#bangs pots and pans part two is live

[phykios]

If I Were A Blackbird, part 12 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

His Majesty King Frederick III of Sweden, dispensing entirely with etiquette, noisily slurped up a noodle, and then picked out a bit of chicken with his fork, before grasping it between his fingers and popping it in his mouth. “Mm,” he hummed. “Delicious. Nothing like a classic American alfredo.” 

Annabeth, Crown Princess and Duchess of Södermanland, pushed her pasta around the plate, stomach too tight to eat. 

Over the last few years, dinner with her father had become less and less of a frightening affair. Which was ironic, because in that time he’d gone from being a regular old prince, to the King. With all the divine power and magical rituals that went along with it. 

It helped that the Princess Consort rarely joined them anymore, a decision Annabeth was pretty sure traced to the fact that she was the Princess Consort, and not the Queen. And dinners that had once felt like they took place between Princess Annabeth and Prince Frederick now feel more like they are just between Annabeth and her dad. 

She liked that. 

But it didn’t stop her from stress-knitting a sweater for Percie on her flight all morning and afternoon after being informed via calendar notification that she had been invited to dinner with the king upon her arrival back home. 

The sweater was dark blue and had the Olympic rings, matching the one she had knitted for her dog’s namesake. And also the one she was making for herself. 

“Guido really outdid himself with dinner tonight,” he said, dabbing at his face with a napkin, “but it still isn’t as good as the donut you brought me from New York.” He grinned at her. “We really do need to get them to build a Dunkin here.”

She couldn’t help but grin back. “Maybe that will be my first act as queen.”

He laughed. “A good use of your divine rights, but I am not sure I want to wait that long. Do you think I would be able to get a Dunkaccino in Fólkvangr?”

“Well you certainly seem sure of your future.”

“One must be prepared to dream big,” he said, “particularly when one is a king.” 

“An iced coffee and a warrior's death,” she laughed. “What more could a king ask for?”

His smile dropped, face hardening, and the very air seemed to grow… uncomfortable. He considered her, and carefully put down his fork. “Perhaps nothing more a king could want. But… as a father…” 

A chill went down her spine. Oh gods. Oh no. Anything but this. 

And neither, apparently, was her dad, who was suddenly very interested in the embroidery on his napkin. “...Is Percy ready for Athens?” 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck. This was what he was playing at? “Yeah, just a few more weeks. He’s excited.” 

“Any chance he’s going to stop by here, on his way?”

“Um, no, he’s got his normal ritual at home, and then he’s heading over with team USA.” She frowned. “Why?”

“Well,” he said, with a significant look, “it will have been four years, at the Olympics, won’t it? And I was wondering when we were going to be seeing him on a more… permanent basis.” 

That brought her up a little short. Percy was around for almost all major holidays now, unless it conflicted with a race. And even then, sometimes he skipped them. What could he possibly want Percy to come back to Sweden for? He’d been here a month for National Day and Midsummer, and the two of them seemed to be getting on fine. 

And as for permanent… he’d more or less abandoned Luke’s apartment in New York City as anything more than a pretense. It was still on his driver's license, but she was pretty sure none of his stuff was there anymore. Two weeks ago, when he’d been in New York for a Good Morning America appearance, he’d stayed over at hers, despite her still being in Sweden at the time. And that wasn’t a rare occurrence. He’d been calling it their apartment for about a year now, and he didn’t even look sheepish about it anymore. 

Percy was a permanent fixture in her life. She was determined to make it so. “It feels pretty permanent to me,” she said, quietly. 

He looked at her, and she looked back, for several long, long seconds, before he sighed and looked away. “Are you really going to demand I say it, dear?”

She sucked in a breath. And here it was. The other shoe, come to drop in between her and Percy. And he had seemed so perfect on paper: he loved her, he was getting good enough at Swedish that he didn’t ask her to translate anything at official dinners anymore, he looked great in a suit by her side, he could smile and wave with the best of them, and he seemed okay with the prospect of that being the rest of his life. So, what problem had been dug up? What was going to prevent Princess Annabeth from being with her prince charming?

“Say what?” If he had a problem with her choice of partner, if he had spent years getting buddy buddy with her, only to crush her dreams worse than before, then he had damn well better spell it out to her face. 

He had to know that Percy was it for her. He wasn’t that oblivious. So, it was all coming back around. He’d asked her, four of five years ago, if she intended to abdicate for true love. He was calling that marker in now. 

He was going to make her choose between Percy and her crown. 

No, worse, he was going to make her choose between Percy and letting her stepmother win. 

“When are you and Percy getting married?” 

And there it was. The ultimatum.

“Well…” Wait. “What?” 

He shrugged again, a touch self-conscious. “Well, dear, you are almost thirty, and while you are certainly young, I know you’ve talked about your plans for your future. And your… desire to secure succession for your descendants.” She felt herself go red at that statement. Though it wasn’t untrue, clearly. “I was just wondering if… now might be the proper time.” 

Well, that wasn’t the other shoe, that was a whole damn Louboutin store. “You want me to make Percy my consort?”

He frowned. “I thought you wanted to make Percy your consort.” 

“I do,” she said, “I do.” By all the gods, Greek and Norse and whatever the hell else there might be out there, did she want to.

“Well then, of course I want you to marry him. I like Percy. You know that.” Which she did. It wasn’t like he had hidden it. “And more than that, I know you love him. And he loves you, and what’s more, accepts you. Accepts all the wonderful parts of you.”

Oh, so that was the other shoe. She couldn’t even properly appreciate her father’s explicit and enthusiastic support of Percy, of her choices, of what she wanted to happen more than anything in the world. 

She groaned and put her head in her hands. 

“Dear, what’s wrong?”

“He hasn’t,” she mumbled into her palms. 

“What?”

“He hasn’t accepted all the parts of me.”

“Oh.” It was silent for a long moment, save for her father fiddling with his napkin. “That’s… Are you sure, dear?”

She looked up. “Huh?”

“Well, I only ask because he’s been such a good sport at dinners. And he was absolutely wonderful during the funeral and the coronation and with everything. I… is he really not on board with royal life?”

“No, no, he’s–we’ve talked about that. Quite a lot. He’s a better sport about,” she waved a hand, “all of that than I deserve.” 

That part was fine. It was just everything else that was the problem. 

“You deserve everything, dear,” her father said without a second's hesitation. “He is, as you say, a good sport, but I do not for a second think that he would be if it wasn’t for you. Trust me when I say, I know the difference between someone who loves the prince versus someone who loves the man. Percy loves you. I promise you dear. I promise you he does.” He took her hand across the table. “Nearly as much as I do.”  

And wasn’t that something. She could stop the feel of tears pooling in her eyes. Her father was staring at her, earnestness plain on his face. She had thought, not two minutes ago, that he meant to separate her from Percy, and he was proclaiming Percy’s love for her. 

Her father, her dad, the King of Sweden, wanted her to be happy and loved and the Queen. And he wanted her to marry Percy Jackson to make it happen. She blinked back the tears as best she could. 

It was not a totally successful endeavor. 

“I haven’t told Percy,” she said, finally, her voice barely more than a whisper. And, she realized a second later, not in Swedish. Or English. Nor her grade school French. She was speaking in ancient Greek. Wasn’t she lucky that Perseus’ name fit so well in this cursed language. “I haven’t told him about my mother, or about our ancestry, or any of it.” 

“I see,” her father said, his Greek not as natural as her, but clear and precise from many years of practice. “Well, do you think that will be a problem?”

“Of course it will be a problem. I have to tell him the gods are real. Like, the Greek gods. And the Norse gods!” 

He waved a hand. “He’s a classicist, I am sure he’s got passing familiarity with it. It isn’t as though you’ll need to worry about him not having paid attention to that lesson in school. I’m sure it will go fine.” 

“You really think so?” she asked, and for a split second, it was like she was back in that diner in California. Trusting her father to soothe her fears, and make it all better. 

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, squeezing her hand. “I think… I think he loves you, and that, to be honest, a royal life is a much bigger burden for him to have to deal with than marrying a demigod. It isn’t as though hydras will be attacking him during his calc finals. I do believe your mother to be far more formidable than the Riksdag, and significantly more beautiful,” he couldn’t help but add, and Annabeth chuckled. “But she could have no objection to Percy, nor your marriage, compared to any other mortal man. But the Riksdag will always want to butt in. He has put up with much worse than your mother. Or our Frey ancestors. And I believe he has shown he will continue to do so. This, all of this, is just a matter of belief. Nothing Percy has said has suggested to me that he’s particularly religious, anyway.” 

“No,” Annabeth conceded, “No, he’s not.” 

“So, I am sure–I am positive–that all will be well.” 

She swallowed a few times, just a little afraid to speak the hope in her chest. To give life to the little hearth in her heart. “I… I think he’ll be alright with it. If I can get him to believe. I think he’ll be able to accept it. To accept me.” 

Her father beamed at her. “And when are you going to tell him?”

“Soon,” she said. “I was thinking maybe in Athens, since we’ll be there together.” 

Her father let out a laugh. “Has this always been your plan?”

“Maybe not always,” she chuckled, “but… I have been thinking about it for a while. A couple of months, at least.” Or maybe a couple of years. “He really wants to get a gold in the Olympics. And this year, he’s the favorite.” 

“There is a long history of royalty competing in the Olympics, all over Europe. I think he could continue, if he doesn’t manage it this time. Though I am told his odds are very good.” 

She smiled at him. It was such a thoughtful thing to say. “He wants to win for team USA,” she said, “and I can’t really begrudge him that if he turns around and immediately devotes his life to Sweden, now can?” 

Her father laughed again. “I suppose not.” 

Her eyes still a little blurry, in her mind she conjured up the wonderful image of him and her in her–their–New York apartment, Percy smiling at her over their kitchen table, and her entire body was seized with a sudden, painful need. “I really, really want to marry him, Dad,” she whispered. 

“I know, dear.” 

“And after we get married, he’s going to be part of this–this machine. So I just have to be honest with him. And let him accomplish as many of his goals as I can.”

“So,” he said. “Athens, then.” 

“Yes.” 

“And you think he’ll propose after that?” 

That would be nice. “I don’t know if he’ll think it's alright, though.”

“Well,” he grinned, a little sheepish, “I may have, ah… cornered him a few months ago and informed him that it would be, so I don’t see why he wouldn’t.” 

“Dad!” She felt the blush coat her cheeks. 

“Honestly, you’ve given me some insight into what was taking him so long. But I do understand his desire to go for gold,” he said, stroking his chin. “If my father, or even Randolph, had prevented me from getting my PhD, or from pursuing some scholarship for a bit, well… I would be very cross indeed.” 

“He deserves it.” 

“He does,” he agreed. “Just as you deserve all those buildings in New York with your name on them.” 

And that’s what did it. She felt the tears fall out of her eyes. 

“I’m going to tell him,” she said, voice thick. “After he wins a gold medal, I’m going to tell him all about it.” 

“Or perhaps,” her father replied, with a sparkle in his eye, “you should tell him before, go up to the Parthenon, tell him about it, and help him pray to Athena and Nike for victory.” 

That… was not a bad idea. Perhaps the ritual nature of it would ease him into the idea. And he was, like her dad said, a classicist. He’d want to see the Parthenon. And she could get him VIP access. Maybe even private access, if she asked the right person. “And Poseidon, too, I think. He is sailing, after all.” Hopefully the lord of the ocean hadn’t heard all the shade Percy had been throwing his way recently. Of if he had, hopefully a sacrifice would soothe his ego.  

“And then, we can finally get through all the paperwork.” 

Annabeth blinked. “What paperwork?”

“All the paperwork I had drawn up to get your marriage approved,” he said. 

“Oh,” she grimaced.

“Sadly, other people will want to hear of it, too. But I promise, it is all just a formality. Just tell me when, and I’ll turn the crown Princess into the Crown Princess couple.” 

“You really think it will be alright?”

“I’m the king,” said her father, taking a sip of his beer. “Haven’t you heard? What I say, goes.” 

***

Luke whistled. “Dang.”

“So, you approve?”

“Dude, I don’t think anyone wouldn’t approve.” Luke said, holding the ring up for a better look. The large diamond at the center, square cut and aquamarine blue, perfectly reflected the light, casting glittering refractions all over his fingers. It was surrounded by diamonds so old that they’d been cut before that technology existed. They were framed by pearls, all natural, all saltwater, all perfect, and the shining platinum band which held them all was fit for a princess. Percy hoped.

“Great,” Percy said, “because I need you to create a paper trail that makes it look like I got this ring legally.”

Luke raised an eyebrow, clearly suppressing a grin that Percy knew would only be one of approval. “Did you not?”

“The diamonds came from wrecks that I scavenged. I had to take Hazel with me to make sure I’d gotten the right ones. It's basically looting.” He’d spent the last three years collecting these pearls. It was grueling work, but it was worth it. It was so worth it. 

“Hazel didn’t do the actual jewelry work, did she?” Luke asked, concerned. 

Percy shook his head. She normally wasn’t super comfortable with that, what with her propensity for accidental curses, and Percy would never have made her do that if she didn’t want to. “No, she wouldn’t even call the stuff in the ocean, she'd point it out, and then I’d have to go through rotting wood and rusted metal to get them. Tyson made it for me. And sourced the platinum.” And also designed it for him, with a little help from his harpy girlfriend. Tyson had blushed when he told Percy about it. “But she’s a princess. Some magazine or newspaper–not to mention all of the Internet–is going to want details about where they came from, and I need to explain it without using words like ‘magic’ and ‘Poseidon.’”

Luke turned the ring over, inspecting the underside of the gems. “I thought you were going to tell Annabeth before your proposal.”

He nodded. “I am, in Athens. But I’m not planning on announcing it to the world.”

“I don’t know, that might be kind of funny.”

“I feel like they’d take away my medals if I tell them I can control my boat with my mind. And the ocean, too.” Percy said, “And I would always take you down with me in that situation.”

Luke let his grin out, savage and unrepentant. “Fair. So, you need a place for it to have come from. I can make it look above board. Any other requests?”

“Could you not make it a blood diamond thing? I would love not to imply that.”

“Just looting, then?” he asked, handing the ring back.

Percy made a face, even as he carefully placed it back inside the velvet box. “Look, looting from ships that sank centuries ago for a few gems that would otherwise be lost, so my princess girlfriend can have an engagement ring worthy of her, is reasonable, I think. Over a century of controlling diamond markets, and using it to exploit colonialist populations is not. Having said that, though… Please don’t say I looted anything.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, with relief. And more than a little excitement. After months–years–of planning, it was almost time. He knew he wanted to marry her one normal Tuesday afternoon, as they sat together at Annabeth’s–their–kitchen table, laughing over something silly. Whenever he got cold feet, or felt like the royal life might be too much to handle, he cast his mind back to that beautiful, quiet moment, and reminded himself: no matter how weird and fucky it got, it was worth it. She was worth it all. 

“Anything for you cuz. And that princess.” He smiled, crooked and pleased. “Have you decided how you’re going to do it yet?”

“Not sure yet,” Percy admitted. “I’ve been a little preoccupied.”

“Your race?” 

“Oh, yeah, with that too.” 

Luke frowned. “That’s not what’s been preoccupying you?”

“I mean… it hasn’t… not been preoccupying me,” he said. “But… I’ve been distracted.” 

“With what?”

Percy sighed, sinking into the couch. “You said it. I have to tell her before I can propose to her.” 

Frowning with sympathy, Luke settled down next to him, crossing his arms. “You really think it's going to be a big deal?”

“Of course it's going to be a big deal. You think it won’t be a big deal?”

“No, just go up to her and say ‘the gods are real, like the greek gods, like the ones you learned about but weren't paying attention to.” 

“She likes mythology, she was probably paying attention.” 

“Well, it will be like when I explained things to your mom.” 

Percy snorted. “My mom was hired by Hermes. She knew about my dad. She knew all about everything. She didn’t need some nine year old loser giving her a Greek mythology tutorial.”

“Yeah, well this nine year old loser saved your life.” 

“Tell that to the snakes I strangled at age two.” 

Luke reached over and ruffled Percy’s hair. “Big three braggart.” 

“And proud of it.” 

It was weird being over here. He hadn’t stayed with Luke in New York for a year. Without meaning to, Annabeth’s apartment became home base. The doorman and housekeeper recognized him. He’d had to pack a bag to come over this weekend. But Luke had just short of begged him, saying that it was probably the last time they could do it. 

And frankly, Percy kind of hoped he was right.

“I wasn’t talking about the snakes,” Luke said. 

“No?”

“No, I was talking about our quest.”

Technically speaking, he and Luke had been on half a dozen little quests. But he could only be talking about one. “You did save me from Ladon,” said Percy, probably a little too nostalgic for a near-death experience. 

“I did,” Luke agreed, “on a quest you weren’t even supposed to be on.”

“Come on, you know you wanted me there.”

“Oh yeah, a ten year old hanger on was exactly what I wanted on my deadly quest.”

‘Stowaway’ might have been a more appropriate term, since Percy had hidden in the back seat of Luke’s car and only revealed himself once they had gotten past the George Washington Bridge. Luke, surprised, angry, and having missed the turn to detour North to the Tappan Zee bridge to take Percy back, begrudgingly decided that Percy could stay. Though he did make Percy call his mom and explain where he had gone.  

“What’s gotten you so nostalgic?” Percy asked. 

Pursing his lips, Luke was silent for a little while, determinedly staring up at the ceiling. “Can I be honest?” he said, eventually. 

“I don’t know, big ask for a son of Hermes.” He was expecting the throw pillow to the face, and he caught it.

“Asshole.”

“Yeah, but you love me anyway. So for real, what’s up?”

“I think it’s the whole Athens thing,” said Luke, quietly. 

“The Olympics?”

“No. It’s more the where than the what. We’re going to the motherland.”

Percy paused and considered him. “I think it’s more the fatherland, for us.”

“Be serious.”

“I can‘t. If I am serious, I have to think about it. And then I get freaked out.” 

Luke frowned at him. “What are you freaked out about?”

“Take your pick: the ancient sea, deadly monsters, Zeus being upset at me on the way, not getting gold, Annabeth realizing that she’s too good for a crazy moron like me. I can go on.”

But Luke was undeterred. “Hey–you can kill a lousy monster and control the lousy ocean. Zeus knows the Olympics are for him, and we’re gonna burn a sacrifice and everything, I already have the AirBNB with the fire pit and grill booked.” He paused, took a deep breath, and clapped Percy in the shoulder, but he didn’t move his hand when he was done. “You could win this race with your eyes closed and hands tied behind your back. But that isn’t what you want. And so, you’re going to put your whole heart into it. And also your body. And it will probably go great, but–”

“It didn’t last time.” 

Luke narrowed his eyes, and then used the hand resting on Percy’s shoulder, brought it up and cuffed the side of his head.

“Ow!” 

“Dude, you know the world is full of Olympians who lost at the last second. And settled for silver. Or bronze. You also know that you have the power to make it so that doesn’t happen to you. You chose not to use that power last time.”

Rubbing his head, Percy pouted. “You think I should have cheated.” 

“I think that, given that you only failed to win last time because of supernatural interference, it isn’t really cheating.”

“No?”

“No! Look,” he said, the fire in his eyes blazing with the same kind of righteous indignation he had at sixteen, but without the sickly poison of almost giving himself over to a Titan, “our parents fuck us over. It’s like, their whole thing. They fuck over our mothers, then they fuck over us. But at the very least, they try to make up for it. It isn’t like some stupid fantasy movie where we aren’t allowed to use our powers for ourselves, or let mortals catch on. Mortals don’t notice, and we get to use our powers to balance the scales.” 

Percy raised an eyebrow. “You really think that’s how it works?”

“Sure. What, do you think that a child of Athena is cheating on a test by being really smart?” 

“...Probably not.” 

“Well, it's basically the same thing.”

“So you want me to cheat.” 

Luke shook his head. “No. I want you to forgive yourself if something goes wrong, if another monster attacks. And you choose to intervene, like I know you will, and you choose not to bring your full powers to bear. If you choose not to go for gold, know it is a choice you’re making. And it's okay.” 

That… helped. Something in Percy’s chest unwound a little. “There's always next time, is that it?”

“Not at all,” Luke said with a grin, “because come Tartarus or high water, you’re marrying your princess when this is over.” 

And that brought everything crashing back. “But what if she’s not okay about the demigod stuff?”

“The whole point of monarchy is ‘my bloodline is super special.’ Of course she’ll be cool about it.” 

“And if she is cool with the demigod shit, but says no when I propose?”

Luke stared at him, dumbfounded. “Are you serious?” 

“What?”

“That might be the dumbest thing you’ve ever said in your life.”

“Hey!”

“She is obsessed with you. And in love with you. She has brought you to state dinners. You’ve waved at coronations. Of course she’ll say yes.” 

“Only the one coronation.” Percy felt the need to point out. 

Luke kicked him in the shin. He did not hold back.

[hugsandchaos]

Seeing Double

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Summary: A ghost who looks a lot like Phantom comes to him in search of protection, and their newest member instantly agrees. He calls her his little sister, and sooner or later, Phantom also might end up with a new brother.

*bangs pots and pans together* @vixen-uchiha, @starlightcat04, @blueliac, @lenacraft, @admiralwidow, @fuckingfaraway, @little-apricot-orchard, @sithlordchimchnga, @buymeanewlaptopty, @deeterzz, @jaylaxyart99, @phant0mc1d3, @idiosolcrasy, @dehydrated-bread, @rubber-ducky-your-the-one, @randomenglishmajor, @mushroomymoss, I MADE MORE JUICE!!!

For the past few weeks, Danielle had been staying in the Cave. After explaining the full story to Red Tornado, some of the details unknown to them for some reason, and he spoke with Batman, their friend’s clone had been given permission to live there. As long as she trained and or some sort of education. This was definitely acceptable to both ghosts. Danielle had started training, and not just with Phantom, and her brother would teach her a thing or two when they weren’t training.

Most of his lessons consisted of scenarios where she’d need to try to patch herself up incase she needed to, which she apparently didn’t know as well as he did. It was interesting how similar ectoplasm was to blood when it came to wounds. She wasn’t allowed on missions, though. That should’ve been obvious, but it actually surprised Danielle. It took a bit of arguing and convincing from Phantom to get her to understand, but she reluctantly stayed behind. She was bitter for a while and took her training a little more seriously after that. Overall, she was a great addition to her friend group.

At the moment, it was around 8:02 PM and Danielle was helping Megan cook dinner. Phantom was doing some kind of assignment on the couch with Conner sitting on the opposite end of the couch. Danielle moved around to catch the items and put them on the counter as Megan used her telekinesis to pull them from the fridge and pantry. Danielle nearly missed grabbing the glass jar of sauce, but caught it and placed it down carefully.”And, that’s all we need!” Megan said. She turned around and smiled seeing the ingredients neatly placed on the island counter.”Thanks for your help, Danielle.” She said.

The young ghost smiled.”No sweat off my back. Now how is this one made?” She asked. She enjoyed watching Megan cook, as odd as the Martian thought it was, and she hadn’t seen her use this recipe yet. Megan took another look at the tablet.

She used her telekinesis to open a cabinet and pulled a medium bowl out of it. She set it on the table as she also got a measuring cup.”We need to stir the ricotta cheese, 1/2 cup parmesan cheese, and eggs in this bowl and then set it aside.” She said. Both her and Danielle started on that first step.

On the couch, it was pleasantly quiet. Both boys left each other to their thoughts. Phantom had a notebook in his lap and a textbook set on the arm of the couch. Both the textbook and his handwriting were in a language that Phantom just settled on calling “ghost speak” since he didn’t know what else to call it due to the actual name of the language being surprisingly difficult to translate to English. Megan took a really wild guess and said that it could be a difference between being dead and being alive that made the translation difficult.

Right now, he was focused on that while Conner took the time to think. He had some conflicted feelings about the situation. On one end, he was happy. He had someone to relate to a little better. He saw that there were actually people who had good relationships with their clones, even taking them under their wing. He was more convinced that there was a chance that if his original saw the way they interacted, he might do the same.

On the other hand, however, he was jealous. Conner didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but it was unfortunately true. He couldn’t even relate to Danielle on a level he wished he could because Phantom didn’t practically ignore her existence for her being his clone. It made him feel a little more alone than before. He also didn’t think that letting Superman meet Danielle was a good idea because Phantom was already mad at him because of what he said last time he was there.

