#and old background i painted forever ago comes in to save the day again

[the-blind-geisha]

He's just wondering if Link has any games on his phone.

Shoutout to LoZ OoT for having the most horrific night terror known to man till the Guardians and Gloom Hands showed up.. Link needs help getting to his sword.

Am I late? Damn. Ah well. I am picking out prompts I'd love to do for both Inktober and Linktober. I know I don't draw/ write it enough, but I am a huge LOZ nerd. ♥

[forthegothicheroine]

The King in Yellow, 1949

Much of this story is true.  Warnings in the tags.

When I had pneumonia in my early teens, my mother brought home an armful of VHS tapes from the library to alleviate my misery.  Knowing my snobbish preferences, she had grabbed copies of whatever she found in black and white.  I remember something musical that I suspect was Busby Berkeley, I remember Mildred Pierce (a bad choice, as it turned out- the plot includes a young girl dying of pneumonia), and I remember a period piece called The King.  I faded in and out of consciousness while I watched it, but it soothed me while I was awake and filled my fever dreams with sparkling images.  I could never find it at the library again, nor at Hollywood Video or even early Netflix (once my father got the subscription service where you could order practically every DVD.)  It was a bit odd that it seemed to be so obscure, given that it starred old Hollywood legend Ingrid Bergman (and, although I initially forgot it, Marlene Dietrich.)  But even big stars make films that fall by the wayside in public memory, and it seemed that this was one of them.  Google was no help, and at the time that was that.

I didn’t see the film again until I was watching Turner Classic Movies at my grandparents’ house.  I loved watching that channel with them while filling out the crossword puzzle that came in their little TCM catalogue (all of it based on movie trivia, the only kind of crossword puzzle I’ve ever been any good at.)  I recognized a certain scene where Bergman stood on a balcony, looking sadly at the moon.  Her face had an expression of unutterable melancholy, and the crescent moon reflected in each of her eyes, giving the impression of two moons in one sky.  I had very little time to catch up on what I’d missed before we had to go meet my cousins at the local Italian restaurant.  I knew logically that the movie would be long over by the time we returned, but I turned on the channel anyway.  Of course it had moved on to the lesser known Alfred Hitchcock film Stage Fright, but then I heard Marlene Dietrich sing before I could reach the remote to turn the tv off in disappointment.  I knew that I had heard her sing before, and I knew it had been in The King.

Dietrich’s singing often comes across as somewhat campy today, with its Rs pronounced as Ws and it’s up-and-down tone.  Madeline Kahn parodied it brilliantly in Blazing Saddles, such that it was a bit of a disappointment when I finally saw Dietrich’s western Destry Rides Again and found it to be lifeless and inconsistent next to the parody.  Still, we remember her voice for a reason, and when I remembered it that night, I knew that its sardonic loneliness had rung through The King and made me shiver in my dreams.

The TCM schedule didn’t list The King in its time slot, but something else.  If I had taken down the name, maybe it would have helped me find it.  Sometimes the same movie runs under multiple names.

I didn’t see the film all the way through for many years, after I graduated college.  I had found a web page that listed public domain film noir, including one called The Masked Guest.  The website described it as a costume noir, and I curiously clicked on the link.  Once I took in the credits running on the youtube window, my eyes grew wide and I did not move from my place on the bed until the movie had run its course.

The credits did indeed list it as The Masked Guest, but I recognized the strange repeating design on the title cards.  They told me that in addition to starring Dietrich and Bergman, it was directed by Fritz Lang, and a character called The King was credited to “???”  (I hadn’t seen that kind of credit since the first Karloff Frankenstein.)  When the King finally appears on screen, though, it is unmistakably Orson Welles’s voice that booms out from behind his elaborate costume.

Here are the things I understand about The King, or The Masked Guest, or The Man in Yellow, or any other title I’ve found for it on public domain archive searches.  Dietrich and Bergman play princesses named Cassilda and Camilla, respectively.  Though Dietrich’s accent is German and Bergman’s is Swedish, they blend together to give the film the impression of being set somewhere on the map that I can’t quite find.  The scenery and camera angles are very Freudian, with a great deal of archways and pillars.

The first act of The King involves frankly dull romantic plotlines, and the only thing that really saved it was the feeling that the suitors were supposed to be insipid, a suspicion lended credence by the fact that the love interests were listed so low on the credits.  Dietrich is the scandalous sister and Bergman is the responsible one, though each takes on aspects of the other as the film goes on.  Dietrich sings her song at a party, dressed in a fake 17th century gown and leaning against a piano.  Although just a moment ago she had been laughing and joking with her gentleman friends, her song takes an abruptly serious tone (not seductive, not sentimental) as she tells the story of a city lost to time and memory.  Bergman slips away from the party and onto the balcony, where we see that wonderful shot of the moon in her eyes.  Is she mourning?  Is she longing?

Dietrich cuts off the song by abruptly screaming “Not on us, King!  Not on us!”  She flees the party weeping and shaking, and from there on the film goes mad.

Though uncommon, it is not unknown for movies to switch between black and white and color, done most famously in The Wizard of Oz.  The film The King recalls here is the silent Phantom of the Opera, which had a masqued ball scene tinted in shades of red and green that tried to provide a whole spectrum of color.  The effect is even odder in the masqued ball scene in The King- the only color that appears is yellow, highlighting things like candlelight, Dietrich’s hair, a passing gown, a vase of tulips.  It also highlights one particular masked figure, whose expressionless mask was decorated with a black pattern against a sickening yellow canvas- the same pattern I had seen in the opening credits.  The color of his costume causes him to stand out from the crown even when he is far off in the background, just one head among many others.  It must have taken long and painstaking hours of work to color in every frame.

Dietrich still seems broken up days after her song, though Bergman tries to coax her into joining the dance.  Finally, at midnight, Dietrich goes out to face the party, but only to demand that every guest remove their mask.  The yellow man with a voice that once warned America about a Martian invasion tells her that he wears no mask.  Bergman reacts with disbelief, but Dietrich starts laughing like a woman unhinged.  As she laughs, the yellow hue seeps out of the King’s clothing and face- if that really is his face- and begins to color the entire ballroom crowd.  I think that what follows is bloodshed, but if there is any carnage (doubtful under the Production Code censorship), the blood must be tainted yellow and splashed across the camera like daubs of paint.  Dietrich’s laughing face is doubled and tripled on screen until it dissipates, but even when it has faded offscreen, it feels as if her ghost continues to watch the proceedings.  

By the end of the scene (filled with German Expressionist camera angles and mad violin screeching), only Bergman remains alive, cowering behind a grandfather clock.  It does not hide her for long.  The King steps towards her and extends his hand.  Reluctantly, but with a fatalistic expression, Bergman takes his hand.  They walk away together hand in hand.  The screen shifts back into black and white, and then the credits roll before we can get a good look at all the bodies in the scene.  The credits say it was based on a play called The King in Yellow, although Raymond Chandler of all people apparently had a hand in the screenplay.

As I said, that’s what I think I understand.  It’s an oddly experimental art film for the era, and it may be awaiting rediscovery by the film festival crowd.  I feel as if I alone know about it, though that obviously isn’t true.  It is my little secret; I tell myself that my husband doesn’t need me to show it to him, it would be too odd for his taste.  I’ve rewatched it many times, even if it seems like each time I search for it I have to find a different video platform or torrent.  Naturally, no subscription site has it available.  Maybe I am the last person who will ever watch it.  Maybe no one will ever think to look for it again after me, and it will be completely forgotten.

When I was hospitalized, they let me use my laptop at night before I went to sleep (no power cord, though, in case I tried to hang myself.)  I found a youtube link for The Man in Yellow, and I watched it every night.  It wasn’t a soothing sort of movie, but having it in my mind all day and then watching it in the evening allowed me to think as opposed to crying endlessly while the other patients shot me awkward looks.  I clutched the childhood stuffed animals my mother brought me when she visited, and I always held them extra tight when the masquerade scene started.

I watched the movie when I had to move away from my beloved San Francisco.  I watched the movie when I lost the last of my grandparents.  I watched the movie when a doctor unwisely took me off my medication and I couldn’t manage to eat for a month.  I watched the movie when the whole world got sick and we all locked ourselves away from each other.  I don’t mind that I don’t entirely know what it means.  I don’t mind the nightmares.  In the hospital they kept telling us about mindfulness exercises, and maybe the fact that I can focus on every aspect of the film so closely that all else falls away is the reason I keep coming back to it.  I’m being mindful.  I’m not letting any stray thoughts invade my head.  I’m just watching and waiting for the next beat of every scene, leading inexorably to that yellow-stained bloodbath.

Streaming media doesn’t last forever, and each time I find The King, I worry that it will be the last time I ever can find it.  My efforts to download it have so far been unsuccessful, odd considering that it is in the public domain.

When I watch The King, I am once again a child in my bedroom being cared for in the throes of agonizing sickness.  I am once again sitting on the couch with my grandparents in front of the tv, both of them alive and lucid again.  I am once again in the hospital, all alone except for my stuffed animals and the staff trying to keep me alive.  The film reflects in my eyes like the crescent moon in Ingrid Bergman’s gaze.  It sings to me.

I am determined to find a way to obtain The King under any name so that I never have to worry about losing it.  During some of the worst times in my life, it is the only thing that has kept me sane.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 267: My Name Is

Previously on BnHA: Hawks stabbed Twice in the back of the head. Twice stabbed another guy in the back of the head. Everyone’s just running around stabbing or being stabbed. I should probably clarify that Twice actually died, because this is a shounen manga, so sometimes you have to clarify that this particular stabbing was actually fatal. Not just one of those flesh wound stabbings. Anyway so it was super sad, and now Dabi’s gonna face off with the sexy scarred murderous Hawks, and Toga and Compress are also going to be feeling a bit stabby after all this probably, and so that’s the general mood here I guess. I kind of need a break now so I’m wondering if we’re gonna cut to any of the kids. Because if we stick around Horikoshi may actually have to give us Dabi flashbacks. God forbid.

Today on BnHA: Tokoyami has a flashback to when Hawks told him he’s weak to being set on fire. This terrible thought weighs on his mind as he and the other lads and lasses of U.A.’s child soldier vanguard are escorted away from the battle via Fatgum and his absolute goat of a quirk. Dabi is all “:D you killed Twice, I’m gonna set you on fire repeatedly now” and Hawks is all “ffff no that’s my weakness also WHO ARE YOU” and WE GET SOME HAWKS FLASHBACKS?! and then Dabi is all “:DDDDDD [CENSORED]” and it’s literally fucking censored fuck my life. but also !!! because he actually fucking said it, though?? He really went and revealed it just like that?? And now Hawks knows, and he’s all shocked, and Dabi goes to kill him afterwards but TOKOYAMI IS ALL “ON YOUR LEFT!!!!” and OH SHIT. Also Endeavor saves Miruko so DOUBLE OH SHIT. Oh my god. I’m sorry this summary is all over the place but I can barely type a coherent sentence now so just TAKE THESE EXCLAMATION POINTS AND GO!!! SPREAD THE WORD. BE FREE.

everyone before we begin I would just like to tell you about my discovery this week. I learned that when I type the word “Dabi” on my phone the next word that the keyboard predicts is “flashbacks.” google keyboard is on to me. so now the FBI and the CIA and whoever else google is selling all my data to all know. I can only imagine. “she seems to spend an inordinate amount of time talking about ‘Dabi flashbacks.’ what’s a Dabi.” I’ll tell you what a Dabi is. it’s a guy whose fucking flashbacks we never fucking get that’s what

anyway so let’s read this chapter whose spoiler tags have already been filling up my dashboard, which is always a good sign. who will die this week? Horikoshi please have mercy on us in light of recent real life global events. maybe you can just have everyone abruptly decide that they are all done fighting and want to go home

-- GOD BLESS US EVERYONE

who could have known, years ago when the very first mangaka was drawing the very first color page, that this medium would one day soar to such great heights. who could have imagined that we would one day be witness to this masterwork, this magnificent fucking triumph of a colored manga page. holy shit. I will cherish this always

for real you all think I’m joking but I genuinely don’t want to scroll down lol. let’s just stay with Miruko forever. where it is safe. and sexy. goddammit

OH SURE, THEY GIVE US HAWKS FLASHBACKS

anyways but lol

guys. we’ve been over this. fire is everyone’s weakness. just. I’m not quite sure people like Hawks and Kamui Woods actually grasp that. do they think normal people catch on fire and they’re just “oh, this is actually all right.” also, side note kids, please don’t use this answer if this ever comes up during a job interview

wow

what a gamechanging plan of action. don’t catch on fire. Toko write that down

WOW

you guys. YOU GUYS. IT GOT BETTER

who could have known, years ago when the very first mangaka was drawing the very first gag panel, that this format would one day ascend to such lofty summits. who could have envisaged that we would one day behold such a showpiece, such a grand fucking slam of a joke panel in a shounen manga

anyway Horikoshi sure does love his English portmanteaus. I’m kind of stunned by how great this is you guys. but getting back to more serious observations, all I can say is thank fucking god somebody is actually thinking of the children! nothing terrible had better happen to them or I swear!!

so Fatgum is explaining that the plan was to have them use their respective quirks to help take out a bunch of bad guys at once, and that the grown-ups will now proceed to rope them all in and capture them. and dammit, I was trying to avoid having to post the panel because it takes forever if I post a lot of them, but I just noticed Mt. Lady over there stomping fools in the background and so now I have no choice

A+ chapter so far you guys. 5 stars. keep it up

one-and-a-half year-old Kaminari Denki has already fallen asleep. he wishes he could live there. I wish I had the words to adequately convey how utterly delighted I have been by this entire “everyone rides around in Fatgum’s belly” mini-arc, which is now my favorite part of the entire series (as always with the exception of “Dear Midoriya I’m really sorry”)

and I also just really love the timing of it?? right after the “here’s that angst you ordered” emotional sobfest of the last chapter, we’re taking a quick break to cut back to the Fatgum Express (excuse me, Fataxi) just to keep things from getting too heavy. this is such an important balance to strike. please don’t let this arc get too dark, Horikoshi

oh shit

right, Dabi?? but I’ve had an entire week to process my feelings about it and I’m more or less good now! how are you

not particularly great, then

and also, fuck. so Horikoshi was gracious enough not to show Twice’s murdered body even though he confirmed he was indeed killed (so apologies to anyone who was still holding out hope. it sucks but at least we’ve got closure). first he cuts off the bottom of the panel, and then he has Dabi literally cremate him on the fucking spot. there’s really going to be nothing left at all of him or any of the clones. I’m just gonna sit here and try not to think about that or else I’ll get sad all over again

anyway, so also Hawks’s wings have been totally incinerated now it looks like, and he’s just barely yeeting himself out of the way with whatever he’s got left

boy this is getting rough

love how Horikoshi is avoiding showing Dabi’s face!! that was sarcasm by the way because I don’t love it! he pulls this shit all the time with Bakugou too! show us their emotions dammit!

anyway. how kind of Dabi to stomp out Hawks’s flames for him like that. you see. they’re still friends

HOLY SHIT

APPARENTLY IT IS??? I GUESS WE ALL GRIEVE DIFFERENTLY LMAO. SOME PEOPLE GET SAD AND CRY AND OTHERS JUST GET REALLY SCARY AND CRAZY

like. not to nitpick or anything, but your tear glands are actually located above your eyes. maybe he means his tear ducts. also I’m not a doctor or anything and I can barely name like three bones actually so maybe I should just shut up!

anyways though, out of courtesy let’s just take Dabi at his word that grinning like a deranged lunatic is a perfectly normal response to watching your friend get murdered by your sexy archenemy. who is to say

and what exactly is your dream again? to make Stain’s will a reality or something like that? so purging the world of false heroes I guess?

DAMMIT DABI FIRE IS HIS WEAKNESS

most people would at least scream, wouldn’t they? Hawks??? does that not hurt??!

DSFKJSL:DKGHLSDKGHL

no!! I won’t be fooled!! Horikoshi and Dabi flashbacks is like Wile E. Coyote and painting a fake tunnel onto a cliffside! don’t be conned by his deceitful forced perspective!

LOL YOU SEE

apparently this man really will do anything to keep us from getting a Dabi flashback, even if that means giving us Hawks flashbacks instead lmao. WELL SHOOT. OH DARN. POOR US. WE’LL JUST HAVE TO SETTLE try not to look too happy guys he can sense satisfaction

anyway so here’s baby Hawks

okay, so -- does fandom still hate Hawks. like, I haven’t checked the bnha tag much since this weekend so I don’t know if the general consensus is still “yeah he’s cancelled” or if we’re cooling down at all yet? anyway so I apologize if liking Hawks is still A Wrong Thing To Do, but just fyi he’s still adopted and I haven’t unadopted him and I love him unconditionally even though he’s in timeout. and so now that Baby Hawks has appeared to rival all other Baby Characters (BABY YODA WATCH YOUR SIX!!) with his lil wings and his Endeavor plush and his quiet lil nodding head, I just need you all to know that I would die for him without hesitation and that’s just how it is friends

(ETA: also, jesus christ. “Keigo-kun, you can say goodbye to your name from now on!" I’m surprised they didn’t assign him a fucking number. what the fuck. time for some grueling training, lab rat #184. better get ready. jesus. he’s like 7.)

sdlkfjLSDGHOSIDFOIOOIIO

THE MAN THAT -- WHAT. WELL HOT DAMN, TAKAMI THEORISTS! GO ON AND GIVE YOURSELVES A BIG PAT ON THE BACK. YOU EARNED IT.

snap. gotta calm down. too much hype all of a sudden. easy does it

OH ARE YOU KIDDING ME THAT’S IT??

noooo go back. fuck

and how the hell do you still have eyebrows, Hawks. how are you still even alive, let alone sexy. is fire your weakness?? is it really??! WELCOME TO BNHA THE MANGA WHERE ANYONE CAN SURVIVE ANYTHING. EXCEPT FOR BEING KILLED OFF-SCREEN AFTER WEEKS AND WEEKS OF BUILDUP

WHAT THE MONUMENTAL FUCK

HORIKOSHI WHERE ARE YOU I’M READY AND WILLING TO VIOLATE SOCIAL DISTANCING RIGHT NOW TO PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE SO COME ON

what the fuck. is this a Tarantino movie. or an Eminem song. anyway but we all know what he actually said though so let’s just scroll down and see how Hawks is going to take the news

oh my. I suddenly understand Dabi’s “grinning like a lunatic” reaction to witnessing a tragedy now. ohhhhhh that’s the good angst right there

so now Dabi says that if he wasn’t Hawks’s target in the beginning, then Hawks “would’ve been done for from the start”? ...what. lol what. am I just too tired to understand this you guys. I’m so confused

okay well I still have no fucking clue what that all meant but on the next panel he’s saying that Hawks shouldn’t have been focusing on Tomura or the League

is he suggesting that he has the power to bring down the hero system by revealing that he, the son of Endeavor, was made into a villain? am I reading into this right?

holy moses. I can’t believe this is really happening. this plotline is finally on the move oh my god I can’t even I’m getting way too excited I can’t??

HEY WHAT

well it matters to me you big melodramatic jerk!! don’t even pretend like you’re really gonna do it. I have zero fear of Hawks actually dying right now, not after that. there is way too much plot attached to him, gtfo with this fakeout shit

but more importantly, why the fuck are we cutting to Gigantomachia now oh shit. don’t tell me Fatgum got the babies out of there just in time

FUCK ME I NEARLY SCREAMED OUT LOUD

HE CAN BE ACTIVATED BY THE RECORDING OF AFO!! SOMEONE HAS THE FUCKING ON SWITCH IN THEIR HANDS OH SHIT, THERE’S THE DISASTER WE WERE ALL FUCKING WAITING FOR RIGHT THERE

WE’RE CUTTING BACK TO MIRUKO NOW??? CAN THIS CHAPTER GET ANY MORE HYPE MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS

let the bodies hit the floor let the bodies hit the floor let the bodies hit the floor let the bodies hit the [deep breath] FLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO --

OH NO!?

okay like any reasonable person I am very concerned by the implications of this. and yet a part of me just wants to focus entirely on the “AM I GETTING TIRED AFTER LOSING AN ARM AND A SHITLOAD OF BLOOD AND FIGHTING FIVE NOUMUS ALL BY MYSELF FOR LIKE AN HOUR? ...NAH.” you’re absolutely right Miruko that would be ridiculous

ARE YOU SERIOUS

either she’s about to die and she knows it, or SHE WAS JUST TOYING WITH THEM WHAAAAT. I genuinely don’t even know which it is?? but it better not be the former and it absolutely is the latter though

GOSH DARN THAT MIRUKO

THERE SHE GOES. MY CZARINA

excuse me did this guy just fucking impale her

SHE ONLY HAS THE ONE GOOD HAND LEFT LIKE CAN YOU PLEASE. can you fucking not, though?! and also I forgot that being impaled through the torso is another thing in this series that’s actually fatal. well fuck

(ETA: also he ripped out her hair!! look here you piece of shit I’m gonna --)

lmao but yeah, somehow

Horikoshi. if you kill off your one cool strong top ten female hero character. just so you know. I will. ...you know what, just don’t do it, how about that. just don’t

ohhhhhh I might be about to get really mad you guys. we’ll see. we’lllllll see

SON OF A BITCH

GODDAMMIT, OBVIOUSLY TOMURA CAN’T FUCKING DIE SO WHY DON’T YOU FUCK OFF WITH THIS ENTIRE SCENARIO YOU’RE PRESENTING TO US RIGHT NOW HORIKOSHI, HOW ABOUT THAT. fuck everything I can’t believe chapter 267 page 16 was the last page of the entire manga you guys. tell me I’m reading way too much into this

ffffff

you literally had the perfect chapter. Fataxi!! Baby Hawks!! censored Touya reveals!! why would you go and. ...

I knew it was a mistake reading past that amazing color page you guys

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OH MY GOD I DIDN’T SCREAM BUT I SAID “HA HA!” OUT LOUD?!

-- AND AGAIN!!!!!

YOU WANT SOME??? YOU WANT SOME?!?!

FUCK YES. EXCUSE ME WHILE I CRACK OPEN THE WINDOW AND SHOUT SOME EARNEST “WOOOOOOO!!”S DOWN UNTO THE CONFUSED STREETS BELOW

y’all. I was this close to cancelling every damn thing. you don’t even know. my god I think I was grinding my teeth there

“you know what this manga has had quite enough of as of last week? tragic deaths! you know what it has not had nearly enough of? dramatic last minute saves! you know what it hasn’t had any of? TOKOYAMI VERSUS DABI, A.K.A. YOUR NEW FAVORITE MATCH-UP OF ALL TIME, YOU’RE FUCKING WELCOME.” geez. calm down Horikoshi. be cool man be cool

you guys. it was almost perfect, and then it wasn’t, and then it very much was. my god. how did I not see that Tokoyami save coming with all that buildup in hindsight. clearly he saw the fire on page four and was all “oh no! his weakness”

only thing is. it’s yours too, bud. :/ don’t think I’ve forgotten how this all played out during the forest arc. and meanwhile on top of that we’ve got Gigantomachia about to have the rudest of awakenings. goddammit. why is everything so dangerous and so awesome thanks I love it but geez

[laws-yellow-submarine]

🌠Shooting Stars🌠

An entry for the One Piece Summer challenge!

Law x Reader

Prompt: Stargazing Word Count: 1.6k

Synopsis: While travelling on the Polar Tang, you don't usually stay afloat for long. However, a starry night is too tempting...

♡

Summer.

Does it really matter?

Your head prompted on your palm, you were lost in the vagueness of the ocean. It was one of the few days that the Polar Tang would stay afloat in the middle of the sea. Actually, tonight, was a special night; the sky was a dark canvas painted with falling stars, decorated with brushstrokes of unmethodical, colourful patterns and dancing spots everywhere.

Even the air, it brought the salty aroma on deck, filling your lungs with it and cheering you up. You would never get used to it... and it was always such a pain to let it out of your system...

Travelling in a submarine had forever been quite depressing. The empty spaces were blocking any source of light from entering, therefore transforming themselves into a cloistered prison. You felt so cooped up sometimes, like a caged bird. Not even the palliative company of your nakama could alleviate the gloomy mood that was slowly eating you away.

Every single time you disappeared into the depths of  the bottomless sea, it was as if the time froze. There was no morning, noon, nor afternoon. There was no spring, summer, autumn, nor winter. There was only the black of night.

Unlit and shadowy, it swallowed everything in its wake, you included.

You had always lived in the open air, enjoyed the blessings of nature, the warmth of the sun caressing your body and somehow driving all your preoccupations away. That's the very reason you became a pirate, to begin with.

If it weren't for those silver eyes, you wouldn't be here. Trafalgar Law, the Surgeon of Death, had managed to get his hands gripped around your heart, squeezing for all they were worth, leaving you aching with longing and a breath stuck in your throat. You knew he was no good but, there was something in him... something... hypnotising, that you simply couldn't ignore.

Even though the feeling of drowning in the blackness between the walls had been torturing you ever since you begun your journey, the mysterious glimmer in his look dragged you out of your fear and anguish. He was always by your side, in his own way.

A great Captain, indeed.

Yet, you couldn't omit the fact that something was seriously troubling him the past few weeks. He always had a tendency to isolate himself in his cabin, reading books and making research on medical grounds -- his muttering jargon under his breath confirming that -- but he didn't use to be that distant.

Especially tonight, when the scenery above you was remarkable to the point where one could literally gawk with their mouth hanging open. He would never miss a rain of falling stars.

"They remind of someone... special." he would always say.

You wanted to ask him, delve deeper into his obscure past, yet, he was too reserved. He kept his feelings and thoughts to himself, you highly doubt he could trust even his first mate. However, it was evident in his indolent eyes, an agony, a tremendous feeling, deeply rooted in his soul.

That you could tell, for the eyes are the window to the soul... And this man's eyes... they held many sorrowful secrets...

What with all this thoughts swirling around your head, you lost your grip on the reality, so you never noticed the lovable white bear of the crew standing next to you.

Bepo.

You never understood why he would want to become a pirate and leave his life in the Mokomo Dukedom behind, a place fraught with peace-loving, cheerful creatures. Maybe he was curious to see what was beyond that land.

Come to think of it, the entire crew is quite absurd.

But I love them anyways.

The way the salty breeze messed with his fur was making him look even more adorable.

"Aren't those stars beautiful?" he asked, breaking the awkward silence.

"Yes, they are."

The previous silence took over once again, until...

"Uh, Bepo... Do you know where the Captain is? I mean..." you tried to sound as indifferent as possible, "...he never misses this."

You saw no reaction for some seconds.

"He was working in his cabin... I guess he'll come soon..."

A voiceless nod of agreement and then you were sinking in your thoughts anew.

*

*

*

You didn't have the foggiest idea how long you had been staring at the starry horizon. The moon seemed gigantic now, the only embellishment that begged to differ in that symmetry of white and black.

Bepo had departed some minutes ago, because he couldn't stare at the full moon for too long, as he couldn't control his Sulong form completely.

So, for the moment, you were standing alone behind the railing of the submarine, admiring the view and the expansion of dark blue stretching in front of you. It was so relaxing, you couldn't get enough of it.

Until a certain tattooed hand was placed on your shoulder.

"Oi, (Y/n)."

You turned to face the long awaited raven-haired pirate.

"Yes, Captain?"

His touch immediately abandoned you and his grey eyes narrowed. "How many times do I have to tell you? You don't have to call me captain. Just call me Law."

You tried to look away, but he was pinning you with his intense and demanding look. You couldn't help but simply nod to avoid any more of... this.

I could easily drown in these pools of silver...

He stood beside you, supporting himself on the railing while he took an eyeful of the scene ahead. At first, you didn't pay too much attention to him but tried to focus elsewhere. You didn't manage to stay like that for long, though.

You took glances of your captain now and then, curious to witness all his reactions to this boon. You saw his grey orbs meeting the pale one in the sky and glowing in delight, then a weak smile bending his lips.

He looked at the moon as if it was a person; a person he held dear.

"Law."

He averted his star-kissed gaze slowly, reluctantly, until it locked with yours. "Yes?"

"That special someone you had told me about... do you want to talk about them?" you asked timidly, eyeing him expectantly, albeit you practically knew you'd get  negative answer.

"It's a very old and long story."

Is he actually going to talk about it?!

He paused for some good moments, making you reasonably think that he had no intention of giving more details, but... he had.

He didn't exactly give you chapter and verse of his backstory, but he explained how he lost his entire family and hometown due to Amber Lead Syndrome, how he ended up in the Donquixote Pirates, how the noble and kind Cora-san sacrificed himself to save him....

You always sensed he'd got a dark background but, that was just too dark. How could a child possibly endure all this losses and trauma at once?

However, he never ceased his recounting. He went on, revealed more about his experiences, his life. Until, a shocking exposure was made and pretty much explained everything.

The Will of D.

He, Trafalgar Law, was carrying the tremendous Will of D. Well, that pretty much accounted for everything.

"But why are you telling me all this?"

He shifted, his grey eyes boring into yours in a vertiginous labyrinth.

"I'll be leaving soon." he replied, his tone colder than before.

"What?! Why?!"

"I need to take care of certain things... and now that we are in the New World... you know that we either go against or ally with the Emperors..."

"And whose side are we on?" you enquired, still struggling to process all these information.

