at Sam, trying to not cry for the thousandth time today "Oh, Sam," I whimpered out. "You're my absolute everything. You're the light of my life. The girl of my dreams. I can not ever express how much you really mean to me. I love you so much, Jess,"

The whole venue dropped silent.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

No one even blinked.

Gasps escaped from the mouths of almost everyone in the room.

Tears escaped my eyes as I hissed in air "Jess?"

Sam opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"Of all nights, you call me Jess? In front of everyone too?" My voice progressively grew louder and louder until I was yelling. Hot tears escaping my eyes with every word.

Sam gulped as his eyes cried out for Dean who was walking towards us, "Y/n, I-" 

"Oh now you know my name?" I scoffed, quickly standing up and running out of the room.

I could hear the hushed whispers erupt around the room as I left.

Littering the streets with my wedding attire, I felt the weight lift off.

Every piece held a lie.

Every string.

Every thread.

Every stitch.

Every bead.

Every cent spent.

It all was for what?

For what?

The cold air began to nip at my skin as the sun went down. I knew everyone would be searching for me by now, but all I wanted was a drink.

I flopped down on the springy motel bed as the alcohol buzzed through my body, making my head feel light and my body very warm. I laid on the bed in the loose tank top and oversized shorts that I had bought along with a variety of comfort food, letting the warmth cradle me. "Who spends their wedding night alone? Me, of course!" I laughed out loud to myself, shaking my head as tears streamed down my face again.

I knew about Jess before Sam and I were even together.

Even years later, her death still hung over him like a dark cloud, spewing nothing but rain.

She meant the world to him.

"She's beautiful. Is she your sister?" I smiled as I picked up a picture of Sam and a woman smiling together.

"Uh..no. She's actually my ex," Sam rubbed the back of his neck as he walked closer.

"Your ex?" I emphasized, trying to make sure that I heard him correctly.

"Yes,"

I bit my lip as I stared at them together. They look so happy together. He obviously still loves her if he has a framed picture on his bookshelf. Clearing my throat, I set the picture back down carefully "I think I should go,"

"Jess passed away years ago," Sam's voice quivered. I felt my heart drop as I turned my head to look at him. He visibly choked down a sob as he bit down on his jaw. His eyes became watery as they darted around the room, looking everywhere but at me. 

"I found her. I never got over it," Sam balled his hands into tight fists as he fought back his tears.

"Hey, it's okay!" I rushed over to him, wrapping him up in a gentle hug.

"It's hard to talk about," Sam sniffed.

I didn't respond. I didn't know what to say other than the classic "I'm sorry,"

"No, it's okay," Sam groaned before chuckling, swiping away a few stray tears. "What a first date, huh?"

I comforted him that night. I held him in my arms as he talked about her. As he cried in my arms. He exposed his vulnerability to me at such an early stage in our relationship. He told me all about her. Was I selfish to think that I could possibly numb his pain? That the pain of losing Jess would somehow vanish because of me? I don't know, probably.

My thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. I slowly got up and crept to the door. "Babe?" I could hear Sam's voice followed by another knock, harder than before.

I opened the door for him, letting him in before closing it shut behind him. "How'd you find me?" my tone was harsher than I had intended. "When there's a runaway bride stripping her clothes throughout the town, people notice" Sam was still in his tux, his face flushed and his eyes tired. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked around, placing a bag down on the bed. I chewed on the inside of my lip, watching Sam  "Why did you call me Jess?" "It slipped out,"

"It slipped out. Alright," I nodded, crossing my arms across my chest. Sam rolled his eyes, heavily sighing "It was a mistake, Y/n. I'm sorry," "I bet you're very sorry," I shook my head, digging my nails into my arm as I remembered the look on everyone's face when Sam called me Jess. Sam closed his eyes in annoyance "Why are you acting like this? You're being...you're acting like a-" "Please, tell me what I'm acting like! I'd love to hear it," I interrupted Sam, gritting my teeth.

"It's so hard to talk to you right now. You're not even trying to hear me out! How can you expect me to make this right if you won't even listen?" Sam nearly yelled out. You humiliated me in front of everyone, that's why!" I cried out. "I humiliated you. I humiliated myself. I fucked up and I know that. I can't take that back no matter how much I want to!" Sam's voice hitched as he continued to speak "I thought I lost you. No one could find you. You left your phone on the table, so we couldn't even call you. You completely vanished. Then I saw your veil, your bouquet, your rings, bits and pieces of your dress scattered on the ground," a tear slid down Sam's face as he took my wedding and engagement ring out of his pocket. "The thought of losing you hurt more than anything in my entire life," Sam whimpered, looking at the rings that were resting on the palm of his hand before balling his hand into a fist.

"You never called me Jess before. Ever. Throughout our entire time together, you never did that. Why now? Why?"

Sam stood there, still and stiff. His lip quivered as tears ran down his face, slipping to the ground from his chin "I thought I was going to marry her. I thought she'd be Mrs. Winchester. I thought I'd have my apple pie life with her. When I thought about my future, it was her"

"Oh, so I'm just the woman you settled for because the woman of your dreams isn't here? Thanks for clarifying," I scoffed, gathering my stuff and stuffing them in a grocery bag. "Do you even love me, Sam?" I looked at him before walking to the door. He stood there, staring at me with his mouth slightly open. Tears flooding from his eyes. I turned my head, not wanting to see his pain and not wanting him to see mine. Every second of silence stung my heart. I placed my hand on the cold doorknob, waiting to hear anything. My heart painfully thudded in my chest, it seemed to be so loud in this silent room. I placed my forehead on the door, counting down from twenty. Hoping that by the time I reached zero, Sam would say anything. Anything at all.

"Please don't leave me," Sam whimpered. I turned around, my stomach twisting as I looked at Sam. He stood tall, but I could see that he was crumbling into pieces. "I don't know what to say to fix it. I don't know how to describe what I feel or how much I love you. She was my world before I met you and now you're my universe. When we met, I counted down the seconds until we saw each other again. I felt...I feel complete with you by my side. You're my Mrs for a reason. I want you to stay mine forever. I love you so much. I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry for embarrassing you. I'm sorry for it all. There's nothing I can do to go back, but I'm so sorry"

"We can't open it until our first fight," I grabbed the wooden box from Dean. "I just won't say what I read!" Dean reached for the box again. "Nope! Not until our first fight," I grabbed duct tape, wrapping it around the box. "Why do you need a fight box anyway?" "I..I saw it online and thought it was cute," I shrugged "I guess it's to show how much you truly love one another. It'll help the anger not blind us from seeing it's us versus the problem." Dean looked from me to Sam, exchanging looks with one another. "This will save us from a big fight one day. You'll see,"

Sam's eyes lit up as he grabbed the bag, pulling out the wooden box "I think this will help," I watched as Sam pulled out the envelope with my name on it. "Here," Sam handed it to me as he sat and watched. "Are you opening yours?" I began opening the envelope. "No because I'm the one who messed up and I know you love me. I don't need to hear it from past Y/n,"

I opened the envelope, revealing the paper. Sam watched me as I opened the paper up, reading:

Hey beautiful,

Since you're reading this, I'm assuming we're not getting along right now. Just know that I love you. You're my everything and more. No matter what's happening right now. No matter what I'm saying out of anger or pain. No matter what I love you. I only see you. You've been the highlight of my life since you walked into it. You're my wife for a reason. I couldn't envision life without you.

