#but did you ever try walking on the beach with a crutch

[vivenecii]

I'm back from my impromptu holidays—with knee pain, art block and two cheap rubik's cubes that I'm taking turns solving

While I was away, my well-behaved grown-by-an-accident tomato plant decided to blossom all over. A minor miracle considering that my windowsill is hardly a perfect environment for it

[suvidrache]

Detlan is strong, one of the strongest in the Seal Clan, and so you watch in sadness his resent towards his old leg injury wishing he could see past it to his worth. Comfort/fluff

A Painful Past

age in bio when interacting. minors do not interact.

Word Count: 819 / Read it on AO3 / Wattpad

Detlan had been the strongest Seal Clan member. Bale and Asrif were his friends.

Together, the three of them would always go fishing.

When an illness hit the island, it took Bale's younger brother.

Detlan had a younger sister, and he was glad she lived. Bale's loss saddened him, and he understood Bale's pain.

The three of them, Bale, Asrif, and Detlan, had headed to the Sea Eagles to trade.

The Sea Eagles lived in an area where the beach connected with the forest. It disgusted the Seal Clan that an islander would dare to mix the forest with the Sea. However, they didn't judge much, as they needed the resources that could only come from the forest.

Torak was Bale's kin, and he had come to the island at one point.

Tenris, the Seal Mage, had convinced them that the only cure for the illness was a root at the top of Eagle Heights.

Bale was the best climber, but he had decided to hang back and help Torak get to the top.

Detlan stayed in the boat and watched as Torak and Asrif tried to get to the top.

Unfortunately, Asrif had taken the wrong path and his harness had been caught.

Detlan watched as Torak grabbed the root when suddenly his boat had been hit.

Detlan screamed out and his mouth filled with water. He had been in the Sea most of his life; he knew how to swim.

He tried to swim to the top, with every movement was agonizing.

He dragged himself across the sand, coughing out water as he did. He rolled over and laid on his back, resting a moment as tears rolled down his cheeks. He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand and sat up.

His ankle was very obviously broken. He would be lucky if he could ever walk again.

No one knew what had caused the Hunter (Orca) to act out like that. They typically avoided people.

Unless their young had been hurt.

Tenris would keep that secret until the very end. He had killed the Hunter's baby, and the mother was out for revenge, trying to find her baby or the man who had killed her child.

Bale and Asrif had hauled Detlan into one of their boats. There was no saving his. They brought him back to the Seal Islands and took him to the mage.

He was told that he would never be able to walk again, not without crutches. Since he couldn't walk, he was now left to do what the women did every day: cook, clean, and take care of the children, while the men did the hunting and fishing.

Detlan was a very friendly guy, and he waved so hard he had nearly fallen over when Torak left.

Detlan's little sister was happy that Detlan could spend more time with her. He wouldn't have to leave every morning like he used to.

Detlan began to become sad over the inability to use his ankle. He couldn't walk without the crutches and now, he was like one of the women: forbidden to leave the island.

He wanted to fish again, to be in a boat, to hang out with his friends like he used to.

He couldn't and while his friends did interact with him from time to time, it still wasn't the same. It seemed to him as if they were treating him differently now.

You watched as Detlan slowly went from being a happy person to a sad one.

You knelt as Detlan worked at washing the clothes, tears streaming down his face. Occasionally, he would wipe them away. The ones that weren't wiped dripped into the clean, fresh water. 

You put your hand on Detlan's shoulder and he stopped working. 

You wrapped your arms around him and he dropped the items in his hands to wrap his arms around you.

You weren't sure what to say or to do that could make the situation any better, but you knew that you wanted to make him feel better.

"I wish my ankle would stop hurting…" He said with a sigh as he went back to washing the clothes.

"It will one day. You know you're doing a good job."

He stopped working and looked at you. No one had ever told him that, not since he had been injured.

"What?"

"You're doing a good job."

"How so?"

"Well, without you, we wouldn't be able to get the fruits from trees, carry, or lift heavy things."

Detlan looked down at the fresh water and gave a small smile.

He nodded and thanked you.

"You're welcome." You said as you stood and gave his shoulder a gentle pat.

Slowly, day by day, you would help to work up Detlan's confidence and help him to feel better. It would take some time, but you weren't going to give up on him.

© SUVIDRACHE do not copy, translate, modify, or plagiarize my work. reblogs are appreciated!

[when-its-all-too-much]

how do i explain that nothing is wrong other than i am no longer fine. nothing happened. an invisible crutch slipped in my mind, a chemical balance shifted to unbalanced. the days passed too quick, too slow. that precarious line crossed. it is everything.

yesterday was okay and now today is not because i can no longer pull myself together enough to function. it lasts a day; it lasts a lifetime. i swallow my meds down each morning and wonder when they'll start working enough to make me feel normal again. but normal ended a decade ago and i don't think i'll ever get it back. i despise myself for it.

i lie on the floor because my bed is unmade and it is cold and hard. i stare at my phone taking nothing in, letting the videos rot my brain until nothing is left. i wish that if i opened my eyes again it will be okay again but it never is.

the sun shines outside my window, melting ice drops from the trees and it laughs in the face of my misery. if i had the energy i'd go down to the beach and stare at the waves as icy wind whipped my face. maybe then i'd feel more alive. maybe it would remind me that today is not the end of the world.

if i had more energy i'd go say hi to my bunny but she is downstairs and undoubtedly sleeping. she would ignore me and i would go back to my room dejected. they say people feel loved by their pets but i do not. the dog traumatized her and she has not yet forgiven me. i understand and i hate her for it, but how can you hate an animal that is just following her instincts. she will never love me the way i wish she could. it is my own fault i am let down by it.

on the good days it does not bother me. today is not a good day.

my mother asks if i'm okay, concerned. i am nonverbal; i say nothing. the words get choked in my throat and i shrug instead because it is all too vulnerable for a tuesday morning. she makes an excuse and leaves me on the floor. i do not want to see her. watching her walk away feels worse.

my dad pushes our departure time back an hour and i stare at him as if this is news. the laundry didn't get put in in time, he says, as if it is all my fault, and i fight the urge to yell or scream or cry. no sound would come out even if i did. he is in a rush and i do not know why. nothing waits for me at home. i wish to go back to school, where at least i could suffer by myself.

i force myself up and finish packing. my dad will try to talk to me in the car and i will offer him one word answers and soon enough he will give up. i will force myself to empty the car and then hide in my room until it all stops feeling like too much but i know it won't, not today.

it's not sustainable and i know that but how do you fix the unbidden thing in your head that dictates life is suddenly not okay anymore. how do you get up when the entire world feels like it's weighing you down.

the cycle will continue and i will be left wondering if this will ever truly go away.

most of the time i do not think it will. i have been fooled too many times before.

the letdown is worse each time.

one day maybe i will expect it.

but probably not.

[the-cranck-hobbit]

Broken Leg and First Choice || Song of a Nightingale Pt.9

Author's note : English is not my mother tongue, I am french but I wanted to try to write in English so here we are ! (Don't hesitate to tell me about the errors…)

Pairing : Mitchell! OC x Rooster, mention of Kazansky! OC x Hangman, mention of OC × Iceman

Summary : Two years after the uranium mission, Maverick enjoys his new life. Working on his plane, drinking beer at the Hard Deck, building a limpy little family with Penny and her daughter, Rooster, his WSO's son and Blizzard, his wingman's and old friend's daughter. 

Everything change the day he got a call which announces the existence of a 26 years daughter. 

Discover the story of Ally and Bradley, find out if Kathleen will deal with her father's legacy, and meet Beck, the first woman graduate of Top Gun.

Warning : VERY BAD WRITING, age gap, mention of death, mention of diseases, mention of parents death, mention of s*x but nothing descriptive

Days after days, Ally builds her new life in California. Pete introduced her to a friend who owns a garage. Mark - Maverick’s friend - accepts Ally for a one month try. Since the first day, she felt perfectly in her place, as if she meant to work with her hands full of grease and durst. She used to come back home, black spots and big smiles on her face. She was more excited than ever when she was talking about her day. Her childish enthusiasm was making everybody laugh. It was hard to resist her when she was like that. 

Ally promised to search for a place when she'll definitely be hired, even if Penny and Pete told her that she could take her time. She made new friends, most of them are part of the Dagger Squad that her father trained two years ago. She’s got some new habits, walks on the beach with Pete and parties in the Hard Deck with the Squad are part of it. 

What she wasn’t used to was deployment. First it was Payback and Faboy, then Blizzard, Phoenix and Bob. Even if everybody were acting like there was no reason to worry, Ally could feel the nervousness of her father the day they picked up Kat at the airport. She was wearing her fly-suit and her hair was tied back in a braid. It was the first time Ally saw her friend dressed in uniform. 

Her outfit wasn’t the only thing that was different. Her stare was more cold and her smile less shining. Like if she was already wearing a kind of mask that allows her to do her duty. The only moment she lowered the mask was the moment Jake took her in his arms and she buried her face in his chest. She kissed her boyfriend deeply and turned around to board the plane. 

With Blizzard, Phoenix and Bob deployed and Hangman back in Texas to see his family, Bradley and Ally spent more time together. He used to pick her at her work and bring her back to the Hard Deck or home to rejoin Mav. 

Pete and Ally planned a round trip in Australia so Ally could bring her last stuff to California and finalize all that remained to be settled about her mother’s death. Most of these things consist of seeing her aunts and uncles (who have always been awful with her) and selling the house. As saying that Ally will need support over there. So she was glad to know that her father was going to accompany her. 

Unfortunately, five days before the departure, Penny fell from a chair while she was cleaning the kitchen and she broke her leg. She couldn’t do her shift with crutches, the young bartender just resigned and Jimmy couldn’t handle all the evening alone since the two weeks trip. 

“I’m sorry, Ally, I’m so so sorry.” couldn’t stop repeating Pete. Ally smiled at him. “Don’t worry, dad. Penny needs you at the Hard Deck, it’s normal you stay here to help her. Don’t worry about me, I’m a big girl, I can go to Australia alone.” 

“I know, I know, but it’s gonna be a hard time for you, I don't like the idea of you going through all this alone, as you did with your mother's disease. I don’t want you to feel lonely anymore.” Ally tried to comfort him but Bradley, who was listening all the time, interrupted her. “I can go.” Both father and daughter looked at him. Rooster looked at Maverick. “I can go with Ally. So you can stay to work at the Hard Deck and Ally won’t be alone in Kangaroo's Kingdom.” 

Maverick looked at Ally. ��Is it good for you ?” Ally tried to ignore her heart, which was beating faster at the idea of spending two weeks alone with Bradley. “Yeah, yeah. It’s perfect." 

At the end of the week, she sat on the plane near Bradley Bradshaw for an almost 19 hours flight. 

_______________________________

Top Gun Fightertown, two years ago

Blizzard ran out after Hangman, who got out of the debrief room just after he threw the truth about Goose back in Rooster’s face, in front of all the Squad. To conclude by saying that Rooster wasn’t ready for the mission. Blizzard was furious and when everyone would be yelling at his face, Blizzard’s wrath was cold, Ice cold. “Seresin !” 

Hangman looked back at her. He was used to hearing her call him Hangman and even Bagman and he anticipated that she could yell at him to defend her dear Rooster. But calling him by his last name ? That’s new. 

“You are the biggest bastard of the Earth.” Hangman smirked, snarky. “Tell me something I don’t know, Kazansky.” Coyote was looking at the conversation from afar, ready to defend his friend. Blizzard was fighting against tears that rose to her eyes. But in appearance, she was still cold as ice.

“You don’t know what it is. Having a parent that is dead up there, and living with that, flying with that. Who are you to think that you can drop something like that in front of everyone ! You don’t know the story, you don’t know their story !”

The cold stare she was sending him made him feel uneasy. Ok, maybe this time he went too far, but he knew why he did what he did. 

“You’re right. I don’t know what it is to live with this kind of legacy. But what I know it’s that we are going on a fucking suicide mission. We don’t need the man that trained us to be affected by his personal stuff.” 

Blizzard interrupted him. “If you think that  Maverick is going to choose Rooster because of their common past, you are wrong.” It was Hangman’s turn to interrupt her. “I know that. But just as I said, it’s a suicide mission. I'm going to do this mission and I want the best pilots with me. And even if it tears my tongue to say it, Rooster is one of them. But he needs to be much better.” 

Blizzard was speechless, that was the last thing she was expecting from Hangman. He understood that Mav was likely to set apart Rooster and he didn’t want to. So he drove him to become one of the best. He wanted Rooter as his wingman. 

A little voice in Blizzard’s head told her that she already knew it. That she always knew there was something else behind this asshole’s mask, something more interesting. And right now he let her see a part of him, of the real he. 

Hangman turned around and left her standing there. 

He glanced over his shoulder and said : “By the way, he is my second choice, the first one is stuck in the ground.”

The idea of being Hangman’s first choice gave birth to feelings in her body that she couldn’t explain. Or that she didn't want to explain. 

She pinched the bridge of her nose, ran her hand through her hair and turned around, murmuring an angry “damnit”. She got back and headed for the locker, searching for Rooster. 

[careful-pyromancer]

Happy Tiny Scene Sunday Cass! Here's a prompt: Jami and Castien + summer vacation!

OKKKK this is not a teeny scene it's three pages but HERE U GOOOO!

“I think you’re trying to kill me,” Castien complained, his arms crossed. 

Jami sighed, holding up his hands in defeat. For once, the faerie wore a short-sleeved tunic. He didn’t even have a coat. 

    “Well, I think you’re being dramatic.” Jami scolded, putting his hands on his hips. 

    The wind rustled the trees above them. Even if they were arguing, both enjoyed the feeling of cool air. The scent of wildflowers, honey, and salt followed in the breeze’s trail. 

    "The Seelie Court was a good choice, but I am not going near the ocean. It’s dark and scary, and there are beasts in there!" Castien argued. 