"It's too early for you to know..." he grabbed you by your shoulders, gazing fiercely at you, "...but you needn't worry..." he said, his voice softening as well as his sharp features.

A hefty sigh escaped from your lips, before you glanced at the stars. You were fixated there, observing them make their steady descent, leaving trails of glimmering starlight behind.

"Do you want to make a wish?"

Law's frown was followed by a chuckle. "Isn't that too childish?"

"No, come on! The shooting stars don't stay for long!"

He closed his eyes in defeat, probably wishing for something. His hands hadn't abandoned your shoulders, not even then. You waited patiently for the moment his steel grey gaze met yours and you almost melted on the spot.

"What did you wish for?"

"I can't tell you..." he reminded you, his lips stretching into a mischievous smile.

Right.

"...but I can show you." was all he said, before his soft lips landed on yours.

Taken by surprise, could be an understatement. It felt so surreal, it gave you the impression you were hallucinating. It was all slow and passionate, with the dull light of the stars showering you, the low splash of the waves resonating and the slight rocking of the Polar Tang dolling it all up.

Hell, even the scratching of his goatee against your glabrous chin was alluring. You were swimming in a pool of bliss by now, unable and unwilling to get out. You knew it wasn't going to last long yet, you flung yourself into it. You were only a couple of hours away from being trapped in that cage of darkness again, but now you didn't seem to care.

Now you knew.

Summer matters.

Because I'm the summer to his winter heart.

~End~

----- OMG this was so cute <3 Law, shooting stars, and kissing are like...three of my favorite things lmao “I can’t tell you...but I can show you” GAH! I died, my face has been squished in happiness, and I’m still squealing. Great job, hun!! 

@doctorgerth​ 

[booksalwaysandforever]

Holding on to the Memories

So, this is my first time writing, so forgive me if it’s terrible. I have been in the twilight mood lately, so this is my twilight fanfic. Also, I am always open to story requests, suggestions for future chapters, and helpful criticism.

Summary: Lauren is the Cullen’s adopted baby sister. Her life has always been a dream. One day, while the everyone is out hunting, life isn’t a dream anymore.

Warnings: Self harm, bullying, very very sad and will make you cry. 

Length: pretty long

Chapter 1

“You guys mean to tell me that I get to be home alone all day?!” I squealed excitedly.

“Yes, dear. We all need to hunt, and Renesmee and Jacob are down at the beach with the rest of the pack.” Carlisle said with a small smile on his face, happy that I was so excited.

“I didn’t think you’d be so happy to get rid of us, brown bear.” Emmett said as he ruffled my hair slightly. I gave him a small glare as he used my nickname from when I was little.

“I am excited, Emmett. This means that I get to control the TV for once.” Everyone started laughing as Emmett frowned at you.

“I don’t control it that much, do I?”

“Yes, you do.” Everyone said in unison.

“Plus,” I started, “I will be free of having 8 vampires watching my every move, there will be no one digging around in my head,” I scowled at Edward who gave me an apologetic look, “and no one will be able to mess with my emotions,” I finished as I glared at Jasper.

“It’s not our fault we’re vampires and you’re our human sister,” Jasper said.

“I know that, but that still doesn’t mean I like it when you mess with my emotions.” I said as I gave him a small scowl. “Nor do I like it when people dig through my head or know what I’m going to do before I even do it. I can never surprise you guys,” I pouted.

“Hey, we act surprised, don’t we?” Edward pointed out.

“It’s not the same!” I complained, earning myself a laugh from everyone. “Okay, you guys should go now. All of your eyes are pitch black. It’s kinda scaring me.”

Everyone laughed again and gave me a hug as they walked out to their cars.

“We’ll be gone until after supper tonight, so you’re on your own for meals.” Esme told me as she gave me one last hug.

“Mom, I know. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. If I need anything, I’ll call Jacob and Renesmee and they’ll come home. And if something really bad happens, I will call you or dad or Emmett or Jasper or Rose or any of you and you’ll all come running. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.”

“Oh honey, I know you’ll be okay. I just want to be sure.” She gave me another hug and kiss.

“Dad, can you come get Mom?” I called. “Unless you come and get her, I don’t think she’s going to leave.”

“Darling, Lauren will be okay. She’s 15 almost 16, she’ll be alright staying home for one day.” Carlisle said, suddenly appearing at my side.

“Thanks. I know the drill, call Jacob and Renesmee first and then you guys. Now go! Bella and Jasper look like they’re going to snap soon.” I said as I tried to push them to the door.

“Alright, bye sweetheart. We’ll be back before you know it. Just try not to break anything. Don’t do anything Emmett would do.” Carlisle said with a small grin on his face.

“Hey!” Came a shout from outside. I started to giggle because as much as Emmett hated it, Carlisle was right.

“Okay Dad. Bye, love you.” I said as I gave him his last hug. “Bye guys! See you later! Catch a big bear for me, Emmett!”

Everyone shouted out their goodbyes and I love you’s as they drove away. I stood in the doorway for a moment longer and then raced back into the house to enjoy my day alone.

I spent a good portion of the morning wrapping and putting the finishing touches on gifts for my family. It was going to be my 16th birthday in less than a week, but I wanted to give everyone else gifts. I already had everything I could ever want, and all I really wanted for my birthday was to see everyone smile. So I decided to give them all gifts. It also gave me something to work on in my spare time.

I was going to give Alice a snow globe of two sisters ice skating. She and I had started a collection of snow globes together when I was a couple years old. We added to it every time we went on a shopping trip or anytime one of us had a birthday.

Rosalie was going to get a beautiful locket, with an inscription inside that said A sister is worth 1,000 friends. Hopefully she wouldn’t put an embarrassing picture of me in there.

Emmett was going to get the games Cards Against Humanity and What Do You Meme. Little did he know, I was going to kick his butt when I played with him.

For Bella, I got her a new charm for her bracelet. Currently, there are only three charms. Jacob’s wolf, Edward’s diamond heart, and the Cullen crest. I was giving her a small open book, because when I was a kid, she read a lot of books to me and gave me over half of the books in my collection. I owe my love of reading to her.

Edward’s gift was a bit more difficult, but I think he’ll like what I gave him. It was a handmade book of all our favorite songs. My lullaby, both Renesmee and Bella’s lullabies, some of my favorite songs, and a few of his favorite songs. I painted the front cover of the binder with a beautiful collage of music notes and pictures of him and I playing the piano. He didn’t really need the music for all the songs, what with his vampire memory and all, but this way Edward would always have a part of me.

Carlisle had always loved my paintings, so I made him one that he could hang in his office at work. It wasn’t anything too complex, just a rainbow watercolor background and a stethoscope twisted into a heart, but I’m sure he would love it.

For Esme, I made a cookbook filled with my favorite foods that she had made me over the years, and a few new ones for her to try. Like Edward, she didn’t really need the recipes, but she loved having things I made. On the front of the book, I had painted a collage of different foods like a meatball sub, cookies, cupcakes, salad, and lots of other things. Hidden in one of the back pages,  were pictures of the entire family throughout the past 16 years. One when I was a baby, one when I was a toddler, when I was six, 10, 14, and a few weeks ago. It was the perfect gift for a mother.

I wasn’t nearly as close to Jacob as I was to everyone else, but I got him a gift too. He was still my big brother. I gave him my best wolf drawing, and a dog tag with a heart cut out of the middle. That heart was attached to a necklace I would keep.

For Renesmee, I made a box filled with her favorite candy, a photo album of us growing up together, and a best friend forever bracelet. To me, Renesmee was more like my best friend. We had sleepovers together all the time, watched movies all night long while stuffing our faces with junk food, and went everywhere together. Since she didn’t sparkle in the sunlight as much as the rest of the family, I could bring her to places like the beach or an amusement park on a sunny day without drawing attention.

The hardest person to find a gift for was Jasper. For as long as I could remember, Jasper had been the person I turned to for everything. When I scraped my knee when I was little, when I needed help in school, when I was bored out of my mind and wanted someone to play a game with me, it was always Jasper I turned to. I gave him a CD, and a stuffed horse. Jasper said he always loved it when I was singing. Whether I was humming to myself or singing my heart out to my favorite song, he said he had always loved it. So, the CD was full of me singing my favorite songs, and songs he used to sing to me when I was little. The stuffed horse held a speaker inside, so that whenever you squeezed it, you would hear me say “I love you”. I bet that if he could cry, he would.

When I was finished with the gifts, I played the piano and my guitar for a while. Edward was finally teaching me how to play my lullaby on the piano, and I was teaching myself all of my favorite songs on the guitar. I got bored pretty quickly, so I turned on the movie 10 Things I Hate About You, one of my favorites, and made myself lunch.

After lunch, I decided to turn on the TV and see if anything good was on. At that moment, an ad for a new movie came on the TV. I didn’t see what the name was, but I really didn’t want to know. Although I had only seen a few seconds, the image of a “vampire” holding a young girl in a headlock was enough for me. I lived in a world full of vampires and I knew the risks, but I always tried to push them out of my head. Plus, I was always with one of my siblings, or my parents, so I never really had to worry. They would protect me, no matter what. However, at the moment, I was all by myself. My family was the largest coven of vampires, aside from the Volturi, and every vampire that came through this was stopped at our house. Most of the time, my siblings were able to hide with me in my room and keep me safe. But they were probably in Colorado or Wyoming, up in the mountains at this point. What would happen if a rogue vampire came through here? What if they lost all control when they smelled me? What if Jacob and Renesmee couldn’t get to me soon enough to save me?

A million what ifs crossed my mind as my anxiety got a hold of me. I had had attacks like this before, but one of my siblings was always there to help me. Jasper could always calm me down, Edward could answer every question that crossed my mind, and everyone else would just hug me and remind me that everything was okay until I had managed to calm myself down. But I was all alone. Nobody was here to keep me from my own mind, to keep me from spiraling into a dark place. My head was spinning, my stomach hurt, and I could hardly breathe. I raced to the bathroom, running into almost every piece of furniture on my way there.

In less than 5 minutes, I had thrown up everything I had eaten that day. Currently, my stomach was heaving as though it wanted to throw up, but there was nothing left in my stomach. I began focusing on my breathing, trying to calm myself down. If I could get my breathing under control, I could work through every question in my head. As soon as I had calmed myself enough to make the room stop spinning, I heard my phone buzz. Hoping it was Alice, checking up on me, I reached up to grab it from the edge of the sink.

Much to my dismay, it wasn’t Alice. It was the complete opposite. Maggie was texting me once again. For years, she had been making fun of me and tried to bully me into doing whatever she wanted me to do. When my family moved here to Forks, when I was in sixth grade, she hated the fact that I was getting most of the attention. She didn’t do much harm for the first year and a half, but she kept looking for things to make me snap. She began breaking into my locker, ripping up my papers and writing insults about the teachers on others. The teachers never believed me, so I was always getting in trouble. After I had successfully gotten suspended at the end of seventh grade, she stopped, for about a year. Then things got worse. Way worse. Every day, I would find an insult about my clothes, body, family, everything. I tried my hardest to ignore it, but I just couldn’t. Now that almost all of my siblings, other than Renesmee who pretended to be only 2 years older than me and would graduate in May, had graduated and weren’t in school with me anymore, Maggie took that to heart. She had sent me a picture and a video of me. I knew I shouldn’t look at it, but Maggie liked to blackmail me and post crap about me online, so I looked, just in case she would try to do something. There was a message with the picture.

Wow, look at this girl in a swimsuit. She looks absolutely terrible. Look at the stretch marks on her stomach, she’s so fat!

That was the reason I never wore a bikini. I didn’t necessarily think I was fat, but I did have some small stretch marks on the bottom of my stomach. I was already self conscious, but this just made things a whole lot worse. I didn’t want to look at the video, but I did.

It was a video of me and my ex boyfriend James. We didn’t date long, but we did for a few months last year. It was a video of us making out in a closet. I remember that, we played seven minutes of heaven at Maggie’s birthday party last year. Why the hell did she video tape it? My phone buzzed with one last text from Maggie.

It almost looks like they’re having sex. Wouldn’t it be a shame if someone posted it on the school Instagram feed for everyone to see?

At that moment, there was a new post to the school Instagram page by Maggie. That bitch! Why the hell would she do that. I chucked my phone across the bathroom as hard as I could, managing to shatter the screen and a tile fell off the wall. Sobs racked my body. I couldn’t breathe. The only way to breathe again was to take my mind off what had happened. But how? That’s when I spotted my razor on the edge of the bathtub.

The only way to get my mind off everything was pain. My phone started buzzing and wouldn’t stop. I knew it was Alice calling me, but I ignored it.My phone was so smashed from being thrown across the room, it probably wouldn’t answer anyways. I looked at myself in the mirror.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered to my shaking reflection. I pressed the razor into my leg and pulled it across my skin. It hurt like hell, but that was a minor detail. I continued to cut until blood started gushing out of my last pass. Shit, I had cut my vein. I didn’t want to die, did I? I loved my family, but....I didn’t want to deal with life anymore. I didn’t want to feel pain anymore, nor did I want Jasper or anyone else to suffer with me. I didn’t want to live anymore. It was too hard. This was easier. I managed to make a few more cuts in my legs before black spots started appearing in my vision. Suddenly, I was too weak to hold the razor anymore. It fell to the floor as I fell back and hit my head on the wall. Just before I blacked out, I heard voices shouting. Someone would be here for me soon.

“I’m so, so sorry” I whispered. Not a second later, my world went black.

[raidbossmadi]

People Like Us: What’s in your Head

If we were to step into your characters' psyche, what would it look like?

Sloane 

When you enter Sloane’s psyche you step into a vast forest, trees so large you cannot see their tops and canopies so thick you cannot see the sky between them. However this forest is neither dark or uninviting. Bird songs punctate the background noise and you can hear a stream somewhere in the distance. Walk for long enough and you’ll eventually stumble on the old cabin Sloane called home on Eden-4. You can find the present version of herself there tending to her daily business, Persephone curled up in the corner of the room watching Sloane work.

Just outside the cabin is an impossibly large painting sitting on an easel, on it the world turns into childish scribbles. If you approach it you’ll find that not only can you step into it but when you do you also turn into a childish scribble version of yourself. Sloane’s childhood lives inside this easel, the innocent young girl who never knew she was going to become a Siren. You’ll find that this part of her psyche operates a lot like a children's picture book,Child Sloane doesn’t think in words she thinks pictures, concepts, colors. Mommy and Daddy are green and calm one moment but can turn red and angry. Things grow and shrink here with little regard for actual proportion. If you encounter Child Sloane she’s very trusting, she assumes you're a friend. You are a friend? Aren’t you?

Or perhaps you see the stone bricked path leading to the right of the cabin, as you walk down it the sound of the forest disappears and a thick fog covers the sides of the path. The only way to go is forward. If you look out into the fog you might be able to make out the shape of something you aren’t sure what and it never gets any clearer. All you know is it is massive, it is ancient, and it is sleeping. You stay on the path and soon enough you’ll be in the dream of Vanagard, an old abandoned temple with a fountain in the middle that runs despite all logic saying it should have stopped years ago. Leda and Steele can be found here sitting on the edge of the fountain or walking around the temple proper. You get the feeling that this is something you could never fully comprehend, but you feel at peace here. Steele will not talk to you, you are not Sloane, She is here for Sloane. Leda is more chatty, you get motherly vibes from the moment you start talking to her, she wants to know what your relation to Sloane is, oh you’re friends? Make sure she’s not working too hard, she’s doing her best.

Maybe the sounds from just beyond the forest call to you and walk abruptly into the Pandoran desert. There are so many people here, a crowd that stretches on forever and they are loud. They turn to you, their eyes are flowers and vines spill out of their mouths yet still they talk, still they beg for absolution. You press on through the never ending crowd until you meet a wall, the Cathedral of the Twin Gods towers over you and towering over it are two silhouettes the only defining features on both red and blue siren markings.

“What’s the Password?” Shadow Tyreen asks her mouth full of razor sharp teeth, you stumble and guess things you know are important to Sloane, Flowers,Vines, Persephone.  Shadow Troy laughs gilded fangs ever present. “There is no password shitweasel, but good try.”  His mechanical arm lifts you up by the scruff of your shirt and puts you over the wall. You realize now the wall has no gate, the only way in was to be brought over by the shadow twins, they are protecting the temple only they decide who goes in or out.   Inside the temple things are much more welcoming, the people have faces and you recognize them. They wear the outfits of temple priests but their all Sloane’s friends, you see yourself among the priests and get a feel for what Sloane’s idealized version of you is like, it's all your best qualities. You walk into the throne room, it’s bathed in pink light and upon the dais sit idealized versions of Tyreen and Troy. It’s a little off putting to be fair, these are manifestations of what Sloane loves about each twin, they are far far friendlier than either twin would ever be in real life. Tyreen says things like “Dear brother, would you mind fetching Sloane, she’s running late for our date.” batting her eyelashes and talking in a too sweet tone. Troy is much the same, there's no tension here no anger or sadness. Everything in this temple is the best of Sloane’s life since joining the CoV and it’s welcoming enough you almost don’t want to leave.

But when you do and find yourself back at the cabin, it’s probably for the best that you don’t investigate the gated garden, as you step towards it the sky darkens and a chill runs through you. This gate creaks open and if you ignore your better judgement and enter anyway you’ll find that the garden is overgrown, weeds and giant thorny vines have taken over what was once clearly a vegetable garden. Continue on and you’ll watch as the vines destroy and overtake anything in their path.  You come across a young Sloane covered in cuts and scrapes.

“I don’t wanna go! Don’t let them take me!” she cries but as you reach to protect her the vines spring from behind wrapping around her legs and midsection pulling her kicking and screaming back into their mass.  Continue forward and you find bodies of scientists wrapped in the tangle, syringe or scalpel still in hand. “This is for your own good.” you hear them say as you walk past along with Sloane’s protests. You will continue to encounter the young Sloane desperate for you to save her but the vines will always win.

Eventually you come to a throne of thorns towering over the landscape,built on the bodies of all the people she’s ever killed, and on the throne, literally one with it, her legs lost in the tangle of vines sits the queen of thorns; Sloane but her markings replaced with thorny vines that cut into skin and bleed constantly. This seems of little consequence to the queen of thorns who merely laughs and fills her chalice with the spilling blood. Her smile shows gilded fangs and when you look her in the eyes, you know that all she wants is to see the world burn. To see humanity laid low for its treatment of her.  But she cannot leave the throne, it is her prison and you feel  safer knowing that this creature, this aspect of Sloane will never see the light of day.

Tyreen

Entering Tyreen’s psyche is entering a place that you cannot easily make sense of. It is a vast Eridian ruin with hallways that curve upwards and stairs out of Escher painting. 

In the center you find Tyreen sitting idly on a sofa that looks entirely out of place. She’s picking her fingernails or her nose, being casual really. What’s really off putting is the fact that every so often an image of Nyriad flashes into existence around the room. She doesn’t say anything but she’s there just long enough to unnerve you. 

If you follow a hallway long enough it’ll lead you somewhere, like Nekrotafeyo. Hostile and cold, the mantas are three times larger than they should be but when they get near you they turn to dust. Young Tyreen sits outside the ramshackle shack her parents built poking bugs with a stick. If you go inside the world turns grey and you feel a tangible sadness wash over you. Leda and Typhon sit vigil at the sides of a bed and in the bed, a sickly young Troy. He’s so small, and he’s getting smaller and smaller. 

You go back outside Tyreen’s a teenager now and Troy’s there too despite having just been in the house. He’s chained to her at the wrist she looks at it and promises she’ll find a way to get it off, that they’ll be free one day. 

Again if you look closely enough around the edges, Nyriad steps in and out of existence.

Or perhaps you see the neon city of Promethea stretching upwards higher and higher. Do the buildings ever stop? People walk past, they walk through you, you don’t exist to them. Tyreen sits on the street corner begging for food, shelter, for help. No one notices her. 

Again Nyriad flickers into being. 

The way to the great stone temple of Vanagard is shattered. You can still walk the steps but they are shaky and uneven. The fog is thick here and in it you can hear the pained noises of a creature beyond. The temple is shattered in two when you get there, literally half of it flowing into oblivion.  

“Not your fault... Shouldn’t be like this...We aren’t a monster…” The words of Nyriad fade in and out. She’s more solid here than anywhere else but you can tell she can’t stay in one place. Her image flickers and vanishes when you try to get close to it. 

Beyond the sofa that Tyreen sits on in the middle of her mind scape is a door and when you open it the darkness of the ruins is bathed in golden sunlight. You walk in and find a room made of gold. Women nude save for their faces which are covered by the solid white masks of the handmaidens. They lounge on daybeds and chaise lounges holding grapes and offering them to you. There is however one person with a visible face, Sloane, who sits demurely on a throne dressed in a lavish gown. Everytime to you try to reach her though the throne gets slightly farther away. It’s not until she laughs at your attempts to reach her and approaches herself that you get any closer to her. Like she willingly has to choose to want to be close to you for that to be allowed to happen at all. 

The atmosphere changes when Sloane steps off the throne though, all the other women disappear, the gilded chamber turning to a comfortable house instead. 

You thought you were heading back to the main chamber but instead you find yourself in a black empty void. 

“T-Ty….help me.” You hear Troy call from all directions. His pain is palpable in the air.  You aren’t even sure what direction you're going in but the cries for help get louder. 

“You lied to me! You lied, again Tyreen!”

“No! That should have worked! Why didn’t it work? This was a mistake we never should have left…” you think that the space might be shrinking. You feel walls you can’t see closing in around you. Just before you can be compressed into a cube the blackness explodes. 

Towering above you is a massive vault entrance. An eye peers out of the vault inhuman and angry, the destroyer. Tyreen stands at the base of the vault  so small in comparison.  

“I understand. We could be gods. That would save Troy. Thank you.” She whispers to no one in particular. Nyriad stands behind her shaking her head frantically, her vision misinterpreted; she tries to touch Tyreen to get her to turn around but fades from existence before she can. 

You stumble out of the void you found yourself in and follow instead an iced over path walking down it you end up in a statue garden in winter. You look at the statues, they're all Tyreen’s friends and family. She sits in the middle of them all crying, she never wanted this to happen.  She reaches for the one of Leda, but it cracks and crumbles as she touches it. 

“Can you ever forgive me, mother.” 

Troy

When entering Troy’s psyche you find yourself in an editing room with only one computer turned on. Troy sits at it working away cursing under his breath. Something about nothing ever turning out quite the way he wants it to. If you try and approach he’ll put up a hand and push you away. Can’t you see he’s working?

A screen lights up despite being off a second before you walk towards it and fall into the screen. You’re on Nekrotafeyo, at least you think you are? Chunks of it open up in gaping holes in the sky and ground visual representations of the holes in his memory. They leak sweat and blood, it’s getting hotter out here. You have no choice but to run for the shack at the edge of it all.

Inside you are very small. An ant, while everyone else is so much taller, Typhon, Leda, a young Tyreen perched on the bed. All the giants speak in soft whispers.

“He’s getting sicker you know.”

“He’ll be alright.” Leda promises.

The temperature in the house is rising again. You climb the tree sized bed post to get to the top. You see Leda cradling her young son in her arms offering him her siren energy. The house begins to cool again things seem calm and serene almost. You’re no longer ant sized, you can make it out of the house again. The computer is waiting for you.

Falling back through the screen you notice things have changed, You’re on the bridge of the Centurion now. Troy stands next to his sister desperately trying to break free from the chain that binds them left wrist to left wrist it’s blue on her end and red on his.

“I don’t want to do this Tyreen! You lied to me! You lied to me then held this” he thrusts the chain at her. “Over my head. What kind of loving sister does that. Oh you’ll die if you don’t come with me, what the actual fuck Ty?”

“I… I didn’t mean it to hurt you. You don’t understand now but you will Troy, you will. This is for both of us.” Tyreen begs as she talks the chain morphs into a two headed snake sinking its fangs into both of them but neither seem to notice this.

The stone stairway is missing every other step and you have to take care not to fall into the fog. It seems hostile like it knows it should be here. The other half of the  Vanagard temple is here but it’s a collapsed heap on stone and rubble, the fog covering most of what remains. The broken half of the Eridian rune that sat above the door flickers with red light every so often but it is swallowed by the fog. Take care as you leave, you wouldn’t want to fall.

The cathedral is a medieval castle, with everyone in time period appropriate clothing. Peasants begging for an audience with their king, the broken and forlorn being allowed in to speak with him. You note that half  the castle staff are all disabled in some way but this does not seem to hamper them, they are valued here. You walk into the king’s chamber Troy sitting on a regal throne, a gilded crown on his head and a matching golden prosthetic replacing his oversized one.

“I’ll send what help I can.” He tells the serfs before sending them away. Tyreen is seated next to him though she’s snoozing away letting her brother deal with the diplomacy.

“Troy!” A high pitched voice comes from the window and in flutters a pixie Sloane who lands on his shoulder. “You’ve been working so hard all day, you should come out to the garden and relax.” She says in a singsong voice poking him on the nose.

He laughs and agrees with her, shaking Tyreen awake and then all heading out to the garden.

You try and follow after but find yourself instead in a junkyard. Hundreds of broken toys and robots all piled up on each other.

“Broken.” The wind whispers. “You’re broken. You will never be anything but a broken little man.”

Troy sits in the middle of it all, but only the left side of him. The right is a void that he claws at desperately.  The void pulls in anything to close to it including you as you try and get away but it takes you anyway.

You find yourself back in the editing room but now Sloane is there, perched on his desk. Sunlight shines from behind her as she smiles and asks what he’s working on. He answers and she laughs at the light spreading across the room enveloping him. Flowers start blooming in the cracks in the tile.

You get the feeling everything will be ok in the end.

[sunshinejs]

Used to This

A/N: to make up for the last one, here’s a very soft and fluffy fic!

————————————————————

Word count: 1.8k -ish

Connor’s hand made its way to your side of the bed; desperately wanting to hold you close. His eyes were still shut and he was half asleep, so when he felt the cold sheet instead of your body, he became fully awake.

He opens his eyes and frowned when he was met with an empty space instead of his wife. Wife. He still couldn’t believe that he gets to call someone his wife. A wife to wake up to everyday and love for the rest of his life. He’s able to walk down the street with her and introduce her to everyone “Hi, this is my wife. Isn’t she amazing?”

Connor sits up and stretches his arms. He leans over to grab his phone, when he noticed a yellow post-it note resting beside the device.

breakfast is waiting for you when you decide to get up sleepyhead x

After washing up, Connor made his way out of their bedroom and down the stairs towards the kitchen, where you probably were. He could already smell the heavenly food from the top of the stairs that made his stomach grumble.

Since it’s only been a few days since they moved in, there were moving boxes everywhere and the house was still pretty bare, besides the basic furniture; bed, couch, dining table, chairs.

“No peeking!”

“Connor, you put a blindfold over my eyes” You stated, rolling your eyes playfully, even though he couldn’t see you “How can I take a peek?”

“Just making sure, baby”

“Where even are we?” You whined as you gripped tightly onto his hand “When can I take this stupid blindfold off”

“Be patient, woman” He laughs and quietly opened the front door, carefully leading you in without tripping you “It’s just a few more steps and I’ll untie the blindfold on you”

“Are you going to kill me?” You asked seriously “Is this why we were driving for so long? You’re going to dispose my body somewhere far away so no one can find my body?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to do” He answered sarcastically “I told you I loved you and asked you to marry me because I want to murder you”

Once they reached the specific area, Connor stopped her in the middle of the room “Okay, stop” He ordered “I’m going to take it off but keep your eyes closed, you hear me?”

“So bossy” You teased; yelping when you felt his fingers poking your side “Okay, okay I will!”

“Okay and open!”

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you noticed was the sight of a giant window with no curtains.  As you look around the room, you grew more confused as to why Connor took you to an empty house.

“Why are we here?” You asked confusingly “What is this place?”

Connor laughs softly, nodding his head towards the direction of the giant bouquet of roses resting against the wall with a purple envelope leaning against it “Read the letter if you want to know”

Still stunned, you slowly walk towards it and picked up the envelope first. Tearing it open, you found a neatly folded handwritten letter.

Do you remember when you asked me a few years ago; where do I see myself in 10 years?

I told you I’d like to think I’d be married by then, and even though I never said it out loud, my heart hoped it would be you. I told you I’d save up enough money to buy a new house for my family; one with a big backyard so the kids would have an area to play football and have tea parties. I’d build a tree house for them so we could see the stars better at night.

The house would be big enough to fit a family of 4 because I always wanted a boy and a girl, but I’d definitely not complain if there were more kids to come, it just means I’d have to find a bigger house. There would be enough rooms to have a study, a nursery and a playroom. I’d also want one of the rooms to just be filled with memories all over the wall.

And do you remember what I told you when I proposed to you? I told you I’d take care of you in sickness and in health, provide you with only the best because it’s what you deserve, baby.

So, this marks a new chapter of our lives.

You turned around, with tears in your eyes, to see Connor standing before you with a huge smile on his face. “This place…”

“Is ours” Connor confirmed “I bought it”

“You said we were going to wait at least 6 months after the wedding to start looking for a place!” You said “I told you your apartment was fine, baby. There’s enough space for the both of you.   We don’t have to rush into finding a new place”

“Well, that’s too late now” He laughs and reaches out for your hand, pulling you close to him “You’re going to be my wife soon and you’re going to put up with me for the rest of our lives, I figured this place was a decent place to start”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, smiling softly “It’s not like I’m forced to be put up with you forever, you know? I agreed to love you and stay by your side, no matter how dorky you get or how much you love to annoy me when I’m doing my work”

“And that’s all I want” Connor presses his forehead against yours “To make this feel like home, to raise our kids in this house, to grow old together, everything you want to do… As long as I’m with you”

Soft music was playing from your portable speaker as Connor watched you work at the stove. He leaned against the door and watched as you stir the pan while singing along softly to the background music, while dressed in nothing but his hoodie.