If I did something, I'm so sorry. I may not be saying all the right words, but I do love you and would never want to break your heart.

I love you and I definitely owe you a date night.

I love you forever,

Sam

My tears dripped onto the paper as I smiled, closing it "So when's that date night?" 

Sam's frown twitched into a big smile "Could it be an extended honeymoon?" "I'd love that, Mr Winchester!" I grinned as Sam stood up, walking towards me. "Me too, Mrs Winchester" He placed his hands on the sides of my face, kissing me gently on the lips.

"You're my forever"

[abloomntime]

A Bloom In Time Ch21 Witch Hazelle and Timmy

(So there's this witch NPC in Nyakuza Metro and thought she'd be a good addition to the story and by popular demand Timmy! As he's gonna be an important key to Moonjumper later. The pics ain't mine, got it from A Hat In Time wiki.)

Well this garden was starting to at least LOOK decent....ish.

The giant ghost hovered above the area he picked out with seemed to be a pretty decent size away from any cursed statues, traps, or talking nooses or swamps. But also close enough to his home that he could get here at a moment's notice. The area was a fairly large decent size circled in by giant rocks to make an almost perfect wall around it. PERFECT place to have a mushroom garden, so carefully all the minions would dig holes large enough for the mushrooms they were carrying and placed them into their new home before being replanted. All kinds of shapes and sizes were placed down with the stone walls and a line of bushes were planted along with them. Leaving a pretty big area in the middle he...was still trying to figure out what to put as a center piece in the giant opening but for now he'd leave it plan. There was also a small corner of the garden that wasn't mushrooms or bushes. There was planted at least seven of those giant apple plants that grew giant purple apples like once a day. Wasn't much but what else could he do in a cursed forest? Well, they were far from done as this whole thing would take a while to complete, until then he had a few other things to worry about.  Like a new way to keep those girls out of the forest since his original plan backfired. But right now he could start by fixing this one dress of hers.

Snatcher had it all laid out on the floor of his home. Laying a hand on the upper half, he neatly drew a straight line across the wideth of the dress above all the tears and holes using one of his feathered pens. The dress would be about a foot shorter than it orginally wasbut it would still be very much fine for her to wear freely. Once he got done he reached over to grab at a pair of scissors, but didn't see the smaller pale hand grab it and yank it out of his reach. When Snatcher didn't feel the scissors, he turned his head in that direction but stopped seeing it wasn't anywhere where he left it.

"Looking for these?"

His face snapped to the female voice with a snarl but once the sight of the woman who DARED enter his home let alone his forest entered his vision he paused for maybe two seconds before that snarl turned into a deep scowl with narrowed eyes. "What are YOU doing here? Can't you see I'm busy?"

The brown haired woman shrugged twirling the scissors in her hand. "I could ask you the same thing, Snatchy." Her brow rose once her copper eyes glanced over at the dress he was attempted to fix. "You're a tailor now, or is this some kind of new hobby for you?"

"Neither! Gimme those!" He quickly Snatched the pair of scissors away from her still frowning and turned back to his work.

She faked a hurt expression and put a hand to her chest. "That hurts Snatchy. It really does. In all the five hundred years we've known each other you're still that cruel spirit you've always been."

"And you're still that annoying witch." She finally got him to turn his face towards the smiling witch dressed in white and pink and groaned. "We both know you're not here for no reason. What ARE you here for, Hazelle?"

"You got me.~" She smiled real smug like and had the audacity to walk over to his large red arm chair and plopped down in it. Leaning her head in one hand and crossing her legs. "Well, the usual. I wanted to stop by and grab some of these cursed vines for my supplies. Maybe grab some swamp water for my famous grab-o-war spells, comes in handy when someone doesn't want to pay their side of our bargains. And of course I was wondering why you haven't come by asking for more blue potions of the dead. You usually get a big supply every few weeks."

After a few seconds of frowning at her, Snatcher turned back to the dress in his claws and took the scissors. Starting at one side he started cutting along the drawn line as straight as possible. "A lot of things have happened in the past week."

"Hm. Like what? Nothing has really happened since that little alien came back." Her eyes glanced down to the dress again he was handling. That certainly wasn't any child's dress, too big, but it was just the right size for a grown woman her size. Smiling wider she chuckled. "Unless it's because you've been distracted by a pretty lady?~"

"WHAT?!" Any dweller or minion within range of his voice fled at the flare up of anger coming from their boss and he sure showed it when glaring at the witch but the yellow flush to his cheeks gave her any confirmation she needed as Hazelle sat there smiling through his tantrum. Snatcher dropped the scissors with a thump and pointed at her. "ABSOLUTELY NOT!!! WHAT THE ACTUAL PECK GAVE YOU THAT STUPID PECKING IDEA YOU FOOL!?"

"Well, considering that the dress you're working on is obviously a young lady's and the fact that your face is more yellow than a dandelion is telling me otherwise, Snatchy.~"

"DON'T CALL ME SNATCHY! YOU KNOW I HATE THAT,  WITCH!!" With a hiss he snapped back to the dress and continued on with his work as if nothing happened scowling...But Hazelle frowned.

"You know I was only kidding, Snatchy. I was genuinely curious about why you didn't come by to get any potions from me after saying you would. It's not like you." Her copper eyes glanced out of the ghost's home and towards the outside as if she was searching for something but didn't see anything beyond the normal dark cursed forest, and purple aura everywhere. " Some of your underlings out there have been gossiping." The ghost stopped but didn't look at her. "They're saying you have a new human girl working under you, which isn't too surprising since you've done this schtick before.....But I am finding it a bit strange you're helping one."

".....Where did you hear that?," he asked in a low tone.