    “You have to see the ocean in the height of summer! You don’t even have to go near the water.” Jami scowled at his brother. 

(REST IS UNDER READ MORE)

Prompt: Jami + Castien summer vacation. 

    “We’re already near the water!” 

    Do me a favor and grab Castien’s wrist, will you? 

    “You got it!” Kit was always happy to be helpful. 

A tendril of pure shadow coiled around the poor redhead's wrist. Jami began walking, the other tendril around his wrist. Castien barely had enough time to grab his crutched and hurry after his brother. 

    “What the hell?! I’m not a dog!” He yelled, his face paling considerably. 

    “You’re acting like a bitch, though,” Jami stated, earning himself a smack on the head.

    The winding cobblestone roads of the Seelie Court were threaded with vibrantly colored wildflowers. Castien noted the name of each species. Jami walked briskly, his head high. He had made up his mind before Castien had the chance to try and bargain for something else. 

    The path in the forest housed tons of wild animals. Castien smiled at a group of deer frolicking around the flowers. The trees stretched out of the sky for miles. Wisteria crept along the branches.

The canopy provided both faeries a chance to cool down. Then, finally, they heard the crashing of waves. 

Jami smiled brightly at his brother, who looked unamused. 

“Remember the tradition in Ajirial? We throw a bottle with a wish in it, and apparently, the sea is supposed to guide it to Larnius when the time is right.” The words were bittersweet. 

Castien nodded, his eyes wide.

“This is the beach Anna-Marie took me to.” His yellow eyes focused intently on Jami. “Did you know?” 

    A wide smile filled with sharp teeth spread across Jami’s face. He hummed smugly to himself. Then, he dramatically rummaged for something in his weathered letter bag. 

    He brandished two bottles with yellow parchment. Castien gasped, and before he knew it, he pulled Jami into a tight hug. 

    “Hey asshole, it’s way too hot to be this close!” Jami half-heartedly complained. 

    He didn’t try to escape, though. 

“My deepest apologies,” Castien teased.

    He let Jami go for a few more seconds, then pulled a pencil from his pouch. 

“What are you going to wish for?” Jami asked, the water creeping up to his feet. 

    Castien took a deep breath before joining Jami. He was still on land. The ocean paled in comparison to the Void. At least there was light here, but he did not look forward. The vast emptiness in front of him didn’t make his anxiety better. 

    After a moment of soft scribbling, Jami put the cork on his container. He held it tightly in his hands as if praying for a moment. Then, his arm rewound. The bottle flew in a wide arch, splashing into the water after several seconds. 

    Castien held his wish against his chest. In an instant, the bottle was out of his hand and several feet into the sea. 

    “Do you ever think that you shouldn’t show off?” Jami teased. 

“I’ve got the advantage because I’m tall.” Castien smiled at his brother’s offended face. 

    As the two brothers bickered, the bottles flowed onward. Jami splashed Castien with the cool water. The taller man screeched like a demon. He quickly picked up Jami (who couldn’t stop laughing at his misfortune) by the legs and dunked his head into the ocean. After three more times of Jami being a victim of waterboarding, Castien threw him into the sand. 

    Jami couldn’t get up due to how hard he was laughing. If he needed to breathe, he would have been gasping. Thankfully the sun was bright enough to help him breathe. 

    “You’re gonna regret that!” Jami teased. “My revenge will come sometime today. You’ll never know when.” 

    Castien couldn’t help but chuckle as well. For a second, Jami thought he was hallucinating the sound. He would cause chaos a thousand times over if that made his brother smile again. 

    …

The bottles slowly moved towards a large, white temple. Golden pillars reflected against the water’s surface—the air smelt of sweet spices. Larnius stood on tile made from the fabric of space. The stars and galaxies on the floor twinkled brilliantly. There were no clouds in the sky, only a vibrant blue. 

    Larnius knelt to pick up the wishes. Their long white hair dipped into the water. The God of Cycles dressed in only a loose white robe. They wore no shoes, no jewelry, not even on their tall white horns. 

    Their serene smile widened as they opened the first bottle. 

“Ah, Ravana’s boy. What does he wish for?” 

    I want everyone to be happy, healthy, and out of danger. 

Castien

“And a son of Fetik? How odd.” 

    I want my family to smile again. 

Jami

“A thief with a heart of gold and a forest’s son.” The God smiled softly. “I forgot they were brothers.”

[asktensei]

Previously on Tensei’s Birthday Bash:

“Love,” I tug your sleeve, “Is the option of going out still open?”

“Tensei, it’s almost midnight - we can’t go out now,” you retorted.

“I have a sudden urge to go to the beach,” I say, looking out of the window, “The sky looks amazing, doesn’t it?”

“I have to go to work tomorrow, honey,” you say, cupping my cheeks.

“Please, love… for me?”

.

.

.

You turned to face Tensei. You felt his grip on you tighten as you pressed your hands against his soft cheeks. You smiled, seeing him close his eyes and savour the small act.

How could you say no to him? Every single thing he does makes your heart leap. Even by just melting into your touch, all of your rationality is thrown out of the window - just to make this male’s wishes come true.

“You better make me breakfast tomorrow,” you whisper, trying to not break the tension you both built in this small haven.

“Come on, Y/N - it’s my birthday tomorrow! I’ll cook the day after.”

“I don’t care if it’s your birthday, you’re making me breakfast tomorrow,” you got off the bed and went to get your bag.

Once you got your bag, you turned to face Tensei.

God, this man is a literal baby.

“Fine, I’ll make breakfast tomorrow.”

.

.

.

You helped Tensei into his wheelchair and then proceeded to walk beside him, heading to the beach. You enjoyed the soft light hitting your skin, closing your eyes as you gripped the back of Tensei’s seat. A small hum left your lips as you took in the crisp, cold air of the night.

“I told you this was a good idea,” he said, a smug look painted on his face.

You looked at the dark-haired male, annoyed.

“I have work tomorrow, Tensei - I’m scared I might oversleep,” you say, sighing, “...but I do miss the beach.”

“It’s been a long time since we went to our little oasis, hasn’t it?” he said, happiness laced in his voice, “We made a lot of memories there, you and I.”

You smiled, reminiscing all the moments you’ve shared with the former Pro-Hero.

“Do you remember when you tried to burn that ice cream I was eating with your quirk?” you said, laughing, “I remember how disgusted you were when the cream actually entered your engines.”

He tried wiping the cream off of the metal piece but resorted to asking you since he couldn’t clean it properly.

“You remember when a crab pinched your cheeks?” He said, holding back his laughter, “You cried so hard.”

“You can only joke about that when you actually feel the strength of a crab with its claws,” you retort, annoyed by his actions.

“Hey, hey - Wasn’t I the one calming you down?”

He was. He ran to a shop nearby and got an ice pack to cool down your cheek. He sat beside you, rubbing your back as you cried due to the immense pain. He kissed you on your forehead in hopes of calming you down.

“You were - you always have been by my side, Tensei,” You say, ruffling his hair.

“Don’t plan on changing that anytime soon,” he replied, pulling on your sleeve.

You faced the male beside you and instantly you were in awe. The blue tone of the sky had perfectly painted itself onto him, the cool tones brightening his cerulean eyes. His hair softly swished against the strong winds, framing his face so well. You stared at his lips against the soft blue hue of the night. Even against the cold colours, the redness of his lips still managed to shine, making it look so soft.

“You okay?” He asked, worried.

Thank God he didn’t know how much you loved him under this soft light.

“I’m good, Tensei,” you say, turning to the road ahead of you.

.

.

.

You closed your eyes as you stepped into the sea, enjoying the feeling of the warm water brushing against your feet. The heat from the body of water warmed your whole body like a small blanket. You enjoyed the feeling of the soft sand against the soles of your feet, rubbing your skin like a massage. The fresh breeze hit your skin, waking your senses.

It felt as if you came home from a long day at work.

It was so relaxing, so calming.

You missed this - a lot.

You turned to face Tensei enjoying the sea as much as you did. His eyes were closed, taking in the salty yet fresh smell of the breeze.

The blue hues of the night painted his skin so well it was not fair. No one could deny how amazing he looked under the night’s palette - he carried it with such poise.

It was times like this where you were reminded how precious Tensei is. After all, he was the very person who taught you how to love.

His lips lifted into a smile as he opened them and saw you staring at him.

“I am just that good looking, huh?”

Scratch that - he was an annoying ass.

You stared at his legs your heart dropped.

This was the first time he’d ever come to the beach with his crutches.

You knew how much he loved the beach - he loved it even more than you.

He went on and on about his memories with Tenya, his friends and his personal ones that took place on the sand you stood on.

You knew how much he loved the beauty of this little oasis, but he could no longer enjoy it.

He was the one who brought you to this very beach, but could no longer feel the freedom it gave.

If he can’t stand by himself properly, he’ll stand beside me.

“Tensei,” you started, “Do you want to enter the waters with me?”

“I can’t, Y/N…” he trailed off, looking at his crutches.

“I only need to carry you to the sea. You know water buoyancy exists, right?” you remind him.

“But -”

“I’m coming there,” you say, getting out of the water and heading towards him.

You stood behind him, and slowly took his left arm off its crutch and placed it on your shoulder. You gripped his side, pulling him closer to you.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, Iida Tensei,” you say, laughing, “I’ve thought this through - it’ll work. Besides, you still have to get that right arm to work properly - you can do that, right?”

I like being the teaser once in a while, Iida Tensei.

“Stupid,” he chuckles as he turns to face the sea, “Let’s do this.”

“Ok! So there are roughly around 3 steps we need to do to reach the waterline. Once we reach there, you’re going to let go of your crutch and press your weight against me. I’ll carry you on my back and bring you into the water. From then on out, you just need to keep at least one limb on me. Clear?”

“Why don’t you just let me use my crutches until the waterline?” he asked.

Oh.

“I didn’t think of it,” you say, smiling in embarrassment.

“Dumb,” he teased.

“Hey! I could easily drop you here, you know?” You say, chuckling.

“You wouldn’t,” he said as he kissed your cheek.

Damn you.

“Okay, okay - let’s move,” you said, focusing on the mission at hand.

One.

“Damn, this is hard - why are you so weak, Y/N L/N?” Tensei said.

“Be careful, sir - your safety depends on me.”

Two.

“Why are you so heavy?” You ask, panting.

“I haven’t exercised in a long time and I eat a lot, I basically move using a wheelchair - you need more reasons?”

“Understood, sir.”

Three.

“Ok, we’re here,” he said, smiling.

“Yeah, yeah - smile. I have to literally carry you now,” you say, irritated.

“Hey! You suggested this, not me.”

“I did, didn’t I?” you say, sighing.

“How about I sit down on the sand first? After that, you can push me from the back?”

“Sir, have you heard of gravity?” you retort, “But sitting down for a while sounds nice.”

You gripped his sides tightly as you heard him drop the other crutch to the floor.

Time for payback, sir.

You immediately dropped him, making him fall on his behind.

“I did say your safety depended on me,” you replied, smiling.

“Oh?”

Oh, shit.

Using his crutch, he hit your calves lightly but just enough to make you lose your stability and fall face-first onto the sand.

“I’m still smart, you know?” He replied, smug laced in his voice.

“I’m sorry - weren’t you the one who forgot the existence of gravity?” You retort, rubbing off the sand.

“Holy shit, Y/N,” he began laughing at your sand-filled face, “Why don’t have my phone with me? I need to take a picture of you!”

This idiot.

“You got a lot of guts to do that to me now, don’t you?” you say, forming a plan in your head.

“Well, you wouldn’t kill me, so I don’t see you doing anything that bad to me.”

I guess it’s time to prove you wrong.

You hit the back of his head with your shoe, earning a groan from him. You then began to tickle his sides, causing him to laugh uncontrollably. You heard his pleas to stop, but you didn’t care - he asked for it.

“I guess,” giggle, “I need,” giggle, “Oh, never mind.”

He pushed his back onto you, making you fall back onto the sand.

“You like sand, don’t you, Tensei?” you say, kicking his thigh.

He pressed his hands on the sand beside the two of you and slowly got up. Then, he turned himself to face your body laid on the dry sand.

“Knockout!” he shouted, making you laugh.

“You’re really dumb.”

“Tenya is the smart one, not me,” he said, moving closer to you.

He laid back against you, pressing his head against your chest. You grabbed his hands, once again playing with his fingers. His right hand found its place against your left cheek, the pad of his thumb rubbing your cheek in circular motions.

“You are still extremely heavy,” you say, cutting the silence between the two of you.

“You do this to me all the time!”

“On the bed! Not at the beach,” you retort.

He chuckled, enjoying your irritated expression.

“I love this,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

“I do too,” you say, ruffling his hair, “Next time, you be on the sand though.”

Laughter erupted from the male leaning against you.

You looked at his joy-filled expression. You can’t help but wish that this man before you remains as happy as he looked right now - preferably against the blue hues the sky had to offer. You want him to stay in your arms as you relish the moments you are in his. You want him to enjoy the riches of life he has provided to multiple residents of Musutafu. You want him to live his life by your side as you shield him from the harsh words of others.

“Thanks for this, Y/N,” he said, moving upwards to kiss your cheek.

“Happy birthday, Tensei. I love you.”

“Thanks, Y/N. I love you, too.”

You both, covered in sand with slightly wet clothes, shared a kiss under the pale moonlight of the night as a blue hue dusted your skin - maybe with a dash of scarlet on his, too.

“Now that that’s done…” Tensei whispered.

You were pushed by Tensei into the sea. The body of water’s salty liquid entered your body through your nose and your mouth, filling your senses with nothing but disgust.

Yep - still the same, annoying guy.