He sneaked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, chuckling when you let out a squealed in surprise.

“You’re cooking?” Connor asked, resting his chin on your shoulder as he watched the scrambled eggs in the pan “That’s it. I’m officially in paradise”

“Don’t exaggerate, mister” You rolled your eyes playfully, turning your head to press a swift kiss to his cheek “Did you sleep well?”

“As usual” He sighs happily “You know, I could really get used to this. Seeing you cook in my hoodie everyday”

“You and me both” You said “Your hoodies are the comfiest thing in our closet”

“We could totally burn all your dresses” Connor nodded “I’m never going to complain if all you want to wear is my hoodie”

When the music switched, Connor reached over to turn off the stove. You look at him confusingly as he grabbed your hand and turned you around “What are you doing?”

“Wanna dance with you” He stated the obvious, pulling you towards the middle of the kitchen “This is our song”

“Babe, you’ve basically declared any love song as our song” You giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck, swaying slowly to the music.

“Well then, all of them are our song” Connor argued back “I don’t care, I make the rules”

“Alright, whatever you say” You smiled.

“Lucky I’m in love with my best friend, lucky to have been where I have been” Connor sings along while he twirled you “Lucky to be coming home again”

“You should sing more” You commented and rested your head against his shoulder “It’s my favourite sound in the world”

“You know you’re the only one I’d sing to, baby” He chuckled.

When the song ends, you were going to move back to the stove but Connor had other plans.

“Where are we going? I was in the middle of making breakfast!” You whined as Connor pulled you out of the kitchen.

“I need to show you something first before breakfast” Connor grinned “I’ve been keeping it a surprise from you”

“Is our marriage going to based on you constantly giving me surprises?”

“Pretty much”

He led you to room down the hallway; the only room you haven’t seen because it was locked and when you asked Connor, he’d always shrug you off with a “I’ll let you see it soon”.

You raised an eyebrow curiously as you stood in front of the door “You’re finally going to let me see what body you’re hiding behind this door?”

Connor shook his head, snickering “Yeah, so make sure you don’t pass out or anything”

“I mean I make no promises…”

“This was the only room that I could finish doing just before we moved in” He said “And I really hope you like how it turned out”

When he opened the door and revealed the door to you, your jaws dropped in shock. The room wasn’t that big, probably the smallest out of all the rooms in the house but it was fully decorated and complete. He had the room painted grey, your favourite colour.

Connor knew how much of a makeup freak you were and always complained about not having enough space of everything, but never would you thought he would build you your own makeup room.

“You did all this?” You asked stunned, looking around the room then to him as he leaned against the door “How did you-,”

“Shawn and Bri helped out a little” He answered, before thinking about his answer “Actually not really. They just annoyed the shit out of me while I got to work”

“Con, this is so beautiful” You muttered as you ran your fingers across the white vanity “I can’t believe you did this for me”

You felt him standing behind you, with his arms wrapped around your person “I told you I’d do anything for you” He muttered, pressing a soft kiss to your hair “Plus, I figured you needed space for all your makeup so I’m hoping this is enough”

You turn around in his grip, smiling at him “You’re the best, you know that? This must have taken you ages! Is that why you kept saying you were going to Shawn’s for fifa?”

Connor nodded and smiled sheepishly “More or less”

And that’s when you noticed the big frame hanging on the wall by the window that made you gasped. You pushed Connor away softly and trailed towards it.

You didn’t think you were going to see the official wedding photos from the photographer for another couple of days but this one; the one that you and Connor took outside the Church under the big tree, was hanging perfectly on the wall.

On the frame, engraved at the bottom was marry me, today and everyday

That was your ‘official song’, the first song you danced as a married couple.

“Had to wait for that to arrive last night before I showed you the room” Connor chuckled from behind you.

You turn around and pulled him in a tight hug “I love you” You mumbled against his neck “Today, tomorrow, every day”

“You better” Connor teased as he rubbed your back comfortingly “You made a vow to me, miss”

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Please reblog or leave a comment! ❤️

x rina

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[bytheangell]

Raise a Glass to the Past

(Read on AO3)

Present Day

“I was looking through your files again at work today,” Alec says, leaning his head back against Magnus’ shoulder. They’re both on the sofa, Alec nestled comfortably in the space between Magnus’ legs, leaning against Magnus while Magnus leans back against the cushions. They each hold a glass of white wine after dinner, enjoying the breeze coming in through the open balcony door, listening to the faint sound of rain falling just beyond the wall.  “Again?” Magnus asks, a light laugh chasing his words. “Ran a full Nephilim background check on me before we started dating, didn’t you?” 

Alec knows the words are spoken in jest, but the memories they bring up leave the current Head of the New York Institute biting down on his lower lip, considering his next words carefully. 

“Actually…” Alec starts before stopping abruptly. It’s a strangely personal series of events to explain, even if they all involve Magnus; somehow the idea of telling him about it brings up a lot of conflicting emotions in Alec He’s embarrassed at the guilt he felt for most of his life, at how he thought so much about the man he loves before he ever met him, that this man who changed his entire life from the second they did meet managed to shape so much of it even before that moment, without ever realizing... 

What will Magnus think if he tells him now? 

“Actually, sort of. But not intentionally. See, when I was probably about 5 or 6…” 

---

Alec, age 6 

Alec finds his way once more behind his father’s desk at the New York Institute. There are files up, files that he knows he shouldn’t be reading, but ever since he learned how to string full sentences together he’s absorbed every word he could lay his eyes on. And that includes dossiers left on computer screens in the same room as him while his father runs down to the ops room for a moment to deal with some emergency or another. 

Even kneeling on the large chair his head doesn’t clear the back of it, blocking him from view of anyone passing by the open door. Which is good, because if they did see him he probably wouldn’t get to read the page about a warlock that’s front and center, with a black-and-white photo of a man with spiked hair, slit cat-eyes, and a grin that makes Alec smile back even though he knows the man in the photo isn’t smiling at him. Magnus Bane. Those aren’t words Alec knows, but they’re words he’s heard out loud before. A name. 

His father comes back and scolds him for touching his computer (which, Alec defends, he didn’t technically do, he only read what was already open), before being ordered to re-read the section of the Shadowhunters Codex on Warlocks if he’s so damn interested in them. Alec dutifully slumps out of the chair to obey, his copy of the book marked with dozens of pencil circles of words he doesn’t know to ask about later. He’s only half focused, however, his mind frequently drifting back to the eyes and the smile of the man in the photo.   

---

Present Day

“I was your first Downworlder file. How cute.” There’s a hint of sarcasm to Magnus’ tone, one that Alec doesn’t take personally. He knows the tone of those sorts of files and the reasons why his father might’ve had it up on the computer that day. But there’s also a hint of actual endearment over the idea that Alec remembers that, even now. 

“You were,” Alec confirms. “And I have to admit, as a suggestible youth, I didn’t have the best impression of you at first.” 

“Oh, no?” At this Magnus straights up a bit, shifting behind Alec on the sofa. There’s no turning back now, Alec, realizes, not after piquing Magnus’ curiosity like that. 

“I’m sure you can imagine, but any files the Institute had on you weren’t painted in the most positive of lights…” 

---

Alec, age 8

It isn’t long before the Institute’s records, both on the computer and in the library, become freely available to Alec. He’s reached a point in his training and studies where it’s easier for him to simply look up answers on his own when he can rather than run everything back to Hodge or his parents. Because he stays out of trouble and does what he’s told when he’s told to do it (as much as any kid does, certainly more than Jace or Isabelle at the very least) he’s left to his own devices for most of the time he’s not in a lesson or training. 

This means no one is around to see him stop at Magnus Bane’s file almost every time he goes to look something else up… or should he say, files, plural. There are a lot of files on him, Alec notices, many marking him as a criminal in varying degrees: lying during Clave Inquiries, harboring fugitives, refusing to assist in investigations when his services were requested, aligning with dissenting Downworlders against Clave sanctions throughout the centuries. The bottom line is always a general disregard for the Nephilim which is all Alec is able to discern from the words on the page when he first comes across them. 

It seems simple enough at first read. He isn’t familiar with all of the terms he comes across or every single one of the various laws and regulations broken, but he doesn’t question them. This is a very powerful warlock who is capable of doing a lot of damage - and he doesn’t seem to listen to any of the rules. Hiding fugitives, helping criminals. If Magnus Bane is on the Clave’s radar then it must be for good reason, High Warlock or not. 

So when everyone around him tells Alec that Magnus is not to be trusted, despite the fact that he still feels inexplicably drawn towards the cat-eyed warlock in the photos, Alec forces himself to believe them. 

---

Present Day

“And what number is that file up to these days?” Magnus asks with an amused smile. 

“Right now? Pending review of wiping your record clean after, you know, saving the entirety of Idris and all,” Alec says, shifting himself forward enough to turn to face Magnus on the sofa as he takes a sip of his wine. “Plus, I don’t think Jia liked the idea of the Head of the New York Institute being married to someone with such an extensive criminal record.”  

They both laugh at that, Magnus shaking his head incredulously. “I don’t know… that’s a lot of history to erase. I think I’d like it better if they kept it - we could print it out and frame my accomplishments, hang them over the fireplace.” 

Alec shrugs. “We both know most of those violations were bullshit anyway,” he points out.  “Do we?” Magnus challenges playfully. “Because a moment ago you were telling me all about how young Alec Lightwood thought Magnus Bane was nothing more than a dastardly, dangerous lawbreaker.” 

Alec rolls his eyes. “I didn’t stay that naive forever.” 

---

Alec, age 10

Alec never stops asking questions, always eager to learn more, so no one thinks twice about it when he starts to ask them about the High Warlock of Brooklyn. He’s careful to approach a wide range of adults around the Institute so no single person will see that the cases he ‘randomly’ chooses to read up on for his studies all happen to revolve around a singular Warlock. 

What he learns, slowly, is that the only danger Magnus Bane poses is to the stuffy older members of the Clave who wouldn’t know how to be nice to someone if they tried. Almost all of the fugitive harboring Magnus is guilty of turns out to be for injured or wrongfully accused Downworlders (though the Clave didn’t know they were wrongfully accused at the time). But Magnus knew, and he protected them when he thought the Clave probably wouldn’t listen to a word they said if they were taken in. 

The more Alec learns about his people, the more he starts to realize that they believe they’re better than everyone else in the Shadow World. The rules are set up to favor them because they enforce the rules. The Nephilim are in a position of power in the Shadow World, dealing out justice as they see fit - this is a lesson taught to him now as something to pride himself on, but instead it leaves him feeling uneasy. 

He wants to talk to Downworlders about it but he’s forbidden. They would only feed him lies, the older Shadowhunters tell him. He doesn’t need to confuse his mind with so many sides of the same story when their side is right here for him on a silver platter. When their side, the right side, is the only one that matters.

Someone must talk to his parents because soon he’s told to stop asking questions about Magnus Bane. His job is to learn what he’s taught, to do as he’s told. 

Except his questions don’t stop there, not about Magnus, and not about himself. 

His parents take him to the wedding of a family friend and with tears in her eyes his mother smiles down at him and says “One day you’ll meet a nice young lady, and I’ll be watching you up there.” 

Alec thinks of all the girls his age and frowns. He doesn’t like any of them that way, even though he knows one or two have a crush on him. Their friends giggle about it and try to push them together during sparring, but Alec mostly finds it annoying. 

“Does it have to be a girl?” Alec whines. When he thinks of the people who make him smile, the people he might want to spend the rest of his life with (which doesn’t mean much to a nine year old who thinks the break between dinner and dessert is an eternity) his thoughts drift to a boy or two in his training classes, and then to some photos in a database that bring him more comfort than he even fully realizes. 

“Of course it does. Why would you even-” Maryse almost dismisses before her gaze turns sharp, almost fearful. 

“What if I want to marry a boy?” It’s such a simple, innocent question. He hasn’t liked any girls yet, but there are a few boys he think he might. So it only makes sense that instead of a nice young lady he’d want to marry a nice young man. 

“No, Alec. Shadowhunter boys don’t marry other boys. It isn’t-” Maryse falters. “They just don’t. You just haven’t met the right girl yet, but you will. I promise.” 

Alec considers this. “But what if-” 

“Alec, I said no. This isn’t up for discussion. And don’t ever mention this to anyone else, okay? Especially not to your father.” They’re speaking in whispers to begin with, and though Robert is only two seats away on the other side of Isabelle he’s entirely oblivious to the conversation. Izzy looks like she may have been listening but turns her head quickly. 

Alec simply nods and keeps the rest of his thoughts on the matter to himself, not just for that day but for years to come. 

---

Alec, present day

“I always knew how I felt was different, but that was the first time I realized it was wrong,” Alec admits. “And up to that point I was nothing but the perfect son, I didn’t want-- I didn’t want to ruin that.” 

“Maryse knew,” Magnus realizes, surprised. 

Alec nods. “My father was the only one who didn’t, or maybe he was just in such deep denial he convinced himself he didn’t notice. But I think everyone else had an idea, at least. Izzy was the only one who ever tried to bring it up but I denied it long enough that she stopped trying. My mom never mentioned it again after that wedding, and neither did I. Well, not until…” 

“Not until your wedding,” Magnus says, smirking ever so slightly. 

“It was kind of hard not to talk about it after the stunt you pulled, yeah,” Alec points out, and though he tries to sound accusatory he’s smiling back, unable to help himself. . 

“The stunt I pulled? It takes two to tango, Mister. You could’ve just taken me out of the room to talk, you didn’t have to make out with me in a hall full of Shadowhunters,” Magnus counters, eyebrow raised in amusement before growing serious once more. “I’m sorry you felt like you had to hide who you are for so long.” 

“Yeah,” Alec agrees. “Me too.” 

---

Alec, age 12

“Please?” Alec begs, hazel eyes large as he tugs at the back of his mother’s dress. “Let me go to the meeting! I promise I’ll behave. I won’t say a word, you won’t even know I’m there.” He’s twelve-and-three-quarters now, nearly thirteen whole years old. Plenty old enough to sit in on a meeting. In fact, his parents have dragged him along to countless meetings he didn’t want to be in, so he doesn’t know why this one is such a big deal. 

Maryse shares a look with Robert who only shakes his head. “You can come to the next meeting we have with the Clave. Not this one. I don’t even want to be in this one.” Alec’s father mutters the last bit, earning him a reproachful look from Maryse. 

“But I don’t want to go to a Clave meeting. I want to go to this one,” Alec insists. 

“Why this one?” Maryse asks, and Alec opens his mouth to answer before snapping it shut again quickly. What can he tell them? That he overheard them talking about meeting with the local Warlock representative? That he wants to be in the same room as Magnus for more than 5 seconds, to hear the man speak and see if he’s anything like what Alec imagines after reading every report on him they have? 

“Because I already know a lot about Shadowhunter things. I want to learn more about Warlocks, too.” Not a total lie. 

Both Maryse and Robert exchange a hesitant look. “Alec, sweetie. The man we have to meet with… well, he doesn’t like us very much. It’s already going to be a very difficult meeting... Maybe we can bring you along to talk with some other warlock another time. You just be good for Hodge, okay? We’ll be back soon.” 

They’re gone before Alec can ask any of the dozen follow-up questions running through his head. Us? Did Magnus not like him either, even though they never met? Did he hate all Shadowhunters? So many questions that Alec knows he’ll never get the answers to because he knows better than to ask now. 

...then again, maybe no answer is better than getting a truth he doesn’t want to hear. 

While his parents are gone he goes back to the computer. Back to the files and the photos. It’s safe, and it’s become almost a ritual habit by this point to imagine a world where the things he’s starting to feel for boys isn’t something he can’t talk about; a world where his gaze can linger on more than just a photo on a screen without being seen as a cause for concern. 

---

Alec, age 14

“Son, we need to talk. You’re coming of an age now when you’re going to start having… impulses. You see, when you like a girl-” Robert Lightwood begins after making it a point to call Alec into his room after watching one of the girls in his class flirt with him endlessly during his last training session, going so far as to try and lean up for a kiss after he pinned her to the mat. Alec had never moved so fast in his life to jump back from it but apparently that part was lost on his father. The fact that Alec got a lot of attention from the girls his age, however, was not overlooked. 

Alec doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he already knows all about sex. Word travels fast once one kid gets The Talk and his dad is a year and a half late to this party. He also doesn’t have the heart to tell him that liking girls, Alec is now entirely certain, is never going to be an issue. 

Or perhaps it’s going to be the biggest issue, because his mother’s words still echo in his head, creating a cycle of guilt and shame every time he does feel an impulse, just not about any of the girls he’s around. He barely looks at the other boys, afraid of what might happen if he looks too long, or the wrong way. Afraid someone will notice… that someone will know. 

For now he forces himself to smile back at the giggling girls, but he hates it. And every time Jace ends up stepping in oozing charm to pull the attention away from him it leaves him feeling equal parts grateful and sick to his stomach, because he wants Jace to smile at him like that. He wants any boy to smile at him like that. 

Except every time a boy is even remotely kind to him he’s afraid it’s because of something he did that he didn’t realize, or something he let slip that he didn’t catch, and so he closes himself off entirely. He throws himself completely into training, into work, and into files stored away he sometimes forgets are for everyone’s use, and not just his own personal escape. 

---

Alec, age 17

Duty first, his father tells him. He’s being raised to run an Institute, to help bring the Lightwood name back to its former glory and prestige. That leaves no room for error… it certainly leaves no room for his attraction to guys, especially not his troubling feelings for his parabatai or his increasing infatuation with Magnus Bane. 

His exposure to Downworlders has increased significantly since he, Izzy, and Jace began sneaking out to a Downworld-run diner downtown. Izzy and Jace have both dallied in the company of romantic partners who would give their parents a heart attack to learn about, but not Alec. He watches from afar, daydreaming but never partaking. He can’t, not with anyone he actually wants to. Part of him knows that they’d never say anything if he told them but he doesn’t want to put that sort of burden on either of them. Because that’s what it is, and that’s all it will ever be: a burden. 

He gets the feeling he’d be more easily forgiven for wanting to spend his time with downworlder girls than Shadowhunter boys, if his feelings were simply an act of teenage rebellion. If only. He knows by now that Shadowhunter, Downworlder, or even mundane, the only people he’s ever going to like are going to be boys. And he knows that will never be okay. 

So instead of smiling back at the waiter he keeps pointedly avoiding eye contact with he watches after Izzy and Jace, yearning for the freedom they have and their honest sense of selves. They can afford to sneak out, to mess up, to disappoint - the same pressures and expectations aren’t put on them that are put on him, and he envies them for it. He shoulders the burdens so they don’t have to, defending them at every turn in the hopes they never feel the crippling shame he experiences every single day. 

---

Alec, age 20

Alec gets stuck with the task of assisting with updating all of the databases with more up-to-date photos after getting caught sneaking into the Institute at 3 am one night. In truth, he only allowed himself to get caught by security in order to buy Jace and Izzy enough time to run in the opposite direction - both of them are already on probation this month while he has, as usual, a nearly spotless record. He’ll take the hit this time and they’ll owe him a huge favor later, one he’ll be sure to make count. 

“I can’t believe he supplied us with his own photos,” says a voice followed by laughter from one of the other Shadowhunters on the project. 

“Who?” Alec asks, only half-listening for the answer. He doesn’t particularly care, 

“Magnus Bane,” comes the reply in a tone full of contempt. Alec freezes, nearly dropping the stack of photos in his hands. “Said, and I quote, ‘Our security cameras never pick up his good side’.” 

“Let me see,” Alec manages, wondering if he sounds as anxious as he feels. They all look over the offering Magnus sent over, most of which are from that club in town that he owns now, Pandemonium. Some of the photos are just him, others have an assortment of men and women in extremely close proximity. One photo looks downright compromising and Alec has to turn away quickly to avoid anyone seeing the fierce blush that crosses his face. It’s the first time he realizes that maybe Magnus is like him, a simple reminder that he can’t possibly be the only person in the entirety of the shadow world who likes the same gender. Magnus looks so comfortable, so carefree in that photo, and Alec wants that, too. 

For a moment he closes his eyes and imagines a world where he has a chance at happiness without having to hide, where he can be bold enough to take a photo with another man, to leave a lingering touch--

And then it’s gone. 

The names and jokes that follow at Magnus’ expense make Alec’s blood boil as much as they make his stomach turn, because a lot of them could just as easily be aimed at him. They are, indirectly, not that anyone other than him knows it. Alec doesn’t know how long it goes on before something inside him snaps. 

“He really isn’t that bad, you know,” Alec mutters. 

“What was that, Lightwood?” One of his peers questions. 

“Magnus Bane,” Alec says, louder now. “From what I’ve read on his file, he really isn’t that bad. Most of his charges were due to misinformation.” 

“I heard he and Camille Belcourt were a thing once. Bet he gets her to just encanto everyone who catches him,” one suggests. 

“Yeah. My father was part of a raid on some rogue werewolves Bane defended in the early 90s. He never got charged for that, either, but my uncle nearly died,” another says. 

Alec decides to cut his losses and not bring up the fact that most of those raids were unjustified, the charges were dropped because the warlocks and werewolves were only reacting in self-defense. 

The photos Magnus sent in end up in the trash and the standard security camera footage uploaded in their place. Alec can’t help but think that the photos are unnecessary anyway - every side is Magnus’ ‘good side’. 

---

Present Day

Magnus rolls his eyes. “Do you know how long it took me to pick out the best photos for that?” he says with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “The least they could’ve done is return them to me. Didn’t have to throw them out.” 

Alec, however, finds it difficult to be amused by the story, even now. “Doesn’t it bother you? That that’s how some Shadowhunters see you? Not just you, but all of the Downworlders?” It’s something that’s bothered Alec more and more ever since he saw the sort of reception Magnus got for the brief period he stayed at the Institute with him. Of course Alec isn’t naive enough to think the bias is gone, that people would change their minds overnight just because the Head of the Institute was with a Downworlder, but… he expects more than what he got. He expects better. Magnus deserves better. 

“Of course it does, Alexander. But there are some people so stuck in their antiquated ways that they’ll never change, not for you, and certainly not for me. If I worried about everyone with an unfavorable opinion of me then I wouldn’t have any energy left for the people actually worth my time and effort. People like you.” 

Alec relaxes a little at that. 

“I wasn’t so sure I’d be one of those people when the first time I saw you at Pandemonium ended with you fleeing through a Portal,” Alec admits. 

---

Alec, age 24

Alec keeps an eye on Jace and Clary… and Magnus. It’s the closest he’s been in years, not trusting his own instinctive reactions enough to dare come to the club on his own. Magnus is so much more attractive in person, and the guilt that wells up inside of him at the simple observation is nearly enough to drown under. 

He doesn’t have long to dwell on it before a Circle member sneaks up behind Magnus and Alec takes him out with one well-aimed shot from his arrow, careful to avoid eye contact with Magnus as he walks by him to retrieve his arrow and scan the crowded room for other attackers. He has a job to do, he can’t allow his emotions to distract him.  

 “Who are you?” Magnus asks out loud, unaware that a few recently activated runes allows Alec to hear the words over the thump of the music even at this distance. Alec has to fight against the shiver of anticipation that runs down his spine in that moment. 

Because Magnus Bane may not know who he is -  not yet - but Alec certainly knows who he is. How do you explain to someone you just met that they’ve held your interest for years? Short answer: you don’t. 

Alec focuses on his arrow, on the Circle member, and by the time he turns back around Magnus is gone and Alec’s following Jace, Clary, and Izzy out of the club without looking back.

Alec doesn’t miss his chance the next time they meet, not long after and under strangely similar circumstances.

“Well done,” Alec says, allowing his bow to drop slowly once he’s certain his arrow hit its mark. His shot is followed quickly by a blast of blue magic which renders the circle member unconscious. Alec looks away from Magnus, aware of how long he’s waited for this moment: their first meeting. Just to be in the same room as him-- 

“More like medium rare,” Magnus says, and Alec’s thankful he’s looking away because he doesn’t know what he’d do if his first proper interaction with Magnus Bane is for him to catch Alec rolling his eyes at the pun. 

It isn’t long before Magnus makes his way across the room and into Alec’s space. “I’m Magnus, I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced?” 

“Alec.” He smiles. The only thing he can think is that the photos and faraway glances didn’t do justice to even half of Magnus’ beauty. And then he realizes he’s staring, smiling like some dopey schoolboy, and he can’t seem to make his mouth stop grinning. “Um, we uh, should really, uh, probably get, you know…” 

Alec silently prays to the Angel for the ground to open him up and swallow him whole, which would be far less excruciating than his fumbling. Magnus, to his credit, doesn’t seem deterred. “Right. We should join the party,” Magnus agrees, finishing his thought for him. 

And the rest? Well, the rest is history. Their history. 

---

Present Day

As he finishes recounting the impact Magnus had on his life before they even met, Alec’s face is a little flush despite the cool autumn air; whether it’s from the tinge of embarrassment over the story he kept to himself for so long or the alcohol (which he blames for blurting all of that out) finally starting to get to him he can’t tell. 

“Alexander…” Magnus says, voice soft and eyes full of an emotion that Alec can’t quite place at first. “I had no clue-” 

“Of course you didn’t,” Alec says with a soft laugh. “You had no way of knowing. Honestly, I never even planned on telling you. But that’s what made it so easy for me to trust you from the very start - I knew you were a good person before I even met you. It wasn’t just that I always dreamed of meeting someone like you… I just always dreamed of meeting you.” Alec takes a deep breath. “But do you know what finally made it sink in that it didn’t have to be just a dream?” 

Magnus doesn’t ask what, he doesn’t have to. The curiosity is written all over his face and he remains silent, giving Alec the time to finish his story at his own pace. 

“The day we tried to get Clary’s memories back, when I ruined the summoning circle. You told me I didn’t have anything to be ashamed of,” Alec’s voice is quiet now. “It was the first time I had the hope that that might be true. That there might be one person out there who wouldn’t look at me, at what I wanted or who I wanted, and only see something that needed to be hidden.” 

Magnus reaches across and takes his hand. “I’m glad you listened.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t give up on me,” Alec admits. “I didn’t exactly make it easy on you.” 

But Magnus shakes his head. “All my life, the only times Shadowhunters were willing to give me a chance were when they needed something from me: a deal, or a favor. You aren’t the first to see that file and form a judgement, but you’re one of the first to look beyond it. To see me as a person, and not just someone with something to offer.” Magnus smiles again. “It seems to me, Alexander, that you didn’t give up on me, either.” 

Alec thinks about that for a moment and nods, and then turns and grabs his glass of wine. “To not giving up on each other, then” he offers. 

Magnus mirrors the motion, glass meeting glass in the space between them on the sofa. “To never giving up on each other.” 

They drink, and Magnus shifts to lean back against Alec, Alec’s hand moving up to brush through his husband’s hair. The last thing Alec thinks as they drift off to sleep on the sofa, Magnus first and Alec close behind, is how nice it is to go from never dreaming he’d have someone like Magnus in his life to dreaming about Magnus every time he closes his eyes, no longer ashamed of the love he deserves.

[sol-futura-est]

When I finally step into my room, I unlace my shoes, undo my jumpsuit, and strip almost naked, save for my boxers. On my desk, besides the dim lamp, is at least four or five stacks of journals, most unread, organized from the formation of the first republic, to the modern era, but I only read about the recent wars more closely. I had returned all but a few of the ones of the beginning. What was open and waiting was Lawrence di Firenze’s account of his movement from Mesopotamia to Saint Petersburg, after fighting numerous skirmishes and enlisting the help of men on the path, he defied the orders of the senate and abandoned a quiet sector in favor of facing the fire, predicting the enemy’s advances as if he knew them more than anyone else. When he arrived to relieve his brother, and routing the siege, he was widely considered by people from east and west to be more than a mere tribune, but a hero worth talking about.

"Today marks the first of February, 2236. I’ve personally, let alone commanded the death of, killed so many of these machines and zealots that I’m beginning to view this war as something eternal, something worth finishing sooner than later. Araasi, the elected chief of the armies and political mastermind of the Svarogovist war machine, has laid siege to the great city of Petrograd, Saint Petersburg, Leningrad, whichever you prefer. As I already made clear to the senate, and the consul, he intends to take the city for the rail lines and airstrips that tie it to the rest of Eastern Europe and north into Finland and Scandinavia. I was ridiculed. I was told he would be stupid to challenge my brothers forces to open combat while entrenched in the city, and that I should take my horsemen and my commandos to greater effect in waiting for another attack from the Caspian Sea, or a new set of tunnels in northern Persia to burst. Despite my track record, despite my national appeal, from Mongols, Sikhs, Latins, Intermarians, even among my auxiliaries from even farther parts of the world, the senate, a handful of men, refuse.