"Like I said some of your little fellows out there are talking up a storm. And here I thought the dead all liked to rest in peace. But considering you're caught fixing an adult sized dress I'm assuming it's true?"

SNatcher went silent again. Not moving or looking at the woman behind him confirming or denying anything that was just asked. After a few tense silent moments of her staring at his back he began to move again but remained silent. His arms doing something she couldn't see since he had his back towards her but after a moment his arm made an upwards moment and she could see a large needle the perfect size for him and a light blue thread attatched to it. Which meant he was sewing some part of the dress after he cut some part of it off. Luckily for her, Hazelle was a patient woman and just kept silentlt watching him work from his comfy spot. After about ten minutes of this silence, the needle was bought down and he did something else she couldn't see. A moment later a sewing kit floated up from him and copper eyes watched it fly over to place itself on the book shelf he had in here. One moment later he leaned back up and his long arms held up the light blue dress, flapping it once to shake the loose dust off of it and looking over his handywork. The blue dress looked as good as new, no more holes or rips, even if it did have a few dirt and grass stands, but that was ok. It was a foot shorter too but all in all, not bad if he did say so himself. Once again his amazing skills had saved the day, Poppy should be happy she won't have to be needing to replace her old dress anytime soon. More relaxed, Snatcher hung the dress over one of his arms and turned to Hazelle still staring at him patiently. The two stared at each other for a moment, before she spoke up.

She pointed a hand at him. "Something big is going on here. I can tell by that look on your face, old friend. You can't fool me."

"Why would I tell you? Nothing's happened. 'Sides. Nothing here I can't handle!" He huffed and reached one of his long arms over to drop the blue dress over the back of the red chair above her head. It was a big armchair.

"Do you know how much you contradicted yourself in those few sentences?" She rolled her eyes and leaned over. "Come on. You KNOW I ALWAYS find out one way or another eventually whether it's by you or me prodding around a bit."

"Anyone ever tell you you're a pain!?"

"All the time, Snatchy.~ But, c'mon. You know I'm right anyways. I'll meet her eventually, so spill." She leaned back all comfy like in the chair smiling that grin. "I got all eternity now.~ Something about one of those minions saying time piece sounds interesting. What'd I miss?"

Well....She wasn't wring about that. Or the fact that if he DIDN'T tell her, Hazelle would most definately find out and it was ALWAYS more hard for him to deal with things when she found out things on her own, so.....He spilt the beans. All of it. From him stupidly 'borrowing' a time piece(which Hazelle called him a dummy for doing) to finally getting it all resolved, and now...His situation with Poppy and how exactly she ended up with them. Leaving out just a few details like his embarrassing crawl, or the fact he was planting a garden for Poppy. Hazelle would tease him for that for sure. She also DEFINATELY didn't need to know about his true feelings for her so he have told her about him being strictly friends with her and trying to make things right with her once and for all. By the end of his brief and blunt explanition Hazelle was giving him a surprised look.

"So...Let me get this straight." She pointed at him. "You had this great...*cough cough* dumb*cough* idea to use MAGIC ALIEN TECHNOLOGY that no one besides that alien to a degree can use to try and erase your ex-fiance from existance, brought everyone back to life, and discovered that the woman this alien saved happened to be your dear friend when you were both alive." She held up a finger. "BUT this is also the same woman who your ex got jealous and killed you over. And now you're clingy manipulating her into your servitude to keep her close. ......Am I hearing this right?"

"HEY!! I did NOT 'manipulate' her! It was an offer she couldn't refuse. And with me as her boss what could go wrong?"......A book was thrown square in his face. "OW!!" Clutching his face, he growled at her. "What is WITH you people and attacking ghosts?!"

Hazelle was standing giving him her own glare. "YOU. TRICKED. HER. Plain and simple! How do you think the poor girl feels about having her soul guarded by her long lost dead friend who CLEARLY has some issues with being clingy?" He stared at her for a moment. Words sinking infor a good long while before with a guilty frown Snatcher turned his gaze down in shame. Hazelle stood there for a moment watching him. Her brain whirling for the answers before her face became surprised again...Then worried. "Oh no...You DIDNT!!" He still didn't look up and she scowled again. "From what you've told me.....You haven't told her yet, have you?"

"NO!! OK!!" He looked at her with some kind of expression. Wasn't angry, or sad...Sort of a bit panicked and worried as he stared at her. "I ....I CANT!!" Hazelle's brow rose higher. "...A- At least not now."

"And why not? Don't you think she's going to have questions eventually?"

"YES!! But-...." He sighed and floated down until he rested on the floor of the home, his hands coming up to rub at his face. A moment of silence glanced over the two as he continued to rub his face. ".....I.....can't." He forced out in a small voice. It sounded really forced and above a whisper but she still heard it enough for her to drop the scowl she was giving him. He remained with his face buried in his hands for a good silent moment before he heard some shuffling sounds and felt a presence sit beside. And later felt a hand pressed up again his shoulder. .....Slowly looking up, he peeked out at Hazelle sitting next to him and giving him a sad look.

"Hey. Come on. You know what happened wasn't your fault."

"I KNOW THAT!! And you know that!....But the question is." He looked back down at his hands. Never wishing they weren't so purple before. "Will she think that? Will she believe it's....my fault?"

Hazelle hesitated...but gave a reassuring smile to try and ease her ghostly friend's worries. "Well, you never know if you never tell her. And...It's kinda unfair she doesn't get to know about you while you're having her work for you-"

"I KNOW!! AND I WILL TELL HER!!"

"When?" Hazelle asked back crossing her arms and raising a brow. "When are you planning on telling her the trueth, Snatcher?"

"I-....I-I don't know. B-But not right now. It's too early after everything that's happened. It's best to let everyone settle in with the reality of it first. Especially her." He jumped and blinked over at Hazelle when she grabbed his hand.

Her face was worried but still stern as she gazed him directly in the eyes. "Take an old friend's advice. It's important she get's to know sooner rather than later, ok? The longer you take the more complications you're going to have."

"Yeah, yeah." He pulled his hand away to cross his arms again. "I get it!"

"How many people know of this?"

".....Just you and me. And maybe some of them." He nodded his head towards the outside of his home just as a few of his underlings ran by yelling. Oh. He must've meant them. "But they wouldn't say anything-.....WHAT THE PECK!?" A blur of white and color zipped by after the screaming minions and he instantly threw a scowl back at Hazelle who seemed a little bit surprised as well as Snatcher pointed a hand out of the entrance of his home. "You care to explain?"