[coepiteamare]

you have (1) new voicemail

pairing: jimin x reader (though what their relationship is is unclear) genre: mystery, angst (? as always), fluff (like a wee bit), epistolary fic! warning: mentions of a ballet accident (nothing detailed, just that something happened), jimin is missing, implied!depression beta reader: hana! @cutechim​ this story would not have happened without you and i absolutely adore you. also thank you to noor @papillonsgf​ because you were the first person i talked to about this story and uhhhhh well let’s just say this story may be different than what you were expecting word count: 4.9k (this used to be drabble series lmao)

things you said series: things you said through the phone summary: “Hi, Jimin. It’s me.” (alt. you leave voicemails for jimin when taehyung asks you if you’ve heard from him recently.)

A/N: this is all dialogue, which is ironic—to say the least—because i find dialogue painfully difficult to write (it doesn’t come naturally to me, it conflicts with my writing style, and it’s just difficult to write it in a way that feels real.) nonetheless, i hope it comes across the way i wanted it to, and i hope it makes you feel something. 

December 5th at 14:30

Hi, Jimin. It’s me. 

I know we haven’t talked in a while, but-uhm-I saw Taehyung a couple days ago? I happened to be near where that cafe is—what’s it called—Moodspresso! Do you remember it? We wanted to go when it was new, back when you were taking that coffee-making class with Yoongi. You were such a dork: you wanted to go all around the city to judge cafes by their espressos, even though you weren’t a fan of the bitterness.  

We never did get around to trying it together: I think we tried to make plans, but it was out of the way of where we were, and then life happened, and then, well...it happened. 

When I saw it, it felt strange, as if a fragment of my past found its way into my present? It was kind of funny how I went in there thinking about you, only to see Taehyung. Weirdly fitting, considering how the two of you were always together, joined at the hip in college.

Anyway, he asked me if I had heard from you recently? Told me you haven’t texted him in a while, that you weren’t answering your phone, so I just wanted to check in! You know, say hi! I—uhm—tried to text you, but it wouldn’t deliver, so I figured I would just leave a voice message. I hope that’s okay. I hope you’re doing okay. If you hear this, you should probably text Taehyung; it seems like he’s worried. Said you usually respond within the day, but you haven’t been lately.

I-uhm-hope you’re doing okay. Text me back and let me know? 

Bye, Jimin.

*beep*

December 12th at 15:21

Uh, hey Jimin. I didn’t hear from you, so I thought I would check back in.

I saw on facebook that Jeongguk’s dating. Isn’t that strange? I mean, it’s not strange that he’s dating; it’s just strange that it’s Jeongguk who’s dating. You know, our Jeonggukkie, the one who could barely talk to his crushes without getting tongue tied. 

It seems like not too long ago he was the scrawny high schooler stressing about college applications, but he’s dating now. We used to help him with his personal statements and here he is. Dating. That’s just—wow. Time flies, I guess. 

I don’t know if you’ve kept in touch with him lately, so i just wanted to let you know. You know, in case you didn’t see it. 

I-

This is so stupid; I’m so sorry. 

Uhm, let me know if you get this?

Bye, Jimin.

*beep*

December 14th at 19:42

I went to the bookstore today and I saw that your favourite manga released its final volume. That’s so...wild. 

I remember you were reading it when I first met you in high school and to think that it’s over? That’s like Supernatural coming to an end, you know? Something that has gone on for so long that it feels weird that it’s ending. That it’s no longer a part of our lives that grows with us. It’s something that has an ending. 

Speaking of endings, I don’t know if you’ve seen the ending of Supernatural, but don’t do it. It just-wow. 

Anyways, I haven’t kept up with the manga, but when I saw that they released the final volume, I felt the need to buy it? I went in to buy something else and came out with all of the volumes that I hadn’t read. 

I could have just read them online, I know, but I figured, if I see you again, I'd give you the final volume? Unless you already have it. Then I’d just keep it, but...you know. I just-

It made me think of you. How you transferred in late in the school year with crutches, and even though you were new, you weren’t paying attention in math class. I remember my first impression of you being “he must not care about school.” I think I later learned you had just started reading the manga a couple days ago and wanted to catch up because you couldn’t think about anything else.  

It didn’t even matter that you didn’t pay attention that week or that you came in mid-school semester because you aced every class. I thought it was because you were smart without trying, which irked me because I always felt like I was trying and not accomplishing—though I suppose that still applies now—but I later learned how much effort you put in. You always tried so hard that you made things seem easy. School work. Your happiness. Your feelings to a certain extent. 

I just-

I wish-

Nevermind.

I hope you’re doing okay.

*beep*

December 17th at 13:21.

Hey, Jimin.

I tried to make pasta today, and I don’t know how, but I managed to get the sauce everywhere. Everywhere but in the pan. So now, my kitchen looks like a bloody crime scene with red everywhere. I don’t even know how I’m going to clean all of this up, but I should do it before it dries, right?

  I should, but I’ve just been sitting on the floor looking at it for the past few minutes.

  Do you remember when we made pasta for our fakesgiving potluck at your place, and I got sauce all over your shirt?

 I was wearing your white shirt—why I thought wearing a white shirt while making red sauce was a good idea, I don’t know—and I was trying to get the jar to open, but it wouldn’t work. I don’t think i’ve ever told you about this, but I remember that day was particularly awful for me. Just one unlucky event after another—I don’t quite remember what exactly they were, just that they were enough to make me feel like I wasn’t enough—and even though I was so excited for the fakesgiving potluck the night prior, even though I loved our friends, I just wanted to be alone. To not do anything and settle under the covers. Pretend everything could be forgotten if I just went to sleep.

But I saw you, and you were so excited. I didn’t have the heart to tell you I didn't want to go, so I sucked it up and helped you prep. I tried to pretend that everything was okay, but when that stupid jar wouldn’t open, I took my frustration out on it. You tried to take it from me, but I pushed you away, told you I could do it. 

And I did, only I also managed to spill the jar on your white shirt as I watched the jar fall to the ground and shatter. That spill was the tipping point, not because I spilled the only jar of tomato sauce in your apartment, but because I spilled it all over your new, brand name, white shirt.

I remember berating you for spending so much money on a shirt when you bought it—for fuck’s sake, it was a plain white shirt—but I know how much you adored it. I didn’t need to look at your face to know that I had fucked up, that I should have just let you open the jar instead of being stubborn. I started to cry, in anticipation of your anger, but you just held me instead, got pasta sauce on your shirt too as you let me cry on your shoulder, whispering “There, there. It’s okay. We can just make something else!”

You never even mentioned the white shirt, told me not to worry about it when I apologised, that it was the least of your concerns. That you could get another shirt.

Looking at my kitchen reminded me of that. So, I figured I’d give you another call, but it went straight to voicemail again.

I hope you’re doing okay.

I don’t know if you want to talk to me, but I’m just worried.

Call me if you get this? 

Or just send me a text.

Bye, Jimin.

*beep*

December 19th at 21:45.

Hey. There’s a full moon today. And I thought about you. 

I—uhm—think about you from time to time when the moon is bright. I don’t know why—it probably sounds stupid—but I have a lot of memories of you and the moon? Like that time we went to visit Jeongguk by the sea during winter break because all of us didn’t want to go home but didn’t want to be alone. So we made a road trip of it—well, it was kind of a road trip—and drove to San Diego to see him.

When we got to the sea, it was dark and so cold out, and the wind was fucking freezing, but we rolled up our pants and started walking along the shore, dipping our toes in the water and screaming about the temperature. Our teeth were chattering and the water was so so cold, but we did it anyways. 

It was a nice beach, from what I remember. One of the nicest I’ve ever seen. 

I stuck my hand into your jacket pocket and told you my hand warmer was dying, but to be honest, I just wanted to hold your hand. I think you knew, or maybe we had known each other for so long that you knew what I needed without having to express it in words, so you took my hand and held it tight. And even though the water was freezing and the wind was cold, in that moment, I felt so warm. 

I think you and I have always communicated well, like how I saw the way your eyes glinted in the moonlight and, somehow, knew what you wanted to do. Sneaked up behind him and pushed Jeongguk into the ocean together and laughed as he shrieked. 

It was fun, that day. I-

I miss those days sometimes. The earlier days. When there was less to worry about. 

When you were happier. 

Anyway, the moon is really bright today. The radio called it a supermoon, or something like that. I took a picture and tried to send it to you, but your phone still won’t let me send you messages. So if you hear this, just, go outside and take a look at the night sky. 

Call me back? Or send me a text. 

I just want to know you’re okay. 

Bye Jimin.

*beep*

December 21st at 16:28

I went to see The Nutcracker today. It felt like I haven’t seen a ballet in forever. It’s been—what—one year since I saw one? Which, I guess, in the grand scheme of things hasn’t been that long. But you were the one who would take me and I haven’t seen one since...yeah. I know it’s your favourite ballet. Or was. I’m not sure if it’s changed, haha.  

The American Ballet Theatre was putting on a performance, and there were still nosebleed seats available, so I bought one. It kind of felt like fate, like it was a sign that I was meant to be there, because I remember we used to get our tickets months in advance. 

I remembered some of the terms? I recognised the pa-pas de deux—god, my high school french is so fucking rusty—between the Sugar Plum Fairy and the Prince. I know that part is your favourite, but I still think “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” is mine. All those turns? I don’t remember the technicalities, but I know it requires a lot of skill to pull off while looking graceful. I still find it strange that the Sugar Plum Fairy is the prima ballerina though, considering she barely appears. 

I-uhm-kind of was hoping to see you. 

I know you don’t dance anymore, but—maybe it was just my stupid desire but—I was hoping that you would be dancing with the company. That perhaps you were dancing again and that was why you weren’t answering any of the calls. I kept looking at everyone, trying to see if it was you. I even paid extra attention to the curtain call and looked at every single person, kept trying to find your physique in the line. But you weren’t there.

You weren’t in the audience either. I stayed in my seat until the very end, until after the end, and scanned the crowd for anyone who was lingering and soaking in the energy, like you would do every time we went to see a ballet together. But there wasn’t. It was just me. 

I stayed in my seat anyways, until the ushers told me I had to leave. Because that’s what you would have done. 

I guess I was hoping you would show up. That trying to do what you would do would somehow unlock your presence. Or give me some kind of clue.

But it didn’t. 

Where are you?

*beep*

December 23rd at 17:19.

I saw Taehyung again today. 

He wanted to know if I'd heard from you. I don’t know why he thought you would contact me. I mean, I know I call you and leave you these messages, but you know. I haven’t talked to you since...since, yeah. 

He looked awful, like he’s running himself thin. I don’t know if he’s been sleeping well, Jimin. The two of you have been friends forever, and I don't know if you’d recognise him. He seems so tired, and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

He thought it was going to be like last time. That you would show up soon. But you haven’t yet, and it’s been so long, Jimin. 

He called the hospital and they told him you quit a few weeks back, which I don’t understand. I thought you needed residency to get your physiotherapy license. Tae doesn’t get it either. 

He’s been going to your apartment, trying to see if anyone is in there. But there hasn’t been. He’s contacted your apartment manager several times, telling them he’s worried about you, but they won’t let him have the keys. Safety reasons. It’s understandable and frustrating all at once because he—we just want to make sure you’re okay. 

He said he used to have a key to your apartment. Said you gave him your spare, but you took it back? Something about you needing your spare because you locked yourself out. He said that was the last time he saw you.  

I’m not trying to jump to conclusions, but you’re okay right? I know this time of year is when—uhm, the accident happened and you-uh-left the Royal Ballet School. I know this isn’t your favourite time of year, but if you need to talk, I’m here. 

He’s worried, Jimin. We all are. 

Call me back? Or call Tae? We’re just worried and Tae wants to file for a missing person’s report. So just, let us know you’re okay. 

Call me soon, yeah?

*beep*

December 27th at 22:48.

I saw Yoongi today. 

I don’t think he likes me very much, but then again, I wouldn’t like my cousin’s ex either, so I can’t really blame him. He was still as civil as ever. Very polite. He and Seokjin are still dating, but I’m sure you knew that.

Tae had contacted Yoongi a couple days ago? Asking about you. So we all met up in person today. 

I forgot how much food Seokjin makes when he’s stressed. Do you remember when he was waiting to hear back from his job, and Yoongi invited us over for dinner? We were excited because we were college students and living off of the shitty cafeteria food and, also, because it was Seokjin’s food. You thought it was because they wanted to feed us—Seokjin always wanted to feed you—but when we went over, it was obvious they just needed help getting rid of the food. There was so much food. To this day, I don’t think I've ever seen so much food in one place, even during our potlucks, and Seokjin always brought a lot of food to our potlucks. 

I remember stepping in to their apartment, and the heat radiating from the kitchen was too much to bear. The walls were sweating because he had been cooking for seven hours, trying to displace his anxiety into food. We came back to the dorms with tupperwares full of food. I didn’t have to visit the cafeteria for a week. 

God, I’ll never forget the first time we met Seokjin, and he made us fried rice: you couldn’t stuff your face fast enough and choked because it went down the wrong pipe, coughed out fried rice all over their brand new dining table and all over Yoongi. Seokjin and I laughed so hard. I was trying to be polite, kept looking at Yoongi's face and tried to swallow my giggles, but Seokjin's laughter was so boisterous and lively that I couldn't not laugh. 

You laughed too, kept choking on your laughter in between your apologies, and Yoongi just kept glowering at you. But it was full of affection. He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you and back at the table and huffed, but it would have been obvious to anyone that he wasn’t really annoyed with you. 

He went back to our hometown a couple days ago, tried to see if you were there. But you weren’t. 

He went to see your parents, but they still think you’re living here too. Yoongi said he went to all the places you used to go to, like your old ballet school and that comic book store you used to go to after school. I even asked him to visit the arcade. You know, where we first met outside of school? Where we would hang out after school with Jeongguk and spend too much money on House of the Dead. Where we had our first date. 

But nothing. 

There are traces of you everywhere, but you? You’re not anywhere. 

Where’d you go, Jimin?

*beep*

December 28th at 2:19

Fuck you.