It’s too bad I’m already here, on the banks of the sea to the west, encamped, ready to give the order to advance across the south and give my brother some relief. My chief lieutenant, my divisional legate, is still young. His aptitude is unquestionable, but he’s deeply afraid, almost embarrassingly so. He insists that I’m insane for using my horsemen like I do. I always ask him who won at Sinjar, in Central Asia, or even further back, in Kunduz, or Khalistan. Every time he just shudders, calls me old fashioned. I always tell him that it isn’t the implement, it’s the organization, it’s the application, the details. He insists that my ways will get me killed. In my eyes, this is why I’ve been so successful. Twenty years ago, my adoption and adaptation of coursers was laughed at, until we pushed Araasi’s predecessor into battle and killed him. For the first time in three hundred years, horsemen marched on city streets as heroes. My brother was amazed. He even told me before we deployed that his power armor would be the new knights of old, that I could not be in the spotlight as he hoped. After, it was as if he was seeing horses for the first time. Part of me wishes it was him, that the future, the grand spectacle of old books, where man fought different enemies, with suits of steel powered by space age technology. Little did I know we still used rifles and bows and lances, swords, knives, we even fought in hand to hand ambushes. Those were grand times.

Araasi still has us outnumbered two to one. Most of his other forces are south of us, dealing with Roland in the Caucasus, and the Sikhs further still.  All I have to stop is this one individual, and when this front collapses, I can end the war completely. If I end it, that’s just gonna exacerbate what certain voices are already shouting in the west.

It isn’t just youths who want me to take the mantle of dictator for some time, but even a lot of the men and women my age. Rumors that the senate gamed things after the first war, and allowed this one to happen, and my zeal against the enemy, it all makes these folks wish I was the one making decisions, not men who once upon a time were my peers. 

These dreams of mine are always alight with the same scene. I’m charging headlong through a valley of fire, against frightened machines, mutilated and disformed men, lowering my rifle and gunning them down. But I can see my horse and myself alight, in golden flame, as if the sunlight was pouring out of me. I can feel the horse galloping fast, the thrusting push of my rifle, even the fear through the air from the demons in front me. 

But it goes black suddenly, and I can’t wake up for a few moments. When I wake up, I feel as if the fire had only just gone out, as if Sol was trying to tell me something, but I cannot be sure. I want to believe that his is truly with me, that he was there when my father crossed the alps to take Bern, I want to believe not only that the republic is chosen, but many men themselves, but should I be afraid?"

Almost abruptly, the entry closes. Two weeks later he enclosed Araasi on a field and both of them died in the ensuing battle. Lawrence was found and carried out, Araasi was apparently either mutilated or simply drug back to the underground cities, entombed in whatever strange way they did things.

Specifically, it was this tale that caught my thoughts in moments like this. Two weeks after he penned this, he died. More than that, I know nothing of the man’s ripples in the lake of what remained. My body shivered trying to imagine what that battle was like, how it ensued beyond the tide of time, how the memory that existed on paper was so that the memories of those that adored him could feel his heartbeat through the letters. When I folded the tome and set it down again, next to one of Tarquin’s journals from the first war, I remembered reading it for the first time seven years ago, slowly, each night when one page became ten, ten became twenty or thirty. Mortimer told me once when there was a book or a movie the owners of this place didn’t want a fighter to see in his possession, that he got sent to a mining colony in the Urals. One of the few mandated by the senate, but operated by what used to be Svarogovist refugees. Those were my bedtime horror stories. Mortimer let his hate sew into me from youth on. When I’m stuck here, I can’t know if that’s true.

If the night was going to last forever, I might stay up, read more, but there’s not much reason to. Tomorrow always comes. When I slip under the thin blanket on my bed, I drift closer and closer to sleep as the dim lamp lights my desk, but not revealing the far off corner I was in. Each ride of the waves as they came onto me dragged me into the current, until suddenly…

Stop.

I know it’s a dream, but when I open my eyes again, I’m no longer in the arena, and somehow, I know I’m no longer in Karelia. When I stand, My feet are buried in flowing grass, and my ears can hear the faint whistle of the draft wrapping around me, and in front of me is emptiness, as far as I can see. All there are is rolling hills, the same I have seen every so often in my dreams. If I do dream, it’s lucid, just like this, just as if I can see and feel every little thing in some far off place I’ve never been to. The sun is always at dawn, gleaming rays striking firm into an endless horizon beyond the human imagination, a light that always inflicts on you the fury of comfort, of confidence. Nothing here can hurt you, nothing here is imperfect. Sparse trees and shrubs, hills that come in waves, glimmering dew, glistening blue sky, it all comes together to paint one picture, serene, perfect. Mountains afar stand taller than the ones here in Karelia, and faintly, from the north, is the smell of the ocean, riding the wind. Urban stench, sound, and surefound idiocy are gone. This isolation, the temporal, spiritual, physical isolation is not uncommon to me, but my own life, and I thrive within the quiet moments, where all that is left is to either think or lie down and breathe.

The first time I heard of a dream, I didn’t know what it was. When I found out that Mortimer knew I had dreams, he regrettably mentioned he knew nothing of the dreams I had. When I pried as a young kid, all he could do was shrug, and I came to think there was a local rarity within myself. When I found myself dreaming more than twice a week, I heard comments from the legionnaires, within their own conversations, and I’ve figured out that my dreams weren’t common, but still rare. I got lucky that day hearing that conversation; it helped me not be so afraid of being alone here. At first, all I could do was hope the shadows around trees were the light dancing. Eventually all I learned was that fear is a beast that starves without your hand to feed it, and this world was nobody’s but mine. In domineering it, I domineered the one part I could control.

When all you hear is the wind whipping, every little noise becomes another sound against the background, water running, grass flowing, trees groaning and twisting, and eventually, your own heart becomes an addition to the symphony. I didn’t want anything here. I never wanted more than this, but in my heart, I was curious for more. Every nagging thought, asking if this is all life is, was at times too much. Those nights I would wake up, pace my room, maybe even exhaust myself with two or three hundred push ups until the pain distracted me, and when I finally slept, my eyes simply stared at the absence. Every time I woke, rested or not, I went about my day.

But the questions would stay for night after night until the quiet of my mind returned, and when I finally went back to the dream, to the rolling hills I now sit in, encapsulated by walls of granite on one end, and the endless ocean on another. Each air into my lungs was rhythmic, patterned, as if I was breathing with the earth, with the wind, and no longer was I so detached for a few moments. Even as the hours drew on, the dawn never rose to the day, and the dew never rose up. 

Soon enough, my visage faded more and more, as if there was a great weight on me, and just as it began, my eyes shut.

Stop.

[shit-she-wrote]

Genre: Crime

Summary: An elder woman enjoys a splendid morning in her house. Her husband, however, is unusually quiet.

Word count: 1954

Content warning: murder, blood, death

Author���s note: Another prompt-fill for a Reedsy contest (with Agatha Christie inspired prompts, I really couldn’t resist!) a while ago and y’all, I had so much fun writing this!!! Also a big shoutout to all the lovely fellow writers on my favorite writing discord that were cheering me on – if you see this, y’all really motivated me to write this, thank you so much!!! Enjoy reading this! :D

(also, if anyone would be so kind as to by me a coffee on kofi for my work, it would be greatly appreciated 😅💗)

Barely Alive

a short story

For the first time in quite a while, Mrs. Merlyn Marble wakes up with a smile on her face. What a beautiful morning, she thinks, quiet and peaceful and fresh. A breeze of morning air is coming through her open window and she half sits up, regarding the curtains in their slow morning dance against it. Getting up, she crosses the room to catch a glimpse of the view from her bedroom, for the day outside was truly something to behold. Her garden blooming with spring flowers, her grass greener than green, and the slow-paced stream of the River Eye right beneath her window alight with a silver sparkle of the grey skies.

She puts on a morning robe and ties her gray curls into a low bun before heading downstairs. She stops in the living room for a second, determined to tidy it up a bit, just to make it as pleasant as she feels. She rearranges the pillows on the sofa, places the remote control by the television, pushes the big vase on the cupboard just a little to the left to have it right in the center. To top it all off, she even turns on the old gramophone, switching her husband’s favorite record for her own, and she hums along to the evergreen songs of Ella Fitzgerald as she is finally satisfied with the way her living room looks. Her husband isn’t going to like it one bit, especially not the new pillow arrangement and the fact that he will have to get up to get the remote, but today Merlyn hardly cares about his possible complaints.

Speaking of her husband, she finds him in the dining room, still sat at the same spot as last night.

“Good Heavens, Joseph,” she playfully berates him. “Did you even move since last night? You look like you haven’t slept a wink.”

Joseph Marble very pointedly doesn’t answer her. Alright, so maybe he is still a bit sour about their fight at dinner. Nonetheless, Merlyn isn’t going to let him spoil her pleasant mood with his stubborn antics.

Putting on the kettle, she hums along to the sweet music coming from the living room, as she rearranges the boxes of tea before picking a bag from her favorite brand, then a bag of her husband’s favorite for him. Maybe they have had some disagreements last night, but she isn’t going to be too petty to make him a cuppa because of it.

Glancing out of the window, she notices the postman approaching their house. Oh, Charles! He is always so delightful when it comes to exchanging pleasantries. She rushes to the door to greet him, smiling brightly.

“Oh, Mrs. Marble, good morning!” he calls to her when he sees her stepping outside and carries the mail straight to her instead of placing it into the mailbox.

“Merlyn, Charles, please. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Yes, yes, of course, apologies. How are you doing today?”

“Oh, quite well, thank you! It’s such a beautiful day today, isn’t it?” Merlyn exclaims. “Joseph and I were just fixing to start breakfast. Care to join us? For a cup of tea at least.”

“No, no, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Charles chuckles and starts rummaging around his satchel. “Besides, the new issue of Lower Slaughter Gazette came today. Joseph was telling me just last week how you keep your nose buried inside their crossword puzzle section whenever you get your hands on it.”

“And the day gets better!” Merlyn cries gleefully as she accepts the local newspaper. “Thank you, Charles. Have a nice day.”

He leaves just as she hears the kettle whistling. Of course, Joseph doesn’t care to take it off the stove, she has to do everything herself.

“One or two sugars, darling?” she calls out to him. No answer. Very well. One sugar, then. He has to watch his blood pressure, anyway. She sets his cup of tea in front of him and hers by the newspaper. She cuts up a few loaves of bread and sets it on the table along with some butter and her cousin’s homemade strawberry jam, which she usually saves for truly outstanding days.

“Oh, the Mill Museum is getting renewed, that’s nice,” she mutters around her cup of tea. “Don’t you think it’s nice, dear?”

She flips through the pages, glancing idly at the titles, and stops at the obituaries.

“Oh, dear,” she says remorsefully. “Gilbert Blight has passed away two days ago. What a shame. He’s always reminded me of you, you know? A bit rough around the edges, but quite sweet when he wanted to be. And now he’s dead, just like that. We’ll have to attend the funeral, of course. Tomorrow afternoon, at three o’clock. Oh, and those poor children of his! I’ll have to ask if there is anything I can do.”

She puts the newspaper down to spread butter and jam on her slice of bread.

“I’m surprised how long you’re keeping up with the silent treatment, Joseph. I’m just talking to myself at this point. You usually have a snide remark to go with everything I am saying. Am I not rambling on too much today?” She pauses, waiting for an answer as she bites into her breakfast. “Well? Nothing? Hm. You know, this just proves my exact point last night. But I’m not getting back into that. Let’s just have a nice, silent breakfast.”

And silent it is, for the next ten minutes. Joseph doesn’t touch his food, nor does he drink the tea before it gets cold, but Merlyn lets him sulk in peace. They have said everything that needed to be said last night, no need to drag it all on forever. At least she can look past her anger to have a lovely breakfast and enjoy a morning as nice as this one.

She flips over to the end of the newspaper where her beloved crossword puzzle is waiting, gloriously blank and absolutely perfect for a morning such as this one. Ella Fitzgerald is still playing in the background – it’s almost odd to hear it, having grown used to the perfect silence that Joseph has always demanded at breakfast. But Joseph doesn’t seem to mind it this morning and it makes Merlyn happy to finally enjoy this simple pleasure.

“Hm, what was that actor’s name again? Grant something, four letters … Hugh!” Victoriously, she writes the name down. “Oh, and that makes for a … murder … of crows, across.”

Usually, Joseph would already start complaining about her annoying habit of thinking out loud. Just as he would complain about the music and the rearrangements in the living room, and about his tea not being sweet enough.

“You know,” Merlyn ponders aloud, “I quite like this new you. The strong and silent type, who opts to suffer in silence rather than just complain about everything that’s bothering him. This silent treatment isn’t so bad. In fact, I’m wondering why we haven’t had last night’s argument sooner.”

She takes another sip of her tea and adds another word to the crossword.

“Well, I suppose this is not even that different from any other time. You never really enjoyed talking to me, did you?” She discloses the statement in a half-whisper as if it were an unspoken secret between them. “It makes me wonder sometimes, why you even married me at all, a chatterbox you didn’t care for. Because you never actually cared for me, did you? Not enough for us to have any children that I have always wanted, anyway. Not enough for you to even notice when I’ve dyed my hair a different color. At some point, I even stopped dying my hair altogether and your only comment was that I suddenly looked older than before.”

Even after such an earnest speech, not a single word of protest comes from Joseph. She is almost delighted to be finally saying this to his face, even if thirty-four years too late.

“I don’t even think you noticed how miserable I was, not really. You were too wrapped in your own misery to think of my own, weren’t you?” Turning her attention back to the crossword, she almost laughed at the irony of the next clue. “Would you look at that, Joseph. End of marriage, seven letters across. Do you have any guesses? Of course you don’t. Had you ever thought of the word divorce, we wouldn’t be in this mess now. It’s kind of lucky I thought of another word that is just as effective, wouldn’t you agree?”

Still smiling, she looks up at him and beams at what she sees. Her dear husband, Joseph Marble, whom she had promised to love until death did them part, is half crouched in his chair, sickly pale and unmoving. His glassy eyes are staring into empty space before him and he no longer needs to blink, nor close his hung-open jaw. His shirt is painted red-brown with the dried stain of blood that spread from the wound in his chest, right where Merlyn had rammed the kitchen knife into his chest last night and left it there. She is going to need to take it back and clean it by lunchtime, of course, it would be a nightmare cutting up the vegetables with any other knife. But for now, it looked quite nice with the blade stuck inside of Joseph’s torso.

“So? You’re still not going to say anything?” she taunts him, almost mercilessly. “Well, you can’t really be this bitter about me killing you. Let’s be honest, you’ve barely been alive for most of our marriage, anyways.”

Sighing, she regards him for a moment. He looks unreal, like a disgusting puppet set up clumsily in a chair. Some of the blood has sprayed the table, she will have to clean that up. She always had to clean up after his own messes. But it’s not like he can lift a finger to help her with household chores now. What a perfect excuse to sit around all day death has given him.

“So, what am I going to do with you now?” she asks him, leaning her head a little to the side to catch his empty stare. “I can’t just bury you out there in the garden. Whatever will the neighbors think? And I can’t move you to the basement, you’re far too heavy and I am no longer as young and spry as I once was. I must say, this is the one consequence of mariticide I hadn’t thought of.”

Joseph, bless his soul, remains compassionately silent. She really doesn’t need him telling her how stupid she is for not planning ahead.

“Well, I suppose you can stay here for a few more days until I think of something,” she decides after a brief consideration. “It’s not like we’re expecting any company soon. And I can open up some windows when you start to smell.”

She sets the crossword down for a moment to clean the table after breakfast and pours herself some more tea. Sitting back down, she looks at the deadman across from her and helplessly allows another giddy smile to spread across her face.

“So, do you have any plans for today? Anything that needs doing?” She is met by blessed silence. “No? Well, then I am sure you’ll be more than excited to hear all about my plans for today and for the rest of the week. Just stop me if you feel like I’m talking too much.”

Joseph simply sits there, eyes open and unblinking, chest bloody and unmoving. He has never been such a great listener as he is now.

[limitededitionsanderssidesblog]

Love Like You - Chapter 1/2

Ships: Anxceit, Logicality

Summary: Now thirty years old, Virgil has given up on romance and love and, at the suggestion of his friends, instead turns to adoption as the only means fill the hole in his heart, only to realize that he's not yet ready to be a father either. However, he's found himself growing attached to a pair of orphaned brothers and the man who watches over them. 

Chapter 2

AO3 - Here

Since no seems to be writing wholesome anxceit fics, I decided to take it into my own hands.

-

With his thirtieth birthday one day away, Virgil has since given up on ever finding the love of his life. Oh sure, there had been a boyfriend here or there over the years, but each and every one of his relationships always came to an end. His best friend and coworker at the local public library, Logan, told him that it was estimated that most people in the state of Florida got married at the age of twenty-nine, so Virgil held onto hope that he’d met his special someone before then.

In hindsight, he should have realized that that estimate was for people who weren’t an anxious mess that pushed people away the moment any intimate action was enacted.

That meant that the years of his mid and late twenties passed in a flash of loneliness and disappointment, with no partner or happy ending to show for it. The worst part of it all was probably not the fact he was going to die an old maid, but rather that his nagging, albeit accepting, mother would never let him live it down. Virgil was her only child, and it was a miracle she even had him considering her condition, so he knew that no matter what he’d have her love. That didn’t mean he was free from her constant questioning as to when he was going to bring home a man.

He envied Logan sometimes, he and his boyfriend Patton, another good friend of his, had been together for a little over two years now and were virtually inseparable. Virgil loved the two of them, but sometimes seeing them act like a picture-perfect couple from a marriage poster made him want to go jump out the nearest window and hiss at them until his throat ran dry from dehydration and spite.

Virgil couldn’t do that right now though, because he desperately needed their help on what in the world to do about his situation. 

Currently, he sat with his two best, and only, friends at their favorite diner. He and Logan had just closed up the library an hour ago, while Patton worked as an assistant at an Elementary school and got off a few hours ago. The two were again acting disgustingly cute and perfect, causing Virgil to stab a little more forcefully at his food than necessary.

“Are you sure it’s that big of a deal, Virge? I know tons of people who are dating in their thirties, and even older than that!” Patton told him reassuringly, trying to give solace that he wouldn’t take.

“Of course it is! Most of those relationships end up breaking up anyway. I’m literally one day away from being off the market forever and being alone for the rest of my life, I gotta do something!” Virgil shoving his face with comfort food to avoid a public meltdown.

“Hm, well have you thought of other alternatives to romantic love?” Logan asked from across the booth, sipping on a cup of hot tea.

“I’m not gonna do it with random dudes to feel better, Lo.” Virgil deadpanned, his face contorting with a look of disgust.

“No, I mean something like familial love.” He clarified, setting his cup down on the table and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps you’d feel a different type of fulfillment if you adopted a child.” He said as if it were perfectly normal to suggest and not at all life-changing.

“Wait, Logan, hold on-”

“Great idea Logan!” Patton chimed in excitedly, “Oh you’ll love the little ones, Virge, they’re so adorable and funny.”

“Pat, that’s not-”

“Not to mention distracting. You’ll hardly notice your lack of an intimate relationship if you're taking care of a child.” Logan added bluntly, slightly stinging Virgil’s nonexistent ego.

“Would you guys just-”

“Ah! We’re gonna be uncles! I can’t wait until they get here!” Patton rambled, cupping his face as he started to drift off into dreamland, imaging whatever kid the two were trying to push onto him.

Realizing that the couple wasn’t going to stop to give him a turn to speak any time soon, Virgil quickly slammed his hands on the table, softly, to not anger the diner staff, and stood from his seat to gain their attention.

“Who said that I wanted to be a father?” Virgil shouted, slightly louder than he had meant. A few other patients of the diner turned to look at them, but Virgil kept his eyes on his friend and tried to keep his embarrassed blush down to a minimum.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to Virgil, it was a mere suggestion,” Logan said, adjusting himself in his seat.

“Yeah, well it felt more like a decision.” Virgil fell back into his seat, pouting.

“Kiddo, it’s okay if you’re not ready, or if you don’t want to at all. But maybe bringing in a little bundle will add new meaning to your life.” Patton said warmly in his ‘dad’ voice, “If you’d like, I can go with you to the local adoption agency where I volunteer to go play with the kids. Maybe that will help?”

Virgil sat silent for a moment with his arms crossed, staring out the window to watch the cars go by on the city street. Tonight had not gone as he had expected it to, he had simply wanted to complain about his loveless life and chug down bowls of ice cream until midnight with his friends. Yet, now he was faced with a new decision in his life that would drastically alter it. While Virgil didn’t necessarily dislike kids, he just hadn’t ever pictured himself with one. Sure, he used to babysit the neighborhood kids to make extra money when he was in high school, but they were someone else’s and he got to give them back when the day was done. If he were to adopt, they’d be his and his alone. It would be his responsibility to feed them, clothe them, house them, and overall care for them.

Although, when he thought about it, it may be nice to go home to a condo that wasn’t quiet and instead filled with childish laughter. He’d have someone to spoil and treat out to meals, and also the perfect excuse to go see the latest Disney movie without feeling like a weirdo. Perhaps, being a dad would be a good thing.

“Fine, we go tomorrow at noon.” Virgil gave in with a deep sigh. A bright and cheery smile then burst onto Patton’s face, while Logan simply gave a knowing grin. “B-but that’s it, I’m just gonna play with the kids!”

Patton laughed kindheartedly and Logan gave him a small humored huff. They both knew Virgil got easily attached, it was part of the reason he chased away every single man that came near him. Because despite all his moaning about wanting a significant other and blaming his crippling old age for why he didn’t have one, it was his actually his own guilt with Matthew that kept him from ever fully committing to another relationship. All he needed was to gain a bit more confidence, and a child may just be what the doctor ordered. 

-

The next day found Virgil standing anxiously outside the Stork Agency building alone as he waited for Patton to arrive. They had both agreed to be there at twelve, but Virgil didn’t want to risk arriving late, so he had come thirty minutes early just in case there was an unforeseen increase in traffic, an accident on the road, or anything else that might happen that would cause him to make Patton wait for him. Except now he was just awkwardly waiting outside an adoption agency looking like a complete creep. Virgil wanted to just be swallowed up by the ground and be taken away from this awkward situation, but thankfully Patton had arrived just in time to save him from his inner turmoil.

“Hey, Virge, Happy birthday! Am I late?” He asked as he closed the door to his car and ran over to where he stood on the sidewalk.

“Nah, you’re all good, and thanks,” Virgil said with a shrug and a grin.

Now that they had met up together there, the pair walked together to the front of the agency, Virgil a step behind. The agency’s building itself was small and looked like an older house. The Stork Agency was known in their city for being a place where fosters often went, actual adoption didn’t happen all too often with the children there. According to the stories, most of the children there had all come from harsh backgrounds, whether it be deceased parents or rescue from abusive households. The majority of hopeful parents looking to adopt wanted children from happier backgrounds, or wanted the child from birth, so the Stork Agency wasn’t the most funded adoption agency around, but they made do with government aid. 

Patton, bless his heart, was inspired to volunteer here because of the children’s unfortunate situation and had been helping out the owner on his days off for the past year. He and Logan both would hear plenty of stories about the silly shenanigans the children got into there, and even a few stories of the owner getting pranked on. If he remembered correctly, the guy’s name was Dexter and he was in his mid-thirties, running the agency with only a handful of helpers. That kind of life sounded extremely stress-ridden to Virgil, he couldn’t fathom how the guy managed.

Walking up the porch steps to the house, Patton reached into his pocket to pull out his key to let them inside. Doubt and unrest began to flood his nerves. I’m just here to play with the kids, He reminded himself in an attempt to calm himself down, I don’t know if I want to adopt yet, I’m just going to play.

“Knock knock! Guess who’s here?” Patton announced his arrival cheerfully once they walked in. 

Virgil closed the door behind them and gingerly took a look around the place. It wasn’t dark, dreary, or full of cobwebs, in fact, the living room was painted a happy yellow color, the furniture was slightly frayed, but not horribly so, and the shelves and walls were decorated with neat little trinkets and paintings. Overall, the house looked rather homey.

The second Patton called out a chorus of cheers sounded from the other room and at least four small children came running in and surrounded them, screaming Patton’s name joyfully. Patton grinned and greeted each one of them at a time and introduced them to Virgil. The children then turned their curious eyes onto Virgil, looking at him with expectant and hopeful eyes. Virgil knew the intent behind them, they all were expecting him to choose one of them to adopt today. If his life were a videogame, he’d unlock an achievement for feeling peer pressured and cornered by small children.

Virgil suddenly felt significantly less comfortable being there, with four bright-eyed and bushy-tailed three to five-year-olds all gazing up at him and circling him almost like miniature vultures, he amazed himself that it had only taken a grand total of forty-eight seconds for him to be trapped by toddlers.

Maybe I’m not actually ready for this.

“Damn it, Remus! Get back here right this instant!” A sudden yell came from the room where the children had come out a minute before, causing Virgil to flinch slightly and look up in confusion and foreboding.

Following that commanding shout, a little brown-haired boy, around perhaps ten years old, came bolting out into the living room, a large smile on his face and a bowl of spaghetti on his head. A tall, older man ran fast on his heels and chased after him into the now crowded space. The boy, Remus apparently, ran and jumped over furniture, leaving drips of tomato sauce in his wake, and found a hiding place right behind Virgil. The man chasing after the kid slowed to a stop once he reached him, finally noticing the stranger in the room.

Now that he was no longer running around Virgil was able to get a good look at the man’s face. It was nice, long, with sharp edges and cheekbones. His eyes were a soft yellowish auburn brown color that reminded him of caramel. His hair was short and neat and a simple light brown, on anyone else it would look plain, but on him it was elegant. There was a patch of different colored skin on the left side of his face, but that seemed to only add to his charm.

Virgil felt like a potato sack in the presence of such a gorgeous looking man.

“Uh, sir?” The beautiful man asked, pulling Virgil out from his distracted thoughts.

“Hm? Oh- yes, sorry!” Virgil spluttered out an apology, dropping his head to stare at his feet, realizing that he had just been ogling this guy for who knows how long.

Damn it, he must think I’m a creep. Stop it, Virgil! you’re thirty years old for goodness sake! Now’s not the time for childish pining. He must hate me now. Well, I just ruined my nonexistent chances.

Virgil’s nervous thoughts scrambled in his mind, turning his words to mush and dropping his self-esteem to negative zero. He knew he looked like a wreck and braced himself for the ridicule that was sure to come. However, he wasn’t met with the sound of disgust or cruel comments that he had been expecting, but rather a light and kind sounding chuckle.

“It’s alright, I’m sorry if we interrupted you, mister…” He trailed off, leaving an opportunity for him to introduce himself.

“Oh, uh, Virgil- Virgil Black.”

“Virgil, huh?” He said thoughtfully. Virgil prepared himself again for ridicule but again didn’t receive any. “What a nice name. I’m Dexter Serpente, owner and head caretaker of Stork.” He held a hand out, removing a rubber yellow glove, and offered it. “Nice to meet you.”

He must have just finished washing some dishes.

“Yeah, uh, likewise,” Virgil said and shook his hand, impressed by how surprisingly firm his hands were.

As they were talking and introducing themselves, Remus, who had taken refuge behind him, had begun to creep out in an attempt to make his escape. Dexter caught on fast to his little scheme, however, and quickly grabbed his shoulder as he tried to run by.

“Ah, ah, ah, not so fast young man.” He tutted and turn to the boy, taking the bowl of spaghetti from his head and set it down on the nearby coffee table so that he could clean out his hair.

“No fair! You took away my crown!” Remus complained, squirming in the adult’s grasp.

“Remus I told you before, being duke of spaghetti does not mean you get to put your lunch in your hair.”

“Yes, it does! Roman gets to have a crown of his own, why can’t I?”

“Because his crown is made of paper.” Dexter sighed, plucking the last noodle off his head. Running his gloved hand through the boy’s hair, Dexter picked up the bowl from the table and then turned to Patton, a look of relief flooding over his face. “Patton, would you mind taking Remus to the bathroom to clean up? I have to make sure the others finish their lunch.”

“Of course!” Patton smiled, leaving Virgil’s side with an encouraging pat on the back before walking over to Remus and leading him away up the flight of creaking stairs to the right of the entryway. 

“I’m sorry about all that, would you like to have a seat while I finish up in the kitchen? Or would you rather spend some time with the kids?” Dexter inquired, shooing the smaller children to the room they were in before.

“Oh, no no, I’m not- I mean I am, uh, I’m-” Virgil stuttered wildly, trying to find the words to convey that he had come with the idea of adopting, but wanted to back out after realizing that he wasn’t as ready as he thought he was.

Dexter, on the other hand, appeared to understand him immediately and held up a hand to stop his rambling.

“It’s okay, trust me, a lot of people have second thoughts.” He said kindly with no ill intent, even so, it still stung Virgil.

“I’m sorry.” Virgil apologized, turning his head away in shame.

“Don’t be, fostering is hard work, it’s okay if you need time.” 

Oh, he doesn’t know. Virgil realized in his head, Dexter had thought that he had just been looking to foster, not adopt. He relaxed a little knowing that, yet another part of him felt slightly saddened. Does he think I can’t handle adopting?

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, visiting hours end at five though. Five of our kids are in school at the moment, but you’ll be able to meet them later if you stay.” The man offered, 

“I don’t know...” Virgil said uneasily, shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet and twiddling his thumbs in the pockets of his hoodie. It may not be such a good idea to stay any longer, he’d only be raising the children’s hopes if he did.

Dexter watched him and discerned what he meant, he let out a small breath but still gave him a forgiving smile. Virgil could tell that he had disappointed the man though and that in itself stung.