He made the room’s temperature drop by around 20 degrees in a matter of seconds and didn’t take his eyes off the league member until he left. It was probably best to avoid both the argument that would undoubtedly happen between them and what he might say to Danielle if he found out she was also a clone.

“Are you okay?” Phantom spoke up. Conner blinked and turned to him.”Are you okay?” The ghost repeated. Conner nodded. This earned a look of suspicion from Phantom.

Oh. Right. The whole “smelling emotions” thing.

Conner briefly glanced back at the two girls chatting away, sharing stories about their experiences on Earth, then leaned in closer.”Are you going to let her meet Superman?” He asked in a hushed tone. Phantom’s gaze hardened.

He shook his head.”Absolutely not. I’d like to avoid it as much as possible.” He whispered. Conner was a little relieved to hear that. He opened his mouth again to tell him that he’d help him do that, but he was cut off.

“Hey, big bro? What happens if Megan eats ectoplasm?” Danielle called.

Phantom immediately shot up from the couch, knocking both his books and his pencil onto the floor.”No!!!” He instinctively shouted. He quickly flew over to Danielle and Megan to see if he needed to snatch anything from them. Megan laughed at him as he checked the counter. Conner couldn’t resist a small smile, either. It was pretty funny.

Danielle also laughed at him as Phantom realized there wasn’t any in the food or in their possession. He crossed his arms.”Ha, ha, very funny.” He said, obviously unimpressed. Danielle calmed down enough to speak.

“I know it’s funny! I wouldn’t actually give her ectoplasm.” She said. Phantom gave her a pretty disapproving look, but her smile didn’t falter.”I just wanted to annoy you.” She said. Phantom’s eyes widened and seemed more irritated than before. Danielle did her best not to laugh at him.

“You have five seconds to start running.” He said. The younger ghost quickly fled the room and Phantom waited, counting down from five out loud. Once he reached one, he went invisible and vanished from Megan’s and Conner’s sight.

Soon enough, they’d hear the pleading screams of a younger sibling being mercilessly chased by their older brother.

[s-4pphics]

scent of the pine. 1 (e.w.)

omg i finally wrote something who woulda thought gosh golly damn hey yall whos gay around here

wc;cw: 9.6k mmmm, sistersbestfriend!ellie, guitarist/producer!ellie, violinist!oc, so many time skips and theyre not even done yet omg, queer duh, all ocs r black coded<3, mentions of underage smoking/drinking(nics n weed obv), partying, making out, blood(it’s fake but still), all tlou kids appear including *gasp* cat, lots of ocs theyre gonna thrive in later chaps, depression, anxiety, disassociation, crack(it’s not all bad yall laugh a little!!), mentions of therapy, uh yeah just alot of sad and drama, smut in later chaps🤭🤭

You have always been surrounded by music. 

When you were born, your mother quieted your screams with song, holding you close to her chest and gently whispering words of affection and love into your ears while your three-year-old sister jumped in celebration for new life. 

When you were two, your mother gave you your first ever violin toy. Your sister had taken a large interest in the flute at age four, saying that the whistling noises sounded like birdies! and she wanted to give you the same exposure. It could have been sheer luck or her maternal instincts, but you quickly became attached to it. It was small and inexpensive and hardly sounded like a violin, but its bright lights and animated face near the scratched, poorly painted F-holes entranced you like no other. You couldn’t stop fiddling with the red, blue, and green buttons across the body, and every time it played the same robotic instrumental, you waved your arms around with the biggest smile on your face, like you could fly away from elation. Your sister would sometimes jump in and blow into her months old pink recorder while the instrumental played from your toy, imagining you were a part of a world-renowned orchestra: the musical harmony between the two of you brought your mother joy. 

When you turned three, your mom and sister invited over some of her friends to help make cupcakes topped with musical notes for your special day. You sat on the couch with your favorite toy in hand as the instrumental played, jumping up and down on the cushion from pure excitement. Your sister’s friends kept you entertained while your mother prepared dinner, banging together pots and pans with wooden spoons and dancing, imagining them as drums. All four of them made you laugh with jokes, sang to you—one of them even played a song on one of her miniature, bright green guitars— and allowed you to experience some of the joys of life through symphonic expression.

When you were four, your mother noticed differences in your behavior. She noted that you and your sister were polar opposites: she was outspoken, unapologetic, and animated, while you were shy, polite, and timid. You hardly ever spoke unless spoken to, and though no one around you judged you for it, your mother often wondered what went on in your head. Despite your lack of communication, she never doubted the fire inside you: she saw it in your eyes whenever you watched footage of some of the most famous names in the classical world play their hearts out. When you were five, she signed you up for violin lessons.

When your big sister turned eight, she and her friends' released screams of excitement when she revealed her very first flute. She jumped in excitement, —mostly out of relief that she wouldn't have to berate you and your mom with the shrilling bleats of her old, pink recorder— shrieking about how she and her friends should start a band as soon as possible.“How the hell would a trumpet player fit in a rock band, you idiot?” You remembered your sister's best friend, Ellie, saying quietly so your mother wouldn’t hear from the kitchen, earning a playful shove from Jesse, your next-door neighbor. The dark-haired girl, Dina—who lived two houses down and had a large obsession with slapping her mother’s keyboard in the middle of the night—bursted into a fit of giggles while pointing at the young boy, making him blush. 

You were always very observant of your sister's friends. You didn’t have many opportunities to make some of your own due to your incessant need to isolate, so you managed with what you had. They intrigued you: they were loud, lively, and exuberant. They never shied away from demonstrating their talents to you or your mom, especially the green-eyed, auburn-haired girl that almost always had her father’s black acoustic guitar strapped around her small frame on the three-block walk to your house. You remembered when she brought the guitar to school to play for the other students during lunch time, which landed her in after-school detention after she scolded one of her teachers for confiscating it, claiming that they were “limiting creative expression” and telling them to “screw themselves”. 

When Ellie’s father, Joel, came to pick up your sister's friends from her party, Ellie jokingly pinched your side and threw you a quick see ya, squirt! while her and her two friends laughed and waved their way out of your front door. Your face ran hot as you watched them—her—leave. You didn’t get to reply before they ran down your porch in a heap of giggles. Watch the road, nuggets! I don’t have life insurance! You remembered Joel calling out to them as they sprinted across the street. 

When you turned eight years old, your mother gave you your very first authentic violin and bow, the black case wrapped in glittery, floral paper. As usual, your sister and her friends grabbed and shook your shoulders out of excitement and anticipation of seeing you play since they never have, which you politely declined. You have always shied away from revealing your natural talent due to your scalding fear of embarrassment, resulting in only your mother and violin teacher knowing your abilities. You blushed as your sister, Jesse, and Dina pressed on, pleading that you play at least a couple of chords for them, causing Ellie to playfully come to your defense with a high-spirited squeal of she’s shy, you heathens! leave her be before I kick all your asses! 

From that moment on, you always looked up to Ellie and her comfortability with herself. You never thought that you would meet someone more confident than your sister, but Ellie had her beat for miles. Regardless of where she was or what she did, she moved with a confidence that you only dreamt of having at that age. You wanted so desperately to mimic her, but that annoying voice of doubt never failed to remind you of your place. You made sure your light was dimmed, always. 

When your sister was twelve, she began to take music very seriously. She went from two flute sessions a week to five, only to return home and play some more. She’d even performed in some of her school's recitals (she vomited across the stage during her first performance, but a victory is a victory). You watched your mother scold her about not completing her homework as she stood practicing in the living room while you silently ate your dinner, which led to her half-heartedly completing her assignments with a frown on her face. Over the next year and a half, your sister's scolding started to get more intense as her grades dropped. She was never much of a scholar, but she never let her grades slip under as much as they had then. Although her music teacher was sending her home with nothing but praises after every lesson, your mom often received letters in the mail from your sister's school saying that her performance was concerning. You’d heard your mother reprimand her countless times, saying you’re not going to survive high school like this! look at what you’re doing! while your sister claimed I know exactly what I’m doing, I want to be better! I’m following my dreams! why aren’t you proud of me? They had exchanged more harsh words until you heard your sister's door slam shut and your mothers silently resigned to her room in defeat. 

You heard your sister’s cries through your shared wall for a while, until a gentle voice—Ellie’s, you recognized—consoled her and told her to calm down until her whimpers silenced. You knew she had a habit of secretly climbing up into your sister's window to hang out when your mom didn’t allow company over, but you didn’t know that she also always showed up when your sister needed another source of comfort. You slowly got up and left your room, silently walking down the hall until you reached your sister's door. You wanted to knock and see if she was okay, but before you could do so, the door opened and out walked Ellie, clad in her usual dark jeans and T-shirt, bracelets covering her wrists in mass, and dirty, scuffed chucks and socks in hand. She jumped slightly when she witnessed someone waiting behind the door, but instantly relaxed when she realized it was you. 

“Hey, squirt. Why are you creepin’ behind the door like that?” She whispered with a small chuckle, gently shutting your sister’s door. 

“Sorry.” You whispered back. “I heard her crying and I wanted to check on her. How is she?” 

“She’ll be fine. She got a headache and fell asleep. I was just tucking her in, don’t worry.” She gently said, looking down at you. “I was just about to head out. Mind lockin’ the front door for me?” 

“Why don’t you just leave out the window again?” 

She snorted before she asked, “Dude, do you know how hard it is to climb down that rickety ass ladder you guys have outside? I almost broke my neck climbing down that thing in that storm last month.” 

You quietly laughed alongside her while she bent down to put her socks back on. “What are you doing up anyway? It’s late and you have class tomorrow.” 

“So do you.” You said, raising an accusatory brow at her. “Plus, I'm not tired, I’m bored.” 

“I’m not tired”, she said mockingly. “What do you wanna do right now?” 

“Don’t you have to be home soon?” 

She waited a second before a mischievous smirk creeped on her face, “Yeah, but who cares. C’mon.” 

She grabbed your wrist before quickly pulling you back into your room and gently shutting the door behind you. She took note of your room: pink and purple everything. Your walls were drenched in white and pink stripes with giant, iridescent, butterfly stickers, your bedspread had small specks of glitter sprinkled across it, which shimmered from your pink and green fairy lamp. You had a small tv propped up on your dresser, which was covered in fairy and Disney princess stickers, at the front of your room. She couldn’t help but snicker at the mountain of plushies that crowded your bed and nightstand. However, she halted when she noticed a small glass case that held two violins with their bows. She recognized the first one: a gift from your mother on your eighth birthday that had lost some shine, and another, much glossier and more tuned than the latter. It looked barely used. A small burst of joy exploded in her chest at the thought of you playing even though she had never seen it. She was happy to know that your love for music still lived. 

“Your room’s cute, dude, it’s making my skin crawl like crazy, holy fuck,” she said with a soft laugh, leaning back against your door. 

“Don’t make fun of me, you freakin' metalhead! It’s pretty in here and I like it,” you said begrudgingly, “Your room's scary!” 

She let out a loud laugh before she acknowledged your glass-guarded instruments, “You still play?” 

She nodded towards your protected instruments. You nodded from your bed and excitedly said, “Yeah, come sit! I never had a slumber party before!” 

You spent the night quietly watching Peter Pan, gossiping about how in love you were with him and how you wished you could fly. Ellie silently watched you talk with curious, wide eyes as you went on tangent after tangent. You talked about movies you loved and boys you liked (which she playfully gagged at), and music you liked to listen to when you were sad, and she internalized all of it. She had never seen this side of you before, but she was so intrigued that she didn’t notice her own intensity in her own eyes. You just kept going and going before you abruptly stopped, the brightness in your eyes dimming slightly as you looked at her. 

“Sorry for talking a lot,” you said, embarrassed. “Am I annoying?” 

“‘Course not, squirt,” she said confused, but immediately. “Why the hell would you think that?” 

You didn’t say anything, but her affirmation reignited the fire in your eyes as your rambles started up again. She let you talk until you sloppily fell asleep across your pillows and plushies, tv still quietly playing in the background. She gently got up from her position, careful not to wake you, pulled your blankets over your frame, and stealthily left through your sister’s window. She made her way back home, envisioning you playing your violin for her one day. 

Ellie became the person that you turned to whenever you needed reassurance. She’d never failed at making you feel acknowledged and seen and heard. 

Age thirteen was the first time you anticipated the summer. Middle school had been a very disconnected period for you, and though many of your peers had experienced a sense of helplessness through these trine times of adolescence, yours was slowly overtaking your ability to feel excitement for anything. You had become so detached to the world around you and that annoying, discouraging voice had only spurred on your distance. This dark state that you entered caused you to separate from everyone, including your own family. Your last day of eighth grade was the giddiest you had felt in a long time, and you couldn’t wait to get back to your place of solitude—home. 

Your sister entered her element in high school. Much to your mother’s delight, she was able to find a balance between fulfilling her dreams as a musical prodigy while staying afloat academically. 

You had been attending your violin lessons for eight years, and though you were blessed with your musical perception, —according to your teacher—you never played in front of an audience. Though your teacher was eager to put you in the children’s orchestra that he trained, your mother did not want to push you into something you weren’t ready for, so she'd always decline politely. 

In July, Dina invited you and your sister over to a pool party. Her parents were going to be out for the weekend, and she thought that it’d be the perfect time to be reckless. When you and your sister walked in with your towels and snacks in hand, she greeted you both with an excited squeal, beckoning you both to the backyard. Ellie, Dina’s older sister, Talia, and a few older girls that you didn’t recognize, were already in the water, splashing and laughing. 

“Look who just arrived, cunts! My babies, my angels, the lights of my life— “

“Ay, shut the fuck up!” the blonde-haired girl yelled with a grin, causing Dina to flip her off and the others to laugh. 

You modestly held your folded towel in your hand, smiling at their interaction. Your sister had already discarded her towel, shorts, and flip flops on a random beach chair before she cannonballed into the pool, causing everyone to swear and splash her. Dina then jumped in right behind her with a shout. They all blended so well, and you curled into yourself. Maybe you should go—

“Get over here, squirt! It’s hot as fuck out here,” Ellie shouted out with a smile, before a girl in a black bikini playfully jumped on her back, planting a light kiss on her shoulder. Something unfamiliar panged in your chest, but you nodded and slipped off your flip flops before making your way over to the pool stairs, slowly submerging yourself into the water. 

“You’re still calling her squirt like she’s four, cut it out already,” Dina called out with a snort before she addressed you.

“I’m not sure if your sister ever mentioned anything about these losers but they’re some friends from school, that’s Cat, Abby, and Riley,” she said and pointed them out, “and they’re really fucking annoying—

“Shut the hell up before I drown you,” said Abby with a straight face.

“Yeah, keep talking to me like that— “ 

“ANYWAYS,” Ellie interrupted, “We missed you kid, where ya been?” 

“Just at home, nothing crazy. I’m glad to finally be out, though.” I think I’m depressed, please don’t notice. 

“She’s lying, I nearly had to drag her ass outta bed by her feet to detangle her hair this morning,” your sister corrected with an over dramatic eye roll. 

“I’m just tired,” you said meekly. “School was hard these past two weeks.” 

“I bet it was! Literally no one ever talks about how crazy middle school is! I damn near backflipped off the stage at our promotion,” Riley commented with a head shake, making Abby aggressively nod her head in agreement. 

As the side conversations continued, your attention was overtaken by Ellie, who had moved to the opposite side of the pool to whisper something into the short-haired girl’s—Cat, who hasn’t acknowledged you yet—ear, which made her giggle and half-heartedly push Ellie away. The green-eyed girl didn’t budge, wrapping her arms around the girl's waist, pulling her closer and, much to your surprise, planting a quick kiss on her cheek. Cat had a tight grip on Ellie’s olive-green rash guard as she held her and shared soft whispers that you wished you heard. Was that her girlfriend? you thought. You knew Ellie liked girls due to her almost two-year long crush on Riley, which she confided in you and your sister about when she was fourteen. She had wildly knocked on your sister’s window in the middle of the night with a tear-stained face, frantically pacing and claiming that something was wrong with her. 

Why the fuck do I want to kiss her and hold her hand whenever I see her?

This is bad, this is really really bad, guys, something’s wrong! 

What do I do, how do I stop this! 

You had never seen her so defeated, and her wet cheeks and scared eyes made your chest hurt with a sharp stab. Your sister had pulled her into a tight hug and quietly hummed a tune in her ear to soothe her sobs, while you gently rubbed her back and told her that she was going to be okay. She ended up staying the night, dozing off while holding one of your sister’s stuffed animals close to her chest while the two of you held her from both sides. You and your sister hadn’t slept in the same bed since she was six. 

As the party slowly died down and Talia, who snuck away to her room much earlier, beckoned everyone inside with a get outta the pool you freaks! you’re gonna prune! from the back door, you all resigned inside to rinse off and change clothes before heading to the living room to watch a scary movie. You silently smacked on your sour gummy worms on the lone lounge chair as you watched Abby, Riley, and your sister cower behind pillows to block the screen while Dina snored loudly, while Cat and Ellie snuggled on a lounge chair. She had her chin propped up on the dark-haired girl’s head to see the screen while she rubbed her back. 

As the film progressed, you saw the couple making small movements out of the corner of your eye. Cat began to subtly plant soft kisses on her cheek, neck, and shoulder, causing the auburn-haired girl to smirk, moving her head to the side to give her more access. You saw Ellie pull her girlfriend’s shirt up slightly, rubbing the exposed skin on her hip. You seemed to be the only one who noticed as the girls on the other couch squealed at another jump scare. Ellie and her girlfriend shared a more intense kiss, and you saw a glistening tongue poke out. That made you avert your gaze and you blushed, embarrassed that you were catching such an intimate moment. You quickly got up with a quick excuse of I gotta pee, making your way to the bathroom down the hall. Your face was boiling, and your heart pounded in your chest as you soaked your hands with icy water before wiping them down your face, that voice in the back of your head asking what the fuck your problem was. 

You slowly looked up at your reflection in the mirror to center yourself, but your vision started to blur, and hands began to shake. You tried to take deep breaths; you tried you tried you tried but the air left your lungs as quickly as it entered. 

Breathe, breathe breathebreathebreathe—

You jumped at the soft knock on the bathroom door, and you ripped it open without hesitation, revealing a concerned Ellie, Dina, and sibling, reaching out and asking if you were okay. How long were you there? You couldn’t speak or breathe or see so you swiftly shook your head no nonono—

Ellie and your sister guided you back to the living room and onto the couch. Ellie squatted down to your eye level, grabbing your face in her warm hands while your sister rubbed your back and Dina held your hand. The other girls’ expressions had been pulled down in concern as they watched your smaller frame tremble. 

“Hey squirt, can you do me a favor? Can you breathe with me?” 

“Cmon, deep breath in and hold it with me, follow me okay?” Ellie instructed. Your mimicked breaths were choked and broken, but she nodded her head at you in encouragement anyway, gently whispering a that’s it every time you shakily exhaled. 

All the girls remained silent but attentive, allowing Ellie to control the situation. Riley had even gone to the kitchen to snag you a glass of water that she set on the coffee table. You tried to match Ellie’s breaths with yours, holding, in and out, holding, in and out, and you eventually calmed down. There was silence for a few minutes before Dina spoke. 

“How do you feel, hun? You okay to talk now?” she asked softly while gently caressing your hand. You didn’t know how to answer, so you meekly nodded your head yes. 

“Tell us what’s been going on with you. You’ve been so… MIA lately,” your friend noted, cringing slightly at her choice of words. 

“I… I don’t know what’s wrong, I don’t know what… what’s happening to me—

“Shh, it’s alright, we’re gonna handle it, just try to relax for now. We’re leaving in a little, anyway,” your sister comforted. You felt Ellie’s calloused fingers gently rub your knee soothingly. You just wanted to lay down. 

After some more hugs and forehead smooches from Dina, you and your sister packed up your things and headed home. You weren’t aware, but Ellie met your sister’s eyes with an intense gaze, quietly instructing her before you both left, (“You need to watch her tonight, do you understand? You watch her until tomorrow and you tell your mom what happened the second you get a chance”) which she immediately agreed to. 

Your sister had held your hand tightly as you both made your way to your front porch. Your sister pulled out her semiquaver keychain, unlocking the door and quietly trudged inside. Your home was dark, meaning that your mother had already been in bed. Your sister hadn’t released the tight grip of your hand the entire trek upstairs. She opened her bedroom door, silently pulling you inside and made her way over to her dresser. She gave you a giant T-shirt to change into as she put her bonnet on. You both brushed your teeth and washed your face before heading over to her bed. You laid down facing each other, tucked under the blankets. You both looked at each other in silence, but she broke it. 

“I want you to tell me why that happened, no bullshit.” 

You didn’t reply. You were tired. 

“Please tell me what’s wrong.” She pressed on. You noted the desperation in her eyes. Your heart was hurting. 

Silence.

Her eyes shut in defeat before she turned her back to you. Your eyes burned into the worn shirt she wore. Just say it, the voice in your head screamed at you, tell her how worthless you are! 

Silence. 

Silence.

Silence.

And then an exhale. 

“I think I need to talk to someone.” 

You did not expect the rest of your summer to be filled with therapy sessions and journal entries. When your sister told your mother about the events of that night, much to your dismay, she immediately made some phone calls and scheduled sessions twice a week. You had to pause your violin sessions for a few weeks, and you missed it, but you knew this was more important. Your mother expressed her remorse for not paying closer attention to your behavior. Your distance, your lack of energy, your reluctance to speak, your silence—God, your silence. You were screaming without a word. She felt that she’d failed you, and she wanted to do as much as she could to reignite that light in your eyes. 

You hadn’t looked forward to these meetings in the beginning, but you soon grew to like your therapist. Even though your feelings were confusing and unfamiliar to you, she was in no rush to get answers out of you. She allowed you to speak at your own pace and listened to every minor detail. She concluded that your self-doubt has bubbled over into anxiety: she recommended you journaling. She wanted you to document one thing that you loved about yourself everyday (“It can be anything: appearance, personality, talents. Whatever you wish. Just make sure you mean it”). 

And so, you did. 

The next month flew by, the last bits of summer slowly easing into fall, and you were going to start your first year of high school. Your mother and sister had noticed a slight change in your behavior during your break: you started eating dinner with them instead of in your room, asked how their day went, what their week looked like. Your sister would ramble about how stressed she was for her last year but also how excited she was to perform with the school’s orchestra at the December recital and, for the first time in what felt like forever, you rambled back. Your mother had listened from the kitchen as you two gossiped, argued, and even planned to play music together in the future. Her heart swelled. You also started hanging out with Dina, Ellie, Jesse, and your sister a lot more: one night, you followed them back to Joel and Ellie’s garage to watch them freestyle on some of his used instruments. Jesse, who babbled to you about his new love for drumming, demonstrated some techniques he had adapted from Joel on his old drum set while your sister nodded her head along to the beats he made. Dina was already improvising on their brand new sixty-one key keyboard, headphones on to tune out the noise the four of you were making. Ellie, who had stepped away to answer her girlfriend’s call, had her father’s bright green, electric bullet mustang strapped around her chest. She noticed you staring and sent you a thumbs up, you giving one back. She sent you a wink and a smile before turning away to continue her conversation. Your heartbeat increased. 

Ellie had become much more attentive after that night at the party. She had always been protective of you, but her desire to talk to you increased tenfold. She would text you fried memes in the middle of the night or leave voice memos about how her dad was helping her customize his old electric guitar. She chattered about wanting to record the entire process for all of you to see. 

i feel like if i help my dad with anything he’ll wring my neck :| he’s so particular abt instruments it’s annoying 

that sucks :( but at least he cares!! he’s just passionate and wants u to play the best. 

he gave it to ME tho. the guitar is mine now!! i should have some input on how it looks be on my side!!! >:/

i am!! just be patient with him. ur gonna be shredding w it soon enough :D

And she also never failed to check in on you for more serious matters, either. She never pressed for information, not wanting to overstep, but she always ensured that you had a safe space to discuss anything you wanted with her. After some of your meetings, you would already have a text from her asking how your session went and what you learned. You would send her voice memos about some of your therapist’s pointers about communication and how you were trying to improve that skill for your family, especially your mom. She also provided some advice about what helped her regain her footing in conversation, joking that no one could ever get me to shut the hell up at the end of the day! that’s for damn sure. 

Ellie wasn’t aware, but you started writing about her in your journal, as well. Small, little excerpts of what you liked about her and how she made you feel. How caring she was. How she made your heart beat fast whenever she was around. How strong she felt when she pulled you in for a tight hug while whispering about how she missed you—

Oh. 