You don’t get to do this to me. I spent so long trying to forget and trying to move on and you come back in, except—do you know what the most fucked up part of this is? It’s that you’re not even here. You’re not here, and somehow you’re everywhere. No matter what I do, all I can do is think about you because no one knows where you are. Everyone is worried because you’re missing and I-I don’t know what to do. 

I thought this was over a year ago.

So why, why are you back in my life? Why are you reawakening the things I've tried so hard to bury?

Fuck you.

*beep*

-- 

December 28th at 2:23

Hey Jimin. Just ignore that previous voicemail. I’m just--I’m just frustrated. Worried. Everyone is. 

Just call me back if you get this? 

*beep*

--

December 28th at 2:25

You don’t even need to call. Just give me a sign? Let me know you’re okay. Please.

I just want to know you’re safe. 

*beep*

December 30th at 1:13

Jeongguk flew in from New York today. Tae called him yesterday, and he took the first flight here. 

I realised I’ve never seen Jeongguk mad. 

I guess I’ve kind of seen him grow up, but I’ve never seen Jeongguk angry until today. I mean, I've seen him upset and angry, but I’ve never seen him mad. Like mad mad.  I’ve never been on the receiving end of it because he’s always had his emotions in check when it comes to the negative ones. We’ve seen him sad, but you know how he is. He seems like he doesn’t care, but he cares so much when it comes to the people he loves. He’s always trying to only share the good things because he doesn’t want to bring everyone down. And even when he’s upset with us, he tries to communicate. He’s always been emotionally mature in that sense. 

A lot like you. I think he gets that from you. You are his brother after all. 

But when we told him none of us had heard from you? That you were missing?

I realised we’ve ever really seen Jeongguk angry. 

I’ve never seen Tae look so despondent or Yoongi so guilty than when we saw Jeongguk at the airport. They didn’t want to worry him because he had just moved for his new job—I’m sure you know about that—and he’s been so stressed out that they didn’t want to add more on to his plate. 

They thought you would show up by now, that you would come back. Because you always do. Or did. You used to.

 I remember the first time you disappeared. It was a year after you came back, the anniversary of the...the accident. You were a little distant a couple days prior, but still you. Still vibrant and happy and beau-I mean, bright. And then on the day of, you were just gone. Didn’t show up to school. Weren’t at the arcade. Weren’t at your apartment. Just gone. Vanished into thin air. 

I remember asking Jeongguk if you were sick, but he had no idea what I was talking about, and when we couldn’t get a hold of you, he burst into tears. I held him as he told me about your fight last night, how you got your xbox taken away because the two of you didn’t know how to share. He thought you had left because you didn’t love him, because he was your step brother and not your real brother. 

And as we were panicking about what to do, if we should tell your parents when they came back from work, you stepped through the front door with sand in your hair and your backpack over your shoulder, smiling as if you hadn’t been missing for half the day. As if your phone wasn’t turned off all day. 

I remember feeling relieved and exhausted all at once, as if someone had drained all the worry and energy out of me. I remember Jeongguk crying as he ran to hug you. I remember you crying and promising not to go anywhere without telling him again.

And you didn’t. Sometimes you would disappear when something hit too close or when you felt like everything was too much, but we could always turn to Jeongguk for a breadcrumb, for the small hint that you were okay. 

But you didn’t leave him a hint this time. When we called him, let him know you were missing, asked him if he knew anything about your whereabouts, he didn’t say anything. He went so quiet, we thought the line went dead, until he actually did hang up. He sent us a text message a few minutes later, letting us know he’ll be arriving on the next flight there.  

Jeongguk-he’s so cold when he’s angry. He’s so quiet. But that quiet is so loud. It speaks volumes. 

I’ve seen Jeongguk loud with laughter and quiet in contemplation. But this? This was something different. 

I guess the two of you are alike in that sense too. Both of your silences are never just quiet. 

*beep*

December 30th at 15:37

So we-uhm-broke into your apartment. 

Or well, Jeongguk did. But I guess all of us are accomplices because we kind of-well, we stood there as he did it. I don’t know why Jeongguk even knows how to pick locks, but I didn’t really have the chance to ask. 

Your apartment looks normal. Still spotless. It looks like you. Like how it used to. Or how it used to before we lived together, at least. 

I’m not going to lie, I-I’m a little surprised you didn’t move out. I couldn’t even go to the places we used to go to after you told me you wanted to break up. 

I guess it didn’t bother you as much. 

We scoured your apartment for clues as to where you could have gone, which may sound very Paper Towns of us, but—I don’t know—we were just looking for any sign as to where you might be. If you were okay. There weren’t any notes or anything that could give us a hint though, and Tae said it doesn’t look any different than when he last visited. 

Jeongguk also called your credit card company to see what your last purchases were. To see if it would give us any clues. But you haven’t used it since you left. Everything is just blank. 

Blank. Like you don’t want to be found. 

Jeongguk is still upset that none of us told him—I can’t blame him for that—but I think he’s mostly upset at himself that he didn’t know. That you two stopped talking for a bit, and he didn’t notice anything was wrong. 

I think he feels like he’s been drifting away from you too, ever since his job got busy and he moved for work. Or maybe it’s before that. I think he’s always felt like you don’t tell him everything, even though he pours everything out to you, looks up to you. I know you’d give him the world, Jimin, but Jeongguk would give up everything for you if you ask. 

But you don’t ask. You never do. You don’t let people in when you’re hurting. Maybe it’s the ballet training instilled in you to smile through the pain. Cover up the flaws. Put on a performance all the time. You pretend it doesn’t exist and push people out.  

No, you just disappear instead. 

*beep*

December 30th at 21:02

Tae and I are staying over at your apartment. I hope you don’t mind. We just decided we would rather not risk having anyone in your apartment see us try and break down your door and call the police on us, haha. It makes it easier if we’re in your apartment so we can open the door in case we need anything. Or find something that we missed.  

It’s-uhm. It’s weird being here. Feels like I've been displaced from the present and back into the past, only you’re not here. 

I noticed you took down all the photos of London.You used to have that big photograph wall next to your bed, filled with pictures from when you lived there, from when you used to dance. But all your ballet photos are gone too. Tae told me you took them down a while ago, a little after the break up. Said you stopped dancing for fun too, after a while. 

I just-

I hope-

Ah, fuck it. Nevermind. 

It’s so weird to be back here. 

*beep*

December 30th at 22:14

I found my sweater under your pillow. The white one with the moon on it?

I thought I had lost it after we broke up. I wanted to ask you if you had it, if i forgot to take it with me when I moved out, but by then we had already been one month in and- 

And it hurt. To think about you. Even though that was all I was doing. 

It kind of felt like it does right now. How you permeate my every thought and every moment, even though you weren’t there. The quiet was-is-so loud with your absence. 

It smells like you. The sweater. 

I just-

I don’t know what that means.

I don’t know what any of this means. 

I just don’t understand why my sweater would be under your pillow because it was you. You’re the one who told me you wanted to break up. 

You told me you didn’t want to do this anymore, didn’t have the energy to try. You were so sad, and I wanted to argue, wanted to beg you to let me stay until you were better, but you were so sad. So sad and exhausted and defeated and certain in your decision that I knew there was no use fighting it. 

How could I hold on to someone who’s not there anymore, right?

I’ve been telling myself that we can’t understand break ups or feelings. There’s no understanding them. We feel what we feel and sometimes there are no explanations for it. So I knew. I got it. I understood there was no point in asking to stay, but I regretted not asking you for a reason. 

I still do. 

I didn’t have the chance to ask you why because I was too busy staggering from the weight of I don't love you anymore.  Too busy struggling to piece together what those words mean. 

Love is a two way street; it goes both ways. But you made the decision, and all of a sudden, that two way street morphed into a dead end, and I had no choice but to walk away from it, back out the way I came from. 

I wish I could say that I didn’t see it coming. That it came out of left field, out of the blue. But I can’t because I had been bracing myself for the impact for weeks. For months. 

Would it have changed things if I hadn’t known? Would it have hurt less? 

I don’t know. 

I don’t know. But I wish I did.

I wish I knew, Jimin.

*beep*

Message deleted. You have no new voicemails. Main menu.

A/N: come talk to me! let me know your thoughts! once again, thank you to hana and noor. this story wouldn’t exist without the two of you. 

[gumnut-logic]

G Protocol

I have finally written another Protocol :D I wanted this to be for Thunderfam, but I’m not sure it lives up to that. There may be a tissue warning, but there may also be a laugh or two. Sorry, my brain stopped working an hour ago.

Many thanks to @janetm74​ and @tsarinatorment​ for their amazing support over the last few hours.

I was determined to finish this and it is now past 3am. Excuse me while I fall on my face.

I hope you enjoy my zombie writing and all hail the caffeine in frozen Coke :D

-o-o-o-

Gordon glared at his oldest brother. “That’s not fair!”

Scott stared back, surprised.

Irrationally, it made Gordon even angrier. “It’s not fair, Scott, and you know it.”

“Life isn’t fair, Gordon. I know you know that.” It was said calmly and with finality. To top it off, his eldest brother turned his back on him and went back to doing important stuff at their father’s desk.

“You know what? Screw you!”

That at least got a frown out of his brother.

But little more.

With a hiss, Gordon spun on his one good foot and as furiously as he could manage, crutched his way over to the stairs and began hopping down them.

“Gordon, what the hell?! Take the elevator!”

“I don’t care!” It was childish and stupid and he really should apologise, but it was a last straw thing. He had had it. He wanted out, off these crutches, into the pool, away from here!

He almost made it worse by stumbling halfway down the stairs. His brother’s freaked out yell did nothing other than make him feel guilty. But he rescued himself and stormed through the kitchen past a wide-eyed Alan and out onto the pool deck.

Only to be faced by the fact he couldn’t go in the pool which was half the problem in itself.

Well, he could, but he couldn’t swim at any stress relief level.

One stupid broken ankle and everything had gone to shit. He had been stuck here for weeks and there were weeks to go and it reminded him of other weeks of his life that were too many and he was just over it.

The breath he drew in was shaky and had far too much emotion in it for comfort.

He hobbled further out onto the decking. All he wanted was out. But all the paths leading away were gravel and not very crutch friendly.

Screw it. That would be his new maxim. To hell with everything. And he took the first steps along the path towards the nearest beach.

It wasn’t easy going at all. The crutches seemed determined to slip on unstable rock. He nearly faceplanted at least twice within the first dozen metres, but Gordon was a Tracy as much as any of his brothers and pissed off enough to spout determination in a fountain of idiocy.

Idiocy which proved itself not two minutes later when one crutch slipped and he couldn’t recover. One moment his driving force was anger, the next it was fear as his brain flash-calculated the damage that was going to result from falling down the steep incline at his feet.

But there was the equally fast realisation that there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

And he fell.

But he didn’t hit the jagged rock or even fall very far. Instead, strong arms grabbed him and scooped him up with a grunt. A familiar grunt and the scent of aftershave and engine grease.

Virgil.

Gravel, along with his crutches, clattered down the path in echo of where Gordon would have ended up if it wasn’t for his big brother - who had obviously followed him down.

“Uh, thanks, Virg.”

“Uh-huh.”

Gordon stared up at his brother who now had him clutched to his chest as if Gordon was his blushing bride...or something.

“You can put me down now.”

“Uh-uh.”

“What?”

And Virgil began carefully walking down the path towards the beach.

“Virgil, put me down.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“G Protocol has been engaged.”

“What?! Why?!”

“Because you have reached your limit.”

“Virgil, I’m fine.”

“You told Scott to get screwed.”

“He wasn’t being fair! Alan got the last of the ice cream last time. It was my turn!”

“Exactly.” Virgil stopped at the edge of a small cliff just before the beach proper. Behind them a set of rockets fired and Gordon looked up to see the space elevator disappear into the mountain. “Aw, hell, you called down John?!”

“G Protocol, Gords. You know the deal.”

Gordon sighed. Did he ever. “Go ahead. Put me out of my misery.”

Virgil smiled at him. “That’s the aim.” And chucked him off the cliff.

For Gordon, flipping into diving form was instinctual and while the cliff was a small one, they had jumped off it enough in fun for him to know exactly how much time it took to hit the water.

And water it was.

It took away the sounds of the world in a rush of bubbles.

He didn’t try to surface immediately. He let his momentum carry him deeper, his arms taking the load of the work since one foot wasn’t functioning. Blue enveloped everything and lifted his heart by its mere presence.

Why hadn’t he come here earlier?

He wasn’t surprised when there was a nearby splash and Virgil, stripped down to a t-shirt and his green swim shorts appeared next to him in a less coordinated and much bigger splash, his frown a glaring one letting Gordon know he had hung underwater too long for his brother’s comfort.

Exhaling, Gordon pushed for the surface just as another body hit the water. A body that belonged to his eldest brother.

Scott threw a flotation ring at Gordon. “Use it.” The tone brooked no argument.

Gordon screwed up his face. He hadn’t used one of these stupid things since…the hydrofoil.

He swore under his breath, but shoved it over his head and under his arms like some stupid little kid who couldn’t swim. Admittedly, it took the strain off his arms and legs, but the pink donut for all its novelty brought back more memories of struggle than he really wanted to face right now.

Maybe Virg was right. Maybe he was at his limit.

He swore again, this time enough to earn himself an arched eyebrow from Virgil treading water quite healthily beside him.

Irrational anger at something as simple as that proved beyond doubt that Gordon had blown himself a gasket.

Virgil must have sensed something on that medic radar of his because he reached out and pulled Gordon closer. “Hey, take a deep breath.”

The wet hair in his brother’s eyes and the seawater on his eyelashes only emphasized his kindness.

Damnit.

Gordon wanted to be angry. He wanted to yell at the sky, scream at the injustice of a simple broken ankle.

It wasn’t fair!

Virgil’s hand caught the back of Gordon’s neck, possibly the closest he could get to a hug with the flotation ring in the way. “It wasn’t your fault. Sometimes things…just happen.”