"Oh. Shifty must be having a little bit of playtime. He was frozen for a long, long time you know." He turned back to her about to ask what the heck she was going on about when a sudden white rainbow blur lept into his home with a loud thud against the floor. He instinctively shot himself back a few feet from the massive pile of laundry that laid upon the ghost's floor. It looked like a badly sewn together white blanket that someone tried to fix by sewing all kinds of colorful patches to it.  After a bit it moved and he froze in surprised as the thing moved unnaturally up on four tiny legs under it and through it's head back revealing a darkened abyss inside the covers and many eyes blinking at him. He knew at once what this was and hissed as he pointed at it. "WHAT. IS. THAT. THING. DOING BACK IN MY FOREST?!"

He shot Hazelle a look demanding answers but the witch shrugged and smiled happily as the thing crawled on it's four legs over to it's master and crawled unnaturally halfway onto her lap. She smiled like a mother would smile at her child and pet the creature on it's head. It made a rumbling thrum that he supposed was his form of purring and relaxed in her hold. "What's a witch without her familiar? Especially since he was frozen in that dreadful woman's home this whole time. Another reason I was so curious about what was going on." She cooed and wrapped her arms around the giant thrumming creature with a hum. "One day I just woke up and there he was sitting right outside! I was so happy to finally get my beloved Shapeshifter back! I was wondering how the world he escaped, but now it all makes sense." Her smile turned smug again. "But I think you left out the part where you and Moonjumper were sharing the same body."

Snatcher instantly bristled fluff shooting up. "HEY!! Not by choice!" He pointed a hand at the thrumming creature. "And you keep that voodoo whatchamacallit pecking thing AWAY from my soul stash! I swear it if starts playing with one like a toy again I'll send it back to that ice cube!"

IN response the creature's eyes narrowed and a growl came out but Hazelle patted his back to calm him. "Now, now. Shifty loves playing with spirits. He didn't know any better. Maybe keep your stash somewhere safer than trapped in the ground."

"What a minute....HOW THE PECK DID YOU KNOW ABOUT US SHARING A BODY?!"

"Well, you know I'm teaching that young man of his magic. He's been acting all nervous like and told be all about it.~"

He stared at her for a moment....before growling and shoving an accusing finger in her face. "YOU KNEW THIS WHOLE TIME!!! AND TRICK ME INTO TELLING YOU!!"

"Hey. I didn't know everything," she retorted back, " I didn't know this lady was around or you have feelings for her-''

"SHE. IS. A. FRIEND!! STRICTLY FRIENDS!! ALWAYS HAVE AND ALWAYS WILL BE!!"

"Maybe that is the truth. Maybe you two WERE just friends," she pointed out seriously, "But thing's aren't the same as they were a thousand years ago, Snatchy. She doesn't know you are...well YOU. And she probably doesn't see you as a friend anymore because she doesn't know YOU you. She probably sees you as a 'boss' when you obviously see her as an old friend and like her more than that. You gotta get all this sorted out soon. Right now it sounds like a giant mess and you need to take a broom to it and sweep all the problematic dust away."

"I KNOW!!" He held his hands up. "I. Know. But like I said this is all happening too soon and too fast. I can't tell her right now." His light scowl came back as he pointed at her. "And you AREN'T either."

"Alright, alright. I get the hint. *sigh*" Hazelle rolled her eyes shaking her head before giving the ghost a serious look. "It's not my place to blab anything to her and honestly I'd be a bad friend, but AS a friend heed my warning. One day she's going to find out, and she's going to have a lot of questions you're going to have to answer. You made a big mess and with messes it's just going to get messier unless you deal with it."

He didn't say anything but huff and looked at the ground in a grumpy manner similar to a child.

"MIsTRESS," the thing on her lap suddenly hissed out in multiple voices catching the two's attention as all the eyes directed outside, "THe bOY hAs ArRiVeD."

"Oh, that must be Timmy.~ The little dear." Gently pushing Shapeshiter off herself, the loyal pet hopped off her as she stood up, reaching up to straighten the large witches hat on her head and turning to Snatcher as it crept out of the ghost's home. "Sorry to have to cut our meeting so short, but I did promise some witchy lessons to the boy after all."

"Hmph." The giant spirit watched as the witch walked out of his home and across the giant vine that lead across the small moat of water surrounding it. Poking his head out he saw the sight of that creature sat down and a small boy he knew all too well. As Hazelle approuched he huffed again. "Well don't be sticking around here to teach him!" His yellow eyes glanced around real quick to check for any signs of his dumb double. "And where's the corpse?"

The boy with dark purple eyes and black hair tipped his hat to the witch. "I'm afraid he's not feeling too well so I came on my own."

He huffed again. "Well good! He can stay out for all I care!"

Timmy scowled but Hazelle patted his head. "Now don't be mad at him. He's having some big trouble of his own." She looked back to Snatcher with a look and wave. "Bye, bye Snatchy.~  And....Please don't forget what we talked about. Alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just leave already!"

He crossed his arms and watched grumpily as Hazelle placed a hand on the young boy's back and began to steer him off in the direction of he guessed the way out of his woods followed closely behind by that creature. Huffing again and following them with his eyes until the three of them disappeared in the fog and dead trees- His looking was intrrupted my a small meow and something rubbing against him, the source quickly being identified as Rough Patch who decided to climb out from under his giant chair at last and was currently rubbing against his tail begging for pets. Purple claws gently grabbed him and brought him up to be held and pet. Rough Patch purring as he did so. Yellow eyes glanced back to the blue dress that laid upon the back of the chair and he sighed, Hazelle's words bouncing around in his head as he stared at it. Hazelle was right. But he could wait a little longer before telling her. He'd have to just wait and make up for everything first.

[songxiaolin]

untamed fall fest

day 26: radish remains

summary: song lan and xiao xingchen are tasked with appeasing a ghost that’s haunting a vegetable garden. slight companion piece to this

rating: teen for slight horror elements  word count: 2832

“No, no, out! We don’t want anymore of your nonsense.”

The raised voices carried throughout the small building, over the sound of the other guests who were going about drinking their wine or tea, over the rain that still poured down. At the table in the corner, Xiao Xingchen paused with his hand on the cup, a frown on his face as he looked towards the sound of the commotion.

An old woman wearing rough clothing in shades of muted browns was standing at the entrance, the owner attempting to shoo her away.

“Please, someone must be able to help,” she said, voice watery.

Xiao Xingchen was already on his feet, Song Lan following him only a fraction of a second later.

“As if someone wants to waste their time with your stories. Get out!”

The man reached out a hand to push the woman out of the open door way. Instead, his hand met the wooden handle of Song Lan’s fuchen, not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to make a point. Startled, the man pulled back.