Oh.

You were helpless… and gay. 

It was late into November. You were fourteen and elated. 

Not only had you slowly eased back into music, but you had friends. That you made on your own. You knew that your sister and her friends didn’t want to drag you along everywhere they went, both on and off campus, so you began to explore other paths by yourself. Swiftly after the school year started, you joined the campus orchestra, and while you were terrified, you were excited. Impassioned. Hopeful. 

There were all types of groups that passed through the practice room. Students of all grades hung out, ate, and studied there: you were shocked at the number of students that lounged in the designated nerd hotspot during their free time. This is nothing like the movies, you had thought. You noted that the room was not as busy on Thursdays during lunch, and you thought it would be a good time to tune out the outside world and throw yourself into music again. One Thursday, you walked in on a group of juniors whispering and giggling about something you couldn’t hear. You looked around and noticed one of the girls from your biology class—Arya, you remembered—pushed off into a corner by herself, on her knees and hurriedly shoving her things into her backpack. She looked upset. 

She looked sad. 

The juniors had been talking about her.

You had your violin case and lunch in hand as you slowly made your way past the juniors and in front of her. You noticed her tear-stained cheeks shining under the white light of the room as you got closer. You softly greeted her, making her jump and eyes harden. 

“Hey, Arya, you alright?” You whispered, squatting down to her level. 

“What do you think,” She whispered back harshly, continuing to shove her books into her pack. “Does it look like I’m alright? If you’re here to laugh you can honestly fuck off.” 

You’d flinched at her tone but pressed on. “I didn’t walk all the way here to laugh at you. Let's go somewhere else, we can eat together, if you want!” 

You could tell she had questioned your enthusiasm. She looked at you skeptically before looking behind you, at the juniors, and then back at you. You didn’t budge. She slowly rose to her feet, swung her backpack over her shoulder, grabbed her instrument case from the floor—hm, clarinet— and softly nodded. You both leaving caused the juniors to laugh harder. 

You didn’t care. 

You and Arya have done everything together since that day. She was eager to introduce you to her two friends, Starr and Kris, who you clicked with immediately. The second they sat you down, they raged about how much they hated the writers of Vampire Diaries due to how they treated Kat Graham, how they joked about hating talented people like you and Arya, what they wanted their future weddings to look like (Kris and her Pinterest boards), and you laughed. 

You were calm.

You were happy. 

Your first year of high school flew by. 

Your sister earned her flute solo at the December recital, earning a standing ovation from the audience of students and parents. You and your mother screamed the loudest for her. 

At Dina’s eighteenth birthday party, you, Ellie, and your sister walked in on her and Jesse tonguing each other down in the kitchen. Ellie let out a hardy laugh of are you fuckers serious! right in front of my salad? while your sister fell to the floor in hysterics. You had shielded your eyes. 

April came around and so did prom season. Your sister said that she had been anticipating the event since seventh grade and you, your mom, and Dina were dragged along to her fitting. She had texted Ellie to come, but she swiftly declined, claiming that she couldn’t hide my fat dick in a dress! love you tho! buy me an elf bar? :3

You missed her so much. 

On the evening of prom, your sister, Dina, Jesse, and Ellie all pitched in to rent a limo. Your sister, gorgeous as always, was draped in a strapless, floral gown that cinched her waist and bloomed at her hips and her twists were pinned up to show her neckline and back. Dina wore a flowy, black dress with a leg slit. Ellie and Jesse were dressed to a T in classic black suits, him in loafers and her in beat up Vans with her usual messy, low bun. 

Your parents had all met at Joel’s house for pictures and semi-alcoholic drinks. You were touching up your sister’s makeup at Ellie’s desk in her room when you felt too familiar hands pinch your sides with a soft, hey squirt. You jumped, almost mussing up your sister’s liner, causing her to kick the hell out of Ellie’s calf. She feigned an ache before hitting her mint elf bar, blowing it away from both of your faces. 

“Don’t fucking play with me right now bitch, I mean it, this is serious business,” your sister had said to her. 

“Oh shut the hell up, it’s three hours of musty people dancing, it’s not that serious,” Ellie said before turning to you, “Check your sister, dude.” 

“El, please shut up,” you said to her. “Just hold still, I'm almost done, god you’re both annoying!” 

You worked as quickly as you could, slightly smudging the liner on her waterline until you were satisfied, “…aaaand done. Tell me how it looks right quick.” 

She inspected her appearance, pressing on her baby hairs before turning and giving you a fat smooch, “Thank you baby! It’s perfect, now move, I gotta piss before we go.” 

Your sister jumped up from Ellie’s chair, holding her dress up while flipping her off and lightly sprinting down the hall to the bathroom, which left you both giggling.

A bored Ellie had made her way over to her bed while you worked, laid out across it, silently puffing on her nic before saying, “I don’t know how you deal with her sometimes.” 

“Me neither, honestly,” you replied, smiling. “Where’s Cat?” 

“Somewhere being annoying. We had an argument last night.” 

“Yikes, sorry I asked.” 

She sat up before shrugging, beckoning you to sit next to her in the bed, “You’re good. She felt a way about my promposal. She went off about me not putting that much effort into the sign I made and waiting until the last minute to ask. It was petty.” 

You snorted with a head shake as you watched her breathe menthol out her nose. 

“Don’t laugh at my shortcomings! Wait ‘til you get a boyfriend, he’s gonna forget about prom too! It’s dumb.” 

You froze. Boyfriend. Boyfriend? You laughed sheepishly with another shake of your head. She noticed your reaction before you could even reply. She smirked in acknowledgement. 

“… or partner. Your partner might forget.” She quietly corrected with a sly grin. 

“If you say anything I’ll strangle you and burn your corpse.” 

“Oh my fucking god, did you forget that I lived in the closet for almost five years straight?! You’re fine.” 

She took another puff before asking, “Anybody steal your heart yet?” 

“Please be serious, I haven’t even had my first kiss yet. How do you even talk to girls without dying?” You said with a pout. 

She almost fell over as she giggled. “You talk to girls like you talk to everyone else, you’re gonna charm them regardless. Trust me.” 

You felt your face heat up at the subtle compliment, but you gave her an eye roll and light shove before your sister came trucking down the hallway with her heels in hand. She shrieked out a limo’s here! before flying down the stairs. Ellie took one more long puff of her pale green vape before tucking it into her jacket pocket, wrapping her arms around your smaller frame as she guided you downstairs. 

She smelled like mint menthol and pine trees. You loved how she smelled. 

Summer came, and you’d fully accepted your big, fat crush on Ellie. 

Your journal had been riddled with doodles of her name surrounded by hearts and sparkles, written words of affection through poetry, more hearts and sparkles. You couldn’t stop thinking about her: everything that she said, everything she did, did something to you. But you didn’t know that the fluttering in your chest whenever she was around would be short lived. 

Your sister had spent her eighteenth birthday at Cat’s family lake house. As much as you wanted to be a fly on the wall and watch your sister go crazy, you had to settle with viewing her private story from your warm bed on Friday night. It was a mess: she had posted multiple snaps of Ellie, Dina, Jesse, and herself taking shot after shot, chug after chug, until she posted a photo of Jesse’s head hanging out of a second story window with Dina’s hand on his back and Ellie cheesing wide with her two thumbs up, nic in hand. Her next snap, however, made your smile drop from your face. 

The footage was a close—too close—up shot of Ellie and Cat making out against the wall. Ellie had her girlfriend trapped between her and the wood, both hands cradling her face as she dominated the kiss. She was grinding her hips up to meet the dark-haired girl’s, pressing her body further into the wall. Ellie then dropped her hands to her girlfriend’s hips, grabbing her short dress in her larger hands to pull her even closer. You barely noticed due to the shakiness of the camera, but you saw the pink glisten of your good friend's tongue swiping up into her girl's mouth before the snap ended. 

You'd nearly dropped your phone on your face. 

The clip had been hilarious out of context: the loud booming of clap clap clap that ass bitch, shake that cameltoe, lemme see them pussy lips! with your sister screaming and shaking like crazy in the background, Jesse behind the couple hurling his guts out of a window, and his concerned girlfriend pouting with a turquoise bong and lighter in her hand. Anyone would’ve found it comedic gold, but you? 

Your stomach had twisted uncomfortably, not only from jealousy, but from a burning, swirling heat. 

You dropped your phone on your bed and sat up as angry tears blurred your vision. You knew her and her girlfriend had been on and off for a while now, so why did it affect you so deeply to see them together? How stupid could you be? you thought she wanted you after all this time? a voice that you hadn’t heard in a while said to you. You’d recognized that tremor in your hands and pick-up of your heart, and you knew that you couldn’t be alone tonight. You sent a quick SOS text to your friends in the group chat, desperately seeking comfort. Arya, ever the angel, was the first to respond with a quick and simple omw rn, stealing her brother’s car keys to pick up Kris and Starr and flew straight to your house. 

The girls held you while you sobbed, gently shushing you and encouraging you to take deep breaths. 

Breathe with me, squirt, there ya go. 

You wished that voice didn’t sound so much like hers. 

Your sister and her friends had returned home Sunday night, hungover and exhausted like hell. You hadn’t moved from your bed all weekend, and you hadn’t wanted to get up to help her drag her bags in. You immediately recognized the laughter that came from downstairs, and your heart shook painfully in your chest. Their voices were muffled due to your door being shut, but you heard a cheerful I’ll go get her leave your sister’s mouth before the sound of her rushed footsteps flooded the quiet hallway. 

You quickly flipped over so your back faced the door, your blanket thrown over your body as you pretended to sleep. 

You heard your door open, some shuffling, before it was gently shut again. You listened to your sister shuffle back downstairs and you heard a faint she’s slumped…. tomorrow or something… 

Their chatter and laughter continued into the night while you moped in your room. Your phone had pinged around eleven, a pop-up of sleep well, squirt:3 on your home screen. 

You turned your phone off and threw it on your nightstand, shutting your eyes, praying for sleep to come. 

You dreamt of green and pine trees. 

You had begun your sophomore year, and your friends had been a good distraction from the inner turmoil of your heart. During the last bits of your vacation, Ellie had been texting you non-stop, eager to play you the completed version of a song she’d been working on for the past five months. She’d even finished customizing her father’s passed down electric guitar: you only knew because you frequently checked her Instagram, despite the ache you felt in your chest when you saw the posts of her and her girlfriend doing cute couple shit. Her guitar had been airbrushed raven black with silver strings, and a detailed white and green skull that she painted on the body. She’d sent you and your sister the entire video of her creation as promised, but you'd only replied with a dry thumbs up emoji. Her suspicions were correct: something serious was going on with you. 

After your sister’s birthday weekend in July, Ellie texted you multiple times to come help her and Dina mix a song and watch movies, but you politely declined saying that you were busy and maybe another time :)! It technically wasn’t a lie: your sister came to your defense when she asked where you were, saying that your trigonometry grade had dropped significantly after your first test, and you were desperate to get it up before your mother noticed. She had accepted that excuse for the first two weeks, but after your sixth reply of busy :( rain check? she got agitated. 

She started pressing your sister about your attitude after the first month without your knowledge, but she swiftly got brushed off with a dude, she's studying at her friend's house, can you relax and pack this bowl for me please? 

Ellie laid in her bed after her hotbox with her friends, confused as to why you were acting so stiff with her so suddenly. Whenever she came over to your house, you locked yourself in your room and didn’t come out to greet her for whatever reason. She had been this close to marching to your house and kicking your bedroom door down herself before she received a notification that you had updated your private story. She clicked it, and played a video of one of your friends with a flyswatter in hand yelling about how she was a world-renowned mosquito killer until the bug started flying around the unfamiliar room. Multiple shrieks, including yours, were heard before the video abruptly ended. 

Ellie swiped up on your story with a quick LOOOOOOL, but she wasn’t laughing. I guess she really was busy doing something, she thought. She felt bad for assuming that you had been purposefully avoiding her, but she was not used to you being unavailable. She was a clingy high, sue her. 

She clicked her phone off and hoped she would see you soon. 

Ellie’s eighteenth birthday had been two weeks away.

Her birthday never felt like her own; Her dad had always made a big deal about the celebration. He spent hours blowing up balloons for her eleventh, baking cupcakes(even though he nearly burned their entire house down) for her fourteenth, and bragged to the cashier at the vinyl shop about how much of an old soul his baby girl was(“Oh this isn’t for me, my daughter is obsessed with the oldies, I really rubbed off on her, she’s turning sixteen tomorrow and I wanna surprise her!”). She’d never complained, though. She’d never say, but she loved seeing him happy more than anything in the world.

However, her attitude towards her eighteenth birthday had been different. She was eager to celebrate her transition into adulthood with the people she loved the most. She knew that she wanted a slasher themed party with blood and gore everywhere. Her inner horror movie fan had been gasping for water for years, and she was finally going to quench her thirst. 

Call her Jason. 

You and your sister were arguing about who would dress up as Scream. 

Ellie had given your sister an invitation to her big eighteenth, and although you were reluctant about going, your guilt had slowly been gnawing at you. The last message that Ellie sent you was almost three weeks ago: a simple miss u, which you left unread. You thought it was strange how no one acknowledged the tension between the two of you, but you hardly understood it yourself, and you began to feel remorseful. 

You owed her an apology, and you planned to do it tonight. 

“You’re not dressing up as Scream, bitch, I’m sorry! I got you this Jack the Ripper cape, try it on.” she said as she threw the cape and top hat on your bed.  

“Jack the Ripper was racist, fact— “

“Most serial killers are! It’s for aesthetic purposes only! There’s no such thing as a moral compass on Halloween.” 

You stared at her with a blank expression, before she resigned, retrieving the fit, “Ugh, fine, go as one of the most iconic slashers in film history, see if I give a damn.” 

“Waaaaaa, you mad.” You said with a laugh. 

She yelled back a DUH! as she marched down the hall and into the bathroom to change. Your mom wasn’t supportive of the slasher costume party, but she stood no chance against your sister’s persuasive pout and googly eyes. 

An hour later, you both were dressed with your gifts in hand as your mother locked the door behind you. You couldn’t begin to imagine the reaction of your neighbors if they peeped out of their windows since Halloween wasn’t for another two weeks. They better not call the fucking cops, that's all I know! your sister shouted out into the quiet neighborhood before you shushed her. 

Despite the anxiety in the pit of your stomach, you were eager to see Ellie. You and your sister had pitched in to get custom-made, embroidered guitar pics as her gift: you were hoping that she liked them. 

It wasn’t long before you made it onto the Miller residence. Your sister scaled the stairs of their front porch like it was a mountain before banging on the door. It shot open seconds later and revealed Dina, dressed as Freddy Krueger, and Jesse as… Saw. 

That mask always made an uncomfortable shiver go down your spine. 

They both pulled you and your sister into tight hugs before pulling you further inside to shut the door. The entire downstairs area was lit with red LED lights with faux cobwebs spread across the kitchen and living room walls. You and your sister almost slipped on the fake blood that was splattered all over the wooden floor. There was a giant bowl of tooth-rotting chocolate and a bag of sour gummies on the counter, right next to the multitude of Jason figurines. There was also eerie music playing from Ellie’s speaker near the TV. 

You couldn’t believe you had a crush on this loser. 

“OH MY FUCKING GOD IM SO FUCKING EXCITED THIS IS GOING TO BE SO MUCH FUN HOLY SHIT— “ 

Your sister, then Dina, had already been trucking back up the stairs, as they released excited squeals, which only ignited more excited squeals from other voices you barely recognized. 

Jesse threw his arms around you as he pulled you inside. 

“Bro, where the fuck have you been, I haven’t seen you in ages!” He said, voice muffled under his mask and over the bass from the speakers.

“I know, I’m sorry, school is crazy right now, but I’m here now,” you said with a smile and just as muffled, walking over to the counter to rip open the sour gummy bag. “Are we supposed to be upstairs or something?” 

“Nah, Cat and Riley, you remember Riley, are finishing up their costumes. They really went all out with the decor though, I was impressed.” 

Your smile fell at the mention of her girlfriend, and you immediately knew that you weren’t going to have fun. You lifted your mask up to shove candied worms into your mouth in attempts to center yourself. 

After ten minutes of ravishing the tart candies on the kitchen barstool, you heard quick, heavy footsteps descend the stairs. 

You turned to see Ellie, Abby, Dina, Riley, Cat, and your sister descend the stairs, jumping excitedly at your get-up, laughing at your mask. You barely had the chance to stand from your seat and greet everyone before Ellie pushed past them to pull you into a rib-cracking hug. You could hardly move to return the gesture.

“I missed you so much, squirt, holy shit,” she whispered into your ear. You would’ve dropped to your knees if it wasn’t for her grip. “Where have you been, are you doing okay?” 

She pulled back slightly to look at your face while both your masks were atop your heads, and you got a good look at her freckled appearance. Her hair was styled in a half bun with multicolored bobby pins holding her bangs back. She was wearing light makeup: her nose and cheeks were gently highlighted, her under eyes had a dark red tinted liner that was smudged with purpose, and she shaved a slit into her eyebrow. She had on a black T-shirt that had been cut and ripped in some parts, black, ripped jeans, and an oversized, dark olive-green flannel. The sleeves were rolled up and you damn near fainted at the subtle lines of an unfinished tattoo peeking out. She also had a plastic version of Jason’s large, bloody machete secured through the belt loop of her jeans. 

Holy shit. 

Your face was burning hot from how close her face was to yours. “Hi El, I’m fine, happy birthday,” you said quietly, half chewing the worms in your mouth. 

You turned to grab her small, wrapped gift box off the counter, softly shoving it into her chest in attempts to distract her from pressing about your whereabouts, and though you noticed her eyebrows pull down in concern, she grabbed the box from your hands before replying a gentle thank you. 

Your sister slapped Ellie on the back, breaking up the moment, begging to change the music genre before dragging her to the living room to unlock her phone. 

I can’t shake ass to this shit, bitch! Change it now!

I NEED A ONE DANCE, GOT A HENNESSY IN MY HAND—

It was almost eleven. Everyone had migrated to the living room after Ellie finally turned off her summoning demons :0 playlist and allowed your sister to shuffle Spotify’s Top 40 from 2016. After Riley skipped every non-Rihanna song for the first thirty minutes, Abby snatched the phone from her hands and put Drake on. They both were on top of the couch, screaming into wooden spoons like they were microphones while Jesse, Dina, and your sister jokingly popped their backs. 

You had fallen back onto a lounge chair to catch your breath from the rigorous jumping you were doing, watching them all sing their lungs out. 

You had the opportunity to briefly speak to Abby, who dressed up as a bloody Esther, during Riley’s incessant song-skipping since you never had the chance to genuinely talk to her. She excitedly told you about how she and Riley had been best friends since fifth grade and they both met Ellie in middle school. She cringed when she reminisced on the memory of Ellie giving Riley a glitter-riddled macaroni card for Valentine’s Day in seventh grade. Abby and Riley both graduated a year before your sister and friends did and were sophomores at Boston University, her pursuing her hockey career and Riley studying neuroscience. 

The shrilling screams of Dina, Abby, and your sister when Single Ladies blasted through the speakers made you jump in your seat before you got up and made your way into the kitchen for water (and more gummies). Babe you’re not single! you heard Jesse yell to Dina. 

You stood at the counter chomping on the sweets, contemplating when would be the best time to speak to Ellie one-on-one. You'd seen her escape onto the back patio, probably to smoke, you thought. You had never been confrontational, and you didn’t want to say something you regretted like hi ellie i’ve been in love with you for years i’m so sorry for ignoring you and iloveyouiloveyou—

Yeah, you’d probably leave with a black eye from her girlfriend if you did that. Just say you're sorry, don’t be selfish, don’t ruin her birthday, don’t ruin her relationship, you thought. now or never. 

After your mental pep talk, you took a sip from your glass and shoved a handful of the candies in your mouth as a center. You made your way to the back door and onto the patio. Hot ass mask, you thought before ripping it off your head and tossing it onto the glass patio table. 

What you weren’t expecting to see was Cat and Ellie already outside having a conversation, and from where you were standing, it looked intense. 

“Why the fuck are you mad about me hugging her when I haven’t seen her in ages?” 

And you froze. 

“Ellie, if you can’t see that she has the biggest crush on you then you're actually delusional,” Cat spat back at her. “And that wasn’t just a regular hug either! You should’ve seen her face when you grabbed her, it looked like she was about to drop to her knees and propose!” 

They couldn’t see you from where you stood and it would’ve been in your best interest to flee before you passed out from embarrassment and loathing, but your feet had been glued to the ground and you were forced to listen to their harsh exchange. 

“First off, watch your mouth, I’m not fucking delusional,” the birthday girl heatedly said back. “And no she didn’t! And even if she did it doesn’t fucking matter. She's a fucking kid!” 

And you’d felt your heart plummet to your feet. 

The remainder of the candies in your mouth felt like sandpaper and you couldn’t swallow. You felt the all too familiar tremors of your hands start to pick up. 

“Listen,” you heard her tone soften. “I’m in love with you, okay? I love you, and I don’t want to be with anyone else. I don’t think about being with anyone else.” 

The sharp gasp you sucked in made both heads turn towards you in shock, and your teary eyes locked with wide, green ones. 

You wanted to fall through the floor and die. 

Cat scoffed and shook her head as if to say see what I mean before she puffed on her—Ellie’s—vape. 

Ellie’s call of your name snapped you out of your stupor, your feet moving before your brain could tell them to, clumsily shuffling your way back into your heartbreaker’s home, sliding the door shut with a loud slam. 

Everyone who’d been dancing jumped at the sound, turning to take in your ruffled state as their energetic smiles slowly dropped in concern. 

“What’s the matter, honey?” Dina said gently over the still loud music. 

Your sister called your name out with worry in her voice. You looked into her eyes with a head shake before you choked out a reply. 

“Can we… I wanna leave, please, now.” 

a/n: heyyyy lol so yeah thats that ig. if anyone even reads or sees this fic plss be nice to me ive never written anything like this b4. idk how long this will be but its def gonna be long,,, lots of ground 2 cover w this universe this game is everything 2 me and so is ellie so ye bye lolz

read pt 2 here :D

[the-monkeies-girl]

Thick as Thieves. ( Noa x Human!Reader. ) Part Fourteen.

*banging my pots and pans* getting bETTEr

Title: Thick as Thieves. Fandom: ( Kingdom of the ) Planet of the Apes. Rating: T. ( Injury, mentions of blood, heavy mentions of sexual implications. ) Pairing: Noa x Human!Reader. Words: 9.5K ( WHO ALLOWED THIS ) Summary: Approval was a big part of Ape culture; Noa sought it from his Father and never got it in return. What now as he held himself in animation to get approval from his own Mother and then you, his Echo? READ THE SERIES HERE.

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His body felt unable to do anything more the moment that Dar and Soona tore you from his embrace, nothing but the shattered remains of sediment and your blood catching against his body in that glimpse of terror he wished to never re-live. The lifeless cling you had to Soona, your voice nothing more than a gashed memory to Noa as you forgave her with kindness for… Never coming back, your hand grasped hers tightly out of wanted support, Soona’s face softened as you embraced her before green eyes met Noa’s in understanding. There it was, he thought to himself, the time that those around him began to understand the irrationality that ran through their Leader to save what they considered to be just another Echo.You understood as she placed you gently on the ground, your face contorting into pain that Noa wanted to bare for you… How he wanted to, heart dropping itself into the bowels of his navel. 

Was this the unsaturated embodiment of… Empathy…? 

Noa tilted his head minutely and felt the flood of affliction from your limbs to his own like it was secondary nature to feel what you felt, Dar and Soona moving quickly to analyze the extent of damage done from the crown of your delicately placed head against the flushed leaves of the forest floor littered with moss and colored leaves as the season was on the very brink of changing, down the curved points of your body itself, Noa tearing his eyes away for only a moment when your thinned and carded shirt was torn off and placed to the forefront the darkened and nearly black bruises that were forming against the skin that he himself wanted nothing more than to sink his sharp canines into; but now… They were kissed with Death itself and Noa felt a surge of aggravated annoyance rush through him. 