Acute wingman senses. Damn them. Screw everything.

“I’m fine!” He kicked himself away with one pathetic leg.

And got nowhere.

Virgil had let go of his neck, but had a firm hand on the ring. “Virgil, let me go.”

“No.”

“Virgil, I’m warning you.”

“About what?”

“Goddamnit, let go!”

“No.”

He gave his brother’s arm a shove and might as well have tried to move the Island.

So Gordon did what he needed to do and let himself slip below the surface, out of the ring, and away from Virgil.

He didn’t get very far.

He had more than one brother, and while Virgil tended to be a little on the slow side underwater, their eldest brother was fast no matter the medium.

Scott swooped in before Gordon could gain any momentum and caught him around the waist.

But Gordon was a fish and Scott only a bird. Long honed reflexes had his big brother blowing bubbles and Gordon wriggling out of his grip.

Only to have Virgil clamp down on his wrist and yank him back to the surface.

Whereas Gordon had no problem with thumping Scott – they shared military training and a sparring mat on many an occasion – there was something ultimately wrong about raising a fist to Virgil. Almost as bad as doing similar to Allie. He just couldn’t, no matter how pissed.

But he could shove and scream and yell and curse and get grabbed again by Scott and pushed back under the water. With Scott he was free to fight and fight he did. But all Scott did was defend himself, and Gordon was reduced to flailing with more emotion than sense, honestly not wanting to hurt his brother, but just needing to fight against the unfairness.

Eventually, Scott grabbed a wrist, much like Virgil did earlier and dragged him back up for much needed oxygen.

By then there was more saltwater than just seawater on Gordon’s face. Less fight and more need than anything else.

And, of course, Virgil was there.

Again he was grabbed by strong arms, but this time he had no energy to resist. If anything, he welcomed them. Perhaps they could take the weight and the guilt.

If he was sobbing on his brother’s shoulder, he wasn’t going to admit it.

Fingers stroked through wet hair and Virgil repeated over and over again that it hadn’t been his fault. That he had done everything he could. That sometimes shit just happened and this time, unfortunately, it happened to that little girl.

The mention of the one he couldn’t save no matter what he did only had him sobbing harder

She had been so young.

He had tried so hard. Made the sacrifices. Fought for her life.

And lost.

It wasn’t fair.

The sea had claimed her anyway.

Part of him was horrified at his own weakness. Horrified he needed an old protocol that proved he was off his head. Horrified he was crying in his brother’s arms. Horrified that all his military training hadn’t given him enough spine to shake this off by himself.

“It isn’t fair.”

“I know.” Virgil’s voice was ever so soft in his ear.

Gordon swallowed and gathered himself together, trying to align what he felt with what was logical and sensible.

It was like trying to scale a crumbling mountain. It was hard and exhausting and it hurt.

What was meant to be was meant to be. He had to believe that. It was the only way.

Despite the need to wail against the injustice.

Virgil still had his fingers in Gordon’s hair.

He pulled away gently from his brother, looking up into those worried dark eyes. Virgil was hanging onto the flotation ring with one arm. It was the only thing keeping both of them afloat.

Gordon wiped his face with one wet hand and let out a breath.

Off to his left, a slightly bruised cheekbone supported equally worried blue eyes as Scott trod water like he was hovering.

Which he was.

Gordon squeezed Virgil’s arm gently before slipping out of his grip and paddling over to Scott.

A wordless moment and then he was hugging his biggest brother with everything he had.

Scott hugged back even tighter.

Gordon squeezed his eyes shut and clung.

“Hey, Gordo! Johnny’s got something for ya!” Alan’s voice echoed across the caldera like a warning siren.

Gordon let go of Scott and backed off. A glance at both of his brothers before he dove under the water.

He swam down deep into the basin of the caldera, skipping just over the coral edifices. A moment to settle his mind and rebuild himself.

The silence of the deep and the familiarity of his home were a balm.

He knew his time was limited by the worry warts on the surface, so he didn’t dawdle, but he did take the time he needed.

Ocean washed away all the signs of his emotional turmoil.

By the time he resurfaced, whatever was left had been shoved back into its box.

And just as well, because Alan and John stood at the top of the cliff with their arms full of pool toys. A giant pink flamingo, a huge duck, a red rocket ship – where the hell had they bought that from? A green turtle and a pile of pool noodles.

A blink and all the flotation devices were in the water, followed by a bomb by the name of Alan.

Seawater rained over all of them.

The flamingo was washed over towards Gordon and whacked him on the head.

John, dressed in a full body wetsuit providing his necessary gravity support, followed Alan in, but with much more elegance. John was almost as much fish as Gordon, after all.

Gordon grabbed onto the flamingo to save himself the energy of trying the keep afloat. He was suddenly very, very tired.

Alan, being the ball of teen-energy he was, flapped his way over and gave Gordon a hug. “Feeling better now you are in the water?” Innocent blue eyes that truly were far from innocent anymore stared up at him in hope.

“You still stole my ice cream.”

“I’ll buy you some more.”

Gordon narrowed his eyes a little. “Promise.”

“Tracy’s honour. Next time we’re in Aotearoa.”

“How about tomorrow? You and me, Auckland CBD. I’ll even take the hoverchair.”

“Really?”

“If you buy me ice cream.”

“Cool. Can we visit the game arcade?”

“I’ll consider it.” Wouldn’t want to make it too easy for his little brother.

“Mind if I join you?”

Gordon blinked as John appeared beside them.

“You want to spend time with the two of us?” Gordon may have pointed at himself and Alan with a lot of disbelief.

John wasn’t fazed at all. “Sure. Haven’t had a go an arcade for a while. Need to keep my reflexes strong.”

Alan frowned. “You’ll get us kicked out again. There is such a thing as being too good at a thing. Or something.”

Yay for Alan and English. “What he said. But you are welcome. If I can have the flamingo.”

John’s lips curled up at the edges. “It’s yours.”

“And I get the rocket!”

John snorted. “No, that’s Scott’s. You get the pool noodles.”

“What?! Why?!”

“Because you stole Gordon’s ice cream.” With that John turned and dove, disappearing long enough for Gordon to lose his location.

“Hey! That’s not fair.”

Gordon grimaced as he glanced at Scott and Virgil. “Life isn’t fair, Allie.”

“Not fair at all.”

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[pridewhatpride]

do you have any gx rivalshipping hcs!! im super curious on your take of them :]

When I saw this ask my immediate reaction was thinking: "Yes, I have an excuse to talk about gx rivalshipping, YES."

So yeah. I love this ship a lot, like a whole damn lot and it's a little hard to explain why, especially when gx has so many open possibilities for romances involving Judai. By which I mean two, really, and Manjoume is not one of them (sadly for me). I am referring to Yubel and Johan, by the way, I refuse to acknowledge Asuka as a love interest.

I'll start off with a bit of fluff headcanons?

Manjoume thinks Winged Kuriboh is really cute and that its friendly and fluffy appearance screams Judai, in a way. But he will never admit it because of what that might imply for him and the Ojamas.

Manjoume is fueled by caffeine and monster, he only really starts to recognise how nice it can be to have a meal because of how much Judai enjoys his food. He tries to sit at the table with him with dumb excuses.

Judai feels a bit guilty for how his actions impacted Manjoume's life, but Manjoume generally tells him that it's fine, it's better this way, that he's never this happy, that the only reason why Judai should maybe feel bad about it is because of his tendency to get overly invested in other people's problems and getting hurt in the process. Judai responds with bear hugs.

Manjoume brags about Judai a lot, actually. "Oh you think that's cool? One time Judai managed to do a backflip, you loser." "Slifer reds suck, but they do have redeeming qualities, by which I mean one of them is actually good."

Judai likes to indulge himself in the thought that he's Manjoume's most trusted, that he's the only one who could ever be allowed to have that many incriminating pictures of him. Because Judai just loves taking candid pictures of Manjoume. He thinks he looks and and cool in every situation, so yeah. A part of him does it because he has an inexplicable fear of forgetting people and the way they look, but he just can't say why that is.

They hang out in silence a lot, but once they start talking they just never stop. You'll find them on the beach at 3 am with a smiling Manjoume listening to Judai go on about how crazy it is that you can fry food in so many different ways and how he once caught a butterfly as a kid and named it Kujaku.

They share their music a lot, so Manjoume's tastes switch from just emo to fast paced rap and the weirdly happy sounding songs about very morbid things Judai listens to (plus emo). Judai starts to enjoy a bit of angry screaming into microphones thanks to Jun. Do they sing along like idiots as they share earphones? Yes. Is Manjoume mesmerised by Judai's singing voice? Also yes.

Judai loves hiking and sometimes invites Manjoume, but because he's a lot weaker and has less stamina, they take it slow. Manjoume keeps cursing himself for being slow and dead weight, but Judai is just happy to have a companion. Admittedly, going slower makes the walks better as he has the time to enjoy the scenery properly. He never teases Jun about his lack of physical training.

Now... I wanted to talk about my general view on the ship, plus headcanons I guess, but this is going to be EVEN LONGER (you are getting more than you asked for, your fault for enabling me, really). For the sake of the sanity of mobile users, I'm adding a cut so nobody has to unwillingly scroll through endless text.

On to the the juice, then. My thoughts on the ship. Manjoume and Judai are, of course, the rivals of the series and, if my thoughts on rivalry weren't clear enough, I am one of those people. It's just really romantic to me. What is very interesting about the two of them specifically is that they are polar opposites in the way the reason why they play, throughout the whole series. Hell, their views end up getting reversed completely: Manjoume goes from "if I don't win I'm gonna have a breakdown breakdown" to "losing is ok, as long as I enjoy the game and am true to myself", while Judai does the 180 from "I really just love playing cards with my friends, who cares about the outcome, it's fun" to "I have card game related trauma, nobody speak to me, games are only an excuse to assert a sort of power scale and honestly fuck that".

Manjoume is sort of the only person in the 'friend group' (he's never actually part of it, sadly, literally only Judai and Fubuki like him) to not idolise Judai, not explicitly. He clearly has an admiration for Judai from the beginning, but he is adamant on expressing it as hatred towards for being better than him. A part of me feels that a lot of his superior act is meant to try and fool himself and Jaden into thinking that he's a worthy rival, because I know for a fact that Manjoume doesn't believe that. He wants it to be true, yes.

What I am trying to get at is that Judai is probably a little confused by the fact that Manjoume doesn't drool all over him like the rest of the school does, but it soon becomes a crutch. Judai is under a lot of pressure because he is the hero who will save everyone and people like to remind him of how much they count on him. Manjoume is in it for Judai. He wants to be acknowledged by him, he wants his recognition and his attention, but he never asks for help or expects Judai to fix his problems for him. Judai is probably thankful for that.

Manjoume is also really scared of being left behind and cast aside as soon as he stops being useful and that's exactly what the writers do to him!!! hooray!, but Judai keeps insisting that he's not a bad guy, that he's fun to be around, that he's competent. Manjoume doesn't really believe all that that much, but Jaden keeps playing him despite his repeated losses and to Jun that's the equivalent of someone kissing his tears away. Manjoume only learns to accept his losses and shortcomings because Judai did it for him first.

So basically Manjoume is the only one who fully sees Judai as a person, while Judai is the only one who is really willing to look past his pretentious facade. I fully believe that Judai was relieved to learn that Manjoume was not just a perfect boy with perfect manners, by the way. They both just love to learn about every imperfection that the other has and silently thinking that they just add to the beauty of the other's character. Will they tease eachother about it? Fuck yes. Do they feel awful when the other tries to fix something about themselves because they pointed it out? Also fuck yes.

They are in a dumb competition against themselves to be better in order to earn the right to be friends with eachother, but because they are fucking dumb they never actually communicate (until they do), so for a long time it's endless pining that is definitely not gay because admittedly Judai just doesn't think that dating is a thing, while Manjoume is straight™, really straight. He has never liked a boy in his life, he's so very fucking straight, I swear.

So Manjoume is a bisexual disaster (and in my headcanon he prefers boys, actually, the Asuka incident is the biggest example of denial™ ever. He prefers Fubuki, fight me over this). The problem is that he never really considered he might be crushing on Judai, but at the same time admitting to maybe liking boys too means that there was more to wanting to stay at DA, to hanging out with Judai's crew despite their mutual dislike, to his continuous playful headlocks and ear pulling. To add onto that, there is probably a certain amount of guilt over having betrayed that bond with Judai by trying to throw away his cards and everything. Judai, on the other hand... is confused at how bothered he is by the public declarations of love, because Manjoume is his rival and rivals are supposed to focus on eachother, not on some girl, no matter how good said girl is at card games.

So maybe they are a bit gay for eachother. And maybe they just want excuses to be together as much as possible. And it's really just the vibe of highschool romance between two people who don't want to admit to caring for one another on a deeper level, but are also weirdly possessive of eachother for no apparent reason. And I think I'll stop here with my gay retelling, but really if you look at the two of them you do see that they do a lot for eachother's characters. It's kind of beautiful, really. They are the two socially inept characters who find comfort in someone being just like them and understanding them as they change and grow up.

I have a lot to say about how that changes once the transfer students come in, but I think I've bored everyone for long enough- as in nobody will read this lol. That's ok. I thank you again for the ask and for allowing me to gush about this ship that is so close to my heart. If anyone ever wants to talk about them, just. Do. Break into my house at night and I still won't mind, I just want to talk about them.