“D-daozhang! I was only escorting her out! I would never hurt an old woman,” he stuttered.

Song Lan’s face was cold, unmoved, and his eyes flicked to Xiao Xingchen, already putting an arm around the woman’s shoulders to steady her. He looked back to the man.

“We will handle this. You may go attend to your other duties,” said Song Lan.

“Of course, of course.” The man bowed hurriedly, relief on his face as he disappeared back into the tea house.

As soon as he was gone, the old woman let out a shuddering sigh as she clung to Xiao Xingchen’s arm.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you so much, Daozhang.”

“There’s no need for thanks,” Xiao Xingchen said, his smile soft as he led her out of the way, under the roof to keep out of the rain. “Please, you said you needed help. Tell us what’s wrong.”

Resting his fuchen on his arm, Song Lan leaned against the wall near them, occasionally glancing back into the tea house warily but no one else made a move to approach the trio.

“It’s horrible… Every night, a wailing that wakes my husband and I. All sorts of banging and tearing from outside. And when we go out in the morning, everything is destroyed! No matter how we try to appease the ghost, it comes back,” the woman said through her distressed tears.

“A ghost?” Xiao Xingchen looked towards Song Lan, mouth twitching in concern. “Have you seen this ghost, furen?”

She shook her head, grey hair coming loose slightly.

“No! But I’m certain. The wails—They sound like the voice of our neighbor who died!”

“I see.”

Song Lan shifted where he stood.

“When did your neighbor die?” he asked.

“Oh… It was… It was about a month ago,” she said.

Taking the thread that Song Lan had begun, Xiao Xingchen perked up and added his own question.

“And when did this ghost first appear?”

The woman’s face became thoughtful, one boney finger tapping at her chin.

“I suppose—Yes, it was around then!”

Xiao Xingchen took a step back and raised his arms in a slightly lopsided bow, smile still on his face.

“We can help, furen,” he said. “Show us to where your home is and we will take care of this.”

                                                   *************

Though the woman’s farm was not far, the rain made the walk slower as Xiao Xingchen held the wax paper umbrella over the old woman and Song Lan carefully avoided puddles. By the time they had reached her home, it was late afternoon and the rain was finally beginning to let up but not before it had soaked through their outer robes.

As soon as the small house surrounded by a bamboo fence came into view, Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan tensed, ready for whatever they might find. The first thing they noticed was the smell; at first merely the scent of dirt and rain mixed together but then it was over powered by something rotten and sour.

Xiao Xingchen immediately covered his nose and mouth with his wide sleeve, fighting the urge to gag and fumbling to put away the umbrella.

“What in the world is that smell?” he asked, choking slightly on the words.

“I don’t know,” said Song Lan. His nose was wrinkled in disgust though he kept his hands down, one clutching the handle of Fuxue, knuckles white.

“It’s the garden,” the woman said, opening the gate and then gesturing with her hand. The small garden was in shambles, dug up in places as if something had taken large swipes at the earth. Vegetables of abnormal size were strewn about, discolored and decaying. “No matter how we try to fix it, this is what happens.”

“Do you see that, Xingchen?”

Pointing with sword, Song Lan took a step forward. To most people, they’d only notice the destruction and strange vegetables, but both cultivators could see the sickly, greenish-black energy radiating from the plants. They exchanged a glance; the old woman’s stories were not nonsense after all.

“Furen, your neighbor, was there bad blood between you and them?” Xiao Xingchen asked.

The woman bowed her head, hands shaking a bit.

“There was a quarrel…”

“Here.” Xiao Xingchen took her by the arm and led her over to the stool that was set outside the door of the home, directing her to sit. “Tell us what you can remember, it could help us to appease this ghost.”

She took a deep breath.

“It was just a trinket. A carved turtle. Lao-Huang swore he lost it when he helped till the field but we searched everywhere and found nothing! He was inconsolable, pestering us every day, until he fell ill a couple months ago,” she said, mouth trembling.

Bending down slightly, Xiao Xingchen patted her back comfortingly, the smile on his face now thoughtful and a little sad.

“Perhaps we can look again,” said Song Lan. “If we find it, we could put his soul to rest.”

“Yes. We should look.” Xiao Xingchen turned back to the woman as he straightened. “You should go inside, just in case we can’t appease it and stir up the anger instead.”

Walking back towards the garden, they waited until the woman had gone inside, the door rattling behind her.

“Do you think the trinket is still here, Zichen?”

Song Lan glanced over the garden. The smoke-like energy seemed to grow as if it sensed their presence, understood what they were talking about. Wind blew light rain on their faces, bringing with it that rotted smell.

“I believe so. Perhaps the ghost can sense its presence and that’s why it refuses to leave.”

“I agree.” There was a pause as Xiao Xingchen looked at the oversized vegetables, some broken open and oozing. He gave a slight shudder. “I suppose we’ll have to begin looking.”

“Mm. Yes.”

Song Lan didn’t move. His face was extremely pale, beads of water that could have been rain but were more likely sweat dotting his forehead. Xiao Xingchen touched his arm, rubbing his thumb across the black fabric.

“I’ll go look. You can keep watch. I know how much you hate the dirt and muck,” he said.

Blinking a little, Song Lan looked at him, a hint of a smile on his face before he shook his head.

“No, I can handle this. Otherwise it would take awhile to search.”

Xiao Xingchen nudged him gently.

“We’ll both smell.”

“Yes, Xingchen,” he said with a slight resigned sigh. “Lets get to work.”

                                                  *************

Mud squelched under their boots and clung to the hem of their robes as soon as they stepped into the tilled ground of the garden. Both the smell and energy surged almost immediately. The blemished leaves of the radish plants began to curl and shake menacingly. A root near Xiao Xingchen twisted out of the ground, pulsing with the same greenish-black energy. It snaked towards him.

He drew Shuanghua. The sword flashed out and a soft white light followed, bringing with it a breeze that smelled of crisp night air. It cut through the root easily.

“We’ll have to look quickly,” he said.

Song Lan gave a short nod then continued to dig through the torn vegetable garden. More roots began to push from the dirt, extending towards them, and the vegetables themselves been to pulsate, some cracking open.

“I still haven’t found anything,” said Song Lan, grimacing, trying to push away the thought that dirt had worked its way under his nails.

“Neither have—Zichen, behind you.”

Xiao Xingchen’s voice carried a tension that Song Lan recognized and immediately moved to the side, spinning around. Behind him loamed a specter of an old man, mishappen and green. His mouth was open wider than it should’ve been and both tendrils of roots and a piercing wail poured out of it. The ghost reached for Song Lan once again as he pulled Fuxue from its sheath.