How bad was it? He was unable to hear words from Soona or Dar, their hands pressing as softly as a morning dew against a petaled flower, but you cried out, more crimson from your mouth as it fell down the side, tracing the outer lines of your ear before one by one it began dripping onto the ground below you.There was a shared look between them as Soona signed a muted ‘inside damage’ towards Noa’s mother who nodded it the utmost agreement. It was apparent from their demeanor that it was dubbed the highest of priorities, Noa finally letting himself look back at your bare chest save for the fabric of your bra; an item that never made sense to him but now he was thankful for he wanted to be blessed with seeing your breasts only when you were ready to show him. You were breathing slowly, rested and unsure if the next one was going to cause more affliction to the skin that he could see. 

Noa felt himself shuddering at that. No longer did the pain in his own form matter. What was yours became his own, the coating of innate sensationalized suffering riding through him like a horse through an open field. Marking your torso as checked by the two Female Apes, your legs required less attention. The evident nature of the mangled skin, the tearing apart of tendons. It would take months, if not more to heal if Noa recalled your last injury correctly and applied the correct equation to the damage done this time around. Months… Noa looked at your legs and felt his jaw tighten itself together, canines coming to rest autonomically in the gums that allotted the position of them. 

Noa… Would wait years if he had to, no other option for a mate existed for him. No other… He wanted to protect and to provide for the rest of his life, no other he wished to share himself with in the heightened sunless nights. 

Noa’s mouth parted, his jaw slacking forward as he collected what little remained of his own sustained breathing out of wrought and acute determination. Empathy… He felt towards you, beaten to an inch of your life as you ran a parallel line to each other but never merged until the moment you were brought back to him. It was disgusting to even indulge in the thought but Noa found it difficult to shove it aside. 

How, somewhere in the larger scape of things, if that was even the case, you were always meant to yell at him, to slur your words and he was always meant to brittly crush your bones between his fingers in a means to defend himself against your phrase. You were always meant to leave, but you were always meant to return to him such as Eagle Sun did day in and day out.. Always destined to share in the same fight; Noa was never a full believer in that despite the Elders instilling in him from a young age that things did happen for a reason, but the reason would only become clear when you lost the purpose to begin with. It… all made sense now. 

Noa had almost lost you, he still could, that idea tugged at the very crevices of his mind that he was trying to ignore despite common place occurrences of Death surrounding the Earth… And even though the moment of clarity happened at the embankment of your meeting place and was never uttered beyond that of inflictions against phrases, the stream that blessed the land with opulence carried the hushened noises of both of you to one another. 

He was so refusant in seeing that as the true intent; he bargained against it for months. The Ape was always meant to share his life with another, but it wasn’t brought to light that the other half he had been searching for in the darkness just happened to be the whispering of an echo that reverberated off the walls of Echo ruins. A call to the slotted ideals that shattered in on themselves once they were touched with the sound when you made the pre-chosen decision to stay at the Clan.

The very Master of the Eagles was helpless, propped against the hardened bark of the tree trunk as he watched them, his mouth ghosting over words he rehearsed time and time again but had yet to get the chance to whisper to you, dirtied and oh so incredibly tired as the blistering in his shoulder became more evident in the lack of adrenaline that shot through the svelte muscles that lined his bones. Noa could just drift into a fitless sleep now, knowing you were in the care of his Sunset sister, so gentle with you and his Mother, the stability in his life when he was torn to ashes himself much like the remains of the village. 

There would be a time the ideas he had would could to light, the phrases he wanted to say would be breathed so delicately into your ear as fingers tangled themselves into hair and fur alike and Noa shifted his entire body weight above yours into flashed white heat, hotter than that of any fire that had ever burned since the Rise three-hundred some odd years ago.

The Ape chanted in his mind as it became his new mantra; he would tell you when you woke up. The agony he went through not to tell you when you asked, the torment Noa wanted to feel himself knowing that he may not even get the chance; was it worth it? When your gaze sustained his own and you were clenching to the familiarity of safety, love and you were no longer cusping at the life you wanted… No, Noa corrected himself there, the life that you two deserve to have together. Was it worth it to wait?

It… was but at the same time it wasn’t.

There would be no need to hold onto the tightrope anymore, for either party. The game of Chess that neither of you truly understood how to play from the beginning would come to an end, the Queen always destined to win and climb her way to the top, even if it meant dragging her King along. Noa… Drew a deep breath in, feeling the rumbling of his own wheeze drizzle against the back of his throat as his green eyes that began to rival in hue the foliage that surrounded the area, even down to the minute speckles of tasteless iron that coated some of the leaves reminiscent of the bloodshot tear in the whites of his eyes. Noa was ready for it to be over, as much as he tried to convince himself that he loved the chase. 

The chase left him tired… The chase left you wounded, almost dead and there was no way to logically make sense of that anymore no matter how much the Ape tried. No more, Noa muttered inside of his mind and finally looked down at his wounded shoulder for just a split second. He’d heal with time, his hand pressing to his chest to assess his bones and the severity of which they were crunched under the full weight of a male Echo, much more than your own, much more pressure and not as pleasurable as Noa would imagine it would be if you were to ever give into the temptation of caressing your body to his. 

What was going on inside; Noa nodded in stunted silence, he would heal but he was afraid you wouldn’t, unable to shake the feeling of dread that was driving his conscious mind to pessimism. The light of the new day drenching your body and giving all three of them a clearer understanding that seemed to only justify the thickened moisture that clung to the swept wrinkles that accentuated his eye sockets. 

The head wound - a large slice right along your hairline from what had to be a spearhead of sorts, maybe even one of those… Knives… Yes that was the word, Noa preened with mild pride that he was able to recall a distant conversation with you about such an obscure Echo item that you had compared to the slicing of a spearhead itself, it danced blood down the sides of your vacant expression and trickling into your eyes like faux tears that ultimately drenched themselves onto the dried ones of your cheeks. Iron and salt, coarse and hard, dried to your face and Noa was unable to keep the maintained stare on it as he felt shook with the guilt that lingered the moment he saw you leaving his sight.The scattered nature of the cuts against your skin that Noa wanted to score with his hot muzzle were abundant. 

Whatever the Ape was able to deduce against your sternum, the bone weakened and stricken with captivating his gaze as he was able to see your heart beating. Noa felt if Soona pressed down on it too aggressively, it would snap under the touch; down the frontal portion of your body and arms, unable to see in full clarity your backside that you were resting on but he figured it was nothing less than the pieces he was able to take morbid delectations in. One by one, he counted them in diligence, one way to keep the Ape from falling into a slumber and missing some part of this, some part of your life. And one by one, Noa felt a tiny bit of him die for not having been able to see that this was preventable in the first place when he irrationally sent you from his side. 

Ignoring the whimpering of his body that trudged more to the aspects of sleeping the pain off, Noa curled himself into a ball as Dar pulled herself away from your body, your hand still reaching and holding onto Soona’s as his friend held her face perpendicular to your own. Noa… Knew she had lied to him, that there had been no Apes sent back for you. Shutting his eyes pensively, he sensed there was something being said there between the two of you, words of assurance and praise Noa hoped for all that both of you had sustained, and words of reassurance whispered from your lips as Soona should not feel guilt for doing what she did. 

You had to know that… She… She did it to keep Noa from succumbing quicker to Death. If Soona told Noa that you were alive, he’d tear himself apart from the inside, literally tenderizing the muscles from his bones in an attempt to drag you from the consuming fire himself. Allowing the allotment of a lie was the only way to save him, Soona rationalized that as Noa was doing in the moment of tentative silence he was in now. 

There was no way to deny the sickeningly grateful notion that Noa felt as he re-opened his eyelids, subdued anger leaving the tracing around his irises. Noa understood why Soona did what she did; fear drove even the most optimistic and gentle Apes to take drastic turns in order to save and salvage what they held dear. Apes, Noa looked at Soona with a slight smile, were also Selfish… Without that emotion… Grazing his glance from his friend to you… Noa would be gone, never to see the light again and never to hold you against him in the utmost satisfaction that he needed, aligned now with his desperate need to breathe the air. 

Soona mimicked Noa then when you coughed, his hackles rising in a protective stance as her calloused fingers caressing so closely to your mouth as she wiped at the blood that pooled down the point of your chin and eclipsed itself down your jaw line. She was so gentle, Noa sniffling quietly and trying to bring his mind somewhere that wasn’t lingering with the scent of burned wood that clung around the musty atmosphere. You mustered for her a meager smile, tugged around the edges and most likely undetectable to Soona herself but Noa… Always noticed those minute expressions you gave and they were truthfully his favorite. There was something there that Noa wasn’t understanding of as you squeezed her hand with all your might, Soona returning the gesture. Thank you, you said to her, thank you for doing this for me and for helping me now… “Tha.. Thank… You for co-coming… back fo-for m…--- Me now…” That voice was unmistakably yours and it tickled at Noa’s ears in the most sweet caress as the agonistic whimper rested around the edges of your tone, Soona’s hand drifting itself up your arm to grasp at your forearm entirely, past the wrist that Noa had once grasped so tightly to cause you substantiated pain that he was going to spend the rest of his life begging for forgiveness for even when you give it time and time again as Noa suspected was going to be the case. 

“Told you… I would… I am sorry for… Not coming… sooner… Afraid…” Noa saw the shift of your pathetically placed nod, knowing you would think the same. The muscles of your neck were unable to drift in power, he wanted to hold it for you and take the motions as his own. Just tell him what action you wanted and Noa would do it for you, for the rest of the time he had with you… 

Thank you, Soona, Noa hoped she could feel that gratefulness that tugged on the very edges of his fur, sweeping through the breeze that tickled around her ears, being born within a sunset always assured the emotions that he felt were encased in her own. Thank you for keeping me alive long enough to come back to my Echo… 

“She is… in bad… condition…” Dar’s voice was dull and lacked any support because she felt there was nothing to give her Son as she came to rest beside him. Noa, instinctively like a scorned young Ape, rolled himself against her side and felt a racked sob encase his tightened and bleeding body at the mention of finally being able to release the tension that was riding along as Noa felt he needed to keep himself strong for you. ‘Must ask you… My son…’ Noa knew the question.

Noa feared the question.

‘What is… this Echo’s meaning to you?’ Signed and concise, the young Ape felt his walls crumbling down brick by carefully placed brick.

Noa said nothing and felt his body shift on what seemed to be its own volition as he curled into a ball beside his Mother, his only source of comfort as you were busy with Soona and vice versa. Anaya… Would scold him playfully for this, Noa knew that. Noa did not yearn for that here, what he wanted was his Mother to understand… But how could she… Noa squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his Mother’s body shake beside him as she readjusted the hunched position she was in to properly allot her bruised and battered Son into her embrace, one arm wrapping around him and lightly trailing the twill of her blue shawl with it. The wispy comfort it gave him as he buried himself into her side, face casing into the fur that felt so much like his own but always held a longing of maternal instinct and wisdom that was always going beyond his own thought stream.

“Cannot… tell you… Would not… understand.”

Infliction in the last word was indicative enough that Noa was dragging himself into the mind processes instilled in him from not the Elders this time… But from his Father. That Echo were all inherently bad, seeking to bring destruction where they ravaged the Earth but where in his Father’s words were there any mentions of Apes being the same way? 

Selfish, Noa rocked himself against Dar and sniffled loudly, her body staying stagnant and strong the way that she knew that Noa needed. Noa had been selfish here, his fluttering gaze that was frenzied with agnostic bullets aimed towards himself from the very Echo weapon that rendered his right side virtually dead in most regards, looking over towards your body as Soona began inspecting once more, carefully this time, around the splatter of black and purple on your chest. Selfish… Hateful towards things he did not understand… Ignorant and so very…

“Reminds me… Of your Father. The way.. You look at her.” Noa stopped his paced and languid movements against his Mother, amply expanding eyes to the point where Noa felt the skin beneath his eyelashes was going to snap from being stretched beyond comprehension. “I do not… understand.” 

Whimpering that out, he turned his face then towards the tree trunk and looked at the tracing of the lines that drifted upwards to the sky until it tapered into the leaves that fluffed outwards and provided the most wonderful but saddening lighting. Dar extended her free arm that was not cased around the wounded nature of Noa’s shoulders and urged her boy to look up to her. Noa did just that, falling himself back in time to when he would cry on her about how cruel and vindictive Koro was towards the younger Noa; towards his thoughts and his outview of the world. It felt so similar, Noa so small and incomprehensible.

‘Your Father would… only want your happiness, my Son.’

No words spoken, Noa felt reluctant at the intricate way Dar signed towards him as a few birds began their calling through the woods, themselves on the search for something greater like the Ape who looked nothing more than a child in his Mothers embrace. Noa’s face crunched in on itself, the expression familiar enough to Dar as she ‘tsk’ed under her breath and tugged him even closer, careful of the gouge that would scar his shoulder once healed. Canines rattled up and down as Noa processed, trying to come up with a response but he felt nothing coming to fruition as he let out a distressed yelp. 

“She cannot… leave me…” Noa shook his head adamantly as Dar tugged his face inwards to bless his forehead against her own, Noa disregarding the flutter of his neck muscles that told him the motion was not a great idea, but he needed the brief and smothering gesture that radiated what felt like self-assurance from one Ape to another. “I am so… Afraid… Mother… She will…---” 

Noa could not bring himself to say it but the implication was left bare and cold in the deadened silence that followed as Dar nodded in empathetic understanding. She missed Koro, as was evident in how she held her only child, half of him engrained with the late Master of the Birds which she saw in his leadership and outlandish obsessions but the other half… Hopeful and devoted, Dar let her stare trail back to where you were laying on the moistened Earth. Romantic, through and through and she knew that Noa was unaware of this shared trait. She missed her Mate and felt the pull to be protective towards her own Son in the vividly cusped imagination that he was about to embark on a similar endeavor without ever knowing what the fruit actually tasted like once burst onto tastebuds.

“We… Eagle Clan… Must believe… They…” She looked at Eagle Sun who came to beckon for you, trailing his way on the ground on stickly legs and bounced towards your way in his own seeking comfort, beak trailing downwards and grabbing a delicate strand of your hair which Soona was quick to fix, shooing off the bird from your presence. Wake up, Sun told you in silence as he refused the gesture from Soona to leave, not only does Noa need you, I do too… 

Dar narrowed her eyes on the bird in convoluted confidence, “Our Eagles will always lead us to where we… need to seek forgiveness.” “I wish to seek…” Noa was careful with his words as he turned his body away from Dar to look forward once more; Towards the broader and fur lined coat of Soona’s svelte muscles to your own, tattered and senselessly bleeding appendages as you admired the scape of the trees than lined your vision above. Noa’s breathing began to feel muffled again and mindlessly crinkly. ‘I need… her to… know….’ 

The feeling in his chest became more evident as a ricochet from his lungs exploded against the back of his throat, finally telling the Ape than words at this point were useless, his vocal cords were going to fail him. ‘It is my fault… I sent her… away… Anaya and Soona…’ Pressing his lips together, Noa felt his self-control dwindle into the everlasting nothingness than came from his deepened sense of self-hatred. Everything he had done to you was shrouded on the delicate features of your skin, the same skin than Noa wanted to hold onto and bruise for himself out of another wave of self-indulgent lunacy. 

‘Anaya and Soona think she left of her own will.’ Noa explained to his Mother, unable to stop the present scheme to demolish his own self-worth, something Dar cherished so much because to her, Noa was worth so much more than he bargained against. 

‘I sent her away. Gone… from my side…’ Fingers worked against the language, regretting every word that came to be. Noa was terrible, his leer unable to dance away from your body as Soona began to wrap your legs into tweeded fabric that bristled around the edges with dirted twine. A temporary fix to a much larger problem. ‘Never told them… Noa sent her away… Ashamed… Still… am…’

“We do things… without understanding… Consequence.”

“We do stupid… things when… no time is taken to understand!” Noa hissed at his Mother, suddenly enthralled with the want to delve into deprecation rather than take anymore wisdom that was offered in loving understandment. Talking was pure torment for the Ape as the fur catapulted itself against the crown of his skull and down the base of his neck in an innate display of self-defense. Dar could not defend him, no one could anymore. 

“My Son…” Dar sighed against Noa’s disintegrating self. “You think… You… Do not understand?” The clear tone was leaking disappointment and Noa snapped his gawk at her, inviting to the pull he had to be scorned into submission for his actions. “You brought Echo… to the Clan… Brought devastation… But brought… something…”

Words ceased as Noa’s slitted eyes felt more guilt at the fact that the demise of the Clan was always going to fall at his feet. There was no way around it, the forewarnings began with the lack of acceptance from his Father growing up. Noa was not a Leader; Noa was a scared Ape who would run and turn at the casted shadow of doubt he covered himself in. There was nothing more to say, but the dead air that centered his gravity made Dar’s next words even more bitter. "Echo brought something new to you. You have learned much. Of Echo ways, of ways of Clan… Of Noa.” “Do not… understand… Your… kindness towards me.”

“You are my Son, and I am proud of you---” Jaw clenching, the muscles tightened themselves as Noa gritted his teeth in frustration. “I want to take her… As my Mate.” Noa bit back, his tongue against his right upper canine for a split second out of vindictiveness as if to mutter to Dar ‘Try to be proud of me for that. It’s impossible.’ As were the subsequent shattering of words he wanted to use as fuel. If the village was burned down to ashes, Noa wanted to be too and he’d be the one to stoke the flame just to seek the disapproval he knew had to be coming so he could move on in secret. The intent would never change, Noa wanted you and only you and if his own Mother posed a threat to that then he would leave; that was the deciding factor though the Chimp felt it was a decision made in haste and inflicted selfishness to see how much he truly was able to get.

 He wanted his Echo, but he was afraid now to lose his Clan as lucidity came back from the injuries that left him post-hazed in the aftermath of a terrible loss.

A confession from you was checked off, the words so tastefully leaving his ears pricked as his shoulder fur preened itself in the utmost satisfaction. He would take you… In your words, as a Human. In his words, as his Echo and Mate. A denial from his Mother would derail that and would… Ruin it. It was the driving force that kept his speech so clear and vengeful. Noa spoke with hatred towards himself. 

“Ape and Echo. Cannot… stop myself… from thinking it is… possible… Raka,” Noa glimmered his attention back to Dar for a split moment and she swore she could see her boy smile in self-assurance but it was surely the trick of light, “Caesar… The ways… of Caesar… Could be true… For us all… For Eagle Clan to… learn and to grow… Need her… by my side...”

There was a stunted silence between the shared blood that coursed through the two Apes, Dar jilting her head at the words so confidently said without a stutter. She knew; it was apparent as she said earlier. In the way than Noa possessed his gaze against yours. She knew; it was apparent in the leaking hesitation Noa had when posed to give your body over to Soona and herself who only came to help. Ape and Echo… 

She thought hard, brow ridge coming down above her stare. Not unheard of; other Clans she had met had stories. Not as admittedly swept in a sunsetting glass, it was often Apes taking what they considered to be their own on the Earth and in itself held much danger for both parties. Never did the notion that her own child would want to wander down such a path come to Dar’s train of thought but the longer she processed it, Noa’s words desperate for acceptance,  it was attune to her Son’s personality. Push the boundaries of what is possible for Apes… 

Bring more peace and prosperity to the Clan itself and build reinforcements. Not arranged like the other Clans who did it out of true selfishness, not smothering for the Echo to live a life they did not want but something brought to light from mutual affection and understanding between two species, hands reaching for each other over and over again over countless conversations she had seen afar that Noa and you partook in. There was selflessness in her lineage that Dar had sensed. There was willingness on the Echo part that Dar now realized to be acceptance of the most respectful way, her own ideology towards you changing on a dime.

He sought something new, something to help fix the hole that was left when Koro refused to listen and you… Did that for him. You held onto him, kept his balance and only when you were gone did it shatter into tiny shards of glass that the entire Clan had to deal with in the crossfire. She did not understand the appeal. The desire to be with Echo in such a way… But there were those who sought for the unknown. No Ape, Dar needed to understand that, was ever going to fill Noa’s wants and desires; her Son was always destined for you and she truly believed in that, the divine intervention. 

Dar saw that now even as Noa trembled beside her with the admission. In his confession blessed to the air, Noa was seeking the only permission he needed before he’d allow himself to take his place next to Soona and to help his betrothed Echo.

“It will… not be easy.” Dar eased into the approval with a casted look at her Son and then back at your more delicate form, trying so desperately from the look of your fisted hands, to keep the pain inside as to not alarm Noa any further. It was universally recognized as the Mother of the Eagle’s leader nodded her head tentatively. She did not understand but… There was no understanding in the realm of who you choose to love.

“Echo… will continue to pose…threat to Ape… But… If this is what you choose… What you need… You need to know it will be a difficult journey for both of you. Very long… May… Bear no fruit.”

“Do not care,” Noa bared his teeth at the whimper that drifted deftly from your chapped lips, Soona’s mouth muttering the tiniest bits of an apology for you. “Will figure… that out later… Need…” Noa swallowed hard, the feeling of dirt sediment lining along his throat causing incredible discomfort with the motion of his jugular as he raised a hand for his Mother. Flattened, straight to her line of vision and palm beckoning to the sky. The tearing of his tired muscles faulted momentarily and Noa felt his arm falling but with an ardent grunt, he hoisted it even further for Dar to accept. “Need you… to help me… Please…”

There were no more words spoken, nothing more than Dar needed to tell her Son as her fingertips grazed the very cusp of Noa’s blood dried hand. Within moments, as if the contact between the reinvented the muscles that had been blown to oblivion, Noa brought his hand to her neck and tugged her inwards to bless his Mothers forehead with his own. Thank you was spoken between the brow contact.

“Go to her now. Help… Soona. We will.. Get her back to the Clan to begin healing…” Noa squeezing his eyes shut and seconds later, he was dragging his damaged body towards his Sunset Sister, determination drawing itself to the forefront with every cusp that his feet had on the ground that tore the Earth apart with its gait. 

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・●・○・

A Month Later.

Pressing a large hand to his ribcage as a blaze sped at the muscles, Noa took a deep rattling breath in, curt and brisk with the idea that the bones themselves were tugging back into position from puncturing his lungs. That was evident to your gawk where as you were able to admire the pure stance the Chimp truly possessed with a dry mouth, urged and agitated with desire to touch the shoulders that were moving so dexterously, jealousy piqued as you were unable to work the same way he did. If you asked nicely maybe he'd work his hands for you, your lips parting with the compulsion to speak, the words stopping themselves in your tightened throat as the guilty continuance to admire the Ape was much greater than speech. Noa’s shoulder blades brushed with acute and censored protectiveness that sunk deep from the depths of his honey fur to keep the budding relief of breathing to himself as the hackles rose down his spine as he prepared the clay jar, so familiar to both of you now; used twice, smeared against smoothed skin that he wanted to cling to for the rest of time. The first time, your skin flinched away from him because he was seen as a threat; an Ape who would kill you with vicious intent. This time... You were so accepting of his grazing finger pads, calloused and attune to the nature of your pores. You'd never been touched like that before; you never wanted to be by anyone other than Noa.

The chattering of other Apes, the cluttering of bricked wood, laughter… The laughter was not coming from outside, he was quick to notice. Anaya… The Eagle Clan leader has been so trenched in his own thoughts that he had forgotten that Anaya was in the room with you, visiting as he so often did in the early evenings. Noa peeped over his shoulder at the hunched form resting beside the softer edges of your own aura, Noa too familiar now with how it felt after catering to the needs it developed in order to heal. The fleshy part of your calf seemed to be engrained to the very depths of his palm prints from the countless times that Noa had the delectation of cleaning the wounds himself, taking the bided seconds needed for each leg. 

From the right to left his fur tickled at the skin, still sensitive and still urging him that there was more beyond this as you watched with curiosity how he touched you. It was all intricately a part of a forgiveness process that existed only in his own mind before splattering it back with more rooted paste. How it drew back to the moments when he first found you and did the same actions, this time, ripping apart the notions that he would ever cause this damage himself. You knew better now, a part of the Clan itself.  It was all intricately a part of a forgiveness process that existed only in his own mind before splattering it back with more rooted paste.

How the Ape awaited the day to feel more than just that, his lushy green and golden gaze resting on the lighter splatter of the bruises trailing and kissing the skin of your collarbone as the pit of his stomach dropped at the reasoning behind the discoloration. That was no more; Noa needed to remind himself and drew a small breath that released from his mouth as a hardened huff. You were here with him… With Anaya and soon Soona would join to garner you the evening meal for you and Noa would watch in bated amazement as you ate. Amazement that you survived what pestilence he brought down on both of you.