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

It's Just a Movie: Part 13 (Poly!Lost Boys x Fem!Reader)

<- Previous Chapter  Next Chapter ->

Warning: slight nsfw, cursing

Word count: 1944

You couldn't believe it, but you supposed, if you had been watching this on a screen or something, you would've already assumed this. Made jokes about it. Probably have made jokes about how obvious the boys were being. Letting you stay at the cave, the constant gifts, the flirty comments, the affection- You could go on. Really, you were cursing yourself for being so oblivious. Seriously, the boys were already trying to have Michael stay with them for eternity after one night it was no surprise that they'd like you after two weeks. Though, one thing puzzled you, and it led you to asking,

"Is David, like, purposely mean to the people he has crushes on?" And it made the boy next to you laugh. He waved his hand, but he didn't try to argue with your suspicion. After a moment he said,

"He's," He paused for a moment. You guessed that, even though Dwayne was probably one of the people who knew him best, it was for him to find a way to describe the blonde. Finally, he finished with, "He's complicated. He doesn't like showing weakness and…" He left the rest for you to guess. You supposed it made sense. If David really did have a crush on Michael, it had made him weak enough to let him get killed by Michael. Or, at least, you were sure that was how David saw it. You imagined he wasn't excited to have one on you.

Though, the more you thought about it, the more the previous conversation made sense. While Dwayne was the only one that made a move, you now knew that all of them liked you. You didn't necessarily know how you felt about that, other than that if you didn't take this opportunity your friends would be screaming at you. You supposed that, to avoid arguments, perhaps David had the right idea. You didn't need them to get jealous, especially when they were blood-thirsty creatures of the night who could decide you weren't worth the trouble. But, you quickly swatted that thought away. If they liked you, really liked you, you had to stop thinking that way. You had to accept that, on some level, you could trust them not to hurt you. Not if it would lead to all of them getting pissed, at least. You sighed, and then said,

"So...how likely is it that Paul will have forgotten to tell David what I said?" You asked the brunette besides you. Dwayne sat back, using his arms to support him from falling back into the sand. He gave you a look, and said,

"While Paul is a dumbass, I'm pretty sure the others are gonna ask why you aren't with him." And you groaned. You knew that there was no point in hoping that he had forgotten, even if his mind was usually going a mile a minute. You and Dwayne decided that, after a few more minutes on the beach, it was better to face whatever was waiting for you as soon as possible.

When you got back to the cave, you could only describe it as awkward. Whether it was because of the fight you'd had with David the night before or because you knew that they liked you, you couldn't tell. 

Marko was sitting on the couch, browsing through some comics. He refused to look up, so you barely paid him a glance. Paul had been messing with his guitar, but you could tell from the lack of headphones that he wasn't really focusing on it. He did his best to avoid eye-contact, but his baby blues flicked to yours for just a moment before retreating back to the instrument in his hands. David, however, didn't avoid making eye contact like the other two. If there was one thing you had learned about David, it was that he loved confrontation. He didn't even have to stand to make it clear that, if you were going to talk to one of them, it was going to be him. He blew a stream of smoke into the air and then asked,

"Have fun?" But the question had just the slightest edge to it. A bit of venom laced within. If you had been more naive, you might've not even noticed it. Dwayne gave your hand a small squeeze, but, to some degree, you knew you were alone on this. David was the judge, jury, and executioner. You knew there was only one way to win with him. At least, for now.

"Yeah, you?" You were going to approach the situation slowly. You watched the way a smile grew over his face, but it seemed to look more like a predator baring its teeth. But his voice was as charming as ever as he said,

"Oh, the boys and I had a great time picking off a bonfire. Shame Dwayne missed it." He said, and you didn't even have to guess what he was implying. Dwayne would have to leave that evening, at some point. It was a threat of even more confrontation, and this time without the comfort of the brunette. Even if you knew this conversation was between just you and David, you couldn't deny that the brunette was acting as your crutch. Without him, you didn't doubt that you'd crumble. In a second, you decided that perhaps slow wasn't the way to go with him.

"I'm sorry, David. I didn't- I didn't know." And you watched him pause. For just a moment, he seemed confused. You supposed he hadn't expected you to apologize. He probably expected another fight, especially after the words you'd given Paul to deliver. You didn't dare to continue. You placed the ball in his court, and you were going to give him a taste of his own medicine by waiting for him to reply. Even if the silence that stretched between you begged you to fill it. You watched how his eyes flicked to Dwayne, and you barely had to glance back to see the silent conversation floating between them. It was simple confirmation. Dwayne had told you, and, when you turned back, you watched David's face turn neutral. For a moment, you liked to think it was covering any possibility for embarrassment to peak through. Finally, after a moment, he stood. He walked closer, his coat fluttering behind him until he stopped just in front of you. You didn't know what to expect, though, with David, you hardly did. 

"Does that change anything?" He asked, and, now, it was your turn to be momentarily confused. It took you a second to get what he was asking, but then last night's conversation flicked through your mind. You stared at him, weighing your options. Really, it hadn't changed much. You still couldn't control when or if you'd suddenly disappear one day. Even if you decided to pursue any of the boys. Though, you saw the way David was staring at you, like he was willing you to say that it did. You couldn't promise anything, so, instead, you said,

"We'll see." And, surprisingly, that seemed good enough for now. You didn't have a chance to dig into why he was letting it go before Paul was jumping up from his spot on the floor.

You would've liked to have some big apology from the blonde, and perhaps from the others, but you weren't surprised to say that the best you had gotten was a, 

"We cool, babe?" From Paul before he was excitedly showing you the latest solo he had learned on his guitar. There was a silent agreement between the five of you. They wouldn't mention you staying if you didn't mention leaving. Dwayne was able to leave to feed with a peace of mind that night, and he returned to see that Paul was even quicker to pull moves than he was. The long-haired blonde seemed to still want to make the best of what he had thought was going to be his night with you, and he had wrapped himself around you as he showed you how to play a few chords to a song he had learned. You tried not to think about his breath on your neck, or how he leaned forward to rest his chin on your shoulder. When he pulled his hands away to let you play, his arms wrapped around your waist as he watched. You knew that when Dwayne appeared there was no chance in hell he was going to be able to pry Paul's arms off of you. Especially when he made a show of nosing at your neck. When dawn approached, you could feel tiredness pulling at your eyelids. You noticed it seemed to affect all of the boys the same, though instead of simply being awake for too long you knew it was the encroaching sunlight. Paul's movements stuttered and slowed, his energetic behavior slowly edging away as he became more and more tired. You caught him yawning, even if he insisted that he wasn't ready to go to bed. Finally, you offered,

"Paul, can you walk me to my room?" And, for a moment, the suggestion seemed to wake him up completely. He was quick to pull both of you up, and even quicker to ditch the others. Low-light filtered into the cave, and cast slivers of pale light into the darkness of the caves. He was practically back to his non-tired self when you got to your room, and he seemed even more jittery than usual. You couldn't help the smile that creeped on your face, and he even seemed to be hesitating. With your earlier reaction to him that night, you could easily guess why. He opened his mouth, and you knew either a flirty comment or a ramble was to leave his lips. So, instead, you stood on your tip-toes and pulled him down to plant a kiss on his lips. You had meant it to be a small peck, but the second your lips were on his it seemed that all the hesitation had slipped away from him.

You gasped when your back hit the cave wall, and his tongue was quick to flick against yours. You barely had a moment to process, or even kiss back, before his lips were leaving yours to favor your neck. His hands were quick to move down your sides, to your hips, and then to your legs. You tugged on his hair, listening to the growl that left his throat, as he kissed his way up your neck and then back to your lips. It was a flurry, and you found that it was hard to keep up. You barely had room to breathe, and you were pulling away to do just that when you heard footsteps down the hall. It seemed that, apparently, the sun had finally risen and the other three were coming to seek shelter in the darkness. Paul glanced over, and stole another kiss before he was pulling away and standing at his full height.

"Need me to tuck you in?" He teased, and you gave his arm a small slap. He laughed, leaning down once more to steal another. He pressed you against the wall again, his hands gripping your hips, before he finally pulled away for good. You whispered a quiet, 

"Goodnight Paul." As he hesitated to pull away. He walked away a few steps, holding onto your hand, before he finally let it drop. You watched as his figure blended back into the darkness, how he side-stepped certain pools of light, and you slipped back into your room for the day.

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Too Late for R-n-R Part 3

Part 3

Mattie

            I hated it. I absolutely hated it. My arm was in a cast, my leg was in a brace, I had to walk on crutches, and I wasn’t allowed anywhere near the ring. At all. Momma was adamant about that much at least.

            There was nothing to do being stuck at all home day hardly able to do more than hobble from my room to the bathroom or living room. Plus, I was stuck at Papa’s house. I couldn’t even go across the patio to Dad’s. It sucked. So fucking hard.

            “What’s got you looking so sour?” Papa said as he plopped down on the sofa, stretching out his leg. He was almost healed—he was already in physical therapy. I hated that too.

            And I hated that I hated it. I wanted to cry because of it.

            “I want to go back,” I whimpered, letting my head fall back against the cushions. “I hate it here.”

            Papa groaned as he turned toward me. He looked sad. Kind of like he had that time when Dad left for a while. “You don’t mean that.”

My head pounded. I could feel my heartbeat beneath my cast. It made my stomach turn upside down. “I want to go back to Jacksonville. I don’t want to be here.”

            “You’ll get back, Tea. I know you don’t think so now,” Papa said quietly. “It’s better to stay out and get healed up than go back to early and be out permanently.”

            I tugged my blanket over my head and huffed. “You don’t understand.”

            “Mattie…”

            “No! Just… leave me the fuck alone, Papa.” I wished I could storm out, go back to my room and slam the door. The sound would have been satisfying.

            “Mattea Kourtney Jackson!” Papa shot up to his feet, yanking the blanket away from me, his voice deep and dangerous. It hit my ears and my gut, making me feel like I was going to puke. “Don’t you ever let me hear you say that again.”

            “I’m nineteen,” I spat back, wishing I could stand up to him. I hated feeling like a little girl. Whenever Papa and Dad were around at shows, everyone treated me like I was five. Most of them had known me since the day I was born. It was hard enough to be taken seriously without my parents breathing down my neck. “Kenny and Adam say it all the time. So do Chuck and Trent and Cassidy and Mox…”

            “I don’t care what they say, Mattie. You were raised better than that!” Papa was practically shouting. “Grandma Buck would pop you in the mouth for that.”

            My chest ached as my heart thundered behind my ribs. I could feel my pulse slamming against the inside of my cast. My stomach turned sideways, and for the first time in a long time, I wanted to wail for my mom. I just wanted her.

            “Why do you care?” I asked suddenly, not sure where the words came from.

            Papa’s face turned red. “Because you’re my daughter!”

            “No, I’m not!” I shouted, absolutely loathing the words the moment they came out of my mouth. I watched Papa’s face crumple. He sank onto the couch like someone had kicked his legs out from under him. His eyes were big and brown, vulnerable and hurt. And they were already spilling over with tears. “Papa… I…”

            His jaw clenched. He settled one hand over his heart, and for a moment I was terrified that he was having a heart attack or something. “Mattie…” Papa’s voice was smaller than I’d ever heard it. Sadder than it had ever been, even when Dad was gone and Mama had been in tears for a week. “How could you…”

            For a moment, he was completely silent. His hands fell into his lap and he stared at them. Tears slid down his cheeks and into his beard. It was the first time I noticed that it was going a little grey.

Matt

            I’d had the air knocked out of me plenty of times in my life. But nothing compared to the ringing sound of Mattie shouting those words at me. It was like gravity fell apart and everything was going topsy turvy. There was a dull ache in my chest, like someone had punched a hole straight through. My gut felt like it was trying to crawl up my throat.

            “I cut your chord… I held you the day you were born… I watched you come into this world…”

            I wondered if she even heard the words. They were so quiet I barely heard them myself. Instead I was lost in memories of the little girl with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes that had stolen my heart the moment she’d let out her first wail. Bringing her home, pacing the floors as Nick and I tried not to wake Y/N with her crying, driving around and around the block to get her to sleep when she had colic. Those petrified months when she started to crawl, when I was obsessed with making sure she didn’t run into anything. Her first tottering steps, watching Nick and Y/N chase her through the yard. Trying so hard to build her swing set and her bicycle and her princess castle. Teaching her to swim.

            Walking through Disneyland with her on my shoulders. Getting buried up to my knees in sand on the beach in Hawaii while she giggled and ran off to catch starfish and sand dollars. Agonizing days and nights when we had to be away from home on loops. Setting her off on her first day of school with her Beauty and the Beast backpack and her light up glitter sneakers.

            My throat threatened to close. I could feel the tears running down my face, but I couldn’t catch a breath. That ache in my chest grew until it felt like that was all I knew.

            Tumbling with her in the ring in the backyard. Teaching her those first few precious things. Helping her with her homework. Watching her paint and sketch, looking for all the world like my wife made over. Christmases and birthdays and Easters and dragging her out of bed at six AM to make breakfast for Y/N on Mother’s Day. Sitting around our picnic style dining table and talking about wrestling, Oreo sleeping on her feet. Watching her sob and curl into a ball after everything that happened at her school. Seeing the temporary loss of Nick break her heart like it had ours. Then following along as she opened up and bloomed in her co-op, in the ring.

            I’d watched every moment of her existence, and I didn’t think I could love someone as much as I loved her and her brothers and sister. Mattie was my oldest, my firstborn, regardless of what the DNA test said. I’d always promised Y/N that… promised Nick that.

            There’d been a moment of terror when Y/N told me what Mattie had wanted for her eighteenth birthday—to know who her birth father was. My wife had taken me aside and told me, so I wouldn’t be blindsided when it happened. And God knew, I’d dreaded the moment that Mattie would look at me and see someone other than her Papa.

            Now that the moment had come, I couldn’t bear it. The pain rocketed through me, radiating out from that excruciating cavern behind my ribs. This is what it feels like, I thought, staring dumbly at my hands, this is what it feels like to have a broken heart.

            “Mattie…” I said her name, and it felt like knives stabbing me in the back. How could I have lost my little girl so completely?

            A noise made me look up. Maybe it was the nineteen years of listening for her every breath and whine and cry that made me hear the whimper that she tried to hide behind her cast. She’d pulled herself to the edge of the sofa and was slowly scooting her way over to me. Her eyes—blue like my brother’s—were full of sadness and regret. Her lip trembled the way it always did when she was about to burst into tears.