The glare from Fuxue was not as bright as that of Shuanghua but sharper somehow. It passed through the ghost and frost began to creep across the transparent form as the air around it became cold. Another shriek came as the ghost’s movements slowed.

“I’ll keep it occupied, Xingchen,” he said, sword held ready to defend against the next attack. “Hurry.”

Concern crossed Xiao Xingchen’s face, hesitating for just a moment, before renewing his search. Roots tried to wrap around his arms and legs and he cut them way. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Song Lan remove a talisman from his sleeve, an attempt to seal the spirit. Xiao Xingchen went to push a vegetable out of the way but his hand sunk into the rotten flesh and the smell caused him to gag into his sleeve. Inside was dirt and rocks coated in slime.

An idea came to him.

“It’s inside one of these strange radishes,” he called, a note of excitement in his voice.

Song Lan looked towards him, brows pulled together in confusion even as he carefully side-stepped the ghost’s next attack.

“It’s…? Okay,” he said, not sure what else to say in response to Xiao Xingchen’s declaration.

Xiao Xingchen began cutting open each of the radishes, poking the insides with the tip of his sword, one arm held over his nose to try to hold off the worst of the smell. Bits of rotten vegetable clung to his clothing and sword hand, eyes frantically looking for the next radish to search. One that was larger and more decayed than the others, still half-buried in the mud, caught his attention.

Falling to his knees in front of it, he began digging it out. Under his hands it pulsed the way a beating heart would and he shuddered in disgust before plunging the blade into it. The stench made his eyes water and the rotted insides felt warm to the touch.

“Xingchen, have you found it?”

“Ah—Oh, this is awful, Zichen,” came the reply.

The ghost of the old man lunged forward, hands that were entwined with roots almost brushing Song Lan’s chest. He slipped in the mud as he dodged and gritted his teeth as his knee hit the ground and was immediately soaked.

“It’s not pleasant, no.”

Beneath the decayed flesh of the radish, Xiao Xingchen’s fingers hit something hard and small. He grabbed it and bolted to his feet, turning to where Song Lan, still partially kneeling, blocked another blow. Xiao Xingchen thrust the small jade turtle into the spirit’s face.

There was a snarl and then a flicker of recognition. The transparent features of the man softened, the roots of the plants slowly retreating back into the mud. For a moment he lingered. Then the wind picked up and he disappeared into the rain.

“Zichen, here.” Xiao Xingchen sheathed his sword and began pulling Song Lan to his feet. Too late he realized that his hands were still covered in rotted radish. His expression was sheepish as he tried to wipe away the bits of vegetable. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind,” said Song Lan, placing his hand over Xiao Xingchen’s. His mouth twitched slightly but he kept his hand there and squeezed; when it was Xiao Xingchen, he truly didn’t mind. He looked down. “There’s still some resentful energy lingering.”

While the roots had stilled and the garden was silent, smell dissipating in the rain, there was still smoke like energy rising up from the ground.

“Then what are we missing?” Xiao Xingchen asked, voice soft. In his hand, he turned the turtle pendant over in his hand, cleaning it with his sleeve. On the back were characters clearly carved afterwards: 吴 彦. “Wu Cheng? That’s the name on the back.”

“The woman said her neighbor’s name was Huang.” Song Lan’s face was thoughtful. “A partner?”

“Yes,” said Xiao Xingchen, brightening. “We should ask. Perhaps that’s the missing piece needed to appease Huang-qianbei.”

Nodding, Song Lan turned towards the house and Xiao Xingchen followed after, waiting patiently for her to answer the knock. The door slide open and out of respect, both stepped back; the rancid smell still clung to their clothing.

“I heard that horrible wailing again…” Peering around them, the old woman squinted towards the vegetable garden. “Daozhang, is it gone?”

“I think it might be, furen, don’t worry,” Xiao Xingchen said, instinctively reaching out to set a hand on her shoulder. “At least we’ve lessened the resentful energy but we need to know, your neighbor, did he have a spouse or partner?”

Her wrinkled face pulled into a thoughtful expression.

“Yes!” She lifted a finger. “Yes, but they died awhile ago. Lao-Huang was buried with them, on the land near his home.”

Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen shared a look.

                                                  *************

“This must be the place,” said Xiao Xingchen. The gate to the home stood open and creaking slightly in the wind. He tilted his head, mouth moving slightly as he listened. “I don’t sense any resentful energy.”

“No. It’s only…”

Song Lan trailed off, eyes soft, as he looked over the small house. Next to him, Xiao Xingchen leaned into his side lightly.

“Bittersweet,” he finished for Song Lan.

“Yes, that’s it.”

There was still grime clinging to his hand but Xiao Xingchen slipped his into Song Lan’s, their fingers laced together. Song Lan gave a small sigh, content this time. He rubbed his thumb over Xiao Xingchen’s knuckles before letting Xiao Xingchen pull him along.

“Come, she said they were buried near the maple tree.”

Hand in hand, they walked across the small yard to the back of the home. The star-shaped leaves of the tree were tinged with red even though fall was still a month away. A few feet from the tree, there were two mounds, one fresher than the other, not covered with grass. Like the graves themselves, the plain stone markers were worn down differently.

“Where do you think we should leave it, Zichen?”

Song Lan’s answer was immediate.

“With Huang-qianbei. He was searching for it. It will put his spirit to rest, to have a part of his love with him,” he said, voice low.

Xiao Xingchen tightened his grip for a moment.

“Alright.”

He slipped his hand from Song Lan’s and knelt. Next to him, Song Lan did the same. Carefully, they moved back some of the dirt, deep enough for the pendant to be safe but not deep enough to disturb the body. They sat in silent prayer. After a moment, Xiao Xingchen shifted and opened his eyes. The rain, before a light mist, had finally stopped.

“Zichen, look,” said Xiao Xingchen, pointing at the place where the dirt upon the grave had been disturb.

A small plant had begun to sprout. Song Lan leaned forward, squinting a little. Disbelief crossed his face.

“Is that—”

“A radish,” Xiao Xingchen confirmed, something between delight and disgust in his voice.

“Huang-qianbei certainly has a sense of human.” Standing, Song Lan offered his hand to Xiao Xingchen and helped pull him to his feet. “I believe this means it’s over.”

“Yes, I think so. I’m sure you want to find a place to bathe,” he said as they walked back to the road.

“I do.” Song Lan closed the gate. “You smell as well, Xingchen.”

Lifting his arm to sniff it, Xiao Xingchen made a face.

“Don’t remind me, please, Zichen.”