“Are you sure,” The wheezing tone of your voice was still there much to Noa’s dissatisfaction. As if to say the wound on his own coarse body did not shoot him with pain, as if to mention the way that it felt at times like his ribs were going to tear the muscles of his lungs apart fiber by fiber. Noa listened innately to the softened spoken attitude you gave Anaya, sensing from the tips of his fur your movements as you lightly placed your hand on the back of the Chimps head with a small sign once you felt a cased bump, “You’re okay? Noa… told me you took a really hard hit…”

Anaya rolled his eyes and let them stare a small dagger into the Master of the Birds himself which was playfully returned upon his arrival back to the normal crouched position on your right side, your body taking in the delectations of the way that he moved beside you. Assured, confident again… The Earth below indented from his weight as he was very wary and cautious to leave your side and often only switched placed when Soona came to tender your injuries if Noa had to account to some responsibility that was resting too uncomfortably on Dar from time to time, only indicative when Noa’s stubbornness flared and he refused to leave you.

Anaya gave you a brisked smile of familiarity, tugging at the strings in your reminiscence to days that had passed before as he hooted a chortle from deep in his throat. Anaya was amused and boasted.  “Much tougher than… Noa is. Get hit with Echo weapon and is… Down for count.” “Would like to see you… Do the same thing.” Noa defended himself with ease and earned himself a raspberry from Anaya. A small melancholic grin tugged at your lips from the interaction, your mind tracing back steps as you looked over the scabbing wound buried in Noa’s fur. At this point, a full moon cycle had passed and the days began to feel a lingering semblance of some seeked normality and the fur around the infliction was becoming more dense as a form of healing itself. Fingers twitched in your lap. Everything, your lungs yelled at you to breathe and you were fastened to take a draw in slowly so as to not cause another panicked rage of coughing; everything was healing. 

The Apes began to spend their days working to bring flourished greens back of the original scarred land they knew so well, while drenching their sleepful nights in makeshift bungalows deeper in the forest where you were residing at the moment. A refuge of sorts that Noa, Anaya and Soona had scouted out once after the first flooded fire took what was rightfully theirs, where they were able to unwind against a billowing bonfire during the dawns and running into the late evenings for their communal meal before all of them, young and old, repeated the next day and paid the price for Noa’s selfishness. 

One by one, families will return soon to the blushed and eloquent towers that sang to the sky nestled so cozily next to the meadow that they raised their birds in, one by one the Eagles will find themselves against their perches of the newly built Eagle Enclosure, happily flittering to their Masters that they had returned home; feathers seeping into the ground and draping it happily with their colors of gray, browns, whites and occasional speckles of blue. Noa wanted that, he thought and gazed down at the paste in a brushed clay jar that was molded roughly and had unkempt edges that would cut at Noa’s thick skin if he were not careful handling it. 

Noa wanted to return home, now yearning to accept the thought as Soona arrived, your small grin captivating his attention as you drew it into a loud smile with a laugh. He only slept in the hut with you, silent and possessive on the ground near your shape as you were resting on a tattered bundle of fabrics that made a makeshift mat so you were not susceptible to the dirt. You were comfortable, or so it seemed as the female Ape handed you a wickered bowl with an assortment of what seemed to be berries, nuts and a fish. Not even a nest was provided yet, he felt his heart tearing itself apart. A nest with him was all Noa wanted you to reach for; he hoped it crossed your mind as your body rested to heal but he had no idea if that were the case. 

His green eyes narrowed on an unfixed point on the wall. The Ape would crack your skull open out of adoration just to see the processes… Just to see now what you truly thought about him because the words that were left unspoken came back with a vengeance and sank their talons in like an Eagle to a fish. Soon… He reminded himself. They will be spoken soon… Noa had promised you, his fingertips ghosting over your calf for a split second. Once you were able to look at him how he wanted to… He’d return the favor. The speckling of an Echo and an Ape, as one, in their home, chartered to each other over and over again. Noa needed that. Noa needed you to need that.

Placing a blueberry against your tongue, you side swiped the broad frame of the Ape on your right side as Anaya and Soona greeted each other. Squeezing your teeth together, you coated the inside of your mouth with the delicious juices and placed an integral hand onto Noa’s shoulder, near his mitigating skin. It was apparent from the startled jump he gave upon the contact that he had not been paying attention and was dredging himself in thoughts. ‘You… okay?’ Signed for privacy, Noa smiled at the nature of your smaller fingers tugging into the positions it needed to catapult words just for him. Always… Just for him.

‘Thinking.’ Noa signed back surely, ‘Wait until Anaya and Soona leave. Talk then. You,’ His gawk flickered to your wickered bowl before he met your gaze again with a stern and playful stare, ‘Need to eat first.’

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・●・○・

Long days were worn against his muscles, Noa felt tired and reached up to press a hand to his shoulder and tenderized it with his hard finger pads.  Healing, but the inside occasionally flared for him when he moved it too extensively. The fetched log that was thrown into the fire was more than enough for today, not to speak for the countless motions he had against your skin earlier to help your wounds. A quick and painfully bittersweet reminder that… This life now had a cost; the cost was great, but Noa was taxed to pay to keep you at his side, safe and forever in his protection. The Master of the Birds. The Leader of the Eagle Clan. His eyes scooted towards your own, finally allowing his weaned frame the privilege of facing you, shoulders bringing themselves together out of lack of confidence for what was about to be pursued, your scrutiny too harsh to imagine but there is nothing there for you to judge.

The Ape was perfect as he always was; slender framed, mouth-watering in the way that his chest stiffened when he looked at you, then pulling his thin waist down into his pelvic bone. Noa had always been so alluring even when you were able to convince your mind that there was nothing there and he was just another Ape there to kill you. There was always the distant thrust of attraction that subdued conversations into submission. You felt captivated as you always had at how the fur against his body must have kept him so warm and you hoped that someday, it would provide you with the same privilege. 

Noa’s mouth parted as he sat down beside you, a plume of dirt escaping from the weight he presented to the Earth as his peer brought itself to your healing legs. The wonderment of the eye contact you gave him, lingering now as you glazed your hunger against the drawing of his shoulders drifting through him as Noa tried to focus on the task at him and rid his senses of the previously known sorrow of thinking of what could have been as he brought his longed face to look towards you once more. You accepted him so willingly and it left him nothing short of caught breath and unable to move or convince his mind that breathing was necessary. 

Flicking his irises up for a few moments, Noa gave himself the time to draw in the way that your shoulders moved with heavy breathing that was allowing itself to take deeper and deeper strides down your lungs, so different from before and it really raised his self-assurance that things… Were going to be alright. This… Noa brought his hand to rest onto your calf and traced the reddened skin down with a ghosted fingertip. Was all going to be alright and you were healing for him. There was a cased and pinkish scar against your forehead covered by your hairline barely detectable in the firelight that was crackling near the right hand corner of the room. 

“What did you… want to talk about? You’re usually okay talking about things in front of Soona and Anaya. It’s got to be something special if you want me alone ” Bring your right calf to present itself for him properly having sensed that Noa wanted to actually touch more. How beautiful it slid itself into the base of his palm, the skin that was able to feel the mild tickle of Noa’s fur sending that involuntary shiver through your senses. 

“You… Seem ready to stand up and walk.”  

Noa reassured you with a huff, bringing his face in towards your own and maintaining long eye movements against your own. His mouth sunk in on itself. Daring to say something. Daring to utter anything. That phrase was a diversion as you felt a mild seek of disappointment run along your diaphragm as you avoided the moment of eye contact in favor of looking casted to the side. So, he just wanted to talk about… Your legs. About standing on your own two feet when you were under the floating impression that he was going to carry you to the ends of the Earth.

Crawling inside of him was an idea; to embezzle yourself into Noa’s body and tender to his ribs like he had done for your legs. Let me do this for you, you’d cry for him, cracking the bones instead of bringing them back to health under your fingers as if you had enough strength to do that. Sniffling softly, you tore your eyes from him again after noticing the forlorn expression he carried for you now that Anaya and Soona had taken their leave. 

The times you were consciously aware that he was with you for the last month were nothing but stifled capsules of the words that had been spoken before, the promise that clung to your tongue but was it really a promise without fruit? You wanted Noa to say what you wanted him to say, never actually knowing it to be a reciprocated feeling… There was something about your stroke with Death that could have simply told you that you were imagining things… Maybe then! With you inside of his own self, you’d know… You’d get the confirmation that clung to the air like a musty summer night. Anxiety… Was going to tear itself into you and refuse to leave without drawing poison into your bloodstream.

You could have gone your own way willingly but you refused and came back to Noa. You needed him.

You could have lived another day without the knowledge that for a moment in time, Noa seemed to hate you and gone on with your life. But you wanted to come back to him.

You would have died willingly for him either way... Justification rested on saving the Apes who gave you something more but your mind knew otherwise. You’d kill yourself to save him, over and over again. It was what he deserved, not a little Echo who was afraid of the world beyond the arms that Noa encased them in… You wanted to hear him say more than just mutters about your sustained injuries. Admittance, something more. Heart racing in your chest was hard to ignore for both parties as Noa was able to detect the movement from his feet from the close proximity his stature had to yours.

Give me words that only belonged to us, you wanted to beg him. Noa felt his breath pick up slightly, his shoulder a dull ache as he rested nearly his entire body weight on it so the Ape was able to cradle his neck towards your face again, more daring than before as he was sure now. The time was not going to get any better and he refused to see if time could tear apart an Echo and Ape rather than bring them together.

 With this… Disappeared his entire notion, the entire rant that you were not willing to accept him. The Clan would rebuild itself and he left his own comeuppance in your more than willing hands. Why let him so close if that were not the case? Why let Noa hold your calf, acutely aware that he could very easily mangle with his own touch, and no bars were bared when his hand dragged upwards to case around your thigh and pass the fabric of the scavenged shorts, thinned from time and barely detectable to the outer shell of his knuckles? You stiffened at the feeling. Virgin skin being held. Explored in a way that made your mind burst with the possibilities you had indulged in in the past but now in the present, they were so far away as you were erased of any preconceived thoughts.

The shorts worn here were to give the best access to your legs for him to work against when he needed; taking advantage of the scant skin Noa sought. Worn here now for Noa to drift his leathered touch against in a bated question that desperately rode between your stares at each other that serviced only one answer from your parted lips as your own shoulders began to rise and fall at a quickened pace. Your eyes fluttering between his protruding muzzle, the darker speckles against the bridge of his nose as you swallowed hard from his brazen connection on your suddenly hot skin, Noa mesmerized momentarily at the shot of your jugular bouncing in a very appealing reaction.

“No-Noa what are you doing?” Stifled air was cut by the phrase you whimpered to him, not out of fear but the sudden crazed notion that this was no longer a dream and scooted away the idea that the Ape who helped you back to health, who was holding so desperately to flesh that could be torn to literal pieces at the snap of a pin. You’d let him, your thigh resting comfortably in his grasp, confirmation that it was always meant to be clutched by him in aggravated adoration. Feeling his hand twitch against it, you were unable to draw yourself any closer, movement not too well established since you began the healing process a month ago.

“Noa…” He wanted to pounce on you at the sound of his name, his pupil's blown gaze admiring the way it formed and he carried away the idea that you wanted to say it for him privately. “I… do not break… promises…” Noa muttered and looked down at where he had his hand against your thigh muscle and he squeezed at the tender flesh that he imagined sinking into so many times before. How easy it would be for Noa to take you right then and there. Push your shoulders down, your gasp delectable to him as he grips your other thigh and… He shook his head and drew a pained breath in, this time letting it rest in his lungs for a stiffened time, enjoying the drowning he was impeding on himself. “But...I am… afraid…” What does an Ape say in these moments? What does an Echo deserve to hear? What sort of feelings are you going to understand? There was no longer the sense heightened by the refusal of attraction for each other, Noa looked at you, wanting to speak but nothing was coming out of him anymore when he knew you deserved at least an echoed whisper. Anything… His brain urged to think… He would take you… His Echo… Over and over again so why was he clinging to fear that had no juxtaposition within him in the first place? He felt like he was going insane, the tug-of-war between his conscious thoughts and his heart, a concept he didn't want to acknowledge. 

Noa had almost lost you before what if--- Drawing his teeth together, they clattered from the force used to shut his jaw, the muscles bouncing in a tight fixation in front of your eyes as you lifted a hand to encase the side of his face. Without reservation, Noa tore into it and placed his expression flat against your palm and shattered a shiver in front of you. He thought to himself how afraid he had been when he lost his Father… When he had to find himself once. How there was nothing more in the moments he had with you other than the fear that you could be torn apart again.. “I cannot… risk losing you… again… My fault… In the first place you left… because Noa refused to underst…understand…” 

The hand on your thigh was lost before it was sternly but gently placed against your sternum, Noa spreading his fingers against the bone there and wanting nothing more than to tear your t-shirt off, more thinned from the elements than even your shorts and he could see your nipples peeking from the anticipation of his touching of such a previously unknown area. No more of that thinking, Noa was going to rest himself into you and never let go, having to admit to the lingering sensation that he was never going to from the first day that you made the agreement that saved your life.

Not sexual at all were his motions, Noa was showing his intent to protect even the most tattered pieces of your shape but he always… To the Eagles above, he always appreciated the subtle ways that your body let him know the physical attraction was so grained and mutual. So very Echo and lost to him, but alluring and drawing into his curious nature. Soon… It would all be his, Noa was riddled with uncomfortable self-assurance and self-confidence. Soon, your shirt would hit the floor and you would be tangling yourself against him. You… Just needed a bit more time… His hardened hand raised itself to a dance against the back of your neck, sturdy and keeping you in his focused line of vision as a gasp escaped your lips at the sensations he was giving you. Clarity rocked through the cut air, so dense that even a spearhead was going to only go an inch once thrown. “Ape… mate… For life. Will never find another… Not common to move on, I… would never have… Moved on… from… this..” Your stare was ample at his chosen words, the thought was there as Noa had to process each one slowly to ensure that there was mutual understanding. No more fumbling around the nature of the relationship. No more questions needed to be asked in solemn introspection when you two were apart. 

There were going to be no more split seconds were you were apart, Noa was sure of it as he raised his own hands, teetering to balance on his feet which dug their toes into the dirt. Laying his hands on top of yours that refused to drop from the hold you had on his fur lined face, Noa sputtered his lips out in frustration at the lack of vocabulary he had for the confession. Lack of Echo phrasing that got you two to this sliver in time slower than it needed to be. So… much slower, Noa felt his feet shuffle below of their own volition, almost to the point where he was going to topple over you and crush the very bones that he had cared and caressed for and would continue to do so even if you were against it. 

“You asked me… To take you… as Human…” Noa felt the bud of confidence flickering in his voice which was unable to place itself in his throat. He sounded awkward, inflicting all over his vocal cords as the young Ape struggled to find its placement. It was all faux but all the more comforting as your fingers drew into the fur that surrounded his face and pulled near the thicker fur by his ears. You wanted him, Noa knew that from the drop of your mouth. No sounds for him, nothing but he could see the expression on your tongue. Shattered, he drew his forehead aggressively onto your own as you accepted him fully. 

“I am yours… If you wish to have me… As an Ape.”

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・●・○・

TAGLIST:

@ohwaitimthewriter @hera-annwn @saturnnie-03 @filliandkili @hadesbabygurl @supergoat12 @moonchild1433

@kaenalsha  @unsteady-bitch  @whamsworld

@yummyfanta @nuhteyam @babylockley @edynmeyer1  @callsignwidow  @moonlightnyx @undecidedcookie

[captainjackscoat]

my favourite DBD characters so far (I've just finished episode 4) are Edwin and Niko. So.

Edwin lines I like:

"Honestly, I just find her so charming"

"Charles, it's going to be okay"

"He is a boy, and I am a boy, if anything he just enjoys ghosts"

"We have the same left!"

"Starfish fall into the phylum Echinodermata and have no brain."

"That's what ghosts do instead of coffee."

"Some of it went over my head, but what I did understand, I enjoyed a great deal."

"Niko. Do not tell anyone, as I have a strict reputation to uphold, but I completely understand."

Niko lines I like:

"Are you insane?"

"Red. For you. For courage."

"You know two boys can like like each other, right? I have a lot of manga about it. It's very sweet. And explicit."

"I do more than watch Anime. I read."

"Sweet name"

"The town library is my fourth favorite public building to visit"

"Same. Minus the car accident part, and the coma part. I had these sprites almost rip me apart, turn my hair white, and now they live in a jar in my room"

"The Internet said that banging pots and pans scares away the evil things."

[prism-forgone]

Asriel Dreemurr is a Prince of Doom ((bangs pots and pans))

[ALT: he seems like he'd be a prince of doom since princes usually act like their opposite aspect AND he acts like a life player methinks]

via @ghostzdrawz

in a reblog for this post: x

putting this as a separate post because it got so long that i couldn't simply put it below your reblog ^^'

yes that is exactly my classpect for asriel!!

( just as a sidenote, I find it very fun that, given my track record of assigning UTDR characters classpects, when a character is a Prince, they are also literally a prince in canon, like Ralsei, and now Asriel).

Asriel Dreemurr // Prince of Doom

You (very correctly!) stated Princes ghost their opposite aspect, and they do that since it's only prudent for a destruction class to destroy their aspect through leaning into the opposite one, too. The fact Princes destroy their aspect or destroy with their aspect supports this even more. They're destructive inwards and towards their environment, zeroing in on things having to do with their aspect and, depending on their mental state, destroying the enemies of its well-being or (usually, really) making it wither.

The ways Asriel supports Doom as an aspect are so numerous that it isn't even funny, so I'm just gonna list some things from my aspect notes and provide brief explanations:

affinity for unfortunate events, either in being the victim or invoking them (the incident he and Chara had with buttercups instead of cups of butter, Chara's death and subsequently Asriel's death during the scheme they both agreed on, creating entire timelines where he concocts his own genoroutes)

natural magnet for the worse parts of the narrative (being fated to live as a soulless being by pure chance, since his ashes were on the flowers purely by coincidence)

great supply of empathy and/or wisdom (the former is true for Asriel, who has a soul; the latter for Flowey, who is soulless and tested how things work many times - he even gives you a mock tutorial)

sufferers and martyrs (Asriel sacrificed himself to not kill anyone, even when attacked)

affinity for attunement with some kind of... otherness, alongside Life (like the exiles or horrorterrors in HS, or what I interpret as game mechanics in UT, and kinda just us - Flowey addresses Frisk, Chara and the player all at separate occasions)

Doom's symbolism of skulls, fire, explosions and bombs (he literally uses all these in his various attacks, most in the Omega Flowey form, that one with the added caveat of vaguely destroying Doom by using plants, Life's domain, too; but the skull appears in his Hyperdeath form attack)

literal meanings of death, sacrifice, entropy, acceptance (the first two are already plenty clear, entropy is just what Flowey was doing before we got here again and again, and what he attempts to do as Omega Flowey; and acceptance is what he finally exhibits at the end of True Pacifist)

abstract meanings of deterioration, nihilism, stagnation, static state of affairs, pessimism and limitations (most are already clear - the static nature of Flowey is him resetting again and again, to the point where Sans, along with whoever he was conducting research with, noticed the time anomalies and literally had depression induced because of the fact time is just Standing Still in a loop and nothing seems to matter anyhow so why bother trying <- destroying with Doom at its finest example; but also, the loop could be seen as something exactly opposite, since Flowey always tests something different).

Additionally, as the Extended Zodiac tells us - even though I try to not rely on it too much - the best a Doom hero can be is wise, kind and non-judgmental, while the worst they can be is being filled with bitterness, resentment and fatalism. The difference is between if they cling to the past or if they learn from it.

so, yeah. to sum up, my track record already shows i need very little to get me going about this so i'm very sorry ☝️however, counterpoint: it's really fun to do this hahah

[laceyamethyst]

HELLO i am crash-landing in your inbox to declare that have ✨ BIG FEELINGS ✨ about the 2nd chapter of “he built a fire” and that i might leave an uber long comment on ao3 about all the big and small bits i absolutely loved if that’s ok, but if you’d rather i sent them here please let me know!! i stayed up last night to read it instead of going to bed early for work (and read it again anyway over breakfast, i am late, whoops 😬)

i just wanted to share/ask before i forgot

- i was kinda bummed you unalived i mean fired Brian off camera so easily, i wanted him to try reprimanding Oscar for his hilarious, politely sassy - but very public - comments during the Qatar GP and for Lando to come swooping to his defence 🫣 idea? maybe a leftover Brian Lackey? we all know Lando would throw hands the first chance he gets to defend Oscar

- also, imagine the Mexican GP in this universe - more importantly, the 5 F2 rookies driving in FP1 and your lore about how F2 drivers all look up to Oscar? Fred would be normal about it but imagine just 4 wide-eyed eager puppies following Oscar around and Lando just going full caveman banging pots and pans hollering in the town square declaring “THAT ONE MINE NO TOUCHY” in the background while Oscar’s just ☺️ ‘it’s really great to have them here’

- i was done with those two points but then i remembered Oscar inviting Lewis to an RC-car race after his win in Suzuka and I just 🤯 ??? Lewis IRL is so hugely supportive of the LGBTQI+, I just can’t help imagine how he’d fit in the Mission universe (accidental reluctant relationship guru? ‘don’t make the same mistakes i did?’)

thank you for your consideration i will now go back to floating on cloud nine after chapter two 💗 have a spectacular week, you deserve it after making mine so awesome ❤️

oh my goodness, this was just... the nicest most wholesome wonderful thing to wake up to?!? thank you SO much, you have no idea how happy it makes me that you enjoyed the fic 🥺

firstly, i would absolutely love to hear any and all thoughts you have about that chapter because it fills me with so much joy to see which parts of my fics readers like most (and it also helps me decide what plot points to focus on next)! so please feel free to comment away on here or on ao3, and never ever worry about it being too long

and secondly, serious question: are you in my brain?! because, listen:

let me tell you how i had a whole dramatic ass scene planned involving a very public takedown of brian courtesy of one (1) lando norris, but i had to cut it out bc the chapter length was getting out of hand 😭. i adore your idea of oscar's qatar comments getting him in trouble and lando jumping to his defense (on live TV, perhaps? ahem)

oh please the rookies hero-worshipping oscar at the mexican gp and lando having absolutely None of it? that image is sending me

ok yeah you absolutely are in my brain because how did you know i had a whole scene planned where lewis talked to oscar after the race (bc he of course crashed into him in monza), firstly to apologize but when he realizes osc and lando just fought he was going to be all 'don't you dare let racing tear you apart you will regret it forever *cough* i still love nico *cough*.' but yes i love lewis and im trying to work him into a future mission fic!

i'm sorry for this very long and unhinged response, i'm truly vibing with these ideas and am super appreciative of you taking the time to share them with me 🧡

[venusstarz34]

If James and Lily had lived

Chapter one: The Day it Ended

"Pads c'mon. They'll be home any minute" Remus called from the Potter's living room. "Alright, alright. I just can't believe Prongs managed to knock her up" Remus elbowed Sirius in the ribs. "I'm just saying!" He throws his hands up in defense. "Those are your best mates you're talking about" Headlights flashed into the front window. Remus and Sirius make eye contact before jumping to their feet and running to the front door. They swing it open just as James and Lily are walking up the porch steps. "Alright ladies?" James joked, carrying in their overnight bags from the hospital and setting them down on the kitchen counter. Remus and Sirius' attention was turned to Lily, who was gently rocking a small lump swaddled in blue. They peeked over to see a small, newborn baby. They smiled at the sleeping newborn, and Lily started to pat his back softly. "Welcome to the world, Harry."

"Harry. Is Harry safe?"

"He looks so... squishy." Sirius says. Everyone let out a laugh, then Lily's smile slowly faded. "I wish Pete were here with us too. We rarely see him these days."

"Peter?"

"You guys need to hide. Now."

*A few months later*

"Boys! Come quick!" Lily calls. James sprints into the room, followed by Sirius and Remus. "What? What is it?" James asks frantically. Lily turns back and smiles. "Harry's about to take his first steps!" James relaxed and sat down with his arms out. "Come on Harry!" He says. Little Harry starts to toddle over to James. He makes it all the way and falls into James' arms. The room erupts into cheers and clapping. "That's my boy" Says James. 