“I understand,” he asserted, nodding his head, “I have to go finish with lunch, but it was nice meeting you, Mr. Black.” He said with a small wave.

“You too.” Virgil raised his hand to wave back, but the other had already turned and walked away, “Bye…”

Damn it, why am I like this?

Virgil groaned loudly and hung his head in defeat, stepping over to and falling down onto the beige, loveseat couch to the left side of him, shoving his face into his palms. He knew coming here wouldn’t be a good idea, he’s not good parent material and he never will be. The only thing this visit accomplished was raising many people’s hopes only to not come through in the end. Exactly what had Logan and Patton been thinking when they suggested he do something such as this?

I’m gonna die alone, aren’t I? I can’t adopt, I’m not fit to do so. I can’t get a boyfriend either. All of my relationships end in failure. I shouldn’t even try anymore. Nothing will change, I’m gonna be an anxious mess forever. I’m too old for this.

The abrupt sound of rapid footfalls down the stairs quickly yanked Virgil back into the waking world. Looking over his shoulder, he noticed Patton heading down the old oak staircase, appearing to be in a rush, and jumped up to meet him.

“Well, I gotta go, I only managed to get the morning off on such short notice,” Patton told him, taking off a damp apron and pulling on the coat that he had been holding in his arms. Virgil stood off to the side a ways away from him, looking somber. In his flurry of action, Patton caught Virgil’s gaze momentarily and immediately stopped everything he was doing. “What’s wrong, Virge?”

“I don’t think I can do this, Pat.” Virgil confided, hanging his shoulders feebly.

“Sure you can! You love kids, you’re fun to hang out with, and you’re responsible!” Patton said encouragingly, taking a seat on the couch next to him and putting an arm around his shoulders. “But I’ve never had to deal with a kid for more than one day at a time. The kids here are all looking for someone to be their parent. They’d probably be disappointed if they got me.” He remarked depressingly.

“Virgil,” He said, tone changing, “I know you don’t believe it, but you are so much more than you make yourself out to be. If you truly don’t want to adopt, then that’s fine, but if the only thing holding you back is yourself, then just remember that these kids have been wanting a parent for years. I don’t think they’re very picky.” He told him, patting him on the back and standing back up, “See you later.”

Virgil grunted out a goodbye and listened as his friend walked away and went out the door before he dropped his face into his hands and let out a large exhale. He knew that Patton was right, as usual, but he just couldn’t bring himself to believe in his words. So Virgil conceded to his doubt and anxiety, but before he could spend too long on his train of self-pity, a sudden heavy weight fell into his lap, dangerously close painville. Virgil jolted upright and looked down to see what had just hit him, only to see a mason jar full of dirt and grass, accompanied by the strange boy from earlier. 

“Here.” Remus said crawling up and sitting on the arm of the couch, resting his small head in Virgil’s lap next to the jar in what looked to be an uncomfortable position for the boy’s back, “You looked sad so I thought it would cheer you up.” 

“Oh, uh, thank you?” Virgil said in puzzlement, not really sure how a jar of dirt was meant to cheer him up.

“Why are you sad? Did a trash goblin eat your family?” The boy asked, eyes twinkling with odd curiosity.

“No, that’s not it.”

“Did your favorite pair of pants catch fire?” He guessed again.

“No.”

“Did an octopus-”

“Remus,” Dexter’s stern voice cut off the boy, “Stop bothering Mr. Black and go finish your lunch before it gets cold.”

“Ugh! Fine snake man.” Remus groaned loudly, slumping off Virgil’s lap and walking away with his head hung back.

The two watched the boy walk off, one in amusement and the other in exasperation. Clearly, Dexter had to deal with this kind of behavior on the daily and had grown dulled to all of his strange oddities.

“Snake man?” Virgil asked with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s a pun of my last name since it means snake.” The other man sighed, putting his, now ungloved, hands in his pants pockets, “You stayed.” He noted.

“I did,” Virgil agreed, not sure why he did, “Ah, he’s really… creative.”

“That is one way to put it.” He huffed, walking over to the armchair across from him and taking a seat. 

“You mentioned earlier that there were some kids at school. Why isn’t he with them?”

“Well, Remus is a special case, he’s only allowed on campus three days a week.”

Virgil frowned at that and looked at where the boy had just exited. A kid his age shouldn’t be restricted from learning because of his personality.

“So… how many kids are here?” Virgil continues,

“Eleven currently, there used to be twelve, but Janice found a foster family three months ago.”

“How long have they been here?”

“It’s different for each kid. Our youngest, Stephen, has been here since he was four months old, although a family is looking into him and he may be leaving soon if the process goes well.” He explained, “Then you have Remus and his twin Roman. They’re almost twelve and have been here since they were two.”

“That’s a long time to be in the system.” Virgil breathed, pitying the boys. You never would have guessed that Remus’s life would have been so rough by how happy he always looked, he wondered how it was for the other twin he hadn’t met yet.

“Well not a lot of parents want twins, and as they grow older the chances of being chosen decrease. Then you have Remus to consider.” Dexter said matter-of-factly, his voice laced with sympathy. 

He could tell that the guardian didn’t mean any spite towards the boy in his words, but he could also see the slightest hint of pain behind his eyes. Virgil wondered to himself what it must have been like to raise them for so long in an orphanage.

“He’s not so bad.” Virgil murmured hushedly, trying to somehow offer his condolences. 

Dexter looked at him for a moment, almost as if he was analyzing him, then looked back off into space with a grin.

“You’d be the first visitor to think so.” He chuckled, Virgil joined him, smiling into his palms. “Where’s your partner, are you going to tell them that you aren’t ready yet?”

The question caught Virgil off guard as he hadn’t been expecting it at all. He guessed that it made sense for most who came here to married couples who couldn’t have children of their own, but the question just shoved the fact that he was still single back into his face.

“No partner to speak of.” Virgil grimaced with a sour face, leaning his elbows onto his knees, closing himself off.

“Really? I’m shocked you haven’t been swept off your feet yet.”

Now Virgil definitely hadn’t expected to hear that, especially from someone of Dexter’s league. There was no way the comment had been meant as a flirt, that was out of the question. It must have been a general statement, after all, it was pretty pathetic for a thirty-year-old to still be single and spending his birthday at an adoption agency.

“I mean, there have been a few guys, but you know how relationships go.”

“Only if they’re assholes. Clearly, you deserve better.” He said gesturing his hand up and down at him. “Bet you have to chase them off with sticks,” Dexter smirked, leaning his body against the arm of his chair and crossing his legs in a way that should be forbidden for mortal eyes to see.

“I- I’m not really, I wouldn’t say-”

Then, by a blessing sent from on high above them, a call from one of the kids in the next room came bursting in, stopping Virgil in his tracks before he could make too much of a fool of himself.

“Dee! Remus is putting olives in his nose again!”

In a flash, Dexter’s cool and collected gusto fell away and was replaced with experienced panic as he instantly jumps up from his armchair to the other room.

“Shit! Sorry I’ll be right back.” He called, backed turned and unable to see the melted puddle Virgil had been reduced to.

A fluke. Virgil told himself, holding his hand to his pounding heart. Surely that had been just a fluke, a joke at best. He didn’t mean anything by it.

Even so, Virgil was on the cusp of having a heart attack all because of one small comment. He had just given up on the possibility of any future relationship, he can’t back down just because one guy appears to be half decent and wildly attractive. Besides, they say the stronger the feelings are at the beginning of a relationship, the harder the fall is. Virgil was not about to set himself up for another disappointment. And, most of all, he didn’t want to be a disappointment.

Warning bells and alarms went off in his head to run, leave this place, and never return, but another, smaller, voice told him to stay. He had come here for the kids after all, and even if he wasn’t ready to adopt or foster, he should at least stay until the others returned from school.

Loud giggles and happy screams vibrated through the house from the other room, accompanied by the sound of a very frustrated Dexter. It drew Virgil out of his pessimistic thoughts with curiosity to what the boy had gotten himself into and brought him to follow after where Dexter and everyone had gone. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight he would see at the doorway. Remus sat on the kitchen counter, nose filled to the brim with olives, while Dexter pulled at the small fruit with tweezers. The whole scene looked both disgusting and hilarious, and Virgil had to cover his mouth with his hand to keep from laughing out loud. 

It seemed as if this happened quite often because it took less than a minute for Dexter to remove them all and Remus was bouncing off the counter in no time. It also didn’t take long for the boy to notice him standing there and came bounding over.

“Racoon man!” He said happily, jumping into his stomach and almost topping them over with the force he came running at.

Raccoon man? I guess I get a nickname too.

“Sorry you had to see that,” Dexter said walking over, wiping his hands on a rag.

“Nah, it’s alright. We all did things when we were young.” Virgil laughed, patting Remus on the head. “Look, I know there isn’t really a reason for me to stay, but maybe I could hang out here for a bit more? Until the others get here, of course.”

A look of surprise flashed across the other man’s face but was quickly taken over by glee.

“Certainly.” He said, welcoming him further into the room with the kids.

The children didn’t get out of school until three, so Virgil had to wait a few hours to meet the four others, but during that time he got to spend it watching the toddlers play, which made the hours go by in minutes with how quickly exhausting it became. Six toddlers, that meant constant screaming, crying, and tantrums. Virgil was a full-grown, thirty-year-old man, yet these children made him want to crawl into a closet and cry. Dexter, on the other hand, handled everything like a champ and didn’t appear fazed at all. Once more Virgil wondered how on Earth the man managed to do everything alone.

Although they were rambunctious for a long while, they did eventually all quiet down after Dexter put on some mind-numbing children’s program and set out snacks in front of all of them. The only one it didn’t satisfy was Remus, who Dexter instead gave a tablet to play games on. Still, Virgil noticed that he would switch from game to game, quickly becoming bored off all of them before returning to an old one or going to a new one.

When the time finally did arrive for the kids to arrive back from school, Virgil was quickly introduced to them all. Virgil was able to tell instantly who Remus’s brother was the second he walked in as they looked exactly like each other. Obviously, because they’re twins. 

Speeding through the introduction, while trying not to look like an inconsiderate ass, Virgil went over Roman and knelt in front of him.

“Sup little dude, what’s your name?” He asked,

“I am Prince Roman Agustus Sanchez of the Stork Household. State your name, peasant.” The boy declared flamboyantly with pride, shocking Virgil with the amount of arrogance of such a small child.

Not only do they look alike, but they also act alike too.

“Roman,” Dexter said warningly, giving the boy a hard look.

“What’s your name… mister?” The boy tried again in a bored voice, head hung low. Virgil frowned slightly at this, he didn’t want him to be a little dick, but he also didn’t want him not to lose his passionate spark, so he tried to speak to him on his level.

“I am Virgil Black, Lord of the Bushnell Library,” Virgil said, with a wide, and slightly sarcastic, bow. Roman perked up at this, no longer looking so glum.

“A lord is lower than a prince, you know that right?” Roman asked him, eyebrow raised.

“Well, I’m not anything special,” Virgil uttered, ignoring the usual sting that always came with how he spoke about himself.

It’s not like I am all that great anyway.

“Okay, enough hanging out in the doorway, how about we all head out to the backyard.” Deceit clapped loudly, shooing the children out down the back hall. The children all filed out, running and shoving, while the twins walked together behind the rest.

Over the course of the day, and even just watching them right now, Virgil noticed that the two didn’t fit in well with the rest of them. Remus got along well with the toddlers because he himself acted like one, but there was still something about him that kept him away from others. Roman, on the other hand, he barely knew, but he could see the stubborn pride the boy had and how he preferred to stick close to his brother. Considering their circumstances of being raised here since such a young age, it was likely they felt like they had no one else but each other.

“They’re good kids,” Virgil commented, watching the two brothers leave.

“I know, all too well.” Dexter agreed, watching them as well. Virgil couldn't help but notice how much of a father he looked like to them rather than a legal guardian, but before he could say anything else, his phone buzzed in his pants. Virgil pulled it out and sighed, realizing that he had the closing shift at the library today. “I guess you have to be going then?”

“Yeah, work. It was, uh, nice to meet you, Mr. Serpente.”

“Dexter,” He corrected, extending a hand forth with a smile, “It was a pleasure.”

Virgil shook his hand, again amazed by how his grip could be so firm, yet so gentle at the same time. Waving goodbye to him, Virgil walked out the door and down the steps. It was strange, he had known them for only a day, yet Virgil felt like he’d miss them, both the twins and Dexter. 

An idea then popped into his head as he walked down the concrete path and he quickly turned around and headed back into the house and through to the backyard where Dexter sat on the grass, watching the kids play, his head snapping up at him as he appeared beside him.

“Actually, you wouldn’t mind if I stopped by next week, would you?”

Dexter’s grin grew wider, and Virgil had to beat away at his feelings with a mental stick to not melt at how adorable it was.

“No, not at all.”

-

One nice thing about working at the public library was that he didn’t have to wake up at six to head to some crappy minimum wage job, instead, he got to wake up at seven to go to a decent, slightly above minimum wage, job. It wasn’t all bad though, he got to read basically any book he wanted to on his breaks or play games on the computers, although that was more of a secret exploit. Plus, with the rise of technology, the internet, and ebooks, Virgil didn’t actually have to deal with that many people than in comparison to his shitty retail and fast food job from back when he was in college. What was even better was the fact that the library closed at eight every day, which meant he never had to work an overnight shift. Although, it did get boring while he was actually on the job. 

Presently, Virgil was tasked with restocking the shelves with the returned books. It was dull and boring, but listening to his typical emo bands through his earbuds help it not be so dreadful. The emo subculture may have died out when he was in high school, but Virgil was too far gone to ever make a change. His wardrobe was so full of black that it was literally impossible for him to wear anything else, except for a few purple items here and there. The library also didn’t require uniforms, although it did have a dress code, so he got to look like a depressing ball of angst as much as he wanted.

A few hours passed by the time he put the last book back into place and returned the cart to the staff room. His task now complete, Virgil looked for something else to do so that he would at least look like a good employee. Megan was currently reading to the children, so that section was taken care of; the computers were being overseen by Jack; Luke and Rosario were on the floor helping visitors; and Logan was handling the front desk, where a line was beginning to form. Quickly, Virgil headed over to one of the tellers and opened up a second line to ease both Logan’s load and the customer's frustration.

“Thank you, Virgil,” Logan said gratefully, checking out the third book from the massive pile he had been handed.

“No prob, bob,” Virgil said back, taking the book from the customer's stretched out hand.

Virgil continued to work alongside Logan until his break arrived and he switched spots with Lillian. Logan took his break along with him and they headed back to the staff room to grab their lunches. Ripping off the lid from his Tupperware Virgil put his container of noodles in the microwave and warmed up last night’s dinner. Logan, on the other hand, had a perfect lunch prepared with all the necessary dietary nutrients the average man needed to stay healthy, at least according to him.

The microwave shouted loudly to announce that his food was now heated and warmed. Virgil opened up the plastic door and took out his food, grabbed his chopsticks, and sat down to eat. It was a simple meal, but it was enough. The two friends sat and ate in silence for a period of time and Virgil was content with leaving it like that, but Logan for some reason decided to change it.

“So, how have your endeavors been with the childcare agency?” He asked, nibbling on a piece of steamed zucchini.

“Good, we’re throwing a goodbye party for little Stephen. His new family just finalized the necessary documents to adopt him.” Virgil answered passively.

“Oh? Good for him.”

“Yeah…”

In truth, it wasn’t much of a party since Stephen was only one and a half and couldn't remember anything. The other children at the house were all going to gift him with hand made cards and then they’d all have a cake bought from the store, which Virgil offered to pick up since both Patton and Dexter would be too busy with decorations and watching the kids.

Dexter had told him when they first met two months ago that Stephen was only four months old when he had arrived, so he had been there for about a year. It was a long time to be without parents any parents, but also no time at all in comparison to some of the others, especially the twins, who have been there for over ten years. Stephen was truly lucky to be getting out so soon and at such a young age.

The conversation ended there, as did their meals. Logan headed back first, while Virgil remained at the table for a few minutes more, wanting to enjoy his break as long as he could. When he finally did return to work, it was filled with that same dull drone as it always was that lasted for hours until his shift ended. But thankfully, he didn’t have the closing shift today.

Virgil went as fast as he could from the library to the grocery store to pick up the cake he had ordered a day in advance. It was a simple confetti cake with strawberry frosting that read ‘Congratulations, Stephen!’ Cake acquired, Virgil drove straight for the little run-down house to help out with the party.

For the past eight weeks, Virgil went to the Stork house at least twice a week, oftentimes just to hang out with the kids. Apparently, they weren’t allowed out of the hours except under supervision by standard order of the government agency that managed them, and since Dexter was often too busy to take them out beyond the backyard, Virgil figured that they would at least want someone to hang out with every once in a while.

As it turned out, Dexter only had one employee, an elderly woman named Alice who managed most of the financial and legal documents that Dexter didn’t have time to look over and take care of. According to Patton, the agency only received the bare minimum to take care of the kids and pay basic bills, Dexter didn’t make enough to hire any extra hands. He had been getting by from the help of Patton and two other volunteers who all came by on separate days throughout the week. That led to another incentive for Virgil to come for visits, not for any special reason or treatment towards the man, but just because he felt Dexter deserved to rest every once in a while.

Arriving at the house, Virgil pulled over to the curb and quickly checked his reflection in the mirror, but only because it was a special occasion, not because of who he would be seeing. Quickly fixing his hair and eyeshadow, making sure he didn’t put on too much, Virgil hopped out of his car, switched out of his work coat and into his patchwork hoodie, and headed for the front door, cake in hand.

Walking up to the door, he rang the doorbell and called out to be let in, “Patton? Dexter?” 

Following his call, the sound of several small footsteps could be heard from behind the door and soon it was opened to reveal two of the younger kids, Christine and Mark, ages seven and five respectively.

“Virgil!” They cheered when they saw him, running up and wrapping their arms around his waist. Virgil laughed and gave them a one-armed hug back.

“Hey Christine, Mark, have you guys seen Dexter?” He questioned, following them inside, closing the door behind them.

“He’s standing right here.” Dexter’s voice came ahead of him. Virgil looked up and noticed that Dexter was standing in the mouth of the hallway watching him, dressed in one of his usual button-up shirts and black slacks. Virgil then wished he had worn something a bit nicer than ripped jeans.

“Dexter! I-I didn’t see you there.” Virgil said, standing up from his hug with the kids, “I brought the cake.”

“Wonderful, let’s set it up in the kitchen.” Dexter smiled, taking the cake from his hands and leading the way to the kitchen down the hall. Virgil followed close after, bringing Christine and Mark with him, but sent them on their way to the back room where he could see some of the other children were.

“How’s everything been going?” Virgil asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“With the party or just in general?” Dexter asked, setting the cake on the kitchen counter next to a large bowl full of popcorn, and another filled with chips.

“Uhm, both I guess,” He shrugged, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pockets.

Dexter watched him through the corner of his eye before replying, “Everything is almost ready, the kids are spread out making their cards. I invited Stephen’s new parents to come to join us, so they’ll be here in a little while.” Rummaging through one of the cabinet doors, he pulled out a packet of small paper plates and plastic forks, and placed them on the counter, “Would you mind setting the table?”

“Yeah, of course,” 

“Oh, and Virgil?” Dexter spoke again, stopping Virgil in his steps, “I like your outfit today.” Dexter winked, grabbing the two bowls of junk food and walking out of the kitchen to the backroom. 

A ship could have been led through the darkest night with how brightly Virgil flushed at his comment. His knees nearly gave out beneath him and Virgil swore that he was on the brink of passing out from embarrassment. 

He’s just joking, it doesn’t mean anything.

It wasn’t the first time Dexter had told him something like that, and he secretly wished it wouldn’t be the last. Despite it all being just a silly joke, Virgil hadn’t been complimented like that in a long time, not since Matthew.

Virgil quickly shook that thought out of his head and recollected himself before grabbing the plates and utensils, heading to the connected dining area to set the table.

The way the floorplan of the house was set up, the kitchen dining area, and the backroom were all connected without a door in an L-shape. This meant that Virgil was able to see Dexter as he worked. He did his best to keep his eyes on his task and not let them stray, but his eyes would often betray him and drift towards the caretaker, who sat with seven kids surrounding him, trying to keep them calm and entertained as they worked on their cards. Virgil couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face at how domestic it all looked.

“Hey, Virge?” Patton called behind him, walking in from the hallway.

“Yeah?” Virgil responded walking over to him, noticing how Dexter’s eyes seemed to follow him and tried to play it off as if he didn’t.

“Everything is ready, but no one knows where Remus is. Could you check in the boys’ room?” Patton asked cradling little Stephen in his arms, patting his back as the child drank from a bottle.

“Sure thing,” Virgil nodded, giving two thumbs up as he pushed passed him and headed up the stairs to the boys’ room. Honestly, he was happy to get out of that room and be given a chance to calm his heartbeat.

Seriously, it’s pointless, I shouldn’t even think about him that way. It won’t lead anywhere.

Walking up the short staircase, Virgil went to the first door on the right where the twins and two other boys all shared a room. It was small and cramped, containing two sets of bunk beds and two dressers, leaving very little room for anything else. It only took a quick look to spot Remus sitting in the corner behind one of the beds. As he crept closer, the sight of him cutting shapes out of pieces of paper came into view.

“Hey, Remus. You okay?” The young boy shrugged his shoulders, cutting out the shape of an octopus, “Do you want to talk about it?”

The boy didn’t answer for a moment but ceased in his paper cutting, then answered, “I don’t wanna go to the party.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t want to scare Stephen’s new parents away,” Remus confessed crossing his arms over his knees and tucking into himself. 

“You think they’d be afraid of you?” He asked in a mix of confusion and saddened shock.

“They all are. It’s why Roman and I haven’t been adopted, I chase them all away.” He cried, eyes tearing up.

Within the time that he had been there, Virgil had never seen the boy look anything but happy, with a rare bout of childish rage, it looked unnatural for him to be so sad. Virgil had wondered if the boy had been affected by his situation, but he hadn’t realized it had hurt him so deeply to the point of believing he was the reason he and Roman hadn’t been adopted.

Gently, Virgil sat down next to the boy and pulled him into a loose side hug, leaving him room to push him away if he wanted. Remus quickly leaned into him and tucked his head into Virgil’s shoulder, staining it with snot and tears, not that he minded.

“That’s just because they don’t know you, Remus. It’s easy to judge someone, but harder to know them. Someone will come along, you’ll see.” Virgil promise, running a hand through his messy hair.

Remus looked up at him and wiped his eyes, sniffing, “You really think so?” 

“I do, I like you, and someone else will too.” Virgil smiled, standing them both up, “Now, come on, let’s give baby Stephen a happy goodbye.”

“Okay! Do you think he’ll like my card?” Remus asked, showing him the card he had been working on. It read ‘Hapy New Perents Day’ with little pictures of octopuses, dolphins, and unicorns. The spelling concerned him though, he wished that the school would let him go for more than just three days a week. But perhaps he could bring books to Remus from the library to help him.

“I’m sure he will,” Virgil told him, taking his hand and leading him out and down the stairs.

For now, the spelling won’t matter, Stephen is only one year old after all.

The party had begun downstairs and the new parents were in the backroom sitting on the couch with their new son in their arms. The children each took turns handing the couple the cards since Stephen couldn’t read them, and Remus quickly ran from his side to go join them.

“It seems like Remus has grown pretty attached to you,” Dexter noted walking up to him. “He really likes you.”

“He’s a sweet kid when you look past his eccentricities, he’ll make a family happy one day,” Virgil responded, watching as said boy began poking at the air around Roman, not actually touching him, but irritating his brother nonetheless.

“You truly believe that?” Dexter asked, voice becoming earnest.

“Don’t you?” Virgil shot back, wondering why he would ask such a thing.

“It’s not that I don’t, it’s just,” He paused, looking into his eyes as if he were searching for something in them, “You continue to surprise me, Virgil Black.”

Virgil blushed again, suddenly realizing just how close they were, and took a step away, clearing his throat. Dexter did the same and let the conversation drop. The air became awkward around them, and yet, it felt nice to stand next to him.

“Thank you,” Virgil whispered, wondering if he was even heard.

“Of course,” Dexter responded, and then left to greet the parents along with Patton. Virgil watched him from a distance, thinking that’s where he belonged.

Over the course of his life, he had been the downfall of so many relationships, went through so much heartache, until he eventually gave up hope of ever finding someone to love who would love him back. Yet, despite all that pain and regret, he found himself again wishing for another chance, but unwilling to risk another fracture to his broken heart. Each time he came here he left wanting to never come back so he could move on and not keep feeding his ridiculous fantasy, but he always came back for two major reasons. The twins, Roman and Remus, who had been without parents their entire lives, who he’s grown attached to; and also the owner of the house and caretaker of the twins, who threatened to squeeze his way into Virgil’s guarded heart every time he saw him.

Virgil had really driven himself into a corner this time and wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get out of it intact. 

.

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@omikkydraws @stormypain-t I’m tagging you since you both commented on my ask post earlier

[kimshavacado]

Dead Heat Ch. 2

Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader

Genre: Yet another Arranged Marriage/Mafia AU

Summary: Three extremely powerful families with enough power to bring down entire governments, all with vastly different views on how things should be run. The Min family thinks everything can be solved with money, the Jeon family think everything can be solved with violence, and the Kim family relies more on thought which leads to a lack of action. When Kim Y/N loses her father, she only has one way to save herself and her family. But it involves having to give herself over to a stranger. How the hell is she not supposed to punch him in his stupid rich face?

Dead Heat Masterlist

Warnings: Language

A/N:  Yay we finally have some Yoongi in this chapter, as well as the scene I’ve been looking forward to. Here’s to strong female leads! Enjoy lovelies.

Chapter 2: Just As Much A Queen

Most of the next day is spent with boxes and memories. You are packing up and leaving your home forever. You’d never really lived anywhere else, not even been to many other people’s houses. It was a strange concept to grasp, leaving and not coming back. You aren’t too sad to leave all of the memories, most of them not that fond anyway. But instead of reminiscing on old feelings you keep one goal in your mind: Get what you deserve. After that talk last night with Jimin, you’ve made the decision to play along. It’s really all that you can do for now before you can find a way to take back the family.

After going through the house for the better part of the day, you come up with a lousy two and a half boxes of belongings. It’s kind of sad to realize that the few things you care about in this world can fit into such a small space. But you don’t want to take anything that will bring up any bad memories of your father. Things like that could end up distracting you and you still have to keep your eyes on the prize.

Jimin picks you up in the early evening to take you to the venue of the “event.” To call it a wedding would be comical. The contracts had  already been signed and this party is more of a formality for the family. It’s being held at the Min mansion which you find is undoubtedly, the largest house you’ve ever seen. Jimin gushes at the sight, talk about how great the party will probably be. Unfortunately, you aren’t able to get a good look at the interior when you arrive for the first time before you are ushered away down a long hallway towards the other side of the building. There you are led into a dressing room where some women are waiting.

When you walk in, you pretend not to notice the fact that all the girls stare at Jimin. He is already dressed for the event and honestly, looking fine as hell. This is something he gets a lot of and you’ve gotten used to others gawking in his presence. If only these poor girls knew.

The girls help you into a dark blue dress and help you appear presentable in between fawning over Jimin. Once they’re done, they leave you and Jimin alone in the room. As you look in the mirror you find yourself surprised. A bit of a smile finds its way onto your face as you admire the choice of clothing.

“A bit full of ourselves, are we?” Jimin comments, noticing you admiring yourself.

“It’s not that, it’s just… blue, not white. It makes it seem like less of a wedding.” You’re a bit perplexed as to who had picked it out. You turn back to Jimin. “And you’re one to talk.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault the girls love me. Unlike some people, I don’t need dresses and makeup to look good.”

You’re about to tackle him right there until you hear a knock on the door. It’s time to go.

You’re drunk. Not completely shitfaced but enough. It definitely helps you get through the night, though. Most of the people here, you’ve never met before, only occasionally recognizing some members of your family. There’s no one you’re really close with though, except for Jimin, who you currently find partying hard on the other side of the room probably four or five cocktails in. He’s always the life of the party on nights like this.

The venue is perfect for a party, and you may have enjoyed yourself in a different situation. The hall is large and grand, and could probably fit over a hundred people. Large round tables are scattered across the floor with a main table towards the front where you are sat. From your position, you are able to admire the grandness of the room. At first glance, the ceiling appears overly adorned in gold. There’s classical paintings and strange images that seem entirely too distracting. Then you notice the background, stars. Behind all of the pictures and gold is a night sky that stretches to each end of the room. It’s a shame so much of it is covered by other paintings. You think it’d be poetically beautiful to paint an entire ceiling as a night sky.

Your thoughts are interrupted by congratulations from Jin who has come to your and Yoongi’s table. You smile and thank him and as he turn away and heads towards the other board members, your eyes send daggers at the back of his head.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you if you scowl like that your face will stick?” That’s right, he’s here. It takes every bit of your being to not make a snappy comeback, and all you can do is look away from him. You need him to tolerate you if you’re ever going to get your position back. Who knows, he could probably help you. But you know he won’t because you know exactly the kind of guy he is. He just shrugs off your reaction and goes back to staring straight ahead like you. What a lively couple we are.