Song Lan’s shoulders shook in a quiet laugh.

“I’ll try not to,” he said, letting Xiao Xingchen take his arm, walking side by side along the muddy road.

The sun was out now and the earth would dry out soon. Around them, the only sounds were that of birds and insects, appearing when the rain left, the occasional dripping of water off the trees that lined their trail.

Then Xiao Xingchen sighed deeply.

“Truthfully, Zichen, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat a radish again.”

[cynicalrainbows]

Restrictions

This is a very short, not-very-well-written ficlet I wrote today for the very talented @2nerd4this​ after a couple of days helping my mum move house. I’m weary so it’s not great but enjoy anyway.

‘Mija?’ Catalina tapped on Cathy’s bedroom door. ‘Are you coming down for dinner? Kitty made a tagine-’

There was no answer, but that wasn’t exactly unusual- all the queens were well aware of the last queen’s tendency to get absorbed in things, to the point that mere trifles like food and sleep rather fell by the wayside, and since Cathy had made her choice to pursue a formal 21st century education public, she’d been even more distracted, as she spent every minute she could preparing.

Of course, being Cathy, this also meant she hadn’t even thought about beginning to pack yet- and Anna and Anne were seriously starting to consider just making a run to Ikea the week before term began and doing the obligatory pre-uni shopping themselves.

So it wasn’t a surprise to Catalina to receive silence in answer to her question: it never was.

They all knocked- every time- out of habit, but they seldom expected a response.

‘Mija?’

She pushed open the bedroom door and poked her head in, expecting to have to peel her goddaughter away from her desk….and then stopped in surprise.

‘Hi Catty.’

Cathy’s voice was flat, and Catalina felt a twinge of alarm. Something was wrong- Cathy was at her desk- but her laptop was closed and all her books were still on their shelves. Instead, she was just….sitting. The university prospectus was in front of her, but it wasn’t open and Catalina strongly suspected that her goddaughter had been merely staring into space before she’d knocked.

‘Are you coming down for dinner?’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Are you sure mija? Kitty added apricots just for you.’

Cathy nodded.

‘Alright. We’ll save you some, ok?’

‘Fine.’

Cathy sounded so very disinterested- not merely distracted but actually apathetic- that Catalina, rather than withdrawing, came all the way into the room.

‘Are you alright, mija?’

‘I’m fine.’

Catalina sat down on the end of the bed and scrutinised her goddaughter- her pale face, the tense set of her shoulders- and shook her head.

‘I don’t think you are mija. Want to tell me what’s wrong?’

‘Not particularly.’ But she didn’t sound terribly emphatic. Catalina took that as a good sign.

‘Then do you want to put me off for a few hours before you give in and tell me anyway like normal?’

This at least drew a reluctant smile and Catalina gave an internal sigh of relief- so it wasn’t THAT bad.

She nodded to the glossy brochure on the desk. ‘Is it….anything to do with that?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Go on.’

Cathy sighed. ‘They sent an email today- about the new restrictions, for the start of term. And I was sort of expecting it, so it wasn’t a complete surprise but….still. All the stuff they normally put on for Freshers, all the orientation stuff, all the social stuff, it’s all had to be cancelled and...well, I obviously understand WHY so I’m not really complaining but-’ She turned an anguished face to her godmother, her hands wringing in her lap. ‘I don’t know, it’s just all going to be completely different to what I expected and...Well, I was anxious before but at least I knew I had the orientation stuff to sort of help me ease into it and now I don’t have anything and I don’t know how I’m going to cope-’

‘Oh mija-’ Catalina reached out and drew Cathy away from her desk to sit beside her on the bed. ‘I’m sorry- that must have been quite a shock to have to read.’

‘It wasn’t exactly a surprise.’

‘Yes but still. Oh querida-’ Catalina wrapped an arm around her goddaughters shoulders and pulled her close.

‘It’s going to be so different, and there won’t be any of the usual stuff to help everyone settle in, we just have to….start.’ Cathy gave a bitter laugh, half muffled against her godmother's shoulder. ‘I mean I thought I was nervous before but-’

‘I know mija. I’m sure you’re not the only person feeling like this though, it must have been a shock to everyone.’

‘I know.’

‘I know it doesn’t seem like it now mija, but it will be ok, you know?’

Cathy nodded slowly.

‘Honestly- you’re so much stronger than you know. It’s scary but you’ll all be new together at least, all in the same situation.’

Cathy didn’t say anything and Catalina couldn’t help but feel that her encouraging talk was falling rather flat, which was annoying when she was usually considered the best at giving advice and a listening ear. Of course, if she was feeling out of her depth just trying to give advice on a situation like this, how on earth must Cathy be feeling?

‘I’m sorry mija, I wish I could fix it for you-’ She wasn’t USED to not being able to fix things for Cathy, that was the problem. Unfortunately, this, she knew, wasn’t something that could be fixed by talking it through.

‘No you’re right- I know you’re right-’ Cathy sat up wearily and drew a hand over her eyes. ‘I know it’s all ok really, and we’re all in the same boat… Silly of me to be upset over it-’

‘Silly?’ Catalina widened her eyes, shocked. ‘Mija, if THAT’S what you’ve taken from this conversation, I’ve obviously been going about it completely wrong-’

‘But-’ Cathy felt wrong-footed. ‘But- you said it would all be ok-’

‘It WILL all be ok!’ Catalina still sounded extremely firm on that issue, which was mildly reassuring, if a little confusing. ‘OF COURSE it will all be ok mija- but that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be anxious or sad over it!’

‘But you said-’

‘I know. I’m doing this wrong… Querida-’ Catalina took both of her goddaughters hands in her own and squeezed them. ‘ You’ve had a shock. Plans have changed. Things are different- in all sorts of ways. You’re allowed to be sad for that, you’re allowed to be anxious- frankly, I’d be mildly perturbed if you WERE entirely unaffected. What you have to do-’ She wrapped an arm around Cathy’s shoulders and pulled her close again. ‘What you have to do is just….prepare yourself. Try and get things into some sort of perspective, although I appreciate that’s a big thing to ask.’

‘So….get over it?’

‘No! No, not at all!’ Catalina looked absolutely horrified. ‘Mija! As if I’d ever tell you something like that!’

‘Then how do you mean?’ Try as she might, Cathy couldn’t really see how ‘getting things in perspective’ was any different to ‘get over it’.

‘I mean… Well, it’s not going to be easy. So you need to accept that- that you’ll have some days where it will feel a bit lonely or days where it will feel a bit strange.’