*Two months before*

"There's rumor to be a spy." Sirius says to the room. The room is silent, Marlene speaks up first. "Do they have any idea who?" Sirius glances around the room. "They think it's someone who went to school with us. Maybe even someone we were close with." He looks up at Remus. "Do you have any idea of who it could be?" Remus' face scrunched in confusion. "Why would I know who it is?" His tone is questioning. "I'm just wondering, since you knew basically half the school you might have an idea who it could be. Or something with the greybacks." Sirius mumbled the last part and Remus' eyebrows furrowed. "Are you trying to say it's me?" Sirius doesn't answer. "Why on Earth would it be me?" He was staring to get angry. "I'm not saying it's you, Moony. I'm just saying that you had ties to people like that." Remus stands up. "Fuck this." He mumbled a small "Sorry Harry" to apologize for his cursing to the infant playing with some blocks on the floor. "Remus please let's talk about this." Lily tries to get him to stay. "I'll see you next week." Remus says before walking out the door. 

*October 31, 1981*

Harry was on the floor, banging pots and pans around in the kitchen and singing in whatever language infants talk in. "That's a lovely melody, Harry" Lily says as she cooks their dinner for the night. James is in the living area, polishing his broom, and watching Muggle TV. The phone rings and Lily goes to grab it. "Potter's residence" She says in a cheery tone. "Lily?" Sirius' voice cane from the other line. "Sirius? What's wrong?" She could hear the worry in his voice. "It's Peter. Peter's the spy." Lily felt her heart drop and could barely get her words out. "Peter?" James was now standing behind her, his brows furrowed with worry. "You guys need to hide. Now." "What are we going to do? Where are we going to go?" "Just stay calm. We're going to take you to the girls' place. I've already called the Ministry, they'll be waiting at your house for him to arrive." "Ok. Thank you Sirius." She hangs up the phone and turns to James, telling him everything that Sirius told her. The betrayal James was feeling was overwhelming. His oldest best friend, had betrayed him to work with the Dark Lord. Lily and James packed a bag for the night it was only around five when the Ministry showed up, along with Sirius and Remus. "Everything packed? Harry. Is Harry safe?" Sirius asked. Lily nodded and they headed to the apartment where Dorcas, Marlene, and Mary lived. When they got there, the girls greeted them at the door with tight hugs and showed them where to put their stuff. "The Ministry said they'll give us a call when it's over and safe." The room was silent is disbelief and betrayal. Lily was fearing for her and her family's life. She had an idea that would keep at least Harry safe. She casted a protection charm on Harry. One that she had pulled from the depths of her heart and soul. The Ministry had called around 8:30. They came back to the Potters, The Ministry was waiting for them, Peter Pettigrew's hands bounded with magical handcuffs. James walked up to him. "Why Pete?" He asked. Peter wasn't making eye contact. "I'm sorry, James." "No, you're sorry you got caught."Just as they were taking Pettigrew away, someone had emerged from the shadows, wand pointing at Harry. "Avada kedavra" "No!" Lily screamed as the spell hit Harry. But instead of killing him instantly, the spell rebounded and hit its owner. The owner had disintegrated, nobody had seem his face but the knew who it was. Lily ran to Harry to make sure he was ok. He was untouched, besides a little lightning shaped scar on his forehead.

It’s called Say Don’t Go. I’m sorry if some stuff doesn’t make sense, I just had to find something to make it work with my storyline and the books. This can be found on Wattpad, and will be on ao3 January 6th.*

[mymoonagedaydream]

Part 7

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Language, anti-religious sentiment throughout, another creeper

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

---

The first thing you felt in the morning was dizziness. Even before you opened your eyes, you knew the room was spinning around you. The faint acidic taste in your mouth prompted a low-level nausea to start churning in your stomach and your throat was painfully dry.

You adjusted yourself a little, relieved when you felt Bucky’s arms wrapped around you, his chest rising and falling against your cheek. Slowly scooching upwards with eyes still screwed shut, you brought your face level with his. His breath smelt just as strong as yours tasted.

He stirred when your nose brushed against his, croaking faintly. ‘Still here. Haven’t run away yet.’

‘I feel like there’s a bee hive inside my head.’

‘Your first proper hangover,’ he chuckled, ‘we should celebrate. Breakfast?’

‘I’m never eating again. Or drinking. Or… moving.’

He started wriggling. ‘Well, either you move or I piss the bed.’

You groaned and inched yourself backwards, the movement making your brain rattle inside your head while Bucky slipped away and scuttled to the bathroom. Unfortunately, one of the many downsides of living in a tin can was the extent to which peeing sounds reverberated from end to end. You screwed your eyes closed and clutched a pillow over your ear, relaxing briefly when the noise stopped but giving up on sleep completely when a racket of banging pots and pans started just a few feet away from your head. You’d never get used to this place.

Bucky made breakfast while you rotted on the couch, feeling sorry for yourself. Only a few mouthfuls and a sip of water made it past your lips before being sat up straight started to make you feel woozy.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Bucky piped up whilst washing the dishes, ‘when you feel better we should go back to the apartment. I know it’s close to your parents, but at least my asshole dad doesn’t have keys to it.’

You considered for a second, weighing up whether you were more intimidated by your parents or his. Both were unpleasant but at least back at the apartment you couldn’t fry an egg while lying in bed.

‘That’s fine with me. Whatever you think is best, Buck.’

---

The two of you left the trailer the next morning, you were still feeling pretty ropey but you were at least able to walk six feet without getting dizzy. The hour-long motorbike ride would be make or break for your traumatised stomach.

As you were donning your helmets Bucky confessed how relieved he was to be getting out of there, and you told him that you felt the same. You’d always be grateful for the sanctuary but, without mentioning the lack of space, stained walls and crappy shower, you hadn’t felt safe in the trailer since Bucky’s dad had burst in the other night. Christ knows what else that man was capable of.

You were looking forward to a cosy evening curled up on a proper couch followed by what should have been the best sleep you’d had in days but, somehow, your roommate convinced you that it’d be a good idea to head out to a bar. The thought of being back in civilization was actually a pretty appealing one. He suggested his usual haunt, a place you’d never heard of despite living in that town all your life.

It was a dive bar. You’d never been to a dive bar before, you weren’t even really sure what it meant but, as soon as you saw the outside of this place, you knew it fit the bill. There was a flickering neon sign advertising Miller High Life above the door and parked up bikes as far as the eye could see. The gutter outside smelt like stale beer and piss, faded red curtains covered all the windows and some extremely intimidating clientele loitered outside, eyeing the two of you as you approached. One of them gave a gruff chuckle as you brushed past him to get to the entrance.

Bucky enthusiastically greeted a few guys inside, one of them you vaguely recognised from school but the others looked quite a bit older. You were so far out of your comfort zone in this place, every muscle in your body felt tense and you were convinced that dozens of dirty looks were being thrown your way, your paranoia making you look even more like a fish out of water.

‘What’ll it be then, sweetheart?’

Your eyes followed the voice to a tall, brawny blonde with freakishly wide shoulders and a crooked smile. Your mouth opened slightly as you scurried around trying to figure out exactly what kind of alcohol was sold in a place like this- the only bars you’d visited before exclusively sold alcopops and hard seltzers.

‘She’ll have my usual.’ Bucky piped up before you embarrassed yourself.

You just nodded, keeping quiet for fear of coming across as the naive religious freak in front of his friends. He reached across the bar and you suddenly found yourself with a pint of beer in one hand and a shot of whiskey in the other, confused as to why you were being made to carry his drink as well as yours. Your expression made him chuckle.

‘Boilermaker,’ he whispered close to your ear, ‘proper booze. Gotta make up for all that shit last night.’

He picked up his two glasses and one of the entourage led you towards a cramped booth with a sticky table. You were tucked in between Bucky and the blonde, the former’s arm circled tight around your waist, hand resting possessively at the top of your thigh. You didn’t speak much. Even if you’d wanted to, there was very little you could contribute to conversations about bike engines and non-Christian movies.

You’d gotten halfway through your beer when you felt eyes on you. Looking around, you eventually met the gaze of your seat neighbour. He was frowning slightly, one eyebrow raised, wisps of sandy hair falling over his forehead.

‘No offence, but you weren’t exactly what I was expecting.’

Great. This shit again.

‘Oh?’

‘Mhmm. When Buck said he was bringing a chick along I thought you’d be less-’

‘Leave it, yeah?’ Bucky’s tone was friendly, but you could sense a hint of warning.

‘Like I said, no offence.’ He smirked. ‘She just looks a little suburban.’

Bucky got more agitated. ‘What the hell’s that s’posed to mean?’

‘Jesus, chill out Barnes. She’s not bothered, are ya?’

He nudged you hard, pushing you into Bucky’s side. You just smiled politely in a pathetic attempt to diffuse.

‘Just back off, alright?’

‘Whatever you say man,’ the blonde raised his hands in surrender, smirking before adding under his breath, ‘at least she looks less whorish than the last one.’

Bucky launched himself to his feet and his aggressor did the same thing in response. A frenzied shouting match broke out while you cowered between the contestants, eyes darting between them. To your surprise, everyone else around the table was seemingly unfazed by the turn of events. Not one of them attempted to intervene. It escalated quickly, resulting in Bucky being violently yanked by his lapels, a pint of beer toppling and spilling all over you in the process. He quickly freed himself and helped you out of the booth, apologising as he ushered you towards the door.

‘Just gonna run away, huh?’ The blonde was shouting after you, following you out. ‘Fuckin’ typical. Hey sweetheart, if you ever want a real man to take care of you, gimme a call.’

Just as you thought the two of you might make it out of there intact, Bucky wheeled round and punched him square in the mouth. He received a swift jab to the stomach in return and the two of them crashed onto the sidewalk, arms and legs flying in every direction. You clasped a hand over your mouth and stumbled backwards. The sharp raindrops stung against your cheeks.

They only managed a few seconds of brawling before a couple of huge biker guys intervened, their handling of the blonde allowing you to grab Bucky and pull him away. You felt like hitting him yourself, like beating your fists against his chest in frustration, but you didn’t get a chance. The bartender busted through the door, yelling down the phone as the wailing of sirens approached. Flashing blue lights flooded the street. A uniformed officer leapt out of his car and swiftly made his way towards you and Bucky, the same officer who had doorstepped the apartment after your parents reported you kidnapped.

‘Told you your time would come,’ a satisfied smirk spread over his red face, ‘James Barnes, I’m arresting you on suspicion of battery and assault.’

Everything said after that was drowned out by a high pitched whining that started in your ears. Bucky was cuffed, dragged away and shoved into the back of the car. He shouted something in your direction before the door closed but you didn’t catch it. You were reeling with shock, everything around you felt like it was moving in slow motion yet, somehow, happening too fast for you to register.

They drove away, lights fading as they disappeared down the street, and you were alone. Standing in the gutter outside a dive bar, trembling and covered in beer, playing perfectly into your parents’ predictions. You hugged your arms in a vain attempt to shelter yourself from the night air. What the fuck were you supposed do now? Go sleep on Bucky’s doorstep, hoping he’d get released before morning? How many more times were you going to have to do that? You couldn’t help but feel so, so stupid. You’d leapt, fallen and landed flat on your face. Maybe your mother wasn’t exaggerating, maybe she was right all along. Christ, maybe you were just some naïve, sheltered Christian kid in way over your head.

You had no choice, you went home.

---

Waking up back in your childhood room prompted a wave of depression to crash over you. You wiped a hand over your eyes, it was sticky and smelled like stale beer and cigarettes. You hadn’t had the energy to do more than collapse onto the bed last night, still in your wet clothes, shoes muddying up your mother’s crisp white sheets.

Only your father had been awake when you timidly knocked on the door at midnight. He stepped aside and let you in without much more than a stern look, but you knew as well as he did that the real thrashing would come this morning. You were dreading having to face her.

You slowly sat up, the motion kick-starting yet another hangover, and swung your legs off the bed. They felt stiff. A sorrowful chuckle escaped through your lips, even the cramped folding bed hadn’t made you feel as sore as this godforsaken concrete mattress. You lumbered to the bathroom. Switching on the light, you stared into the mirror, taking in the reflection you barely recognised. Your eyes were dark, bloodshot and puffy, your hair was wild from days of washing it with shower gel in the trailer’s crappy shower, your clothes from the night before were still hanging off you, stained and reeking. You looked rough, but fucking hell did you look alive- and you felt it.

The doorbell rang. You hastily tiptoed to the top of the stairs, glancing down to see your mother standing in the doorway, face to face with Bucky. He looked awful, cuts and bruises littering his face. You stepped back slightly to hide yourself from his view.

‘Get off my property or I’m calling the police.’

Well, she hadn’t changed while you’d been gone.

‘Is she here?’

Silence. You peeked around the corner as your mother whipped her phone from her pocket and attempted to slam the door in his face. Bucky planted a hand flat against the wood, easily out matching her strength, and began desperately calling your name.

So much of you wanted to run down the stairs and throw your arms around him, to let him rescue you from this fucking horrible place again, but you knew there was a high probability you’d just end up here again in a week or two. You couldn’t keep letting him do this to you, your emotions were fragile enough without him constantly yo-yoing in and out of your life. You stayed quiet.

‘Fine,’ he backed away, holding his arms up, ‘but you and me both know that, sooner or later, someone’s gonna help her see through all your bullshit. I might as well be the one.’

He limped down the steps and out of your view. You had no idea if you’d made the right decision there, but you were pretty sure you’d end up feeling like shit either way, so it didn’t really matter. Dragging yourself back into your room, you picked up your phone for the first time that morning. Twenty-five texts and eight missed calls from Bucky.

You’d give him a chance to explain, but it would be on your time, when you were ready to hear it. You knew if you saw him now you’d just collapse into his arms and let him carry you back to the apartment. You needed to build up some strength, even if it meant toughing it out through numerous lectures on the dangers of sacrilege and fornication.

Taking a deep breath, you typed out a message to him.

The bench. Tomorrow at noon.

---

Part 8

---

[kedsandtubesocks]

spooky question electric boogaloo part two

ok so i LOVE spooky horror fics (i've only read a few there's not that many out there unfortunately) but i would love to hear which pedro boy you think would be the best person to have with you while living in a haunted house and dealing with the paranormal?

SPOOKY ASKS THE SEQUEL!!

Oh my god I love this?? Like the way I had to stop and think about the range of how they would react…you are thinking in a whole other realm and I am so lucky to be in that orbit Eri 🥹👻✨

Best with dealing/living with the paranormal

Joel: the guy lived and saw people mutate into fungus and immediately stepped into that reality and said yup we’re dealing with it, even without the clickers, Joel seems like he has such a firm rational level head that would keep you calm or maybe rationalize any hauntings (but of course will take any happenings seriously)

Javi P: this might be me projecting a bit of my own Mexican brujeria I was raised with but I see him being lightly respectful of spirits and superstitions, like he won’t immediately believe there’s a ghost in the house but once he gets the proof or experiences it himself he’s grabbing a San Miguel candle or having Chucho see if he knows someone who knows someone who can do a house cleanse, he also would be the most reassuring! I think we see how Javi is so comforting during hard situations and no matter what y’all faced he’s your rock 💕

Dave York: doesn’t believe in ghost or spirits and would simply buy you a new house if you believed the old one is haunted

Jack: best for humor purposes, I think he’s maybe a bit superstitious but nothing too extreme and is more rational than anything, he would bang pots and pans telling any ghost to shoo and get out of his house to make you laugh, would be cooking dinner and flat out ask the ghost if they’re allergic to anything

Wow I loved this?? So much??? I love you??? So so much??

[walriding]

When did you first start writing && Have you ever written a canon muse that you first thought of ‘meh’ when they appeared in their canon show/movie/book? !!

mun q's || accepting

When did you first start writing?

      my first rp experience was on a warrior cats fan forum when I was probably like, 13??? sometime in middleschool anyway. I don't remember if I wrote any canon characters for more than one or two short-lived interactions but I did have a cat oc named mosspath -- and that's why I go by moss online now actually! from that forum I ended up on deviantart and that's when I think I first started writing fanfic, or at least that was when I actually started sharing stuff I wrote. (if you wanna go back farther than that I do remember handwriting stories I'd make up about my barbies as a much smaller moss, and I know for a fact one of them was a murder mystery, nancy drew-type story lol. but those never saw the light of day). the deviantart to tumblr pipeline got me here in 2012 and I've had at least one rp blog running at any given time in the decade I've been on this hellsite.

      I obviously go through phases where I'm not as active, but I honestly I don't think I'll ever give up fandom writing -- either rp or fic -- completely. it's an outlet that's been part of my life for literally half of my existence, and as annoying as the burnout and writer's block can be I really do love the hobby.

Have you ever written a canon muse that you first thought of ‘meh’ when they appeared in their canon show/movie/book?

      hmmmmmm. I'm mentally running thru my past muses list trying to think about this one and not really??? they've all initially grabbed me in some way, and I'd say the commonality is that I was left with a feeling of 'that's IT?' when their story was over. my muses have typically been characters that I loved in their early appearances but was left feeling disappointed about in a narrative sense and that's why I end up writing them -- to continue stories and build up characters that I saw as having wasted or unexplored potential. I guess the closest muse I can answer yes to this question for is maaaaybe Alice Wake? and I was mostly meh about her because she's barely in the game. but there were some crumbs in later material that got me intrigued and set off the 'okay there is Something about this character that I'd like to dissect and flesh out' instinct in my writer brain. and now I'm banging pots and pans together demanding that she be made a playable protag in the sequel game lol

[beeskneesntrees]

my brain has been really mean to me the past few weeks and lately it's weighing on me really heavy that I really am going to feel like this for the rest of my life.

It feels like there's two of me and one is the rational, reasonable part of me being held hostage by the larger part of me that is just goblins in my head banging pots and pans telling me that everyone hates me and only tolerates me

And for the most part, yeah, I can drown it out to an extent but it's just lowering the volume, it's not living. I am going to feel like this forever, I am always going to be fighting my own brain and I am so TIRED of it

[nightfallrevel]

Sleeping on Emotions - Part 6

A/N: I forgot to post again. Cuz I've had a lot going on and I'm dumb.

Soooooo, yeah, here's part 6 and part 7 will be around shortly as long as I don't forget. ^^;

As always, you can catch the latest updates on my Twitter, @Nightfall_Revel, or on my Ao3, here.

In case you missed them, here are the previous chapters:

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Warnings: the usual swearing, sleep humping

Bakugo x Kirishima

Words: 1,731

Over the next several days, he refused to think about Kirishima and focused instead on being a hero and doing what it took to become number one. That had always been the plan, with or without Kirishima as a part of the equation. He made sure to eat, although he never felt hungry anymore, and continued to work out regularly. More often than not, he would work overtime and come home late most evenings.

Bakugo wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he came home one night to the sound of laughter in the living room. Two voices, one familiar that warmed him from the inside while the other was only vaguely familiar but left him cold again. Rounding the corner, he came upon Kirishima and the extra girl who’d announced they were dating sitting on their couch. Kirishima lit up at the sight of him, though there were definite notes of nervousness to his movements.

“Hey, man! Welcome home!” Sharp teeth appeared in a wide grin as Kirishima stood up and pulled Bakugo into a reluctant bear hug; reluctant on Bakugo’s end, anyway.

“That’s my line, asshole.” Bakugo growled. “What the fuck have you been doing all this time?”

Kirishima pulled away with a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his head. “I told you in that letter, didn’t I? I needed to figure some things out. Anyway… I did! No more sleepwalking!” He looked so proud of himself that Bakugo couldn’t help but soften a bit.

“Fucking good. Who’s this extra?” He gestured at the chick on the couch, despite already knowing exactly who she was. Sorta. What was her hero name, again? Whatever. Wasn’t worth his time remembering her by name, either.

“Bakugo, I thought you were done calling people that.” Kirishima let out a heavy sigh, “Anyway, this is Mizuki! She’s, uh, well…” The nervous movements returned as Kirishima blushed. The woman quickly stood and moved forward, stretching out her hand.

“Nice to finally meet you, Bakugo. Eiji talks about you a lot. I’m his girlfriend.” She smiled warmly as she waited for Bakugo to shake her hand. He didn’t.

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t let me catch you guys sucking face or some shit. I don’t need to bleach my eyes out.” Bakugo walked past them, ignoring Kirishima’s frown of disapproval, and entered the kitchen. He was honestly surprised that he wasn’t being lectured for not being nicer. While he banged around pots and pans, getting ready to make dinner, he overheard a soft voice from the living room.

“Are you sure this was a good idea?” Kirishima.

“Just give him some time. I’m sure everything will work out.” What’s-her-face the extra who had made the move on his best friend before he even had the chance--

Bakugo halted that train of thought. No, he’d fucked things up on his own. Besides, if Kirishima was dating a woman, maybe he wasn’t gay and Bakugo never stood a chance, anyway. Either way, he needed to fucking let it go.

Didn’t make it any easier to look at or be around, though. He shook his head clear and focused on cooking, doing his best not to let his mind wander to who was currently sitting in their living room. It had gone quiet with random bouts of soft laughter and it was really starting to grate on his nerves. Pinching his eyes shut for a moment, he took a deep breath and opened them again to look at what he’d cooked.

Immediately, he wished he could off himself as he nearly groaned in embarrassment. He’d actually fucking made goddamn rice omelets. What was he? An actual lovesick fool? What was he hoping to accomplish? He cursed loudly, banging his utensils on the counter and flipped off the heat.

“Bakugo?” Kirishima called out, his voice getting closer as he’d no doubt gotten up to check on him, “Are you okay? Did you burn yourself?”

Bakugo whipped around to face Kirishima as he entered the kitchen, his face flaming as he grit his teeth angrily. “No, I didn’t fucking burn myself. Eat your goddamn dinner before it gets cold.” He stormed from the kitchen, brushing past Kirishima in his haste.

“Aren’t you gonna eat, though?”

“I’m not fucking hungry!” Bakugo yelled back before slamming his door shut behind him and dove into his bed to scream angrily into his pillow. Hopefully, they couldn’t hear him from the kitchen and he didn’t embarrass himself any more than he already had.

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

This was fine. Everything was fucking fine.

Like fucking hell it was fine. Bakugo gripped the knob on the front door so tightly he was surprised that it hadn’t popped off yet. He growled, feeling his quirk try to activate as his fury rose to new heights as he witnessed the scene before him.

“Didn’t I tell you assholes that I didn’t want to walk in on this bullshit?!” He yelled as Kirishima and that woman tore away from their makeout session. They at least had the decency to look ashamed about it, although she let out an unapologetic giggle.

“Oops. Guess we lost track of what time it was.” She straightened out her clothes as she climbed off of Kirishima’s lap, and tucked her hair behind her ear. Kirishima, however, didn’t adjust anything and kept his eyes glued to the floor.

“That’s fucking it? You got nothing to say to me, Kirishima? Not even an apology?” Bakugo scoffed, slamming their front door shut. Kirishima finally looked up and opened his mouth, but Bakugo spoke again before he could say anything. “Fucking save it. I’m done. It’s been a goddamn month and I can’t ever seem to get some fucking peace. I’m moving out by the end of next week.”

Kirishima’s eyes widened in shock before he quickly scrambled off the couch. “What?! Why? Bakugo, come on. Please don’t be like that. I promise we won’t make out on the couch, anymore! We’ll be more discreet!” It was almost endearing the way Kirishima was practically begging him not to leave, but Bakugo couldn’t take it anymore.

Seeing them together never failed to drive a stake through his heart, no matter how much he tried to ignore his own feelings. That was the worst part. Now that he was aware of how much he’d fucked up, he couldn’t forget it. Hyper aware of exactly where he stood with his best friend. Forever the asshole.

At least if he didn’t have to look Kirishima in the face everyday, he wouldn’t have to feel so guilty all the goddamn time. And he wouldn’t have to feel the ache in his chest. He’d begun to have new nightmares lately, and he would really love it if those would fuck off, too. He doubted it, though.

Without looking at his best friend, Bakugo scowled and headed down the hall. “It’s too fucking late for that.” He slammed the door to the bathroom and angrily stripped down to take a shower. He took his time, not caring if he used up all the hot water, before emerging and making his way to his bedroom.

It was quiet. It was really fucking quiet and he wondered if the two of them had left. Not that it mattered anyway. Turning on his computer, he opened up his emails from the agency and looked over some of his unfinished paperwork and used it as a distraction. He wasn’t sure how long it had been before a soft knock sounded on his door and Kirishima’s low voice called out his name.