This entire party is for everyone but you two, and you get more and more relieved as the guest leave. Jimin is long gone, taken home by the driver after passing out around the desert table an hour ago. You’re about to fall asleep while watching the stragglers when you hear Yoongi’s voice next to you.

“Get up, I’ll show you your room.” He says above you. For a moment you sag lower in your chair. It’s like every time he talks, you remember you’re supposed to be married now and become filled with dread. Still, you silently get up and follow him out of the grand hall down two separate corridors before you find yourself in a section of the house that gives off more homely vibes. He points to the door behind you.

“That is your room. It’s one of the places you’re allowed to go. You’re also allowed to walk back to the main part of the house, but nowhere else. My room and my study are on the other side of the hallway.” He points to a set of doors towards the end of the hall. “Never go in there, do you understand?” You nod. “Don’t leave the house unless you tell me first, I’ll have a guard everywhere with you.” At this your face changes.

“I’m not allowed to leave?” You ask.

“Not unless I say so sweetheart.” Damn he really is a cocky ass. He raises his eyebrows. “Do you understand?” He mockingly asks. The nerve on this guy!

“Yes sir.” You say a little too sarcastically complete with a salute. His eyebrows furrow as his face twists in confusion. You don’t give him the opportunity to question your weird response as you rush past the door behind you, slamming it shut to separate yourself from him.

You hadn’t seen him in the last few days, which isn’t something you’re too torn up about. You did, however, find yourself bored out of your mind. All you’ve done for the last few days is read, watch TV, and sleep. You now wish you had brought more things from home instead of leaving everything that could distract you from your goal. You’re not going anywhere with it now anyway, what were you supposed to do, just go to the Kims and demand that Jin give you your place? It’d be easier if your captor was on your side. But nothing will work anyway if you die of boredom first.

You’ve tried to go find more to do but are always stopped by this guard who seems to pop out of nowhere as soon as you think about breaking the rules by leaving your “designated areas.” Doing nothing productive has left you feeling drained. You want to see Jimin, but you haven’t heard from him since the party. You probably understood why he didn’t contact you the first day, probably too hungover to leave his bed. But after that, you started to get worried. It was unlike Jimin to suddenly stop talking to you, he’d want to know everything about your new life.

After a week, a Netflix binge, and about 40 phone calls that Jimin didn’t pick up, you start to panic on the inside. Surely if something had happened to him, you would know about it right? All you could do for all these days is reassure yourself. But it’s eating you up inside and you have to know. So you leave your room determined to only return with answers.

“Hey there.” The guard says, already standing to hover over you as soon as you’re through the threshold of your doorway. He’s attempting to establish dominance. So you, in turn, fix your posture to mean business

“I need to go see my friend.” You say up to him.

“Sorry,” He says, clearly not meaning it, “no can do.” What? Why not? It’s not like it has anything to do with Yoongi.

“It’s an emergency, and he’s really important to me.”

“Hmm. No.” He says again, almost sing-song. Wow.

“Are you kidding me?” You say, your obedient façade starting to break.

“Look kid, I can’t let you see or contact anyone, at least for now. Boss’s orders.”

Well now you’re upset for even more reasons. If they aren’t letting you contact anyone, maybe the issue is on your end and Jimin isn’t getting any calls from you. This could be bad, what if he thinks you’re dead or something? You two are all each other have, he’d be as broken as you are right now.

“Where is Yoongi?” You aggressively ask the large man in front of you.

“Busy. In a meeting.”

“But he’s here.” The guard seems confused by your statement and before you know it, you’re sweeping your leg under his and pushing his head towards the ground. It hits with a thud and he stays there.

Oops. Well you did say you wouldn’t go back to your room without answers.

You leave the confinements of the living section of the mansion and look for the place where business is conducted. Let’s just say, if someone were to see you walking through the house, it would look like a wild animal angrily looking for prey. You’re bursting through doors and making a ruckus. Every time you find an empty meeting room, the emotions in you get more intense. You feel the physical and metaphorical separation between you and the one person you care about as well as the person keeping you from him. Who cares about what Yoongi thinks of you anymore, he won’t be of any help anyway. You want some damn answers.

When you reach the far end of the building you come across a large set of double doors. You continue your rampage and burst through only to find a large group of very intimidating looking men standing around a large table in the middle of the room. Definitely giving off evil vibes.

“Y/n!? What- How’d you get here?” Ah there he is, just the person you wanted to see.

“Let me leave.”

“What?”

“I have had enough of this crap, I can’t even contact anyone? What the hell?”

“Y/N we will talk about this later, as you can see, I’m a bit busy.”

“Did you do something to Jimin?” His face changes. Great.

Never once have you felt the way that you feel right now. Even when you think about all the shit you’ve been put through the past 24 years of your life, nothing comes close to the scale of the fire coursing through your vanes in this moment. It’s not just anger, it’s bigger and more complex. Sure, you’re angry. At your father, at yourself, and at the asshole standing in front of you. But there’s something that adds a hollowness to the melting pot of emotions inside of you. Loneliness. Helplessness. That man’s stupid face as it looks at you certainly doesn’t help. He has this confused expression that’s just dying to be wiped off of his face by a sharp cut of your hand. It seems comical how dull someone could be. You feel everything piling up to the point where you’re about to explode. But instead of keeping face as usual you storm toward the man with fire in your eyes.

You stand directly in front of him, probably closer than you should, and steel yourself, looking directly into his eyes.

“I want you to understand something Yoongi.” It’s frightening how quickly you created this aura around yourself that would induce fear in anyone. “I’ve been through a lot of shit in my life, as I’m sure you can imagine. But every time something stands in my way,” You lower your voice. “I move it.”

Yoongi seems to be frozen in awe with his mouth slightly open so you continue. “That being said, I’m not your pet, I’m not your wife, and I’m certainly not your prisoner. You and I are the same.” You jut your finger into his chest when you say this. “I’m just as much a queen as you are a king, only I deserve it more. So I want you to know that if you stand in the way of me and the things I love, I’ll cut you down. I don’t care who the hell you think you are.” When he remains silent you turn to leave and walk past all the men who just overheard your little tantrum. Before you can exit the room, Yoongi finally speaks up.

“Y/N, trust me. You don’t want to see him right now.”

“Did you not listen to anything I just said!?” Seriously, how dull is he?

“Jimin isn’t who you think he is Y/N.”

A/N: I love to finally write Y/N as an angry character. I haven’t seen enough Y/N’s in this genre that are rough around the edges. I can’t wait to see more aggression!

Next Chapter

[randomoranges]

sometimes, you go on vacation and see a merchant tie a hair clip in a woman’s hair from his stall. and then you get an Idea that Won’t Leave you Alone. then your friend makes a call out for potential Something so it pushes you to write the thing.

Treasure

 Supper turns out to be an impromptu thing after Edward invites him inside. Étienne, never one to turn down an invitation from Edward, accepts and follows his friend back into the warmth of the living room and the coziness of the kitchen. It’s a nice break from the biting wind and icy cold of outside, but then again, Edward had laughed at his antics and had passed on his scarf, so that he wouldn’t freeze, even though it wasn’t that cold – it was only autumn, after all. Still, Étienne had never been a fan, but he had accepted the scarf – if anything, it smelled of Edward and it had been warm and comforting.

 Edward makes them cocoa and takes out a tin of cookies and Étienne is only too happy to munch along and curl up on the old sofa as best he can. It’s pleasant, it’s familiar, and they pick up their previous conversation without much fanfare. It’s how they spend the remainder of the afternoon and it’s only when Étienne’s stomach rumbles rather loudly that Edward realises it’s supper time and that it would be rather rude for him to send away his friend. And, as the saying goes, misery does love company, so Edward extends a dinner invitation and Étienne accepts. Étienne is many things, but he is not a fool.

 If it means a few more hours in Edward’s company, then he’s not one to say no.

 Therefore, Étienne helps, they assemble a quick meal, they banter, they joke, and they have a rather lovely evening. Edward makes himself another cup of cocoa (and a cup of tea for Étienne) afterwards, and they take it to the living room, back on the old couch once more, to keep the evening going. The seconds, the minutes and the hours fly by and it feels good to have this again.

 Étienne is on his second cup of tea when Edward excuses himself for a moment before he returns and places a small box by his friend’s thigh. Étienne looks from the box to Edward, eyebrow shooting up and disappearing in a long strand of curls and he can tell that Edward has suddenly gone shy and quiet. He takes the box but doesn’t open it right away. It’s light, not too heavy, the edges are a little frayed and the box, upon closer inspection, seems a little old, and he has dozens of questions running through his mind. He eventually settles for one and finally asks, “Ed, what’s with the box?” and Edward gives him a nervous smile and rubs at the nape of his neck.

 “It’s a... gift? I guess?” He starts and shrugs, trying to buy time with an anxious chuckle of sorts, “I was doing some cleaning the other day and I found this... I think I was saving it – for an appropriate time – before, but... I guess that never happened,” Edward stumbles through his words and Étienne is even more curious as to what the box can possibly hold, “Anyways, I figured you should have it,” He nods at the box and Étienne gives him a curious look before he takes the lid off. He sets the box on his lap and unfolds a sheet or two of tissue paper before he finds an elegant leather hair clip and pin resting gently on the tissue paper.

 Étienne holds his breath and takes the delicate clip in his hands. Three white flowers take up most of the space of the clip and they rest on a clearly worked and patterned background that doesn’t necessarily take away from the flowers, but compliment them nicely. The edges are sewn and stitched together with delicate, softer patterns as well, there’s an antique saddle tan finish to it and everything about the hair clip is beautiful and intricate. Étienne examines the hair clip closer and it seems to him as though the leather has been worked and painted by hand and he can’t understand why Edward gifted him such a nice present – it isn’t his birthday, it isn’t Christmas and it most certainly no longer is an anniversary or one of those “just because” occasions.

 “Do you like it?” Edward asks and Étienne nods, trying to find his voice, “My grandfather made it,” He offers and that completely takes Étienne by surprise. “A long time ago – he made it for my grandmother,” He goes on and if that’s supposed to clarify Étienne on the nature of the gift, it does not. Instead, it breeds more questions in his mind. “Even after they divorced – my grandfather always loved her...” He trails off for a moment and Étienne doesn’t say anything – doesn’t say how he could probably understand where Edward’s grandfather came from. Is that why Edward is giving him the hair clip? Because he and Edward’s grandfather are similar that way? Both hung on their lost love?

 “My grandfather told me my grandmother didn’t take them, when she left, and that he offered them to my mother, when they started talking again... but she didn’t want them. I remember finding them in an old box, once, when my sister and I were visiting him. My sister wanted them all, but for some reason, I really liked this one. I liked the flower motif on it – the others had animals – birds, I think, but this one was beautiful – or at least, that’s what I felt.” A gentle smile graces Edward’s features, full of nostalgia and maybe a tint of sadness for the departed soul of his grandfather and Étienne doesn’t dare say a word, let’s Edward go on with his tale.

 “My grandfather gave the clips to my sister, but he always used to say that I didn’t want to part with this one and I was quite upset at the idea of my sister using it for her dolls, or for herself, or something of the sorts. So my grandfather sat me down one evening and took out the hair clip. This was some time after – and he asked me if I still liked it as much. I think I was around eight years old? Maybe?” He looks at Étienne, as though he would have an idea – as if he would know, but doesn’t wait for an answer.

 “Anyways, I said yes and he said I could have it – I was overjoyed. He then said he hoped that maybe one day, I would be lucky as to find someone dear and important to me, and that I would gift it to them – so that they could wear this token of affection in their hair...” He trails off again, as if lost in his own thoughts, trying to make sense of them and Étienne forgets about himself and of his myriad of questions, wrapped up in Edward’s story, transported to a different time.

 “Obviously, there was never a girlfriend in my life, so that took care of that, and I can’t say for sure whether or not I wanted to give it to you – before... not because I didn’t want to, but you wouldn’t be able to use it – your hair, and correct me if I’m wrong, was never this long,” Étienne shakes his head, a curl falling over his shoulder, as if to prove its point, “Right, so, maybe I did want to give it to you – more along in the spirit of the meaning of the hair pin – but I think maybe I was saving it for Constance?” Edward sighs and passes a hand through his own hair, “I can’t be sure anymore – in any event, when I found it, I knew I wanted to give it to you.” He offers Étienne a soft smile and Étienne isn’t sure what the proper response to that is. He isn’t sure what the proper response to such a gift is supposed to be. He isn’t sure what Edward is trying to say or prove with any of this. It throws him for a loop and threatens to upturn the careful balance of their current relationship.

 “You don’t have to wear it, obviously, even though you do have the proper hair length for it now,” He chuckles, amused at his own joke, “But I would like you to have it – you’re dear to me and I know my grandfather would have approved – it feels right, gifting this to you.”

 Étienne takes a steadying breath. Tries to settle his frayed nerves and his erratic beating heart. He fails, tries again, and still doesn’t come close to succeeding – doesn’t believe he will. This is too much. He doesn’t even want to start unpacking what any of this could possibly mean. He’s never met Edward’s grandfather – but over the years that they were together, he’s heard a lot and he knows how much the man meant to Edward. For his friend to give him such an heirloom – this is monumental.

 Even if Edward would have given him the hair clip when they were dating – even if Edward would have given it to him on their wedding day, Étienne would have still felt overwhelmed, feeling this was too much – he can only start to process what it means now – when they’re not even dating – when the best word to describe their relationship is “good friends”.

 He opens his mouth to say something, but the words stumble through a shaky breath and he feels tears well up in his eyes – he’s not sure why, it might be due to the emotions he’s still trying to comprehend and process – he wants to say that it’s beautiful, he wants to say that it’s too much, and he wants to say that he’ll treasure it forever and that he’s touched Edward would gift him such a valuable object his grandfather made and that was dear and precious to him. That is still dear and precious to Edward. That holds memories and love and affection.  

 “I know it’s old and a little worn and – well, it’s not exactly your style,” Edward starts, as if he wants to create faults in this perfect handcrafted hair clip, but before he can go on, Étienne manages to cut him off, places a hand on his wrist to get his attention.

 “It’s lovely – Edward, it’s beautiful – but it’s too much, you should keep this – or give it to someone special,” He manages to say and Edward chuckles softly, takes Étienne’s hand and gives it a tight squeeze before bringing it to his lips, leaving the softest of kisses to Étienne’s knuckles.

 “But you are special, to me.”

 It’s so soft and so gentle – it’s everything Étienne hasn’t heard in a long time that this time – this time Étienne can’t prevent the tears that fall forth and if he leans in close to Edward’s gentle caress he’s only human and there is only so much his fragile heart can handle. If he holds on to Edward’s hand for a little longer, then so be it – he knows he is guilty of this crime. If this is a dream, he hopes he doesn’t wake from it and if it’s not then he’s not sure what he hopes for.

 Edward is gentle when he wipes the tears away and it takes Étienne a moment to get his emotions under control. Edward sits closer to Étienne, tugs Étienne to him and holds Étienne for an embrace he was always good at giving and Étienne furrows his face in his friend’s shoulder and tries hard not to think. Tries to steady his shattered heart and broken mind. Tries to understand and grasp and make peace. It’s easier to do so from the darkness and warmth of Edward’s shoulder, away from gentle hazel eyes and soft loving smiles.

 When he looks up, when he knows for sure that his traitorous emotions won’t sell him away, he chases the last of the tears from his eyes and takes a moment to clean his glasses. It gives him something to do. It buys him a little time. It prolongs the moment he has to face Edward and this gift. He takes a deep breath that doesn’t catch or shudder too much and he sniffs once for good measure. There will maybe come a day when Edward A. Murphy doesn’t cause him such roller-coasters of emotions, but today is clearly not that day. Quite honestly, he doesn’t believe there will ever be such a day.

 “I accept your gift,” He says, finally, and Edward beams, pure and bright, and Étienne knows he would have accepted even if it would have caused him more harm, just to make Edward happy, “But can you please put it in my hair?”

 Edward seems surprised by the request, if only for a moment, before he smiles and nods, “Of course, it’ll be my pleasure.”

 It’s as if Edward has done this many times beforehand, as he stands behind Étienne and carefully, but skillfully, gathers Étienne’s long, curly hair to twist and weave it, before he fastens the hair clip with care. He tucks a rebellious strand behind Étienne’s ear when he’s done and takes a step back to observe the way it looks. It’s beautiful, he thinks, and when he goes to stand before Étienne, the thought is reaffirmed in his mind, Étienne will always be beautiful to him and maybe – maybe one day he will be brave enough to voice that opinion – maybe one day it’ll feel right to say such a thing. Again.

 “Thank you,” Étienne murmurs, almost shy, and Edward says it’s nothing, before sitting beside him once more. If they’re both lost in their own thoughts for a moment, it’s fine and neither of them speak, but if their hands find each other to reassure one another, it’s fine as well.

 Étienne wears the hair clip often, and even if at first Edward believes that his friend is doing it to be nice, Étienne assures him that he genuinely does like the clip. With time, Edward comes to realise that Étienne was telling the truth and he lets it slide.

 However, there may or may not come a time, days, and weeks, and months, and years later, where on a special day, Étienne may or may not surprise Edward by wearing the hair clip once more, in a half-bun that let’s some of his long, curly hair cascade down his shoulders, that lets his long, curly hair frame his face just so, and that makes Edward still for the moment of a breath, before he tucks a rebellious strand of long, curly hair behind Étienne’s ear. This time, it may or may not be Edward that feels overwhelmed, never thinking that Étienne would wear it on such a day. This time, it may or may not be Étienne who comforts him and tells him that this way; it is as if Edward’s grandfather is here with them in spirit.

 FIN

[makotokino]

sunguard - one year

It’s mind boggling to me to realize that I’ve been back in WoW for over a year. When I left at the beginning of WoD, I was pretty certain I was never coming back. The game had lost a lot of love in my heart, partially because of personal circumstances but overall, I was burnt out. BFA’s trailer brought me back in November of 2017, and I spent some time on the outskirts until I poked my head into S.O.S. While the experience was great, I do have some mixed feelings on it now - but one thing I am grateful for is that it brought me to the Sunguard.

This past year has been an absolute boon for me in a lot of ways. Being a member in Sunguard has challenged me creatively, and looking back over my writings last year to now - I can already see an improvement. Not just in how I write, either, but how I create. I spend so much time brainstorming with stories I love, and that’s lead to so much more creativity even outside of Warcraft writing. I’ve started writing original content again, I’ve picked up painting; I’m excited to challenge myself in the future because I feel confident and creative. For someone who has struggled with creativity and especially feeling confidence in my work, this is so wonderful.

Y’all have given me a place to create and express my characters, to grow their stories. So many parts of Sanarissa - a character I’ve been writing for eight years - have grown into something more nuanced, complex, and interesting. I’ve also had the opportunity to create more characters who I love, which I’ve never really done before - being someone who focused only on my main.

So I wanted to say thanks - to everyone I communicate with, write with, and share the experience of TSG with on a daily basis. I also have a few special thank you’s because I’m a giant sap. But for now, thank y’all for this amazing year and I can’t wait for more.

The Officer Corp, with special thanks to Felth @felthier, Jess @jessipalooza, Mel @stormandozone, and Azzy @azriah: From the first moment applying to the Sunguard, the officers made me feel welcome and wanted. That was a huge thing for me. Along the way, y’all have always been supportive, attentive, and nice to talk to. Especially the four of you I mentioned, I feel like I can always come to at least one of you with questions or concerns. So thank you, for making the guild a great place for not only me but everyone else - and for always being there to answer my (sometimes) dumbass questions. Not to mention y’all inspire me so much with your work.

Tiah / @forever-afk: Tiah, you are one of the reasons I joined TSG to begin with. Between you and Thomas after S.O.S., that’s really what pushed me forward. I know we haven’t gotten to RP in a loooong time due to our own lives not meshing, but I’m still so glad Sana and Vaelrin are buddies.

Aimee / @thanidiel: I know we don’t talk super often but I am very glad to have you around to jabber at, get advice and critique from, and joke around with. Having you around during S.O.S. was a boon, and I’ve enjoyed being able to make old MG veterans memes with you sometimes. You inspire me so much to be a better writer, creator, roleplayer, dude.

Cari / @retributionpriest: So I was devastated when Lirelle died without ever really getting the chance to interact, besides like one social event with a couple sentences, because of my own Anxiete. But I am soooo so so so glad that we’ve started talking and roleplaying a little back and forth. Being able to chat with you over Elementalist stuff and the brief RP we’ve been able to do has been so fun. I look forward to so much more in the future.

Harm / @thelaughingvulture: Fave Light cultist, bar none. But honestly, Brae is such an interesting character and I love her and despite the constant Brea/Brae confusion, I am glad we’ve gotten to talk and RP more over the last few weeks. I’m SAD that Sana is a traitor again, but the interactions we are keeping were so good - plus we’ll have bards we can write, or Light nerds. I’m super excited to keep on truckin as your buddy.

Veli / @ocarina-of-what: Hi. I love you. RP with me at some point. No, but really, having gotten to know you a little bit over the past few weeks has been absolutely incredible. You’re such a gem and a darling, I love you to pieces already. I hope we get to know each other much better AND ACTUALLY GET TO RP SOON. LOVE YOU.

Matt / @captainswingbeard: Hello, I know I’m a horribly slow RP partner, but your kind words and genuine interest in my stories are so wonderful and great. I was soooo surprised when you took interest in wanting to RP with me but it’s been so fun and interesting. I love reading your stories and I’m so interested in how everything will play out for the Old Man. And I swear, I’ll reply soon (unless I already have because I wrote this ahead of time - ha!)

Larry / @trained-trainwreck: I genuinely cannot like, preface enough how much your friendship means to me. You are one of my best TSG buddies and you mean a lot to me. We are Team Southern America and that’s important to me to have someone who comes from a similar background and history that I can share my experiences with. On top of that, being able to write with you is one of my favorite things, despite us not having much time to do so. Larry and Sana’s parallels are so interesting and I’m sorry she has yet again betrayed his trust. Also, I love big murder boy and I swear, at some point, I will be able to accept your invitation to level in ESO together.

Jase / @veloestian: Hey. You mean a lot to me. I know I communicate to you in gently bullying terms a lot, but you’re a dear friend to me. I love writing with you even though I’m slow and a horrible partner. You were the first person I wrote Melori with and so much of her grew from the interactions we had early on. You help me feel better when I’m sad and you send me dumb memes and I love that. You’re a good bean and I cherish you.

Gibby / @please-respond: Bridge troll or not, you are like my brother. My horrible gremlin brother who I sometimes want to kill, but brother nonetheless. Our relationship has been based a lot more off of friendship than RP, which makes me sad sometimes - but I’m glad we’re getting to RP and write together. I love the things you create, I love the opportunities you’ve given me towards my character arc for Sana, and I’m thankful for all the advice and talks we’ve had. Thank you.

Archer / @pyrosophist: Hey. Hey Archer. Hi. You’re my favorite fetus in the universe probably. I am so, so honored and consider myself truly lucky to count you as one of my closest RP partners. Of course, I can talk about Team Fel and how much I have loved seeing them grow from enemies to tenuous allies to friends to lovers to ENEMIES AGAIN, how much their natural, organic growth has fascinated me, how much their parallels hurt my soul, how much I enjoy writing them with you and what will come of it in the future.

But there’s so much more than that. It’s become routine to just talk to you everyday, about creation and headcanons and ideas - you have such a creative energy and you inspire me by even being near you. Digging into headcanons and character work with you and throwing ideas at the wall to see what sticks has quickly become one of the highlights of my day; right alongside of planning what kind of stupid shit we can do in roll20. I even love hurling stupid pinterest posts and songs at you, it’s all part of the friendship.

Being able to share lore, ideas, AU’s, and RP with you means so much to me. You’ve made such an impact on my time in the Sunguard, and I can’t thank you for that enough. I can’t wait to see the storylines you unfold, now and in the future, and be there to experience them. Also, you always draw me wonderful things and I cry a lot.

Thomas / @jonathan-nevermore-smith: I had to save you for last, goober. From the moment we started writing together a year ago, I knew that I was in for something special. Writing Ash and Sana with you has been a rollercoaster that I have been happy to be on, even now. They mean so much to me. You’ve given me so much opportunity to revisit and grow the character that I love so much.

But it isn’t just Sana. Because of your brilliant ideas, I’ve gotten to create multiple characters that I love and adore. It was your urging that pushed me to make Melori a fully-formed, true character. It was your fanon lore that brought me Zaerise. You’ve always encouraged my ideas and thoughts, even when I thought they were extra. You’re always excited to talk with me about things - and that means so much to me.

You’ve let me take a lot of your fanon and just run with it. Being able to work out the religion, culture, and history of the Ridges - its customs and what makes it tick - has been such a fulfilling thing for me to do. Not to mention the Coven, and how much I love and adore them and all that you’ve let me do with your inkling of an idea.

You’re way more than an RP partner though. You are one of my best friends. Talking to you everyday just feels like part of the routine - always have to check in and talk with Thomas. You’ve become such a common point of reference in my life. You share my Hulu account with the real life squad. You’ve been there for me in some of my hardest points this year; you’ve listened to me cry, heard me drunk, and you’ve been there for me every moment in between.  I’m more thankful for you than I can easily put into words. So thank you, Thomas, for a year of amazing friendship and roleplay, and here’s to so many more.

[whiskynottea]

The Ripple Effect

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Previously Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

AO3

Chapter 15. A daughter, a mother.

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Women are supposed to have a biological clock.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick- time to have a baby.

I always found this concept of the woman’s body functioning as a time bomb rather unsettling. And sexist. Men’s bodies grow old as well, but I never saw an ominous future without reproduction hanging low over their heads.

I never felt that clock ticking. I never felt that I had to have a baby.

It wasn’t that I didn’t dream of a family – it was always there, at the back of my mind. Happy voices in a bright background, fairy tales read to serene faces with sleepy eyes and rosy cheeks, loud giggles when fingers found soft skin to tickle. It would eventually happen, somehow.  But I never believed that the sole purpose of my existence was to have children. There was so much more to be done.

Now I was a thirty-four-year-old mother-to-be. And with a swift move, the balance of my life had tilted towards one direction, making every thought roll towards the same destination.

My baby.

Our baby.

--

“Christ! I will be an auntie!” Jenny’s high-pitched voice went right through my brain when I told her the news over the phone. I could hear Ian in the background, explaining to young Jamie why his mother behaved like a loon. It took just a few moments for his cheery voice, louder than his mother’s, to come through the line. “A boy! Atie Caile make boy!”

I ran a hand on my stomach, smiling. “So, I see the baby orders have already begun.”

“Aye, they have. I vote for a girl, Claire, since we’re talking about it. And where is my clotheid brother?” Jenny asked, the elation clear in her voice.

“He’s right here, next to me.” I replied, feeling Jamie’s arm around my waist as he pulled me closer to him in our bed. Bending his head, he placed a soft kiss on my neck and took the phone. The grin on his face as he heard his sister congratulate him was so broad, that I felt my heart squeeze with a bittersweet feeling; happiness and loss. I was grateful for the family we had, but a part of me deeply wished we would have a few more people to share the news with. His parents, mine. Hugs that we’ve lost to soil and thin air, still sorely needed in sorrow and happiness.

We have each other, I thought, and snuggled closer to Jamie, savoring his musky smell, mingled with soap and cinnamon from the apple pie we’d made. His voice reverberated in his chest under my ear and I closed my eyes, dreaming of the same voice calling our baby’s name, tiny socks in my hands and the powdery smell of a newborn in the room. Jamie’s hand moved slowly from my waist to meet mine above my belly, his large fingers intertwining with mine, silently offering protection.

--

Geillis noticed the difference in me from the first five minutes we spent checking medical charts next day in the hospital.

“D’ye have anything to share, Claire?” She asked, placing her hands on her back, enhancing the effect of her protruding belly.

“Well, I thought I shouldn’t leave you grow huge and become a balloon all alone.” I smirked, leaving the chart on the desk. I felt my heart swell sharing the news, and my hands clasped hers tight.

“I knew yer Scot would take much stronger precautions against you leaving him again!” Geillis winked, smiling broadly. “I mean, the ring is verra beautiful, but with a baby he’s keeping ye with him forever.” Squeezing my upper arms with both her hands, she pulled me closer for a hug. “Congratulations, Claire. Ye too deserve some happiness.”

After discussing all the details about the pregnancy test, how Jamie reacted to the news, and making plans about our babies that would be born only with four months difference, we moved onto the serious conversation. A good obstetrician. Geillis lived in Glasgow almost all her life, and she new far more doctors than me. Most of the male doctors though, she knew much better than needed. Nurses and doctors wasn’t a new concept anyway.

Ten minutes later, with a tiny note featuring a few hastily scribbled black numbers in hand, I made an appointment with Geillis’ obstetrician, Dr. Dunsany. Geillis would swear by her doctor - the third one she visited during the first four months of her pregnancy and hopefully, her last one.

I knew, more or less, what the first visit to the doctor included, and I couldn’t wait to confirm the result of the pregnancy test. Apart from being a little anxious on Geillis’ choice of a doctor, I didn’t think about it overmuch.

At least not until the night before the appointment.

‘How I met your mother’ was playing on Netflix and Jamie and I cuddled on the couch, a plaid blanket with the Fraser colors – Jenny’s gift – covering almost all my body and half of Jamie’s who insisted that it was far too hot for this plaid.

I hadn’t realized that my mind started wandering and I had stopped watching the show. The TV colors became moving images without meaning, the actors’ voices a background noise that didn’t reach my ears.