            I saw her for an instant as she had been at three. Dark curls and wide eyes, clutching an elephant in one hand and Nick’s ponytail with the other as we told her that he and I were going to Japan for a month. And that she couldn’t come with us. Her bottom lip had trembled, those sapphire eyes had turned glassy, and she’d cried so hard and so long that she made herself sick and we missed our flight.

            “I’m sorry, Papa,” she said softly. The sound of her voice shattered my heart just then. It was the sound she’d made when she told us about the girls at school. About the bruises on her arms and the taunts the kids yelled at her in the halls.

            My next words came out before I had a chance to think about them. “You’re the one who gave me that name.”

Mattie

            My knee hurt so bad as I pulled myself down the sofa toward Papa. I’d never wanted to take words back as badly as I wanted to take back telling him I wasn’t his daughter. I hated myself for making him look so sad.

            His words thumped me in the chest. They were wistful, a little bit sad with a tinge of nostalgic happiness.

            “I did?”

            Papa looked over at me, a smile spreading over his face. “You did. We were sitting on the sofa in Dad’s house. You were all wrapped up in one of his Clippers shirts—” He stopped and let out a laugh. “He was determined that you’d be like him. You didn’t have blankets as a baby. You had Nick’s old Clippers gear. But this one was your favorite.”

            I knew exactly which one he meant. It was folded up in the bottom of my gear bag. The image was faded into almost nothing on the front and the fabric was worn thin in places.

            “I had you right here,” he said, pantomiming holding something against his chest. “Dad was making you laugh and Mama came in. Before you were born, she decided what you’d grow up calling us.” He leaned in, a smile on his face that only showed up when he talked about Mama. “Nick and I didn’t like them, but you know how we are with your mom. I sat you up on my lap and Dad told you to pick which of us was Papa.”

            He stopped, and I couldn’t help but drag myself further over the sofa to put my head against his shoulder. His chest hitched. “And you… you leaned against my chest. Just like that…” Papa reached up and put his hand on the side of my head. “I don’t care that I’m not your biological father, Mattie. You’re my daughter. I’ve loved you with every breath in my body since the second you came into the world. A piece of paper doesn’t change that. Not for me.

            “Do you still… think of me like…”

            I hugged him as tightly as I could. I wished harder than I’d ever wished in my life that I could take back everything I said to him.

            “I didn’t think you…” I whispered against his shoulder. “Not knowing that Dad was…”

            It shocked me when Papa started laughing. He wrapped his arm around me and grinned. “How can you not be my daughter? You’re as stubborn and sometimes stupid just like me.”

            I hid my face against his shoulder just like I’d done my whole life. “You’re my Papa. And I’m your Tea.”

Tag List

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[victorscrown]

V I C T O R ‘ S  C R O W N  ⸻

type: excerpt

word count: 2236

warning(s): mentions of suicide

status: second draft, unedited

For as long as Finnick Odair can remember, the ocean has been his home. He learned to swim almost before he could walk; his mother used to joke that he should have been born with fins and gills instead of arms and legs. His earliest memories are drenched in saltwater and smell like brine and fish. They are sand-bottomed, adorned with seashells and kelp and coral, set to the melody of waves crashing against the shore and seagulls crying from the air. They are wrought from long hours spent aboard District 4’s trawlers, netting seafood bound for the hungry mouths of Capitol citizens. His parents’ house might be where he sleeps, but the ocean is where he belongs.

Despite this, the ever-present threat of the Hunger Games sweeps Finnick out of the water and deposits him in the austere world of Career education almost before he’s old enough to understand what he’s preparing for. The only son of eminent fleet captain Lochlan Odair and his shipwright wife, Finnick is selected for District 4’s prestigious training academy two years earlier than the normal recruiting age. Every minute Finnick is not at sea he is training, learning how to survive, how to fight, how to win.

Being a five-year-old in a class of children two years his senior should have left him at a distinct disadvantage, but Finnick is a natural, both at the physical and mental aspects of Career academia. After his first day at the academy, Finnick marches thorough the door of his home, head held high, and announces, “I’m going to win the Hunger Games one day.”

His parents don’t quite know what to think about this. As one of the few families of Panem with some material wealth to call their own, a sense of responsibility falls on the Odairs, a need to provide for and protect the less fortunate of their district. They donate frequently to the Games fund. They satiate the appetites of greedy Capitol officials with bribes and obsequience. But willingly sending their own child to the Games is a sacrifice above and beyond what they are willing to make. In District 4, it’s considered an honor to be chosen to compete in the Games, but it doesn’t make the possibility of their child dying at the hands of another any more palatable. So Finnick’s parents mask their worry behind sunny smiles and words of congratulation.

We are so proud of you! Their voices warble like the tide. You will make such an excellent angler. All of the fish will just hop right into your net!

Meanwhile, Finnick, young, soft, and new, is dazzled and awed by the bright posters hanging from the academy walls. Show pride in your district! the posters urge. Volunteer to compete and show Panem what District 4 is really made of!

In Finnick’s academy days, volunteerism, while not rampant like it was in Districts 1 and 2, was frequent enough to preserve the district amidst a sea of destitution. To the trained, money is a powerful motivator, and the fact that many victors pour their winnings back into the district makes the Games seem much more appealing. But the Games are only appealing when someone from District 4 wins.

Finnick is seven when he hears about Nereus. News of the victor’s death floods the streets as though carried by a riptide, and soon all of District 4 is talking about it. Poor old Nereus, academy personnel would mutter when they thought the students could not hear. Found his body on the beach. Wanted to see the sun set one more time, the poor fool.

Even then, Finnick is old enough to know of Nereus, victor of the Forty-second Hunger Games. While other victors were deeply involved in the functions and activities of the academy—drafting the school’s curricula, hosting seminars, even teaching classes for potential tributes—Nereus did not step foot once in the academy after his victory. He holed himself up in his luxurious house in the Victor’s Village and did not emerge unless coerced. Except on the night on which he died.

Officially, Nereus died of a heart attack—a tragic accident, the mayor of District 4 claims at his district-wide funeral. But there are rumors floating around District 4, eddying in the dorms of the academy and muddying the waters of the mayor’s claims like silt.

They say Nereus died of a heart attack, but he never goes outside. Why would he go to the beach unless he knew something? Unless he planned something?

One night, Finnick is brave enough to ask his father about it.

“Dad, the mayor says Nereus died of a heart attack. But everyone else is saying he planned it himself. Like he wanted to die.”

Finnick’s parents exchange looks. Finnick just waits. His father will answer eventually; he always does.

“I’m not sure I understand your question, Finnick,” Lochlan says at last.

“Why would Nereus want to die?” Finnick asks. “He won the Hunger Games, right? He lived in a big house and had all the food and money he could ever want.”

Lochlan takes a deep breath, as if about to dive underwater, and fixes Finnick with a serious look. “Nereus’ death was unfortunate, yes. But he was selfish, through and through.”

“Lochlan,” Finnick’s mother starts, reproving, but he carries on.

“You were right, Finnick. Nereus was a victor. And as such, he had a duty to his district. A duty to care for his people, to give them help as they needed it.”

“Like you do,” Finnick says.

Lochlan nods solemnly. “Nereus was so caught up in himself he forgot his obligation. But we will never be so. You, son, are an Odair. And when you grow older, when your mother and I are gone, you will carry the responsibility for our district as well.” His eyes, to which Finnick’s are so often compared, are as dark and fierce as a stormy sea. “As captain, I must direct my crew. I must tell them how to steer the ship, exactly where we are to go, or else we will get lost out on the open sea. Or even worse, crash and sink the bottom of the ocean. District 4 is one giant ship. There must be a strong, steady captain, or the ship will not make it safely back to the harbor. Do you understand?”

Finnick is seven and understands very little of what his father’s metaphor implies. But he nods his head obediently and tucks the conversation away in his heart, where he dwells upon it often in the quiet, solitary moments before dawn.

Later, Finnick realizes District 4 didn’t mourn Nereus’ death as much as they mourned the sudden lack of monetary resources his presence sanctioned. He might have been a recluse, but his winnings still aided the people. With one more victor dead, there was one less salary the district could use as a crutch.

Unfortunately, Nereus’ death seems to be the advent of a streak of bad luck for District 4. In the following months, when the seas are normally teeming with life and District 4 flourishes under its bounty, trawlers begin hauling in seafood black and putrid with disease. A parasite, they soon discover, and quicker than a flash flood it spreads from the sea to the air. Infected birds begin to litter District 4’s pristine shores alongside their infected prey. This won’t last, trawler captains assure their Capitol managers. Give it a season, and the parasite will die out and your quotas will be met.

Another season comes and goes. Fishing is poor and the district poorer.

In response, strict rationing is instituted by the Capitol. The inner sectors of the district, already barely keeping themselves afloat, start to get pulled under by the riptide of starvation. Dissent ripples outward, starting in the inner sectors, where the rationing hits hardest, to the outer fringes of the district, where the Odairs live. The Capitol, fearing outright rebellion, tightens its chokehold on District 4 with an unforgiving fist. Anyone suspected of instigating an uprising are punished severely, or just disappear altogether. A district-wide curfew is enacted, with harsh retribution allotted to any who break it. And the academy is shut down, because every child over the age of seven is forced onto a trawler alongside their older siblings and parents, shuttled inland to work in the processing plants, or consigned to long, back-breaking hours combing beaches for clams and any other edible source of food.

The fleet is out to sea for weeks at a time, venturing out to waters previously considered too dangerous to fish. Finnick is lucky enough to have grown up on his family’s trawler, but other children are not so lucky. Every week, it seems there is a new story about some untrained child being washed overboard by colossal waves, or strangled by the heavy nets, or withered away by dysentery caused by eating rotten seafood. These children are mourned the way children sent to the Games are mourned.

Finnick’s mother and other shipwrights are displaced from their jobs in the shipyards to assist in the process of moving delicate, time-sensitive cargo onto trains and hovercrafts bound for the Capitol. With so much of the seafood being rendered inedible, it is imperative that every iota of good food is transported to the Capitol as quickly as possible to minimize the amount of time trawlers spend in port and reduce the spoiling of perishable goods. Finnick and many other children do not see one or both parents for weeks.

The only time everyone has off is to partake in the 60th Hunger Games. The afternoon before Reaping Day, every vessel in District 4’s fleet returns to shore, but there is no relief in the days to come. For the next three weeks, District 4 witnesses firsthand the consequences of minimal to no Career training. This year’s volunteers—a pair of inner district adolescents desperate to fight their way out of poverty or die trying—have not been properly trained in over a year. They don’t stand a chance against their Career counterparts from One and Two. District 4 watches, deluged in shame and horror, as both of their tributes are killed off in the first week of the Games. The chance of securing relief from the Capitol in the form of food or other supplies dies with them.

Finnick doesn’t quite understand what the Games imply, why they occur or why children must be sent to die. But he recognizes his parents’ grief, the pronounced slump of his father’s shoulders, the sheen of tears in his mother’s red-rimmed eyes. He recognizes the bent heads and dull gazes of other adults, and even some children, who even younger than Finnick are impacted by the despotism of the Capitol.

The night of his ninth birthday, Finnick is rocked to sleep by the roll and pitch of his father’s ship, already redeployed after the Games. He misses his mother desperately, but he most likely won’t get to see her for another fortnight, when the trawler will deliver its bounty into her custody onshore. It can’t go on like this forever, he thinks, though it’s hard to think about much other than the hunger gnawing at his belly. At some point, things will go back to normal.

And gradually, things do. In the following months, the parasite infecting District 4’s waters dies out, and more food becomes available to citizens outside of the Capitol. Children are allowed to go back to school. The academy reopens, and vigorous training resumes. By now, though, District 4 is a good two years behind the other districts in terms of Games readiness. And it shows when Four loses yet another Games—to a girl from Three, of all places.

The humiliation wears at District 4’s normally indefatigable spirit. It’s made indubitably clear that the only way District 4 will begin bringing home victors is if they’re trained first. So District 4 unites the best it can, pouring every possible asset into scholarships and Games-related aid organizations. Every extra cent of the Odairs’ income flows directly into fund dedicated to providing for Four’s tributes in the arena. As for Finnick, there is nothing he can do but train. And train he does, with an unprecedented intensity and focus. His dedication garners the attention of academy faculty, who praise his skill and commitment. Even Capitol officials, stationed at the academy to monitor for suspicious activity, remark at the newfound enthusiasm with which he tackles his education.

Your boy shows such promise! they’d tell Finnick’s father. He’s going to be a volunteer for sure.

By the time Finnick’s thirteenth birthday arrives, he has been living at the academy full-time for three years. Once children achieve Games eligibility at age twelve, the most promising are assigned personal trainers, some of whom are former victors. Batten is a perfect match for Finnick’s relentless ambition. He shapes Finnick into just what he intends to be: A reason for District 4 to maintain its pride, a victor through and through.

[callboxkat]

Infinitesimal (part 59)

Author’s note: Sorry for the wait on this one! Enjoy! :)

Warnings: injury and illness, hospital mention, captivity mention, arguing, food mention, death mention, more Christmas content in an entirely wrong month

Word count: 4890

Infinitesimal Masterpost!

Writing Masterpost!

...

An entire day without the humans.

That was what Logan had promised at breakfast that morning, saying that he was going to be spending the day with Roman in the hospital, and that he wouldn’t be back until after they would usually have dinner in the evening. Virgil still didn’t quite understand what a hospital was, other than they were apparently places humans went if they were sick or injured. And for some reason, everyone there wore strange outfits, like long white coats or entirely blue outfits, and pieces of fabric over their faces. Or at least, that was what he saw on the television.

“I’ll just grab something at the cafeteria there, or perhaps at a nearby store,” Logan had said, placing a plate on the table. “In any case, I likely won’t be coming back here to give you three your usual meals. Hopefully, these provisions will suffice, instead.”