“Fuck off.” Bakugo grumbled before hearing a defeated sigh and shuffling footsteps heading back down the hall. He turned off his computer, plunging his room into darkness, and let out a heavy sigh. It wasn’t fair of him to be such an asshole towards Kirishima. Kirishima had done nothing wrong, yet Bakugo was still punishing him for it. More guilt settled in his gut and he resolved himself to apologize to his best friend.

In the morning, though. He was too exhausted to try anything too emotionally draining. Getting up from his desk, he plopped onto his bed and closed his eyes. Yeah. He’d apologize in the morning, for sure.

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

Bakugo startled awake, his eyes flying open to his dark room as arms wrapped around his middle. He sucked in a sharp breath as his body warmed instantly in response to his best friend’s embrace. How long had it been since they’d even touched casually? When he thought about it, it was when Kirishima had first come back and hugged him.

This didn’t feel right, though. It had only felt slightly off before, but now that Kirishima was dating someone, it felt completely wrong. Especially with there being no chance that Bakugo’s feelings were returned.

“Oi. Rockhead.” Bakugo called out, but Kirishima didn’t stir. What happened to no more sleepwalking? He let out a sigh and tried to pry himself out of his best friend’s hold, but Kirishima’s hands only tightened over his chest and pulled him closer. Bakugo nearly whimpered as his ass came flush with Kirishima’s groin and more than obvious erection. “Fuck you. This isn’t fair, what the hell.” He groaned, trying not to grind back against him.

Kirishima let out a sigh in his sleep, his nose pressing against the curve of Bakugo’s neck before letting out a soft moan. Bakugo felt electricity through his veins, punching him directly in the dick. “Fuck.” He groaned in response, shifting his legs around to try and get some friction, but to no avail. No way was he touching himself, either. The last thing he needed was for Kirishima to wake up to that. How would he even explain himself?

“Bakugo…” Kirishima’s voice puffed air against his ear as he ground his hips forward against Bakugo’s ass. Bakugo gasped, then quickly bit down on a moan. This needed to stop. It was wrong on so many levels, even if Kirishima was sleepwalking and saying his name while having an erection. What the hell was he even dreaming about? Whatever. Bakugo needed to wake him up.

“Kirishima… KIRISHIMA EIJIROU!” Bakugo yelled and the body behind him stirred, then became perfectly still.

“W-What…? Oh- Oh, no. Bakugo, I’m so sorry. I thought… I wasn’t supposed to-” Kirishima sounded like he was about to cry and Bakugo found himself at a loss.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Confetti Falls To The Ground

Summary: You want his midnights, his New Year’s Days, and everything and anything with him in between

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 975

Author’s Note: Based on Long Live/New Year’s Day and written while sleep deprived and sorta still tipsy

Confetti Falls To The Ground

In the little apartment, away above the bustling street, it’s quiet. Except for the near silent chatter of the glowing television and Spencer’s deep snores. Fireworks crackle in the distance and from the window, you can see people leaning from their fire escapes banging wooden spoons against pots and pans.

Technically, it’s your fourth New Year’s Even with Spencer. In actuality, you’ve only spent two of them together. The first year, you were working the late shift at the hospital and the third year Spencer was off on some case saving people from horrors you can’t even imagine. And through all of it, through the hard parts and the easy parts, through all the wrongs and rights there’s no one else you’d rather be by your side. You wouldn’t want anyone’s midnight but his.

“Happy New Year, Spencer,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to two fingers that you placed against his forehead. You’ve never been big on pet names; justifying to Spencer that his name was already the sweetest thing you can call him, because it was his. And of course, he stammered over his words through his flushed cheeks.

“I love you,” you say, knowing that he’s not going to respond, at least right now.

Despite the fireworks and the shouting people, Spencer’s snores remain steadfast. His head slips from its position on the pillow to your shoulder and you can feel his breath against your skin. You’ve been with him long enough to know that each case threatens to take a little piece of him from you. And you love him enough to know that you’ll always be by his side to glue him back together.

Just as you’re thinking about grabbing the half eaten platter of New Year’s Eve snacks in the refrigerator, Spencer stirs against your arm. His hands grab your shirt as he tries to hoist himself into a sitting position. Clearly still half asleep, he rubs his eyes. You’re about to bring the covers to his chin, but suddenly his lips are covering yours before you can even move a muscle.

You’re not a genius like Spencer. You doubt there’s anyone in the world quite like him. But even though you don’t have his memory, what you’ll never forget is every kiss you’ve shared. Your first kiss by his car in the pouring rain, all the kisses in this apartment, in the small corner of the used bookstore and everywhere in between.

But maybe it’s Spencer that makes you, not a hopeless romantic, but a hopeful one. Because when he’s lips move against yours and his hands hold your face close to his, you’re sure he’s your soulmate. He tastes like spearmint toothpaste and smells like ivory soap. You can breathe him in, but it’s hard when he’s taking your breath away. Whatever he tastes like, smells like, feels like, you know it’s home. Spencer’s fingers tickle your skin, moving slowly from your jaw to your lips as he breaks the kiss.

It’s a serious moment. It’s one of those polaroid moments. The kind of memories you’ll look back on when you’re both a little bit older and a little bit grayer. It’s a serious moment, but with Spencer it’s fated to be sweet. He cracks first, a goofy smile that’s all teeth forming across his mouth.

“It’s after midnight,” Spencer says, his voice laced with sleep, “But I had to kiss you, even if it’s late,” he adds, pushing a piece of your hair behind your eye.

“You can always be my New Year’s kiss, late or early,” you whisper back, licking your lips as your eyes flicker to his lips, “Happy New Year, Spencer,”

“Happy New Year,” Spencer says, still sleepy as he stifles a yawn, “Play with my hair?” he asks, already shifting down so he is able to rest his head on your chest. You nod, reaching to the nightstand for the remote to shut off the television.

Now the only light that remains is the glow from the Christmas lights, which will stay up well into January. Spencer settles in, his head resting against your chest. Your thread your hands his hair, loving the way it feels against your fingertips. He can feel your heartbeat against his cheeks. It quickens still when he’s close, even though him being close is nothing new.

He murmurs something you can quite make out, but you feel his words vibrate against your shirt. Spencer leaves kisses against your shirt, clearly on his way to sleep again. You drag your finger up his eyebrow and down the rest of his face.

“Spence, you gotta say that again,” you whisper, braiding a couple pieces of his hair as you swap secrets in the darkness of the bedroom.

“I said thank you for giving new years to care about,”

His voice is muffled when he talks. Maybe it’s exhaustion or maybe it’s comfort but he buries face into the soft fabric of your shirt seeking your warmth as he’s lulled to sleep. Spencer snakes his arms around your waist, squeezing you so tight like he’s afraid you’ll vanish by morning.

“There’s no one I’d rather clean up bottles and glitter and Polaroids scattered from the night before with,” you whisper, maneuvering your head to kiss his forehead.

You hold Spencer close as he holds you tight. His breathing evens out as he drifts off to sleep, holding onto the memories you’ve have yet to make as he holds on to you. From the polaroid memories to the serious ones. From the goofy smiles that can’t help but turn into kisses that are all teeth to sly ones that lead to something more. From laughter you can recognize anywhere and to all this magic you’ve made there’s no one you’d rather been fighting dragons with.

TAGLIST!

@pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @fandomfriend33 @folkreid @the-chaotic-cow @muffin-cup @shemarmooresfedora @reidslibrarybook @jswessie187 @fbivestreid @emilyprentisswif3 @doctorspenceryeet @alexrosex99 @alexontheinternet @cncos-baby @reidslovely @strawberryspence @drayshadow @navs-bhat @nomajdetective @xoxospencerreid @buckleyhans @spencerreidat3am @reidsacademia @kitkatkaitlyn @taylcrsversicn @fandomstuffff

[dapandapod]

Perfect dissonance

For my darling @jaskierswolf-love who deserves all the floof in the entire world. You make my fandom experience so much brighter and i am so happy you are my friend. Thank you for being you, and I love you.

Oh and also thank you @kuripon for betareading this suppppeerrr fast. Please enoy this fluff fest and please brush your teeth.

Warnings: Floof. Toothrotting floof. Go brush your teeth.

On Ao3 here

When the thought hits him, everything stops.

Geralt is sitting by his computer, working on the latest report needed for tomorrow's presentation. It is tedious and boring and incredibly dull, to use Jaskier’s words, but it needs to get done.

 In the kitchen, he can hear his friend clattering away with pots and pans, humming and muttering and snorting at his own jokes.

It is nice to have him around again. It’s been too long since his last visit, which is the worst part about living so far apart. 

These past few days spent together was like a missing piece of him had slotted into place. How they just settled together, even if the bed is too narrow for the both of them, even if Jaskier hogs all the covers, even if Geralt’s habit of always grabbing a new mug for every cup of coffee drives Jaskier out of his mind, even then.

As Jaskier drops one of the pots on the floor and swears loudly, it hits him.

Geralt doesn’t want him to leave.

He feels himself freeze in his chair, his fingers hovering over the keys, a mix of fear and rightness swirling in his chest.

This is how they belong. This is how things should be. The two of them, together, spending their days in perfect dissonance. Geralt loves him.

Loves his grouchy morning mood and stinky feet, loves his hands as he plucks the strings on whatever kind of instrument he got his hands on this time. Loves his voice as he sings loudly to the radio or in the shower using up all the hot water.

Geralt loves him, and it is the single most frightening thought he has ever had.

~

The pot hits the floor with a loud bang, its contents flying everywhere. Jaskier swears loudly and angrily in all the languages he knows, and curses their mothers for good measure.

Potatoes taunt him from the floor, mocking him for getting distracted by a hoodie, of all things. Well, it is not just any hoodie, it is a stolen hoodie, and those are always the best. Especially when they smell like Geralt, which had been his undoing in this scenario.

He kneels on the floor, chasing down all of the evil potatoes and putting them back in the pot. He has just stood up again when he spots one evil little bastard hiding under the kitchen table, and Jaskier has had enough.

He puts the pot onto the counter and puts the meat back into the fridge. Then he pads into the living room, to where Geralt sits in by his computer.

Geralt seems to be lost in thought, his eyes on the screen but his gaze far away. A small frown is forming on his brow, and that is not allowed when Jaskier is here.

Jaskier needs comfort, so he lifts one of Geralt’s arms and makes room for himself in the small space between Geralt and the table. Meaning, he is sitting in Geralt’s lap and pretending he is a blanket, wrapping himself all over him and putting his full weight onto Geralt.

“The potatoes are defying me. We are ordering in.”

“I heard,” Geralt says, but he sounds a little off.

Jaskier sits back and looks at Geralt, their faces inches apart. Personal space who? But Geralt never minds his tactile nature, even if he is still learning how to return the favor.

“What’s wrong?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt’s frown deepens.

“Nothing.”

“Well, ‘nothing’ is keeping you from hugging me back, and I am way too greedy to share you with whatever is keeping you from doing that.”

That teases a smile from Geralt, and he finally actually wraps his arms around Jaskier’s hips.

“Good boy,” Jaskier says approvingly, and leans his head against the chair's backrest. That lets him nuzzle into Geralt’s hair, tightening his grip around Geralt’s shoulders. “Now tell me about that nothing that is terrorizing us.”

Geralt is silent for a moment. He usually is, when he is gathering his words, assembling them in an order he likes. Jaskier takes the time to get comfortable, his hands meeting behind Geralt’s neck and making small, loose braids.

“I like having you here,” Geralt finally says.

“I like having me here too.” Jaskier smiles, the familiar butterflies rushing up to greet him.

It is so incredibly hard to go back home every time he comes to visit, he likes sharing that too small bed, he likes finding coffee cups in the oddest of places where Geralt forgets them, he loves the absentminded way he tucks Jaskier in when he gets up early in the morning, he….

“I think I love you.”

Oh. Oh, oh, wait, hang on.

Geralt is frozen under him, every muscle stiff with the realization of what he just said. Jaskier’s heart is beating like crazy, his breath stuck in his lungs, his hands shaking with the sudden rush of adrenaline.

“Oh,” he manages, hiding in Geralt’s neck.

Where the fuck did his words go? Everything spins and everything stops and everything is  slotting together like pieces that were missing for too long.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Geralt says softly, his voice so uncertain that Jaskier aches for him.

He sits up a little straighter, angling so he can look at Geralt again.

“You call that nothing?” Jaskier jokes weakly, knocking their foreheads together, noses touching. “You really need to reevaluate a few things if that is nothing. That is the single most important thing I have ever heard in my life.”

Geralt closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath.

“I, however, know perfectly that nothing compares to you.”

“Did you just quote Sinéad O'Connor at me?”

“Maybe. I love you though.”

“..... like that?”

“Like that. Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

Jaskier presses a gentle kiss to the corner of Geralt’s mouth, and then they both draw in a shaky breath. This is new territory, uncharted, and they are about to explore it together.

“Maybe I could…stay,” Jaskier whispers.

“Maybe you could,” Geralt agrees, holding him closer, hiding his face in Jaskier’s neck.

Maybe he can. Maybe he will.

This is how they belong. This is how things should be. The two of them, together, spending their days in perfect dissonance.

[bontenten]

Bewitch

Pairings: Osamu x F!Reader x Atsumu; Miyacest WC: 7.4k Genre/Warnings: smut, fairytale retelling (Hansel and Gretel), magic au, dubcon/noncon, incest (miyacest), fear, knife, monster, bondage, snuff, vore, gore/blood, object insertion, body horror, a bit of size, tummy bulge, oral (m.receiving), anal (m. receiving), masturbation (f. & m.), voyeurism, arson...

Summary: The unexpected guests at your cottage have a mysterious past and hidden agenda. Will they allow you to accompany them on their journey?

Travelers are advised not to spend the night in the Dark Woods. It's said that beyond the last hiking trail, past a brook, lives an Evil Witch. That witch is vile and merciless; often, fools lost in the woods are never seen again. It's said that she must be over 800 years old, feeding off of the essences of children and young men unfortunate enough to cross her paths. It’s said that she even eats fellow witches. No one really knows. After all, no one who has seen her has lived to tell the tale.

It's been a few months since your teacher has left you to fend for yourself here in the woods—your first time alone during this apprenticeship. She said she had to attend a big conference with a whole bunch of other grand witches. You asked if you could tag along, but she insisted that you stay and watch the cottage. The lack of company is about to drive you insane so you often resort to conversing with yourself or the forest itself.

The soft moss muffles the sound of your footsteps as you begin the trek back home, a faint off-trail path away from the main road that no one else would usually notice. On any other day, you would just go home without a fuss, but loneliness makes people do some bizarre and odd things. For instance, the desperate longing for companionship leads to you dropping a not-so-hidden trail of fancy pebbles to inadvertently lead someone to your abode.

For most travelers, going off-trail is akin to a death sentence as any wrong turn might lure them into the forest's deadly maze. Not for you though, you know this place very well: every fallen tree, overturned log, the wanted signs nailed to the trunk...

Wait. A wanted sign?

You can make out from your distance that there are two heads on it, but the details are fuzzy, and the bounty looks smudged. Before you can get a closer look, you hear the birds caw in the trees, signaling the beginning of sunset. You pull your attention away from the poster and continue on to your way home.

The cottage is extremely cozy and warm. The windows are bejeweled and the door is solid wood. You live here comfortably with your teacher, after all, learning about the principles of magic and what it means to be a witch. It's much more than curses and spells, as your teacher would tell you, witches have character and a moral compass. Although there are certainly those who decide to experiment with the darker arts.

While you get a fire going in the huge furnace and boil some water on the stovetop, you hear two voices squabbling outside followed by three raps on the door. You're stunned by the noise, turning to face the shut door wondering if you were just dreaming about the noise. Is it? Visitors? No, you must have heard wrong.

"'Samu, I bet it's a farce, let's not." The voice sounds both tired and weary, almost out of breath.

"Let me just try again, I can smell a working kitchen in there, someone is definitely there," another voice insists. Three more knocking sounds. "Excuse me! Is the owner of the house available? My brother and I followed a path of colored stone and came upon your establishment...could you spare us some water? A bite of food?"

Two men, though they sound friendly. You're frozen in the kitchen, staring at the door that remains between you and the strangers.

"Is there someone home?" The second voice tries again. "Please, my brother is not feeling very well."

Your initial wariness for the stranger melts when you hear about the brother, which does not sound like a lie based on the raspy voice you first hear. A witch's character is fundamentally kind to all sentient beings, especially those in need. But you're still nervous, so you end up grabbing a metal ladle before carefully going to open the door. When you crack the door open, you see a pair of twins. Beautiful men, one blonde and one grey-haired. The former, with a quirky grin, although his eyes certainly look lackluster. But the other seems like he's at the right place, eyes peering past you into your home, fixated on your kitchen.

"I'm Osamu. And this," he gestures to his twin, "is my brother Atsumu. We're a bit lost, you see."

You nod your head in a casual greeting and introduce yourself as the resident apprentice at this cottage. As a good host should, you open the door to the weary guests preparing to welcome them in.

"Are we welcomed in?" Osamu asks, not moving from his spot. Atsumu isn’t budging either, arms crossed and only looking at you from the corner of his eye, waiting for your answer.

Without giving much thought you nod and open the door wider. "Both of you are most welcomed in."

"Then we thank you for your hospitality," Osamu says, taking a step inside, dragging his twin with him.

Words, especially spoken words carry power and hold intent. And a witch's words, no matter how careless they slip out, contain magic. Welcome, as you say. So welcome, they are.

You shut the door behind them and prepare to go give your first-ever guests some water. When you turn around, you notice Osamu already in the kitchen, the sleeves of his tunic rolled up past his elbows.

"Your food is about to burn. Heat's too high," he tells you, expertly taking control of the sizzling pots and pans. "I got it, don't worry."

Feeling flustered at the faint smell of scorching food, you hurry over to see if you can be of any assistance. "Let me help out."

"No, it's quite alright."

How can a host let her guests do all the work like that? And the first company in a while too! What an utter failure.

"How—" you try to argue back, but you're cut off by Atsumu tugging on your wrist, dragging you over to the sofa in the corner.

"Don't worry about him, he loves to cook." Atsumu brushes out the wisps of his bangs with a huff. "And actually quite good at it. Anything that goes through his hands...well, in short, all become part of his design."

Like his twin, Atsumu's frame is broad and huge, but there is a quality of emptiness of sorts. Osamu's shoulders are wide but there's more substance to it, whereas Atsumu's form seems contained. You can't help but use your learnings to see if you can figure out just what's off about Atsumu. He's slowly walking around the living room and studying the portraits hanging on the wall. He picks up a frame that is set above the fireplace and comments, "None of these are you. How come?"

"Oh, they're my teacher. I'm just a witch-in-training at the moment, so—"

"A witch?" Atsumu questions, clenching the frame tightly. His hands begin to shake, the glass under his thumb beginning to crack.

You did not expect Atsumu to display such a visceral reaction upon the mention of witches. After all, witches normally stayed far away from ordinary human society and when they do mix, it's often a role of healing. But the look that sparks in Atsumu's eyes, it's almost—feral.

"'Tsumu!" Osamu yells while stalking over quickly from the kitchen. He throws his arm around Atsumu's neck and drags him off into the shadows. You can't make out the muffled voices and deep growling noises that are coming from down the hall.

It's their private matter, so you go back to the kitchen. True enough, Osamu's hands are almost like magic. The bubbling pot of broth doesn't seem to be on the verge of overflowing, the onions caramelizing beautifully, filling the air with deliciousness.

Moments later, the twins come back. You notice that Osamu clothes are wrinkled from tugging Atsumu around, but at the very least, Atsumu is looking much better than before.

The three of you set the table for dinner. Osamu brings out the plates as though he knows the kitchen inside and out already. Atsumu comes emerging from the cellar with two bottles of fine wine that you didn't even know your teacher had stowed away. Surely, she wouldn't mind? With Osamu and Atsumu sitting to the left and right of you at the round table, it almost feels like a more familiar, cozier gathering between friends than a situation of a host and her guests.

They tell you that they have been traveling across the lands for a long time now, looking for a cure for Atsumu's illness. It reminds you of the hollow, repressed form you saw earlier and your curiosity gets the better of you. They don't tell you the nature of the malady, but what they do share is that they are looking for a witch to undo the curse on Atsumu, a result of dark witchcraft.

"I am a witch!" you exclaim, feeling your call to action at the moment. "Please, is there truly nothing for me to help to undo the spell?"

Osamu leans in close to you, and wipes a bit of sauce staining the corner of your lips with the pad of his thumb. He smiles. "We're looking for a very high-level witch. One day, maybe you'll get to the level of magic needed."

"You're too weak," Atsumu bluntly points out. You're sure Osamu means to say the same thing, but Atsumu's words are really sharp.

"I know," you sigh. "My teacher tells me that all the time. So, I'm really trying. I'm sure there's at least something I can do."

"I definitely think that. Don't be so hard on yourself," Osamu comforts. "Have you been living alone here for a long time?"

You feel two pairs of eyes glued onto you waiting for your answer. You smile reflexively before your eyes trail to the empty plate and carefully choose your words. "Yea. Just me and my teacher. She's a grand witch...maybe if you wait here for a few days, you can meet her when she comes back from her conference."

"We—"

"We'll be gone tomorrow!" Atsumu snaps, staring into Osamu's eyes.

Osamu doesn't pay any mind to Atsumu, and puts an extra piece of dessert onto your plate.

"We have a long way to go. Atsumu's condition isn't getting better, so we can't stop in one place for long."

It makes you a little sad, because you were hoping to spend some more time with the twins, both of whom you have grown fond of. Osamu and his gentleness. And even Atsumu, despite his quick remarks and outbursts, adds a particular spice to your mundane life.

"Maybe we'll bring you with us," Osamu comments lightly, "'Tsumu, wouldn't that be nice?"

"She'll just be dead weight," Atsumu retorts. You wonder if he absolutely hates you. Is that why he is always so against you being next to Osamu?

Osamu puts an arm around you and blows on the shell of your ear. It tickles and you can feel his body enveloping you. "But she's so sweet," he tells Atsumu and whispers into your ear, "Aren't you?"

You find your wandering gaze looking into his half-lidded grey eyes. His face is right next to you, lips just hovering barely five centimeters away. The overwhelming presence of him is undeniably alluring. Your breaths become shallow as your heart rate speeds up with desire.

"I'm exhausted! 'Samu you too. We're going to bed!" Atsumu drops the silverware onto his plate and stands up. He comes around the table, muttering curses under his breath. Atsumu grabs Osamu by the wrist and drags him off towards the guest bedroom you have shown them before.

You didn't quite catch Atsumu's angry mutters, but you hear "slut" and "harlot" thrown around a few times. Were they directed at you? No, you're not like that, you tell yourself. Atsumu must have been thinking that you are trying to seduce his twin. After you clear out the table, you decide to clear up any misunderstanding.

You tip-toe down the hall to the guest bedroom prepared to knock when you hear muffled sounds coming from inside. You carefully press your ears to the crevice of the door and clamp a hand around your mouth upon hearing the stream of moans.

"'Samu, 'Samu please, ah—"

That's Atsumu? Your eyes are wide and still trying to process the shock of what you're hearing. You tell yourself you shouldn't be here. You should not be listening to whatever is happening behind the closed door, but you can't help it. Hearing Atsumu's moans makes you want to squirm.

You slightly jump when you hear a slap, followed with a pleasured groan. The sound is so clean it feels as though the phantom hands are touching your own heated skin.

Osamu's chuckle nearly makes your knees weak.

"Don't get cocky, if it were any other day ngh—, any other day, I would be the one pushing you into the mattress."

Slap. "Shut up, cute 'Tsumu. I like you being so needy for me like this. What do you want from me? Tell me."

"Fuck me, 'Samu."

"With pleasure."

The wood creaks loudly and you tell yourself, you really need to get out as you back away and try to quickly walk down the hall back to your bedroom.

You throw the door open and lock the door behind you with a click. With your eyes closed, you try to steady your breath and the building heat in your core. It's quiet. There's no noise coming from their room. But they are twins! 

You remind yourself that a witch is all-accepting and kind. There are so many circumstances beyond your understanding, judgement is not a part of your nature. And if what they are performing is wrong, what should you say about yourself? You peel off your clothes and step out of the soaked panty that is proof of your lust.

Pillows are fluffed and covers are pulled over your body. You try to sleep, but each time you are about to drift, Atsumu's cries of pleasure come back into your head. Your hand trails down your navel until the fingertips trace over your clit. Gathering some slick from your cunt, you drag it across the sensitive bud.