Closing my eyes, I thought of life I cradled inside me.

Until a few days ago, I was a daughter.

Even if I wasn’t a conventional daughter, and all I had from my parents was blurred memories and pictures with dull colors saved in pale colored albums, that didn’t make me feel less of it. I may had never walked into the house after school, to plop myself onto a chair and announce that I’m hungry, waiting for a plate of food to miraculously land in front of me, and I never had anyone to call and ask which detergent is stronger to remove wine stains, but I was still a daughter for a simple reason; I wasn’t yet a mother.

No one’s hunger was my own responsibility. No one’s wine stains depended on me.

Now everything had changed. From the moment I saw that second pink line on the pregnancy test, that daughter had died.

I was to become a mother, and I had no family to share this with. I had no mother to call in the dead of the night, if didn’t want to scare Jamie with my foolish thoughts. I had no siblings to call and announce that they would become uncles and aunties.

It was the first time the absence of siblings hit me under such a light.

And then a darker thought followed.

Why didn’t I have siblings?

I’d spent countless days of my life wishing I would have a sister or a brother. Someone to share my life with, someone to know me and love me without questions. But now it was the first time I wondered about the reason behind this misfortune. I was five years old when my parents died. Most people already have a second child when their first reaches the age of five. My parents didn’t.

Why?

Were there any complications when my mother was pregnant with me?

Did she have a miscarriage later? Before?

Would my baby be safe, if I carried the incapability of being a mother in my genes?

I closed my eyes, trying not to panic. My breath became swallow, my throat dry, my eyes wet with unshed tears. I didn’t quite nail the ‘don’t panic’ thought.

What would I say to the doctor, once she asked me about the medical history of my family members? That I don’t know? That I have nobody to ask? That I have no mom to be by my side during this journey? To tell me stories of her pregnancy, to hold my hand when the final – terrifying – moment of giving birth was to come?

Was I good enough, to become a mother, anyway?

It was the first time in my life that I so desperately wanted to be a daughter. Not to avoid responsibility, but to have a mother smile to me when tears would be all I could see. To have a mother tell me that I would be a great mom, because she just knew it.

I didn’t know what mothers do. I didn’t even know if I could provide a proper environment for this poppy seed-sized baby to grow.

Jamie’s loud laughter startled me and I jerked against him, coming out of my reverie. My jolt and the absence of any trace of smile in my face made Jamie’s laughter stop abruptly.

“What is it, Sassenach? D’ye feel uncomfortable? Are ye nauseous again?” He made to stand up and carry me to the bathroom, but I stopped him with a tight grip on his arm. His abrupt moving actually made me nauseous, but that was the least of my problems.

“I’m fine.” I said, swallowing back the lump that formed in my throat. “Stay here.”

“What is it then?”

“Nothing. I’m perfectly fine.” I turned my eyes towards the TV, my gaze unfocused, lost in the bright colors.

“Ye have a perfectly fine frown formed on yer face, Sassenach. And I ken ye well enough to know that when ye say ye’re perfectly fine, ye never are. Plus, Barney just threw the girl’s leg in the fire and ye didna laugh!”

“Oh, it was that scene.” I said, realizing why Jamie had laughed so hard. I felt a smile slowly forming on my face, even though the muscles moved with effort, my mind asking them to do the impossible. The recollection of Ian’s terrified face, however, was strong enough to overshadow my previous thoughts. I could almost see his reaction that first time we watched the episode, as he glanced at his prosthetic leg, murmuring, ‘Great, more ideas for Jen to threaten me.’

“Aye, that’s the smile I was looking for.” Jamie planted a kiss on my forehead and held me tight. Held us tight.

Please, please let that baby be safe. Let me be enough to carry it safely.

“So?”

“So?”

“Ye won’t speak to me, Claire?” His question was painted by a mix of sadness and indignity.

No. I can’t lose you, too, now. You are all I have.

I took a deep breath and searched for his eyes. His blue pools were there, waiting for me, kind and honest. Jamie ran his hands up and down my arms, tracing paths with heartbreaking tenderness and leaving goosebumps behind.

“I’m afraid.” I whispered, as if admitting it loudly would make the monster eating my soul stronger.

“About what, my Sassenach?”

“About the baby. I don’t know, Jamie. I can’t guarantee that everything will be alright. If I –”

“Mo chridhe,” Jamie interrupted me, cupping my face with both hands. I felt his warmth sipping into my skin and his calmness flooding my heart, even before I listened a single word from what he intended to say to reassure me. “No one can do that. D’ye hear me? We canna be sure of anything. But we’ll do our best, for each other, and for the baby.” He paused, somber, his eyes boring deep into mine. “We’ll be the best versions of ourselves, mo ghraidh, and we will hope for the best.”

“But if I –”

“Claire,” Jamie placed his index finger over my mouth. “Ye’re enough. And I love ye. More than anything else. Ye ken that, aye?” He bent his head, replacing his finger with his lips. His kiss was slow and reassuring, settling the waves of fear that threatened to swallow me whole.

“What will I say to the doctor about my family’s medical history? I know nothing.” I was close to breaking into tears the moment I felt the air sneaking between us again, cooling my lips where he warmed them.

“We’ll say that we don’t know, Sassenach. We’ll do as the doctor says and everything will be alright. Whatever comes for us, we’ll handle it together.” 

I placed a hand over his heart and he grasped it, fingers interweaving rapidly in their own dance. I felt each steady beat under my hand, pulsing blood into his body, and I snuggled closer to him, his skin hot under my cheek. My heart followed the rhythm set by his, as my lungs inhaled the air he gifted me. Slow, calm, strong. Jamie kissed my forehead, holding me flush to him. “And when the baby comes to our little world,” he whispered between my curls in a dreamy voice, “We’ll learn how to be a family, the three of us, together.”

I closed my eyes and a smile came to tug my lips up. Easy, effortless. 

I might not be a daughter anymore, but I finally had a family.

My family.

Chapter 16

[raptorginger]

Handprints (Complete, 10k+ words) - by raptorginger

Chapter 1: Dark Souls

It was 11:00PM when he heard the tiny voice behind him.  He was levelling up in Dark Souls III after a particularly grueling battle and hadn’t heard her sneak up behind his chair.

“Uncle Ben?” asked the tiny voice timidly.

He turned immediately to see the little girl that had become his whole world in a few short months.  Little Cass.  She stood rubbing her big brown eyes, blonde hair sleep ruffled, black jammie dress with the little aliens on them wrinkled.  She was holding her favorite stuffed dog by its paw, the one that was almost as big as her.  He could see tear tracks down her pink cheeks.  She’d had the dream again.

“What is it, Sweetheart?  Did you have the dream again?”  he asked tenderly, holding his arms out.

The tiny creature clambered eagerly into his arms and lap, nodding as she did so.  “Uh-huh.”  

Ben readjusted her in his lap so he could hold her, the stuffed dog, and his controller.  He held her tight.  She’d been having the dream on and off in the several months since her parents had died.  She would be with them, her mom and dad, somewhere sunny and happy, when a dark shape would take them from her, consuming them in a dark cloud.  She would scream and reach out, her tiny hands grasping at nothingness.  And she would fall, fall forever into a dark pit, the darkness swallowing her small body completely.  

Since Cass had come to live with Ben after his sister, Padme, and her husband’s death, he had done all he could to help her adjust.  He knew he was a poor substitute for her parents, but Cass had loved him all the same, even opening up and talking to him a little bit.  The first time she’d come to him holding out a tea cup and asked him to play, his heart had soared, and he knew he’d do anything for this small child.  It killed him that he couldn’t keep her nightmares from her sleep.

He held her tightly while the game’s music played quietly in the air around them.  He sensed that there was more she wanted to say, but he didn’t push.  She was starting kindergarten tomorrow.  She was having a hard time socially, which was understandable, and honestly, he probably wasn’t the greatest role model in that department.   She was probably terrified.

He felt guilty about that, but there honestly wasn’t a whole lot he could do.  He’d done the playdate thing a few times at the behest of his mother, trying to make awkward small talk with the other parents, typically moms, but all had simply looked at him askance and with strange, slightly accusing looks, like they didn’t believe he was Cass’ legal guardian.  They’d all huddle together, whispering, keeping him out.  It was like high school all over again, and it pissed him off.  But, he’d borne his discomfort for Cass’ sake.  Cass hadn’t had an easier time.  She couldn’t talk to the other children.  She’d always end up playing alone.  So, they stopped doing the playdate thing.  Now Ben would take her to the park, and they would just play together.  They’d play pirates or swing or scramble about on the fort.  That’s when he’d see her old smile come out, and his heart would soar.

“Are you scared of starting school tomorrow?” he asked quietly.

Cass nodded, nuzzling into her dog.  “Uh-huh.”

“Why?”

She thought awhile before answering.  “What if the other kids don’t like me?  Like all those kids at the park?”

Ben felt himself getting angry.  He counted to ten.  He sighed, “Those kids at the park were not nice.  The kids in your class are going to be different.  And they’d be crazy not to like you.  You do have to talk to them though, Sweetheart.  They won’t know you’re nice if you don’t talk to them.”

“But what if there’s like, a hundred?! That’s too many people to talk to!”

Ben felt a smile quirk his lips.  “That is a lot, but I highly doubt there will be that many.”  In fact, he knew that for certain.  He’d picked this school specifically because of the small class size.  And the teaching philosophy, but that was beside the point at the moment.

Cass made a small humming sound into the dog’s neck.

Ben continued, “And you don’t have to talk to everybody.  Maybe just pick one classmate who seems nice like you and say ‘Hi.’  That would be a good start.”

“What if they don’t say hi back or say something mean?”  Cass asked plaintively.

“Then they don’t say ‘hi’ back, and you’ll know not to try and be friends.  If they say something mean, then tell your teacher.”

“What if the teacher is mean?”

Ben highly doubted that.  The teacher, a Rey Johnson, had sent a letter to each parent about a week ago.  It had been a cheery introduction, detailing her background and how committed she was to their child’s education.  Ben had gotten the sense that this woman was irrepressibly cheerful and probably the nicest person in the world, perfectly suited for her job.  “I don’t think your teacher is going to be mean.  But if she is, come tell me, ok?”

Cass nodded, “Ok, Uncle Ben.  Do I really have to talk to anybody?”

Ben sighed softly.  “No, you don’t have to, but I’d like you to.”  He really wanted Cass to have a friend her age.  Her 30 year old surrogate parent uncle couldn’t be the only person in her life.

Cass snuggled deeper into her stuffed animal.  

“I’ll make you a deal.  If you talk to one of your classmates, I’ll take you out for ice cream when I pick you up.  Deal?”

Cass looked at him.  “Ok.”  She paused, “Can we get ice cream even if I don’t?”

Ben looked into her big brown doe eyes.  “Of course.  But if you talk to another kid, I’ll make it a McFlurry.”

She broke out into a wide grin, making Ben break out into one of his own.

“Can I watch you play a while?”

She really shouldn’t, she had school tomorrow, but she looked like she’d fall asleep any second.  “Ok, Sweetheart.”  Cass snuggled deeper into Ben’s arms as he unpaused his game, making sure he didn’t fight anything too scary.  She was asleep in an instant.  A few minutes later, Ben saved his game, turned off the television, and carried Cass to her bed, tucking her and her dog in tight before kissing her softly on the forehead, hoping that kept the bad dreams away.

Chapter 2: Purple Cubby

Ben pulled his black Jetta TDI into a parking space near the entrance to the school.  It wasn’t the designated drop off area per se, but Ben wanted to walk in with Cass. They’d arrived a bit earlier than the typical drop off time.  Ben was hoping to have a word with Cass’ teacher Mrs. Johnson (Ben assumed she was married; most teachers he’d met were), and Cass wanted him to walk in with her anyway.  

Ben knew he looked ridiculous, walking in to the school.  He was tall and broad and even looked ridiculous in buildings with regular size furniture.  He tried to shrink himself, hunching his shoulders, ducking his head sightly, one hand stuffed in the pocket of his jeans.  Cass clung to his other arm.  He led her to her classroom, following the cheerfully painted signs to Miss (he noticed) Johnson’s room.  He looked like a giant among the child sized chairs and tables.

It was a bright and cheerful room.  There was an abundance of windows letting in the natural light, what little wall there was was painted white and covered with boards that would eventually display the students’ work.  A banner ran around the room near the ceiling, repeating the alphabet in bright colors.  There was a little alcove off the room that held the children’s cubbies for coats and bookbags and boots.  Each cubby was painted a different color of the rainbow, a prettily painted little sign with each child’s name hanging from it.  Ben presumed Miss Johnson had made those herself.  Ben helped Cass find her cubby and hang up her jacket and backpack.  Ben saw Cass smile sweetly when she saw her cubby was painted purple, her favorite color.  

“Did Miss Johnson know that’s my favorite, Uncle Ben?!” she asked incredulously, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No, but I’m glad it worked out that way,” a lovely voice answered.  Ben turned and saw a young woman behind them.  Miss Johnson was very young and very pretty, he realized.  She was wearing a white a-line dress with an eyelet overlay under a seafoam green cardigan and black flats.  It accented her natural tan skin, warm brown hair,  and the smattering of freckles on her face.  Her hazel eyes were full of light.  Her rosy lips were smiling sweetly down at Cass.  “Hi! I’m Miss Rey,” the woman said, still looking at Cass.  She had knelt down to one knee to bring her eye level with her as she introduced herself.  Ben tried not to look down her dress.  He felt his face starting to turn red.  He ran a hand through his unruly hair, mussing it further.

“I’m Cass Antilles,” Cass said softly.

“Hi Cass! I’m happy to have you in my class,” Rey replied softly.  “Since you’re the first here, would you like to go pick your seat?”

Cass nodded enthusiastically and scampered off to choose a seat near one of the windows, leaving Ben alone with Rey.

Ben held a hand out to her, to help her up.  She took it, his large hand dwarfing her small one.  He had a good foot on her in height.  Keeping a hold of her hand, he gave it a slight shake.  “Hi, I’m Cass’ uncle Ben Solo.”

She smiled up at him, her hand very warm in his own.  “I’m Rey Johnson.”  Her voice had a lovely timbre and a British accent.  He could listen to her talk all day. 

“Umm, listen, could I talk to you a minute? About Cass?”  Ben asked.  When she glanced at the clock, he added, “I won’t take too much of your time, I just need you to know a bit about her situation.”

Rey nodded, “Alright, Mr. Solo.  But other children will start arriving soon.”

“I know.  I’ll be brief.  I became Cass’ legal guardian when her parents died.  Her mother was my sister.  She and her husband died in an accident a few months ago, and Cass came to live with me.  She’s been having trouble opening up to people since then.  She’s very quiet and shy, even before the accident, but even more so now.  But she’s a sweet girl with so much light and niceness.  I just really want her to have a friend that isn’t me…” Ben realized he was starting to ramble, his hands beginning to tug at his hair.  He was looking everywhere but at her.

He quieted when Rey touched his arm.  Her touch was warm and gentle.  “I’m so sorry for your loss Mr. Solo.  For yours and Cass’.  She is a sweet girl.  I will do my best to help with her social development this year, you have my word.”

Ben nodded, meeting her sincere gaze.  He often forgot, in caring for Cass, that he had also lost his sister, his best friend.  He didn’t dwell on it too long or he might fall apart, right in front of the glowing woman before him.

“And if I may say so, you’re incredibly sweet,” Rey blushed when she paused a bit too long.  “To be concerned about her well being I mean,” she added hurriedly.  

“Of course I am.  Who wouldn’t be concerned about their child making friends their own age?”  Ben replied, trying desperately to ignore her blush.

“You’d be surprised, Mr. Solo,” Rey replied sadly.  “Anyway, thank you for telling me about Cass.”  She held out her hand again.  

Ben reached out slowly and took it, the warmth spreading through him again.  “Call me Ben.  Thank you for listening, Miss Johnson.”

“Rey, if you please,” she replied, giving his hand a small shake.  She released him, turning to address the other children beginning to filter into the classroom.

Ben watched her move about the children, directing them to their cubbies and helping others find their seats.  She moved gracefully, a big smile on her face.  She radiated happiness.  Ben walked to the door, flipping a wave to Cass as he left.  He saw that a small dark skinned girl had approached her and was offering her a graham cracker from her bag.  Cass timidly took it and offered the girl the seat next to hers.  He smiled.  He had a good feeling about this year.

Chapter 3: Naptime

Rey worked quietly on her seating chart by lamplight during naptime.  She had switched off the overhead light and drawn the shades over the windows.  Soft classical music was playing.  Soon she would switch it off, open the blinds, and start waking the kids up.  For now, she worked.  Until a pair of soft brown eyes began to cloud her mind, filled with warmth and sadness.  Slowly the rest of Ben’s face formed in her mind, and her thoughts drifted to him.  His concern for his niece was so earnest.  Rey hadn’t missed the fact that he’d called her his child.  

She was glad she’d get to tell Ben he didn’t need to worry.  She looked over to where Cass was curled up, asleep.  She was huddled together with Marlo, the daughter of her friends FInn Brahe and Rose Tico, and Killian, the son of her other close friend Poe Dameron and his wife Jessika.  Marlo had offered Cass a graham cracker earlier that day, and Cass had offered her a place to sit.  Killian had taken another seat at their table, since he and Marlo were inseparable.  All three looked like they were becoming fast friends.  Rey smiled.  She couldn’t think of two nicer children to be friends with.

Her thoughts turned back to Ben.  He’d looked so sweet, large shoulders hunched, shuffling awkwardly, tugging his hair as he spoke.  His eyes held such a sadness.  Rey sighed.  She wondered if he’d had time to grieve for the sister and friend he’d lost.  If he had allowed himself that time, or if he’d thrown himself completely into caring for Cass.  Rey wondered if he had even wanted to be a father, what he’d had to do to adjust.  He seemed young, a bit older than her to be sure, but still young to have fatherhood unexpectedly thrown at him.  She wondered if he had anyone to take care of him.

Suddenly, an image popped into her mind.  Her fingers running gently through his hair, soothing him while he rested his head on her shoulder, his strong arms around her waist, holding her to him.  What if his plush lips ghosted along her neck?  Maybe his large hands would drift slowly up her back then back down, down to grip her…

Rey shook her head.  Nope, nope, she couldn’t think of that right now.  Besides, she thought sadly, someone like Ben probably wouldn’t want someone like her.  She was incredibly independent.  Finn, Rose, Poe, and Jessika were the only people in her life who had stuck around, seeing her loneliness in spite of her independent attitude.  Her parents had abandoned her, and she’d been kicked around multiple foster homes until she aged out of the system about 5 years ago.  She’d made peace with her past, but it had left its mark.  Most men she went out with found her difficult to deal with, and there had never been more than one date.  She didn’t need to inflict that on Ben, who clearly didn’t need anything else complicated in his life.

***

The rest of the day went wonderfully for Rey.  After naptime was art, music, and crafts.  She was too busy to think about anything but her kids.  Before she knew it, 3:00PM rolled around.  The bell rang, and Rey released her kids to their cubbies to gather their things.  Once the kids had everything, Rey herded them together and led them to the pick up line outside.  She waved when she saw Finn and Poe waiting patiently for Marlo and Killian.  The pair tugged on Cass’ arms, wanting to introduce her to their respective fathers.  Both men went down on one knee to say hello to the small girl hiding her face in Marlo’s shoulder, peeking at them shyly.   Rey was smiling at the group, hugging her arms to her midriff, when a shadow came up beside her.

“I can’t believe it,” she heard Ben murmur beside her.  His voice sent a shiver down her spine.  She held herself tighter and looked up at Ben’s bewildered but smiling face.  Her stomach did a flip.

“I’ve known those two since they were born.  You couldn’t find two nicer children,” Rey said.

“Rey, I...I can’t thank you enough for this,” Ben said, looking down into her eyes.

“I had nothing to do with it.  Cass did it all on her own,” she replied, returning his smile with a shy one of her own.

She saw something change in Ben’s gaze that made her blush slightly.  She looked away.  “I’ve known their parents since I was a teenager.  They’re good people.”

“Seems like it,” Ben said with a hint of caution.  His expression changed when Cass ran up to them.  He bent down and scooped her up in his arms, lifting her high.  Rey’s stomach flipped again.  She needed to get a hold of that; this really wasn’t fair.

“How was your day, Sweetheart?”  Ben asked Cass.

“Great, Uncle Ben! I made two friends!  Marlo and Killian!” Cass replied excitedly.

“You did?!  That’s awesome!”

Cass was nodding enthusiastically.  “Can I play with them at the park on Saturday?  Their dads said it was ok.”

“Of course, Sweetheart.  Did they say what time?”

“Lunchtime.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Cass hugged his neck tightly.  “Yay!!  Miss Rey, will you come too?  Mr. Poe said you should come.”

Rey had been so absorbed in the conversation between the two of them that she was startled when Cass addressed her.  “I would love to, if that’s alright with your Uncle Ben,” she stammered, looking at Ben.

Ben looked at her again, his brown eyes warm and inviting.  Was she mistaken, or was there less sadness when he looked at her?  “I’d love that.”

Chapter 4: Black Hat

Ben spent the hours Cass was at school actually in his office at First Order Web Design and Security.  He and another guy named Hux handled the security part while another team handled the web design part.  It was all run by this old codger named Snoke who wanted a foot in the tech world.

“Well well, the prodigal son returns,” Hux grumbled as Ben sat down at his desk.  Ben had made an arrangement to work from home until Cass started school.  He’s kept himself free that first day in case she needed him.  From all appearances, it didn’t look like she was going to.  With the help of her new friends, Cass was adjusting incredibly well.  It helped that Rey was their teacher, with her serene demeanor and just general air of kindness.  And she had those hazel eyes that danced when she saw him.  And that warm brown hair that complimented her golden skin perfectly.  And those damn adorable freckles...

“I hope you didn’t pester the NSA too much while I was out, Hux” Ben replied, shaking his head to scatter thoughts of Rey.  He was in a good mood.  

“No more than you do anytime you jump online, Kylo,” Hux retorted.  Ben scowled at Hux.  Both of them had done some black hat work in college and after, when Ben had used the hacker alias Kylo Ren.  Ben had given that up the second Cass was born.  Hux used the name to tease him now.

“Whatever,” Ben mumbled.

“So how is the little one?  Still ridiculously precious, I assume?” Hux asked.  Anyone else would have taken offense at Hux’s prissy tone, but Ben knew that’s just how Hux was.  Somehow Cass had reached through Hux’s cold exterior, and he genuinely did care.  

“Great, actually.  She’s making friends, smiling more.  It’s incredible, Hux,” Ben replied, gleaming.

“Really?  Who’s the teacher?”

“She’s, umm, new this year, according to her letter.  Her name’s Rey Johnson.  She’s…” Ben paused, trying to think of how to adequately describe Rey to Hux.

“Oh my Gawd, you have the dopiest look on your face,” Hux snickered.  “She’s that hot, huh?”

“Shut up, Hux.  It’s not like that.”

“Umm, yes it is.  I’ve known you since college, and I have seen that look precisely once.”

“Then you’ll remember the look that came after it,” Ben grumbled.  Rejection was not a good look on Ben.  He’d fallen hard for a girl in one of his classes.  She did not return the feeling.  He’d spent the rest of the day in his apartment, growling at Hux and stomping around.  Hux had finally had enough and had dragged him to the bar that night to get drunk and hook up with a random girl.  That had essentially been Ben’s only sexual encounter, and it had been shitty.  He found out he wasn’t the hook up type.  Ben realized a physical connection wasn’t enough.  He wanted an emotional one too.

“Oh please.  That was ages ago.  And who knows, maybe she’s The One,” Hux said, rolling his pale blue eyes.  He was Ben’s polar opposite in that department.

“Maybe…” Ben whispered to himself as he worked, seeing Rey dancing in his code.

Chapter 5: Touch

When Saturday rolled around (finally), Rey found herself staring at her closet like a deer caught in the headlights.  What the hell did you wear to a playdate in the park?  When you weren’t even a parent to one of the kids on said playdate.  And half the reason you were going was to slyly check out the large brooding man with the soft dark hair.  

Rey had found an excuse to touch his hair this week at pick up time.  She’d lied and said a bit of dandelion fluff had gotten caught.  Ben had obligingly bent down and allowed her to pluck the imaginary fluff from his hair.  She may have lingered a bit, stroking the soft strands gently.  

“Got it,” she’d whispered.  The look he was giving her left her breathless.

“Thanks,” Ben had replied, holding her gaze as he rose.   

Rey rifled through her shirts.  Unless she was mistaken, Ben must feel the same way she did.  At least a little bit.  It seemed he’d found any excuse to touch her this past week.  When a couple kids had bumped into her, she hadn’t really been in danger of falling over, but his long fingers had wrapped around her arms anyway, just to make sure.  She’d shivered as his thumbs rubbed inside her upper arms.  Another time his hand had come to rest on her lower back once when she’d tripped, just a little, on a bit of uneven pavement.  His warm touch had lingered maybe a tad longer than was necessary.

Rey found herself blushing like a teenager in her closet, one hand on her cheek, the other over her stomach.  She felt giddy, nervous.  She shook her head.  Focus, she told herself.  You don’t want to be late, she thought as she grabbed a pair of dark wash skinny jeans off the shelf and a fitted light grey tunic top off the hanger.  She tugged on her dark brown leather Frye riding boots to complete the ensemble.  She brushed her hair, working it into her favorite three bun style and rubbed some BB cream onto her face.  She grabbed a granola bar from the kitchen and threw it along with her phone and keys into her bag and headed out of her apartment.

***

It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny.  Everyone was already at the park when Rey pulled up.  Poe and Finn were chatting on a bench with Jessika while Rose was helping Killian cheer Marlo and Cass on as they tried to wrestle Ben to the ground.

Rey placed her hand over her heart, willing it to slow its rapid beating.  If she thought Ben was attractive when he was brooding, that was nothing compared to when he was laughing with a big smile on his face, children climbing all over him like a jungle gym.  And then Ben saw her.  He stopped laughing, but his smile grew broader.  Ben said a few words and pointed to her, the kids all turned and ran to Rey screaming, arms out. Still holding his gaze, Rey knelt down and held her arms out, little bundles of energy crashing into her.  

By the time she disentangled herself, Ben had made his way over.  He held his hand out to help her up.  She took it gladly, giving it a slight squeeze as she let go when everyone else came over.

“Glad you made it, Rey!” Jessika exclaimed, giving Rey a hug.

“It’s been forever!” said Rose, doing the same.  

“How have you been since yesterday?” Poe asked cheekily.  

Rey laughed, “Fine, Poe.”

“Can we have lunch now, Daddy?” Marlo asked Finn.

Finn laughed, “Sure thing, Peanut.  I’m starving.”

They all made their way over to a shady spot under some trees, Rose and Jessika spreading out blankets, Finn and Poe distributing sandwiches to everyone and bottles of cold tea to the adults, and Ben and Rey handing out sippy cups of water and bags of Cheez-its to the kids.  They sat in pairs, with the kids kind of in the middle.  The little ones ate and drank quickly and fell asleep just as fast.

They all talked for awhile, asking Ben about what he did for a living, Ben asking what they did, what everyone enjoyed doing on weekends.  Rey watched Ben grow from cautious and guarded to warm and open as he grew more comfortable with her friends.  She smiled, hugging her knees to her chest.  Picnics were all well and good in theory, but sitting on the ground quickly lost its charm.

Poe nudged Finn, prompting him to turn to Ben and ask, “Hey, Ben, what was that you were saying about your friends?  They’re playing some concert tonight or something?  Rey you’re not busy tonight are you?”

Rey shook her head, watching as a blush crept up Ben’s cheeks as he turned to her, tugging his hair again in that adorable way he did.

“Umm, yeah, my friends Hux and Phasma are playing tonight at the brewery downtown.  My parents offered to watch the kids for the night, if you’d like to come too.  I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want…”

Rey smiled at him, resting her head on her knees.  “I’d love to.”

Chapter 6: Beer Garden

Ben’s palms were sweaty.  Why were his palms so sweaty?  Wiping them on his jeans, he kept an eye out for Rey.  A lot of people had turned out for the concert; that would please Hux and Phasma.  He’d helped them set up a couple hours ago before going home to shower and change.  

Cass and her friends were already at his parents’.  Leia had been overjoyed to host a sleepover.  Han was already on the phone with the pizza place, ordering stuffed crust.  Ben almost wished he was staying with his parents.  Almost.  His mother had given him a pat on the cheek before he left, his dad gave him a wink.  Apparently he hadn’t been as subtle about Rey as he thought in his conversations with them.

He’d also spent a few minutes before he left straightening up around the house, putting empty glasses and sippy cups in the dishwasher, putting his D&D 5e books back on the shelf with his video games, making his bed.  Not that he thought anyone but him was going to see it tonight, just because he had some time to kill.  Really, that was the only reason.

As he waited for Rey, he thought about Hux’s comments while he’d helped them set up.

“I swear to Hades, Solo, if you don’t make a move, I am going to call you out on stage,” Hux had said.  

Phasma, overhearing, had come up and added, “Yeah, we’ll make you sing.”  Ben scowled at Hux.  He must have told Phasma about Rey during one of their practices.

“You’ve been moon-eyed over this girl all week and you won’t shut up about her.  Just go for it, you moron.”