‘I HAVE-’

‘But also-’ Catalina carried on as if Cathy hadn’t spoken. ‘-part of accepting that means just recognising that however it might feel in the moment, it doesn’t need to mean anything more than that you’re having a hard day. Like, if you have a bad day, it doesn’t mean they’re all going to be bad days, or that there’s anything hugely wrong.’

‘So just don’t catastrophize?’ Cathy shook her head, and gave a sarcastic chuckle. ‘If only you’d told me this last year! Things would have been so much easier!’

Catalina didn’t rise to sarcasm, she just shrugged. ‘I know how it sounds- I just mean...not don’t do it, like it’s easy because it’s not, just….be aware of that tendency in yourself, so that you can remind yourself that you’re imagining the worst because it’s a thing you do, and NOT because it’s proof that things ARE going terribly. Do you see the difference?’

Cathy nodded reluctantly. ‘I suppose. Sorry. Just- it gets so tiring, when everyone keeps telling you there’s nothing to worry about and then being surprised when you’re not better….’

‘I can only imagine mija. I’m honestly impressed that you don’t shout at everyone who does that, honestly- even me and the other queens, I know we’re guilty of it too.’

‘Only a bit.’

Catalina smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of Cathy’s head. ‘Can I keep going or have you had your fill of wisdom? If you’ve had enough, I can leave you in peace if you like. Or you can come down- you don’t have to eat right now if you really don’t want to. Or I can stay and we can watch some netflix or something, I could read to you if you’d like. Whatever you want, mija.’

‘You can go on.’

‘Ok querida. But do cut me off if it gets annoying. The other thing I wanted to say, when you’re thinking about how it’s all going to be so much harder, is that you also need to remember that you’d have had hard days anyway. No matter what was going on everywhere else. And then, like now, you’d get through them. And as well as the bad days, there will also be good days and good things.’

‘I know you’re right but…’ Cathy fidgeted slightly. ‘It’s so much HARDER to imagine the good stuff now- it just...it feels so much less likely….’

‘Of course it’s harder mija. And of course it’s harder to imagine it- but just think of all the other wonderful, hard things you’ve managed, that you never could have imagined before. You managed them- and you’ll manage this too.’

There was a pause- and Catalina wondered for a moment if she’d managed to seriously annoy Cathy enough that she was having to take a second to compose herself before responding. The pause stretched into such a long one that Catalina thought that maybe her goddaughter had dozed off while she was delivering her stirring speech. She wouldn’t even have blamed her- she knew that the sixth queen hadn’t been sleeping well lately, her anxiety keeping her awake and restless long after the others had turned off their lights….but when she glanced down, she could see Cathy’s eyes were open.

Finally, she spoke.

‘What if I don’t, madrina?’ Cathy’s voice was very small, almost a whisper, as if she was half hoping Catalina wouldn’t hear her. ‘ What if….something goes wrong, what if I can’t manage it after all- even after everything, after everything you’ve said?’ She kept her eyes in her lap, her fingers playing with a loose thread in the sleeve of her (Anne’s) green hoody.

She didn’t quite dare meet her godmother's eyes, in case she saw even a hint of the disappointment she feared more than anything else- but when Catalina cupped her cheek, she found she couldn’t look away. No disappointment, only tender understanding.

‘Then mija, we will know that right now, it was not the best path for you. And I will do everything in my power to help you work out what your best path looks like- whether it’s a different course, or the same course but in a year or a few years, or a job, or something else entirely.’

‘Won’t you be disappointed though?’

‘Nothing you could do would disappoint me, mija. All I want is for you to be happy- and I support your study because right now, it is what makes you happy. And you know I’m proud of you- more than I am of anything else. But I promise you, I would be no less proud of you, whatever you chose to do.’

‘Really?’

‘You’ll always be my estrellita, mija. How could I not be proud?’

Cathy found that her throat was unaccountably too tight for her to respond, but she pressed herself more firmly into Catalina’s arms and could tell from the way they tightened around her that Catalina understood what she wanted to express.

‘Do you want to carry on talking mija? We can, if you like. YOU can talk if you like, I promise I’ll listen rather than just going on at you…’

‘I- I think I want to stop, for now.’ Cathy’s voice was still a bit husky but not too bad. ‘Maybe later though-’

Catalina smiled encouragingly down at her. ‘Whenever you like mija. My door is always open to you, you know.’

‘I know. Thank you Catty.’

‘You’re welcome mi vida.’ Catalina paused. ‘Now- what do you need? What can I do? Are you sure you’re not hungry? Only you barely touched your lunch and-’

Cathy shook her head, but half heartedly. ‘I’m ok-’

‘You could try just a little bit and-’

Cathy laughed. ‘Fine, ok. How will I manage when I’m living in Halls without you to make sure I’m eating? How will YOu manage when you don’t have me to worry about?’

‘Badly I suspect, to be honest mija. If you hear of someone arrested on the tube for offering complete strangers bowls of tagine and trying to make them drink water, you’ll know it’s me….’

‘It’s ok, I’ll come visit you in prison. In between my wild university social life of course.’

‘I’ll appreciate that. Do you think you’re ready to come down and eat with the others or shall I bring you a bowl up here?’

‘I’ll come down- but afterwards, do you think we could have some time just the two of us?’ Cathy looked a little awkward. ‘Just- I know I won’t see you as often once I’m away so I’d like to make the most of it while I can….if that’s ok with you?’

‘I’d love that, mi vida.’

*

An hour later, Cathy was tucked under Catalina’s arm, a laptop balanced between them and Braveheart just beginning.

‘Are you SURE you won’t mind if I interrupt?’

Catalina laughed. ‘No, I promise- I know you like being able to point out the bits they get wrong.’

‘There are just so MANY!’

Catalina kissed the top of Cathy’s head and settled her goddaughter more comfortably against her.

‘I know querida, I know.’

Before the movie was even half finished, Cathy felt herself drifting: something about being curled up with Catalina just had a very soporific effect on her, and she’d complained to the woman about it more than once (it was why she and Catalina tended to sit at opposite ends of the sofa when they did group interviews, as a precaution.).

Annoyingly, she was not only too cosy to properly focus on the film but also too much so to even move away to help wake herself up.

Oh well. She decided it didn’t matter- she’d seen the film before after all. For now, she decided to just enjoy being so warm and comfortable.

She felt Catalina’s hand smoothing back a curl from her face, and sleepily leaned into the touch, her eyes still closed.

Catalina’s head bent to hers.

‘It will all be alright mija- no matter what happens, it will all be alright. I promise.’

It was said very quietly, but for the first time, Cathy felt close to believing her.