You shudder from the touch as images, constructed in your fantasy, cloud your mind. You imagine Atsumu's hands spreading your legs apart and Osamu's teasing words next to your ear. He would tell you to open wide and shove his cock down your throat. You suck on three of your fingers until lips wrap over the knuckles, your saliva pooling from hunger. And slip your fingers into your cunt easily, curling them against the plush walls.

"F-fuck me," you moan into your pillow.

With pleasure.

You quiver, clit pulsating, and your pussy juice dripping into your palm. The wash from the high soon takes you into sleep. All throughout the night, you squirm and feel the phantom sensation of being watched. Not just observed, but studied, by two pairs of glinting hungry eyes. You can almost imagine them on either side of the bed, trapping you into the mattress no matter which way you turn.

A few times the weird feelings almost pull you awake, but you don't dare crack an eye open to confirm your suspicions until the morning light begins to filter through the windows, rousing you from sleep. The air is filled with fragrant herbs and the sizzle of delicious brunch from someone awake before you.

No doubt, it's Osamu, because who else can it be? Atsumu? Please. The twins....

You climb out of bed and stretch your neck on the way to the washroom. Your bedroom door is open, but it's too early to notice that detail.

"Morning!" Osamu greets you from the kitchen. You find a fresh mug of coffee shoved into your hands from him.

You mumble thanks and sip at the brew while watching Osamu fry the eggs. Osamu looks to be deep in thought, probably thinking about something pleasant from the faint smile ghosting on his face. You feel a pang of guilt from both listening to their private lives, and also the strange feelings that maybe they heard your private life too—it's all your paranoia talking.

"You're so talented," you blurt out, fisting the fabric of your long skirt.

"Thanks, but better not let 'Tsumu hear ya, he gets jealous super easily."

Even if Atsumu hears, it's fine. You really mean both of them. Both of the twins both seem super talented as a duo; like they've been out there and seen the world. Meanwhile, you're still stuck here, without company. Would it be possible...if they simply stayed?

Osamu senses the words that are stuck in your mouth and answers them for you. "We're gonna be leaving right after breakfast. There's still lots of ground to cover today," he explains, plating the pancake before preparing to ladle a spoonful of batter for the next one.

"Do you have to leave?" you ask, almost pleading.

"It's cozy here and comfortable. We enjoy your company too, but we have to go. Your teacher would hate us, immensely, and on top of that...let's just say, we're always on the run."

"You say it like you two are fugitives or something."

Osamu chuckles and leans closer to you, hot breath flaming your cheeks, or maybe it's just the heat from the stove. A teasing grin pulls his cheeks up slightly as your eyes flicker over to see his lips spell out, "Maybe. Scared?"

Embarrassed, you take a defensive step back, squeaking and bumping into another body.

"MORNING!" Atsumu announces behind you. He's in good spirits and he has his hands on your waist to steady you; he sniffs your hair and smiles before letting you go. "I smell something delicious."

"Breakfast is ready," Osamu says, plating the pancakes. "Hungry 'Tsumu?"

"Tch." Atsumu shoves past you and knees Osamu, mood doing a complete 180. You're almost left like a fly on the wall as you watch the scene unfold.

Osamu is quick to catch his balance while keeping watch on the stove. "Not awake yet?" Osamu grins and passes him a plate of pancakes, essentially telling him to shut up and eat. "Who shoved a stick up your ass? Go eat."

"Fuck you."

"Hm."

Atsumu grumbles but digs into his food anyway. Osamu catches your amused expression in the corner and explains, "It's always like that between us. It's our...way of showing how much we care."

"I know." It's sort of endearing, the banter between the two brothers. Even if the world turns against them, no matter what the odds are, at least Miya Osamu will have Miya Atsumu, and Atsumu will have Osamu. Perhaps it's exactly that sort of bond the two share that you're envious of. Body and soul. Because if only you could have just an ounce of that sort of familiarity with another. But you're just an outsider without an invitation to join in.

While you're mulling over your thoughts, you don't catch the darkening gazes being exchanged between the twins. At some point, Atsmu's plate is already emptied and the wooden table is cleared while you're still lost in your mind. Osamu is fiddling with the metal tea strainer, bobbing it up and down to brew a mug of tea. He threads a cotton string in and out like it's a plaything.

"Do you really want to be with us?" Osamu asks nonchalantly. "'Tsumu and I were talking about it. If you do, maybe we can work something out."

"I just..." You feel like this is your final chance to tell them that you don't want them to go. None of the going around circle hinting that you have been doing. This is the moment to just tell it to them. If you miss this chance, you feel like you won't have another. And even though a pit pulls at your inwards telling you to reconsider, you're brave. "I just want to be together with you all, and help you cure Atsumu. My teacher is so talented, I'm sure she'll have a remedy."

They grin.

Osamu is a great cook, he can do that. Atsumu sometimes seems lazy, but he's super strong and quick to help too. And you can pick up all sorts of other tasks in the area! Maybe because they're so helpful, your teacher will even let them stay once Atsumu is cured. Maybe they can learn magic too! You have heard of warlocks who are powerful with spells too. And you can already imagine, the three of you, like a team, eventually going out into the world to fight demons and monsters and—

"Open wide," a sultry voice sounds next to you. Backing away automatically, you find Atsumu standing right behind you.

"W-wait," your voice shakes, stuck in your throat. "What are—"

His fingers reach for your mouth, prying it open. Before you can voice your distaste, a warm, metal ball gets shoved into your mouth, the thin chain quickly tangles into your hair. The faint traces of tea seep out of its small holes down your tongue and throat, while some spill out the corner of your mouth like trails of drool down your jawline.

Osamu smiles and wipes the liquid away with his thumb, relishing in how your widening eyes gape at him in confusion.

"Being together," he answers the question you wanted to ask, "is what you want isn't it?" He takes a spool of kitchen twine and begins to secure the tea strainer in your mouth. The thin cotton threads wrap around your head over and over again, tightening the steel against your tongue.

You shake your head and try to take another step away from the man you're beginning to become wary of, but the strong grip of Atsumu's hands on your shoulder prevents you from squirming at all. His fingers dig into your flesh, and when you turn to look at him you catch a glint in his eyes, glowering down at you.

"No, no, no, behave," he taunts you, "listen to 'Samu. He'll make you feel real good, trust me."

With the gag in your mouth, all you can let out are weak, warbling gargles from the back of your throat. Why are you doing this? You weren't like this before? Loud snorts flare out your nostrils from the fear screaming through your body.

Osamu comes back with a paring knife, examining the edge under the sunlight filtering in through the stained glass. He presses the cool blade along your cheek, dragging with the dull edge just enough so the sharp end doesn't cut your skin. You feel your knees growing weak and if not for Atsumu's hold on you, you would sink into a shuddering heap on the floor.

"You know, I think you might be the best meal yet," Osamu compliments, blade trailing down to your collarbone. The tip of the knife toys with the first button, pressing tension on the x-cross stitching. Snap. The first button pops off, dropping onto the wooden floor and rolling away to an inconspicuous corner. "I'll prep you well."

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. The knife flicks again and all the buttons clatter on the floor before running away for refuge.

Atsumu has cleared the table already and you find yourself hoisted up and laid onto the surface like a slab of meat on a cutting board. The cold surface presses against the back of your shoulder and ass. Osamu ties your wrist together with a hemp rope and secures the other end around the table leg. He also secures your ankles to two other anchor points.

You're utterly exposed and ashamed at your body's display, mortified at how your body is reacting when you catch sight of Atsumu, his eyes dilated, looking at your slit that you know is drenched already. The rough texture of the rope presses painfully into your skin from how tight the bindings are. You can only let out gagged whines in complaint, chest rising up and down from the loud breaths.

"Can't do, love," Osamu chides, kissing the knot at your wrist, satisfied with the results. His fingertips trail down to cup your jaw and his thumb runs across the tea strainer. You close your eyes and groan at his touch. Osamu murmurs, "I won't let anything go to waste."

Atsumu is growing impatient at the sight of his twin treating you like the finest specimen ever. You're not the first one. You won't be the last one, but he still can't stand the sight of someone looking just like himself having first tastes while he's missing out himself. He wants to shove Osamu aside, but he knows that Osamu absolutely hates it when he ravages the meal when it's not ready.

Atsumu unzips his pants and lets his hardened, leaking cock spring free. You stare at Atsumu who is fixated on his own pleasure. His hand wraps around his cock and pumps the length up and down.

Osamu turns your head to look at himself instead. "Someone there is impatient, but let's not learn from him, okay? I want to take you slow, make sure you'll be ready. I don't want you stressed, you release too much cortisol and that toughens the meat."

Anything that goes through his hands...well, in short, all become part of his design.

His hand kneads your breast and toys with your nipple, circling and tugging on the tiny, erect bud.

"Relax," he whispers into your ear. "Just like you did last night."

You try to clamp your thighs shut from reflex. Immediately the resistance from the rope ties stop your movements. Osamu squeezes your thighs and pushes them apart once more.

"Right here isn't it, after hearing me fuck 'Tsumu..." Osamu's finger runs down the sides of your labia. "You just couldn't help touching yourself too huh?"

He knows. They know. You feel your cheeks burn at the realization.

"There's nothing embarrassing about it. If anyone should be, it should be us twins, " Osamu's fingers easily slip in, your pussy already dripping with arousal. "Oh woops, I shouldn't need to comfort you. You're clearly not shy."

Osamu's fingers are thick and long, able to reach far deeper than you ever can. Your tongue is still struggling against the gag while your saliva steeps the tea leaves trapped in the ball.

"Oi," Atsumu cuts in with annoyance. "I thought you said to not play with food. What the fuck are you doing, chef?"

Osamu stops his finger in you for a moment before dragging them out. You're trembling at the sudden emptiness and desire to fill the space immediately. The lack of stimulation is irritating and you are desperate.

Osamu walks up to Atsumu, bringing his drenched fingers covered in your slick to his lips for a taste. Before he can do so, Atsumu grabs Osamu's wrist and takes in those digits, sucking on them gingerly.

Osamu smiles and runs the other hand through Atsumu's hair.

"Patience is a virtue, 'Tsumu, I was just getting her fully prepared for you. I'm giving her all to you already, you couldn't even let me have a taste of her?"

Atsumu releases Osamu's fingers with a pop. "I never said I wasn't going to share," he mutters before pulling Osamu in for a kiss, passing the taste of you along their tongues.

Your body jostles as you finally get a visual matching what you heard last night. You feel your pussy leaking with more excitement, the arousal drips all the way down to your asshole. And the more you squirm, it's as though the rope ties become tighter and tighter, rubbing your skin raw. But even that pain is incomparable to the need to quell your fire.

Atsumu pulls away and presses one last kiss on Osamu's nose. "I always love what you serve, thank you 'Samu." Your heart rate rapidly speeds up as Atsumu comes towards you. He's positioned between your legs, both hands on your thighs, marveling at the display of your body. His hands feel hot.

Atsumu grins. "You probably didn't expect me to be the one taking you, huh?" He guides his cock to your entrance, the bulging tip prodding along your puffy lips. "Did you want Osamu to be the one fucking you?"

No? You want to argue, straining your head up slightly, but only tea-laced saliva drips out from the corners of your mouth.

"'Fuck me, 'Samu. Fuck me, please.' Is that what you heard? Is that what you wanted to say too?"

Your screams are muffled whimpers.

Osamu snorts off to the side, watching Atsumu do exactly what he accused Osamu earlier of: playing with his food. Hypocrite.

Atsumu glares at Osamu before turning his attention back to you. "You'll be begging for me, Atsumu, after I'm done with you."

He lines himself at your entrance and inches himself in, groaning at how your cunt is somehow just sucking him in. You're so warm and tight inside, wrapping perfectly around every part of him. He sits in you for a moment, just enjoying being blanketed by your muscles and chuckling how you tighten around him every now and then.

You whine, urging Atsumu to move a little.

"Okay, okay. Geez, and 'Samu says I'm impatient." Atsumu slowly draws his cock out and snaps his hips forward, the base of his balls slapping against your ass. He delights at how you squeeze your eyes shut and continues rocking into you at a comfortable pace.

Osamu enjoys standing off to the side for a while. He always liked watching Atsumu savor and delight the food he prepares. Atsumu always eats with such gusto. It should have always been that way, until the witch ruined everything. The curse, an experiment with the dark arts, should have never happened. Above all else, it should never have been on Atsumu. Osamu can only wonder if the reason they are subjected to this fate is because they are twins. Until a cure is found, Atsumu, his most beloved other, will have to replenish himself in this way.

A sharp pain rips through you and tears well up in your eyes. You feel Atsumu's cock suddenly begin to pulsate and grow in size. At first, you thought it was because you're clamping down on him too hard and will yourself to relax. But the cock, the thing, is certainly unnatural now. And between your tear-stained vision, you can just barely make out... Monster.

You begin to thrash wildly, head tossing side to side, back arched as much as you can in a futile escape attempt. Atsumu's claws rest on your hips while he pounds into you furiously. His groans, now deep growls, send vibrations that you can feel within your throbbing clit. You fear that you'll actually be ripped in half by the way Atsumu is thrusting into you. The engorged cockhead hits your cervix each time and his ball sack, even heavier, bowls and knocks against you.

Osamu unfolds his arms and comes over.

"It'll only hurt if you don't relax," he tells you, reaching out to press on your clit. "Just let him have his way."

"Go fuck her somewhere else," Atsumu snarls. His voice is warped and bellowing. Your mind is getting foggy as Osamu's fingers on your clit don't stop teasing the bud while having a petty talk with Atsumu. And Atsumu, ticked off by Osamu, picks up his speed.

"There we go, now that's beautiful," Osamu comments, taking his hand away and watching you unfurl in your pleasure. Your abused cunt is puffy when Atsumu pulls out, and you feel the thick liquid start to flow out when you take breaths.

"No, don't do that," Osamu chides, taking three fingers to gather the cum spilling out and stuffing it back in. "Better keep it all in. 'Tsumu isn't done with you yet."

Not yet? You can't even voice your thoughts except weakly shaking your head and moaning into the steel gag. In the moment, your stomach rumbles loudly.

"'Samu, she's hungry," Atsumu points out, rubbing your tummy. "You feed her and I'll stuff her."

Osamu ruffles Atsumu's long hair and gives his new, erected horns a teasing squeeze. Atsumu yelps at the touch. "'Samu!"

"Okay, okay," Osamu relents and stands next to your head. You see him take the paring knife again and slide the icy blade between the cotton ties and your hot cheek. A quick slice and you feel the pressure of the gag release. Osamu removes the tea strainer from your mouth and tosses it into the sink.

"Must have been so over-brewed, I apologize for that," he says. You know he doesn't mean it at all.

"Why?" you croak out. Your jaw and cheeks are sore from being held in position for so long. There's so many things you believe you can ask why about. Why they are prepping you like a meal, fucking you like a toy...Why Atsumu is the way he is. Why Osamu is not who you think he is either. Why you.

Despite Atsumu's grotesque figure, you're sure that you fear this twin more. Osamu's thoughts are so well-hidden behind his eyes; he never gives away what he's thinking or planning. You can only accept his decisions from the receiving end.

"Because of Atsumu," Osamu answers. Everything is for 'Tsumu. "I'll feed you."

Osamu cradles your head with both hands, his fingers tangled in your hair. He prods his cock against your lips. Feeling your resistance, he grips your hair tightly, painfully pulling on your scalp, and presses the tip of his cock to force your lips open. You nearly gag at the length entering your throat and your hands ball into tight fists. Your nose is buried in the base of his cock, pressing into his balls. Each breath you take is heavy with his musky, hot scent.

It's easy to focus on Osamu's cock fucking into your throat, leaving an unamused, monstrous twin off to the side preparing to turn your attention back to him by force.

Atsumu rubs himself against you, preparing to enter you again. You're sure that he has become even bigger. When the tip pushes through, your body attempts to fight the intrusion in self-preservation. The claws at your hips dig in and Atsumu all but pulls you onto his length like a sock. You scream around Osamu's cock, throat clenching around his thick length, and nearly black out from the stretch.

You never had anything this big in you before. Atsumu lifts you up slightly, his grasp becoming large enough to encircle around your whole waist. Your ankles are still tethered and tug on you, much to Atsumu's annoyance. He easily slices through the bondages with a sharp claw. Now free of restraints, Atsumu can cradle you more easily, finally pushing the last section into you. 

Crack!

You can’t cry while you're stuffed with Osamu’s cock, but tears stream endlessly from your eyes. You’re sure your pelvic floor is broken, completely forced apart in a futile attempt to accommodate Atsumu stuffing you beyond your physical capacity. Your hips give out as your two legs, bone out from their sockets, dangle grotesquely.

“Just focus on me,” Osamu wipes your tears away and continues to pump into you. But you cannot focus on the human object in your mouth when your whole lower half and inwards are broken, stretched or squashed.

"Hey look ‘Samu! It's bulging," Atsumu marvels at the imprint of his tip pushing your flesh out from the inside. “Look, my cock is saying ‘hello’.”

Atsumu excitement translates into messy thrusts, treating your body like a game. “Maybe I can even touch your dick through her!” 

Your whole body is numb, the brain shuts its pain signals off completely, and hormones pour through your bloodstream in overdrive. The broken climax spasms through your body like the last bits of a faltering system.

“Better hurry...she’s...she’s fading soon,” Osamu warns between his grunts. He clasps your head and spurts his seed into you. You mindlessly swallow every drop of him, letting the contents slowly flow down your throat. You can’t process anything nor recognize any of the murky images. Who are you? Where are you?

Your memory fades in and out as your eyesight drifts between black and white. You can’t do anything about how the monster is now on all fours over your body, unrecognizable as Atsumu. You don’t feel any fear towards this grotesque figure. You don’t register how his tongue licks your neck.

Your mouth is now empty but you can’t formulate syllables.

“I’m sorry,” you hear Osamu whisper before sharp fangs pierce into your jugular, digging in deeper and tearing a chunk out. Red sprays across your body in fast spurts, drenching Atsumu and covering Osamu. The teeth at your throat gnaw at the flesh, starved, tearing through the skin, fat, and tissues like a child crunching fruit. 

You can feel the droplets falling onto your face like fresh rain after a storm. You vaguely remember your teacher and her warning of strangers. She always reprimanded you and you wanted to make her proud. There will no longer be any chance of that now. You weren’t a good student, and only an utter failure.

Osamu waits for Atsumu to finish you off. Atsumu always gets messy at this point. Osamu tried to help Atsumu section his prey off by cutting and organizing the limbs and even attempted to debone the meal beforehand, but Atsumu has his preferences, and Osamu respects them. So, Osamu delegates cleaning duties to himself instead. 

You’re already beyond recognition when Osamu comes back with barrels of oil. All that is left is a kitchen stained with blood and a pile of bone with chewed connective tissue left. Atsumu sometimes eats the bones too, but not always.

“‘Tsumu, are you full now?” Osamu asks, reaching out to cradle his twin. Atsumu has now transformed back to the way he is supposed to be. Osamu threads his hand through Atsumu’s blonde hair and inhales his twin’s scent.

Atsumu doesn’t respond and tugs at Osamu’s collar, trailing down his arm to bring Osamu’s hand to his own cock.

Osamu grins and kisses the top of Atsumu’s head. “Do you want to fuck me ‘Tsumu? I know you like to, after your meals.”

Atsumu whines and nips at Osamu’s jaw, pushing the twin down on the blood-stained floor.

“Okay, okay.” Osamu unzips and pulls down his pants before crawling onto all fours.

Atsumu’s hand cups Osamu’s ass and pries the cheeks open before curiously fingering at the specimen plugging Osamu’s hole. Atsumu holds onto the base and turns the object, before laughing.

“‘Samu, what is this you have in your ass,” Atsumu teases. “I like this presentation.”

This time, Osamu is the one embarrassed. “Last meal, it hurt like hell. So...I wanted to prepare a little.”

“With an egg holder?” Atsumu cackles again, fiddling with the ceramic object. “Should’ve just told me ‘Samu, I could never bear to hurt you.”

Atsumu holds onto the base and slowly pulls the object out before tossing it aside. He smiles and teases Osamu’s enlarged hole that’s opening and closing around nothing. Gathering up some saliva, he spits onto Osamu’s asshole before lining his cock at the rim and slowly pushing in.

Along with the curse comes a near insatiable lust. Atsumu knows that if he doesn’t fulfill his need to fuck or be fucked, he will snap. He doesn’t really care who he kills during a frenzy of that sort, but it’s too risky to get Osamu caught up in the collateral.

The witch that wanted to create the perfect weapon, failed. She failed because she underestimated the twins’ bonds for each other. She failed because the twins discovered that witches excrete a very special hormone in their body after climax, and it is exactly that substance that is slowly curing Atsumu. With every witch eaten and absorbed, Atsumu is healing and gaining magical powers. He is even capable of passing those essences to Osamu. One day, everything will be the way it's supposed to be.

Osamu plays with a few strands of Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu’s softened cock still buried inside of him. Atsumu has his jaw resting on Osamu’s shoulder.

“You make me feel so good,” Atsumu sighs, enjoying the quiet moments after his high.

“And what about her?” Osamu asks, gesturing to the table where your remains are still at.

“She made me feel good too. The best one yet, but don’t be jealous.”

“Come on, let’s clean up and get out of here.”

After washing their bodies and changing into clean clothes, Atsumu and Osamu are ready to say goodbye to the cottage they have overstayed their welcomes at.

"Let's go 'Samu, we're already behind." Atsumu finishes dumping the last bucket of oil along the edges of the room.

The clamor of boots stride across the creaking wood. As though with the passing of its owner, the cottage itself has lost the will to live.

"Coming," Osamu calls back, walking past the makeshift funeral pyre for you. He notices a flash on the ground and bends down to pick up a button.

"'Samu! Get the fuck out or I'll burn ya down too!"

"Yea, yea."

Osamu drops the button into his shirt pocket and joins his twin outside. Atsumu strikes a matchstick and tosses the small flame into the cottage. Fire meets oil and spreads in an instance, engulfing the cottage in an angry blend of orange and red, devouring all contents and remains within. The smell of scorched wood reaches the twins who are looking at the sight from a distance.

"She was good," Atsumu comments, looking at his twin unsure about what Osamu's grey eyes are thinking about. Atsumu realizes that he didn't specify what good exactly means. But it doesn't seem like Osamu is paying much attention. Is Osamu thinking about you? Is he unhappy? Does he regret what happened to you? Although what's done is done already, if time can go back, would Osamu choose? You or Atsumu?

Osamu slips his hand into Atsumu's, erasing the unspoken worries away. He gently leads Atsumu onto the trail, leaving the burning cottage behind.

"Stop thinking such nonsense," Osamu mutters, squeezing Atsumu's hand. No matter what happens, Atsumu will always come first. His needs, his desires. That's what it means for Osamu to love Atsumu. Even though the rest of the world may not understand the relationship the twins share, calling it depraved and disgusting, it's still selfless on their part. What sin is there to honestly love? What sin is there to try and save his loved ones?

While Osamu admits to himself that he does feel a deep attraction to you and knows that Atsumu feels the same pull as well, there's nothing that can be done about Atsumu's condition. But it's not as though you are completely gone. Your essences and core are within both twins, being absorbed as one with their bodies and soul. You'll forever be with them in that way, even if you no longer have any sentient memory of it.

Osamu fiddles the button in his pocket; there's still a physical reminder of you in that tiny form.

It must be about a twenty-minute trek from the burning site. Although the flames are already far from eyesight, the scorching smell and embers still drift over. The twins pick up their pace, eager to exit the forest before nightfall and make it to the next destination. On the way, they pass by the tree trunk with a wanted poster.

"They never get my best angles!" Atsumu complains, ripping a wanted poster that is nailed to the tree trunk.

"It's not like you have a good angle, ‘Tsumu."

"Shut it, we look the same ‘Samu. You're just calling yourself ugly too!"

Osamu shrugs and continues his trek down the main trail. Atsumu huffs, tearing the parchment into indistinguishable pieces before throwing the shreds up into the air like confetti.

"Wait up!"

Osamu stops in his tracks. "Hurry up, loser. We still have a long way to go."

Atsumu takes a few wide strides and swings his arm around his twin's shoulder. Behind them, a very light drizzle falls from the sky.