“Hux, you don’t know what you’re talking about.  Just leave it alone,” Ben had snarled.

Hux sighed, his haughty facade replaced with a kinder one Ben had only seen a couple times.  He put his hand on Ben’s shoulder.  “Ben, in all seriousness.  If you care about this girl, really care about her, you need to do something about it.  You can’t let fear hold you back from what could be the best thing to happen to you...ok, second best thing.”

Ben had looked at Hux dumbfounded.

“I mean, I’m obviously the best,” Hux had added in an exaggerated haughty manner.  

Phasma laughed and threw in her two cents.  “If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out.  But you won’t know until you DO something.  And from what Hux has told me, it sounds like this girl is warm for your form dude.  Go for it.”

And there she was, walking in with Finn, Poe, Rose, and Jessika.  She was laughing and smiling at something one of them had said.  When their eyes met, her smile grew a little broader, her eyes a little brighter.  She had let her hair down, the warm brown tresses curling slightly.  The afternoon sunshine had brought her freckles out a bit more.  Why was she always glowing?  Ben felt his palms get sweaty again. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

The group made their way over to him, Rey coming to stand beside him.  “Hey guys, glad you could make it,” Ben said sheepishly, trying very hard not to stare at Rey.  “Umm, they’ve set up a bar out in the beer garden where the concert’ll be.  They pulled some limited stuff out of the cellar, high octane so I’d be careful.  I can be the DD, if you want.”  

He pulled some cards out of his pocket, handing one to each of them.  “Hux and Phas gave me these as a thank you for helping them set up.  These’ll get you 15% off your drinks when you show them to the bartender.”

“Thanks, Ben!  That’s awfully nice of you!” Rose chirped.  

“Yeah, that’s awesome of you to offer, but we can just get a cab or something if you want to partake,” Poe said.

“No big deal.  I have room in my car, and I don’t really drink.”  He’d made sure to borrow his dad’s SUV, since there was no way he could get everyone in his Jetta.  Han had been almost too happy, shoving the keys in Ben’s hand and nearly shoving him out the door, telling him to have a good time with his friends.

“Well alrighty then!  Make a path, Finn is cutting loose!”  Finn had cried, making a beeline for the bar.  

Rose laughed, trailing after him.  “If I don’t keep an eye on him, I’ll lose him!” she shouted behind her.

Poe and Jessika followed after them, leaving Rey and Ben alone.

“Can I, umm, get you something?” Ben asked, running his hand through his hair as they walked out into the beer garden.

“Sure.  What do they have?” Rey asked as they approached the bar.  She was toying with her fingers nervously.

The bartender helped them both pick a beer, a session ale for Ben since it was low ABV and a chocolate mint stout for Rey.  As they were about to turn to leave the bartender called out, “Hey Miss! Wait you forgot your cookie!”  

Rey turned around confused, and the bartender handed her a Thin Mint.  “Your beer comes with a Thin Mint.  It highlights the chocolate and mint notes in the beer.”  

Rey thanked him and went back to Ben, nibbling her cookie.  “I got a cookie,” she said bemused.

“I can see that,” Ben replied, laughing.  He held his hand up when she offered him half.

They found the rest of their friends standing off to the side of the crowd and joined them.

***

A ways into the concert, Rey had lost herself in the music, and she failed to notice they’d lost Finn and Poe.  Rose came up to her, a bit drunk and frazzled.  “I lost Finn,” she wailed.

“Oh dear, he can’t have gone far,” Rey said, trying not to laugh.  She saw that Ben was still beside her, staring off into middle distance.

“Will you help me find him?  You know how he and Poe get sometimes,” Rose asked.

“Sure.  Ben, will you help me find Finn?  Ben?”  Rey touched Ben’s arm lightly.

“Huh?  Oh! Sure thing.  Come on, I think I saw one of them go this way,”  Ben replied, shaking himself out of his reverie.  He grabbed Rey’s hand, pulling her into the crowd.

“Thank you!” Rose called out as she headed a different direction.

Ben and Rey moved through the sea of bodies until they reached the middle of the crowd.  Ben was so tall, he was hoping he’d be able to spot one of them from the middle.  He scanned the crowd, but couldn’t see either of them.  He looked down and saw that Rey was wrapped up in the music again, moving slightly to the beat.  He stopped looking and watched her out of the corner of his eye.

Ben saw Phas catch Hux’s eye and jerk her chin in his direction.  Hux seemed to look him square in the eye.  Surely they couldn’t pick him out of the crowd.  

Or maybe they could.  Phasma stepped up to her microphone and said, “Alright folks, we’re gonna slow things down a notch.  Take a chance...to catch your breath.”  She and Hux started in on a slow romantic melody.  They had seen him.  Ben’s palms got sweaty again.  He wiped them on his jeans again.

As the song played on stage, Ben felt a surge of...something...flow through him.  Something bright and shining.  His hand sought Rey’s beside him.  Wrapping his long fingers around her hand, he pulled her closer.  She was looking up at him, her hazel eyes meeting his brown ones, her lips parted slightly.

“Rey,” Ben swallowed.  He bent down to whisper in her ear, “Can I...can I kiss you?”

Rey’s free hand came up and stroked his cheek gently.  “Yes,” she whispered back.

Ben’s heart sang as he turned his head slightly, capturing her lips with his own.  He kissed her gently, bringing his hand up to the nape of her neck, his thumb stroking behind her ear along her hairline.  

Rey returned his kiss shyly, having never been kissed like this before, or really ever.  He was being so gentle, almost like he knew.  When she felt his tongue brush her lower lip, a bolt of feeling went straight to her lower abdomen.  She opened her lips a bit, letting him in.  He deepened the kiss, increasing the pressure on her lips slightly as his tongue explored her mouth.  Her hand slipped into his hair, the soft locks like silk beneath her fingers.  She felt a hum vibrate in his throat.  Encouraged, she let her tongue slip across his.  His grip tightened on her neck and hand.  

Ben ended the kiss as gently as he began it when the song came to an end.  Resting his forehead against hers, he whispered, “I wanted to do that the second I met you.”

“Really?” Rey asked quietly, almost unable to believe it.

Ben nodded.

“Can I tell you something, Ben?”

“Anything.”

“That was, umm, my first kiss,” Rey stammered, looking down.

Ben pulled away from her slightly, a look of incredulity on his face as something almost primal roared through him.  Placing his fingers beneath her chin, he urged her to look back up at him.  When she complied, looking up at him through her lashes, Ben held her face between his hands, bringing his lips to hers again.  This kiss was deeper, almost insistent.  Another bolt of feeling shot through Rey, straight to the place between her thighs as Ben’s tongue stroked inside her mouth.

“We’d like to remind the audience that while PDA is fine, please keep it PG,” Ben heard Hux’s amused voice over the clamor of the crowd.  He and Rey jumped apart almost instinctually, both of them blushing deeply.  

“And to the two guys doing push ups in front of the stage, thank you for the entertainment,” Phasma added.

Ben cocked an eyebrow at Rey. “You don’t think…”

Rey held a hand up to her mouth, stifling her laughter.  “I absolutely do.”

Rey grabbed Ben’s hand and led him towards the front of the crowd.  There they found Poe and Finn, on the ground, doing push ups while Rose and Jessika tried in vain to get them to leave with them.  Apparently they had really enjoyed the bar’s high octane offerings.  With Ben and Rey’s help, Jessika and Rose managed to get Finn and Poe off to the side of the stage.  Both were incredibly inebriated.  

Rose turned to Ben saying, “I think it’s time to go.”

Rey smiled shyly when Ben looked at her and said, “I think so too.”

Chapter 7: New

Rey stood on Ben’s stoop as he unlocked the front door of his house, hands clasped together, nervously chewing her lip.  She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a little bit scared.  She was a virgin, and while the concept held no meaning for her, the physical implications intimidated her a little bit.  She’d experimented a bit with her fingers in the past, read novels and stories online, but this was guaranteed to be something else entirely.  Ben was just so large; there was no way the parts she couldn’t see weren’t proportional.  And what about Ben?  Was he going to expect things from her?  Was she supposed to do something for him?  

Ben pushed the door open and turned to her, holding his hand out to her.  “Come in,” the faintest hint of a question in his words.  Rey took his hand tentatively, walking in.  Ben’s thumb brushed across her knuckles, trying to reassure her.

“Rey, I can take you home if you want.  You don’t have to stay.  With me,” Ben said gently.

“No, Ben.  I want to stay.  I...want it...to be you,” Rey replied haltingly, not quite sure how to convey that she wanted her first time to be with him.  Without sounding like a teenager anyway.  She pulled off her boots, a sign she intended to stay.

Ben wrapped her in his arms, holding her close.  “To be honest, Rey, you aren’t the only inexperienced one here,” Ben murmured into her hair.

Rey looked up at him.  “What?”

“I...I’ve only been with one other person.  It was a drunk hook up thing in college.  I learned that wasn’t for me.  Since then, there was never anyone that I...cared about enough to want to sleep with.”

Rey could only stare at him.  How could someone as attractive and caring as him have only slept with one person?  And did he say he cared for her?

“I mean, I’ve read and...stuff, so I’m pretty sure I know what I’m doing,” he said with a lopsided grin.

Rey reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, saying softly, “I trust you.”  She rose on her toes, “Make me yours, Ben” she whispered in his ear, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

That primal instinct roared through Ben again- the need to claim and possess.  Where the hell had that come from? He’d examine that later.  Right now, he bent and scooped Rey up in his arms and carried her to his bedroom.  He set her gently on top of the king size bed, cradling the side of her face in his hand.  Rey turned and nuzzled into his palm, pressing a kiss there.

Rey sat on the edge of the mattress, watching him intently.  His fingers trailed from her cheek down her neck, ghosting over her breast, causing her to shiver.  Ben leaned forward, capturing her lips in a deep kiss and his hands crept to her waist, grabbing handfuls of her shirt and pulling it up and over her head.  Rey blushed as he regarded her with eyes blown wide by lust.

“Stand up for me, Rey,” Ben said, his voice rougher and deeper.

Rey stood, shaking slightly, but trying to hold herself still.  Ben reached and unbuttoned her jeans, sliding them slowly over her hips and down to to the floor and off, kneeling before her.  Wrapping his arms around her waist, Ben looked up at Rey.  

“So beautiful,” Ben whispered as he began to press kisses onto her stomach and hips.  His large hands began caressing her back, down over the curve of her ass and back up.  He could smell her arousal through the grey silk.  Shit that was hot.  Ben felt his erection straining against his jeans.   Rey’s hands threaded through his hair, gently scratching his scalp.  He rose and began to undress, Rey watching him with wide eyes.

When Ben stood before her, Rey reached out and touched his chest, trailing her fingers lightly down his abdomen.  His skin was pale, bearing moles and scars.  She felt him shudder as her touch reached his hip.  Rey could see now that she had been right; everything was proportional.  She swallowed thickly, but she trusted Ben not to hurt her.  

He wrapped her in his arms again, kissing her more urgently as he pushed her back against the bed.  Tangled together, Rey felt Ben’s hands roaming slowly all over her body as his mouth moved from her lips to her neck, sucking gently at the sensitive place where it met her shoulder.  She raked her nails softly down his back as soft moans escaped her.  

He moved lower kissing her sternum, stroking her breast over the lace of her bra.  Reaching behind her, Ben deftly undid the hooks and pulled it off her, throwing it to the side.  He raised himself up, taking in her flushed skin and the dusky rose of her nipples.  He reached out and stroked each with the backs of his fingers, watching the delicate skin harden and pebble beneath his touch.  Rey gasped when he lowered his head suddenly, taking one in his mouth, licking and nipping at the sensitive skin while he kneaded the other.  He reached out with his other hand and interlaced their fingers, holding her tight.

Rey had been so wrapped up in the sensation of his mouth on her breast that she jumped as she felt his fingers slipping beneath the band of her underwear.

Ben released her breast, coming back up to look in her pleasure glazed eyes.  “I’m going to touch you, Rey,” he said, panting.  “Are you wet for me, Love?”

“Yes, Ben.  I’m so wet for you.  Only you,” Rey replied breathlessly.  “Please, Ben.  Please.”

He felt himself throbbing painfully at her words.  Only you.  Please.  He ground his hips into the mattress, hoping to relieve the pressure on his cock somewhat.  They were the most beautiful words he’d ever heard.  Obligingly, he reached beneath the thin silk and stroked her slit gently.  He pressed his lips to her ear, purring, “So wet.”

Rey moaned and cried beneath Ben’s careful ministrations.  He took his time with her, finding out what made her moan and what made her scream.  When her cries became whimpers and her body started writhing, he slid one finger inside her, causing Rey to arch.  Ben began stroking inside her, revelling in how tight she was around him.  

“Oh, Ben,” Rey sighed, drunk on pleasure.

“Hmm,” Ben hummed in her ear. “Am I hurting you, Love?”

“Oh God, no,” Rey moaned as Ben continued to stroke her, finding a patch that felt different than the others.  Rubbing it, he smiled as that caused Rey to cry out loudly.  He continued to stroke her, using his thumb to rub at her tight bundle of nerves.  Adding another finger, Ben began stretching her as he stroked, her pleading cries music to his ears.

Rey’s insides felt strange, like there was a spring in her middle, coiled tight.  She writhed and squirmed beside Ben as he touched her, breathy moans and loud cries escaping her.  She threw a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle herself, but Ben grabbed her wrist and pulled it away.

“I want to hear you, Rey.  I want to hear you when you come for me,” he murmured, holding her gaze.

Rey nodded.  The look in Ben’s velvet brown eyes made Rey’s stomach flutter.  She held his gaze as she arched up.  “Fuck, Ben.  I’m so close.  Please make me come,” she moaned as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Ben growled as he kissed that delicate spot between her neck and shoulder again, grazing his teeth over it.  He added a third finger into her wet heat, causing Rey to keen.  He pumped them into her, over and over, continuing to rub her clit as he did.  He nipped at her neck gently.  He could feel how close she was.

Rey’s climax hit her hard.  All at once it felt like the spring inside her let loose, and she was vaguely aware she screamed Ben’s name.  Everything went dark then came back, sharper than before.  She felt her intimate walls clamp down around Ben’s fingers, trying to pull him deeper into her.

Ben rode out Rey’s climax with her, bringing her back down to him.  When her breaths turned deep and slow, Ben pulled his fingers from her, marvelling at how slick they were.  Looking back into Rey’s eyes, he licked his fingers clean, causing her eyes to widen.

“Next time, I’m going to taste you Rey.  I’ll make you come on my tongue,”  Ben hummed.  She tasted amazing.

Rey could barely focus, so she simply watched Ben as he reached over her to the drawer of his nightstand.  On impulse, she grabbed his wrist, stopping him.  When he looked at her with one eyebrow raised, she shook her head.  

“IUD.  Please don’t.  I want…” Rey bit her lip.  Ben’s pupils dilated further.  “I want you to come inside me, Ben.  Please.”

“Are you sure?”  Ben asked, his voice low and rough.  Mine.

Rey nodded, pulling off her underwear.

Ben moaned in appreciation as he settled himself over Rey, reaching down and pushing her legs apart.  Rey wrapped them around his waist instinctively as he lowered his hips, his rigid cock pushing at her wet entrance.  He heard Rey’s sharp intake of breath as he pushed into her.

“Just relax, Love.  Let me control it,” Ben stammered.  She was so tight, so warm.  “Fuck, you’re amazing.”

Rey reached up and held the side of his face in her hand as he pushed slowly into her until he was buried to the hilt.  He held still while he felt her adjust around him until he couldn’t bear it anymore.  He ground his hips, setting a slow rhythm.  Rey started panting, there was so much of him inside her.  

“You take my cock so well, Love,” Ben whispered, praising her. As he began to slowly pump in and out of her.

Rey hummed in response, her hands moving to his back, fingers digging in to tense muscle.  She could feel how hard he was trying not to hurt her, to control himself.  She felt silly, but it brought tears to her eyes.  He cared so much, and it touched her deeply.  She moved her hips, matching his movements, encouraging him to thrust into her harder, faster.

It didn’t take much encouragement.  Ben had been close for so long; listening to Rey moan and cry out his name had almost done it.  And each thrust of his hips brought another breathy sigh from her, encouraging him to pump into her harder and faster until his hips were snapping and her sighs became screams of pleasure.

Ben began to groan, feeling his release getting closer.  But he’d be damned if he left her hanging.  He reached between them to where they were joined, feeling for her hard bundle of nerves.  Rubbing it, he moaned as he felt her walls clench around his hard length, causing him to release inside her.  Ben’s head fell to Rey’s shoulder as he thrust gently with each throb, feeling his spend coating her.  Rey’s hands gently caressed his back, helping him ride out his own climax.  

When his throbbing subsided, he pulled out of her, a hiss escaping his clenched teeth.  He collapsed onto his back, panting.  Rey curled onto her side, her small hand resting on his chest.  She could feel fluid leaking from her.  She shifted uncomfortably.

“Do you mind of I, umm, clean up?” Rey asked Ben timidly.

Turning his head, he looked into her bright eyes.  He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Of course not,” Ben replied.  “Bathroom’s just there.  There’s washcloths in there too.”

Rey smiled as she left the bed.  Ablutions completed, she returned and saw that Ben had gotten under the covers, pulling them to the side for her.  She crawled in beside him, curling into his side and resting her head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, throwing the covers over her and tucking them in.  Rey rested her hand over Ben’s heart, feeling the strong beat beneath her fingers.  His other hand came up to rest over hers, holding it tight.  Rey felt Ben sighed contentedly, and she smiled.  They both were asleep within seconds.

Chapter 8: Warmth

Rey’s eyelids fluttered open as diffused early morning light filtered in through the curtains at the bedroom window.  She was lying on her side, facing Ben’s bedroom door.  She could see their clothes strewn about the floor.  His hand was resting gently on her naked hip.  Rey brought her hand up to her mouth, biting down on her knuckle to hide the big silly smile that was spreading across her face.  She felt giddy.

Abandoned by her parents, neglected by the uncle forced to take her in, and shunned by other children for one reason or another, Rey had spent most of her life feeling unwanted and alone.  The empty feelings still haunted her even though by all accounts she’d put her past behind her, had finally found some measure of happiness.  But lying here beside Ben, she felt that empty feeling replaced by something warm.  She felt whole, for the first time in her life.  And unless she was mistaken, Ben must feeling somewhat similar.  This past week, she’d seen the sadness in his eyes replaced by something else.  Something that looked just as warm as the feeling inside her.    

Rey wiggled back against Ben, surprised to feel something warm and hard pressing against her lower back.  Oh.  Biting her lower lip, she gently pressed her backside into his hardness.  Ben moaned in his sleep and ground his hips into her, the grip on her hip tightening.  Rey felt a warm feeling building between her thighs, and she was overcome with the desire to touch him, to see him.  She rolled over carefully, pushing Ben gently onto his back.  His eyes were struggling to open, and Rey took the opportunity to pull the blankets back.  She smiled sheepishly when she saw that he was now fully awake, regarding her with hungry eyes.

“I wanted to see you,” Rey whispered, leaning up on her elbow.

“Hmm,” Ben replied as one hand played with her hair and the other went to grab her other hand.  He pulled it to his lower abdomen.  “Do you like what you see?”

Rey, unable to muster any cheekiness when Ben was looking at her like he was, said sincerely, “I think you’re beautiful.”  She briefly considered that he might think it odd to call a man beautiful, but it seemed to be the only word that applied to him.  His broad body bore the marks and scars of a rough and tumble boyhood.  His arms were strong, but not grossly muscled.  His features were unconventional, but no less attractive to her.  His hair was sinfully thick and dark.  She even thought his more...sensitive...parts were beautiful, in a way. It fascinated her, watching his rigid cock twitch under her gaze.

Ben smiled at her.  “So are you.”  He let his hand trail to her breast, where he began to stroke and tug at her nipple, watching it harden at his touch.  

Rey sighed with pleasure.  “Mmm...Ben...please can I touch you?”

He almost laughed at her, but she asked so sincerely.  In reply, he tugged her hand lower to his throbbing dick.  He inhaled sharply as she gently stroked his hard length.  Rey watched him twitch and throb and grow harder beneath her touch, unbelievably turned on that she was doing this to him.  When she wrapped her hand around him, Ben moaned loudly.  Rey yelped in surprise when he flipped her onto her back, pinning her to the mattress with his large hands on her hips.

“Did I hurt you?” Rey asked, concerned.  She didn’t think she had, but what did she know.  Ben’s eyes were so dark.

“Oh no, Love.  You touch me so well.  But I just remembered something,” Ben replied, a devilish glint in his eye.

“What’s that?” Rey asked breathlessly, her hands resting on either side of her face.  

Ben looked down at the beautiful woman beneath him,  all warm and glowing and perfect.  When he spoke, his voice was low and rough, “I said that next time I’d make you come on my tongue, Rey.  And I’m a man of my word.”  

***

After a morning spent with Ben enthusiastically keeping his word, among other things, Rey was grateful to share Ben’s shower with him.  They had both finished washing and rinsing and were simply standing under the warm spray, holding each other.  

“Rey, would you… I mean, I know it’s Sunday and there’s probably other things you want to do today…” Ben stammered, “But would you like to spend the day with Cass and me?”

Ben had no idea where that had come from, what had possessed him to ask her that.  Of course she’d be busy.  She was a teacher.  She had her own life.

Rey tilted her head up, resting her chin on his sternum, a smile on her rosy lips.  “There is nothing I’d rather do today.”

Ben felt his heart flip flop from the way she was looking at him.  And he felt himself grinning like an idiot when she’d agreed to spend the day with him and Cass.

“What do you normally do on Sundays?” Rey asked as Ben turned the water off.

“Have breakfast with my parents, go to the park, come home with Chinese food for dinner and play either Mario Kart or Dungeons & Dragons,” he replied, handing her a towel.  Too late he realized he was essentially asking her to meet his parents, and there was no way he was going to be able to be subtle about how he felt.  He had to talk to Cass anyway, and Leia was infamous for eavesdropping.  He looked at her, hoping he hadn’t put her off.

“That all sounds wonderful, Ben!  But isn’t D&D a bit too complicated for Cass?  I mean, I barely get it and I’m 24.”  Rey noticed that Ben was looking at her a bit apprehensively.  She didn’t mind meeting his parents so soon.  She hoped she conveyed that.

“I modify it for her.  We don’t really run a campaign or anything.  I helped her create her character, and I send her on missions to find unicorns and young metallic dragons and things like that.  She has quite the menagerie going.  Wait, do you play?!”

Rey laughed at the expression on Ben’s face.  “Yeah, a bit.  Finn and Poe were really into it in college when I met them.  We still play with Jessika and Rose every once and awhile.”

Ben pulled her into his arms and kissed her again, the feeling of finding out she liked something he liked overwhelming him.  “We’re making you a character when we get back.”

Rey laughed again.  “Alright.  Would you mind stopping by my apartment before we go to your parents though?  I’d like to grab some clean clothes and my phone charger.”

“Sure thing.”

It wasn’t long before they pulled up beside Ben’s Jetta in Han and Leia’s driveway.  Ben could see the curtain in the front window twitch, meaning Cass had been on the lookout for him.  His suspicion was confirmed when the front door flew open and Cass rushed toward the car, her arms flung wide.  Ben quickly exited the car and ran to her, swooping her up and spinning her around.  

Leia was in the doorway, watching them.  She did not fail to notice the young woman getting out of the car too.  She smiled when she saw Cass squeal at the sight of the young woman.  This was obviously someone Cass knew and liked.

Rey came up beside Ben and hugged Cass while Ben held her in a kind of awkward group hug.  

“Well well, doesn’t that make a lovely picture!” Leia called out. “Hurry up and get in here before your father finishes the pancakes.”

Ben walked up to his mother, Cass in one arm, Rey beside the other.  He bent down and kissed her cheek.  “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, Sweetie.  Your friends picked up their kiddos already.”  Leia turned to Rey.  “And who is this lovely young woman?”

Rey held out her hand, replying, “I’m Rey Johnson, Cass’ teacher.”

“Uh-huh.  Just Cass’ teacher?”  Smiling at Rey’s blush, Leia took Rey’s hand and shook it firmly before pulling her in for a hug.  Over Rey’s shoulder, she mouthed to Ben, “I like her.”

Ben rolled his eyes and herded everyone back into the house.  He could hear his father cursing at the bacon in the kitchen.  Han made a mean breakfast, but not without swearing a couple times at the bacon for spitting at him.

“I better go help your father finish cooking.  You all get settled at the table,” Leia said, still smiling.

“Yeah, in a minute Mom,” Ben replied.  He waited until Leia went into the kitchen before he took Cass into the living room, setting her on the floor.  He knelt down on one knee to bring himself eye level with her.

“Hi Uncle Ben!  Hi Miss Rey!”  Cass said, bouncing up and down, looking quickly from one to the other.  

Rey was standing apart from them a both, wanting to give them space.  “Hi, Cass,” she murmured quietly.

“Cass, I want to ask you something,” Ben said, somewhat seriously.

Cass stopped bouncing and looked at Ben, her head cocked to the side.  “Ok,” she said trying to match his serious tone.

Ben smiled, chuckling quietly.  “What would you think if Miss Rey spent some time with us today?  And maybe some more days.”

Cass looked quickly at Rey, then back to Ben.  Leaning forward, Cass whispered in his ear, “Are you friends?  Is she nice to you?  Do I need to get you ice cream because you’re friends?”

Ben pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.  “No, you don’t need to get me ice cream.  And yes she’s nice to me.”  Ben looked over at Rey and held out his hand as he said softly, “And I think she’s more than my friend, but that’s up to her too, not just me.”

Cass looked at Rey again.  “What’s more than friends?”

Rey walked up and took Ben’s outstretched hand.  “Partners,” said Ben.

Epilogue: Two Years Later

Cass came up quietly behind her Uncle Ben.  He was writing diligently in a notebook he used for D&D.  He and Miss Rey met their friends every week to play, which meant Cass got to play with her best friends Marlo and Killian.  They usually ended up watching the grownups though, offering very helpful advice, in Cass’ opinion.

Right now though, she was on a mission.  Miss Rey had asked her to tell Uncle Ben something.  Something important.  

It was late, but Cass had had a bad dream and had seen the light on in Miss Rey and Uncle Ben’s room.  The door was open, so it was okay to go in.  Only Miss Rey was in there, sitting on the edge of the big bed, looking off into the distance.  Her hair was messy, and she wore an old rumpled shirt of Uncle Ben’s and some leggings.  She looked tired, but happy.

Cass liked having Miss Rey living with them.  She made Uncle Ben happy, and she was so nice.  Cass clambered up onto the bed beside her.  Miss Rey had smiled and pulled her into her lap.  

“Hi, Sweetheart.  Did you have a bad dream?”  Miss Rey had asked.

Cass had actually forgotten about her dream.  She always felt better when she saw Miss Rey.  “Yeah, but I’m ok now.  Did you have a bad dream Miss Rey?”  

Rey shook her head.  “No, but I have something to ask you.  Can you go tell your Uncle Ben something for me?”

And then Miss Rey had told Cass what to tell Uncle Ben.  Cass had jumped off the bed and more or less ran to the living room.  

“Boo!”  she cried at him.

Ben jumped in his chair.  “Jeez, Cass!  What are you trying to do?  Make me fall down?”

Cass giggled.  “No.  But I have to tell you something.  Miss Rey asked me to.”

“Hmm,”  Ben murmured.  He lifted Cass and plopped her onto his lap.  “I have something to tell you too.”

“You first, Uncle Ben,” Cass said.  Maybe Uncle Ben already knew what Miss Rey had told her.

“What do you think about calling Miss Rey Aunt Rey instead?” Ben asked quietly, in case Rey was listening from the hallway.  He pulled the ring out of his pocket and showed Cass the gold band with the modest diamond.

Cass squeed and hugged him around his neck.

“I take it you’d be ok with that,” Ben said, laughing.

“Yeah!” Cass exclaimed.  This was perfect!  It wasn’t the same as what Miss Rey, sorry Aunt Rey, had told her.

“What did you want to tell me?”

“Miss Rey, I mean Aunt Rey, wanted me to tell you,” Cass corrected.

“I’m sorry, what did she want you to tell me?”

“That there’s a baby in her tummy,” Cass whispered, afraid to say it too loud.  She didn’t think babies could hear through people’s tummies, but just in case, she didn’t want to wake it up.

Ben’s eyes widened.  He hugged Cass closer.  He knew Rey had opted not to get another IUD at her appointment over a year ago, but the doctor had told her that she probably wouldn’t be able to conceive without assistive technology.  Her ovaries were polycystic, which meant she didn’t ovulate regularly, if at all.  Her periods were never regular; her cycles often lasted months.  They had opted to just kind of see what happened.

“Are you ok, Uncle Ben?” Cass asked, concerned.  He was holding her really tight.

“Yeah, everything’s perfect,” Ben replied, choking back tears.  Everything really was.  He stood and carried Cass to his bedroom.  Rey was sitting at the edge of the bed, waiting for him, her hands in her lap, her feet barely reaching the floor.  She looked so nervous, a small smile on her face when she saw him approach.

Holding Cass in one arm, he reached out and cupped Rey’s cheek with his other hand, wiping a tear away with his thumb.  She leaned into his touch and sighed happily.

Ben deposited Cass into Rey’s lap carefully, before crawling into the bed.  He pulled them both to his chest, holding his little family close.