The plate had contained the bottle caps with their breakfast, as well as some extra water, bread, butter, raisins and other dried fruit, nuts, veggie chips, and even what appeared to be an entire sugar cookie. It was more than they would need for the day. Far more. But Virgil hadn’t been about to point it out, let alone complain.

“It’s fine,” he had said, watching as Patton tentatively made his way over to the cookie. Emile, meanwhile, seemed to be trying not to laugh at the ridiculous hat the human wore—striped red and green, with what were clearly meant to be pointed ears on the sides, comically larger than a human’s normally were. Virgil had decided not to ask.

“Are you sure?” the human had checked. “Roman probably wouldn’t mind, and I could come up with an excuse for Remus—”

“It’s fine,” Virgil had insisted. “Just go to your hospital thing.”

Patton had looked up as Logan finally nodded, a tiny green sprinkle stuck to his cheek, sitting on the plate by the cookie. He shifted, glancing between them all before asking, “Will… will Roman be back soon?”

“Tomorrow morning, most likely,” Logan had said, a smile tugging at his lips. “He’ll be fine, don’t worry. He misses you three already.”

Virgil had frowned. “What? Why?” he had asked, not really thinking about it as he said it. His tone might have been slightly harsher and more incredulous than he’d intended it. Slightly.

Logan had let out a breath through his nose, glanced at Virgil, and got to his feet. “Well, I should get going,” he sighed. “Remus is waiting, and he did threaten to break down the door if we didn’t leave early enough—he was joking of course, don’t worry.”

And he had left, without another word.

…

“Virgil… that was a little mean,” Emile said. They’d been alone for a while now, and were in the middle of eating their breakfast.

Virgil, who had been contemplating joining Patton’s sugar cookie binge, lowered his spoon and turned towards his brother. “What was? I didn’t do anything.”

“Asking why Roman would miss us,” Emile said, as if that would make sense.

“How’s that mean? I can’t ask a question?”

Patton glanced up as he stuffed another handful of cookie in his mouth. His eyes flicked between the two of them.

“More the implication of it,” he shrugged (one-shouldered, of course).

Virgil frowned at him. “What implication?”

“Well… obviously, they care about us. Especially Patton, I’d guess, but they care about us too.”

Virgil gave him a heavily doubtful look.

“Logan just gave us an entire sugar cookie,” Emile pointed out, clearly feeling that that was all the evidence he needed, and that he didn’t need to bring up the wealth of other evidence he obviously had.

…Which, okay, maybe it was, and maybe he did. Maybe. But Virgil still didn’t see the problem.

Emile rubbed at his good eye. “So, when you asked why Roman would miss us, it sounded like you thought the idea that he might care was ridiculous. Implying that you don’t care about them, either.”

“Because I don’t. They’re humans.”

Emile gave him a long look, making Virgil feel a bit weird, but he wasn’t going to take back what he’d said.

“Well,” Emile said, “human or not, they have feelings. And Roman’s sick, and you basically just told Logan, who’s obviously very worried about him, that you don’t care.”

“What—” Virgil groaned. He hadn’t done anything! “Whatever. Who cares. I don’t care if they like me, as long as you get better.” He grabbed his crutches and started to get up. “I’m getting more food.”

Patton, who had started picking at the cookie rather than shoving it in his mouth, relaxed somewhat now that Virgil and Emile’s tense conversation had ended. “Do you want some, Em?”

Emile smiled at him. “Sure.”

Virgil sat down and irritably bit into a piece of the admittedly very tasty cookie, watching as Patton brought a piece of it over to his brother, laying a bit of paper towel over his lap so he wouldn’t get covered in crumbs.

…

An hour later, Emile was taking a nap, and Virgil and Patton were walking in laps around the table. It was partially so that Virgil could get more practice with his new crutches, and partially so that they could both stretch their legs. Sitting on the table all the time could leave them rather restless, especially since neither of them had left Emile’s side for long. The pair of them could technically leave whenever they wanted, even if for just a short while, but neither had in days. Not since Patton had fetched Virgil’s birthday presents, something that had been Emile’s idea.

“Do you really not care about them?” Patton asked after a while, speaking quietly so as to not wake Emile.

Virgil glanced over. “Do you?”

“I….” Patton worked his jaw, then shrugged. “Well, yeah. I do.”

“Why?”

“They did save me.”

“Isn’t not letting someone die kind of a low bar for decency?”

“It’s not just that.” Patton ducked his head as they walked. “I don’t know. I like them. They’re nice to me.” A moment passed, and then Patton looked back at Virgil, searching him. Virgil’s face grew slightly hot under his gaze. Patton nodded to himself, apparently satisfied with whatever he’d been looking for. “I think you do care about them. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“Pat, they’re human.”

“So?”

“So—Pat, come on. You should know more than anyone why littles and humans can’t be friends.”

Patton’s body language changed. He looked straight ahead and folded his arms tightly, much more closed off than before. Virgil instantly regretted what he’d said. It was cruel to remind Patton of something so awful. He knew his friend wanted nothing more than to forget it, despite the scars and the memories he still struggled with.

“Shouldn’t I of all people know how to tell a good human from a bad one?” Patton asked quietly, not looking at him.

Virgil took a deep breath, in and out, focusing on the swing of his crutches for a few steps. “Sorry. You’re right,” he said. He looked up at the ceiling, far, far above. “Look… I know. I know they care, at least in their own human way. And I know you wouldn’t go around getting attached to just any human. It’s just… hard, for me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just….” Virgil paused, and Patton stopped walking as well. “I hate feeling helpless, you know? And being around humans is just… it’s hard to feel anything but helpless.”

“They haven’t hurt us, though,” Patton pointed out softly.

“I know. It’s just the fact that they could.”

Patton nodded. “I get it. It took me a long time to get used to them, too. After… you know.” He swallowed. “I was so sure they were going to….” He shuddered slightly. “But they didn’t. And I know they’re not going to.”

Virgil was silent for several long seconds. “I know they’re trying to be nice,” he said quietly, “and let’s say they really do care. But that doesn’t change who and what they are: They’re still human. I’m sure there’s a part of them that sees us as lesser, even if they deny it, even to themselves.”

“Virgil….”

“Did they ask you? When they took you from that beach, did they ask you if it was okay?”

He’d meant the question rhetorically, but Patton seemed to consider it. His friend paused, then sat down on the table. Virgil joined him. Patton pulled up his knees and put his chin on top of them. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I think I passed out before they could.”

Virgil grimaced. “And before that?”

“I was hiding in a shell,” Patton said. “And they were there, collecting shells, they told me. And I guess they found the one I was in, so I must’ve gotten out….” He furrowed his brow, thinking hard. “I’m not really sure what happened after that.”

“Did they chase you? Try to catch you?”

Patton opened his mouth, then closed it, uncertain. “…Maybe,” he admitted. “I don’t know. But maybe, for a second.”

Virgil nodded, his suspicions confirmed. “That’s what I thought.”

“It was just a second!” he protested weakly. “I’m sure it all happened very fast. They’d never seen a little before. They probably didn’t know how to react.”

“But they did try to catch you, without your permission, before they even knew you needed help. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

Patton was starting to look distressed. “They didn’t even know if I could talk, at first, or understand them. I remember that. At the start, they kept saying I probably didn’t know what they were saying, but they’d try. They didn’t know if I was like them, or just… I guess an animal who looked like them.”

Virgil gave him a doubtful look.

“Ever since they found out, they tried to treat me more like a person.”

“But they still kept you in a cage.” Among other things they had done that Patton seemed to be forgetting. They might have been months ago, but that didn’t mean they didn’t happen.

“…They didn’t lock it. And I hardly went in there.”

Virgil snorted, and was about to point out that he had on top of a table even taller than this one at the time, too sick to get away; but before he could, he realized that there were tears beginning to collect in Patton’s eyes.

That was more than enough to shut him up.

A beat passed.

Patton rubbed at one eye. “They apologized for everything and let me go,” he said finally, “and they saved me and Emile. Without asking for anything in return. That’s what I choose to remember.” He looked at Virgil pleadingly. “Just try to give them a chance, okay? Just try to be nice? And not just because they’re so big? I think it’d make them really happy.”

Virgil looked Patton up and down, then reluctantly nodded. “Okay. I’ll try.” He’d do it to make Patton happy, at least.

Patton smiled and hugged him. “Thank you.”

Virgil hugged him back, not sure what else to say.

…

When Emile woke up from his nap, they had had lunch, which consisted of bread and butter and dried fruit, and more of the sugar cookie for dessert. Virgil was beginning to wonder if any of the cookie would be left by the time Loan returned.

Later in the day, they changed Emile’s bandages again. Virgil was glad to see how much his brother’s injuries had improved. The rope burn on Emile’s arm was gone, now, and the bruises on his body had nearly faded away. The cut on his head also looked much better. Virgil wasn’t sure if it really needed a bandage anymore; but he’d rather be safe than sorry, when it came to his brother’s health. Maybe they could ask Logan about it when he returned, the littles decided.

The concussion, broken arm and tail, sprained ankle, and dislocated shoulder would all take longer to fully heal, but they would heal.

Afterwards, Emile went for another short walk—strictly two laps this time. He didn’t seem inclined to argue with that limit, especially given how his last attempt at a third lap had ended. Virgil was glad for that.

Much of the afternoon they spent talking and making up games they could play with what they had with them on the table. Snowflakes drifted past outside, visible through the gaps in the curtains until the sun went down.

Overall, it wasn’t a bad day.

It was sort of strange, to go so long without so much as a peep from either human. As hard to believe as it was, Virgil had actually started to get used to their presence. He also caught Patton looking towards the doorway a few times, as if hoping they’d show up, and Emile had made a comment about Logan’s absence as they got ready to eat dinner. Maybe they were wondering how Roman was doing—and, okay, maybe Virgil was kind of curious about that too.

…

Late that evening, Logan finally returned. From the sound of it, he was carrying the same large bag he had left with that morning, but it seemed to be significantly emptier.

The light flicked on in the kitchen as the human entered, and there was the quiet sound of him setting down what he had been holding. Then, there was a small sigh, and footsteps approached the living room.

Logan knocked on the door frame, which was rather unnecessary, considering he already had all three littles’ attention.

“Good evening,” he said with a small smile, coming inside. The ridiculous hat he had worn earlier and the day before was in his hands, now. He knelt in front of the table, to be closer to eye level, staying a few feet away. “Did you three have a good day?”

“Sure,” said Virgil, to play nice.

“Did you?” Emile asked, only somewhat timidly.

Logan nodded, a fond look on his face as he thought about it. “Yes, it was quite enjoyable. More so than I had expected.”

“How’s Roman?”

“Is Roman okay?” Patton blurted out at the same time.

“Roman is doing well,” Logan said. “He’s resting, and he seems in good spirits. He’s not happy to be in the hospital, especially today, but we tried to make the best of it.”

“Especially today?”

Logan nodded vaguely, looking off to one side.

“Can we have another sugar cookie?” Patton asked, apparently unable to stop himself.

Logan looked amused, and his eyes drifted to the half-finished cookie on the plate. “I can get you another tomorrow,” he said. “I think Remus ate the last one in the car. I’m glad to see you like them.”

Patton looked pleased at the idea.

  Logan set down the ridiculous hat he’d been holding, put his hands on his legs, then asked, “Do you three celebrate Christmas, by chance?”

“…Why?” Virgil asked rather than answering. He tried to remind himself that Logan was probably only asking out of curiosity; but he still didn’t quite feel secure enough to admit that he and Emile had never celebrated it, and that they only knew some vague information about the holiday. He didn’t know if Patton had ever celebrated it, or if he knew any more about it than they did; but now was probably not the time to ask. He kept a carefully neutral tone, rather than allowing any bite to sneak in. For Patton.

“Well, Christmas was today,” Logan informed them. “Or is today, more accurately. Roman is quite fond of the holiday, and he was disappointed to have to spend it in the hospital, regardless of my and his brother’s efforts to cheer him up. He will likely wish to do some sort of celebration with the three of you, once he is home and able.”

“Some sort of celebration”? What does that mean? Virgil frowned.

Emile and Patton also looked unsure, so Logan added, “It won’t be any sort of large celebration, especially given that he needs to rest. I believe he has presents for the three of you, however.” He paused, then continued in a slightly more humorous tone, “It will likely involve more sugar cookies, if that is at all persuasive.”

“He’s found our weakness,” Emile hissed behind his good hand.

He probably hadn’t meant for Logan to hear that, but the human clearly had. He let out a small huff of a laugh.

“There’s no reason to be nervous, I assure you. It will be very, ah… “low-key”.”

“Okay,” Patton said shyly, the first to respond.

He might admit to caring about the humans, Virgil thought, watching as Logan straightened to his full, impossible height, but they do still make him nervous. As they should.

…

The next morning, Logan brought Roman home.

He’d warned them, at breakfast, that he would be doing so; and sure enough, just over an hour after Logan had left for the hospital, they had arrived. Virgil had looked up as he heard the door open. The pair had walked in, and someone—probably Logan—had dragged a kitchen chair out for the other—probably Roman—to sit down in with a muffled thump. Virgil could hear the both of them now, talking in the kitchen. Roman’s voice was low and quiet and infrequent, enough that Virgil couldn’t make it out very well. Logan’s voice, however, was clear. He kept asking Roman if he was okay, checking that he was comfortable, things like that. Nothing overly interesting, although interesting chit-chat wasn’t what Virgil was listening for.

Finally, Logan’s footsteps approached the living room. He stood in the doorway and knocked.

All three littles had already been watching the doorway, of course.

Logan smiled tiredly. “Roman is here,” he informed them, unnecessarily. He shifted on his feet. Virgil felt nervous, wondering what that was about. “He is feeling much better than he did before,” he said slowly. “But… I hoped to make a request.”

Patton and Emile glanced at each other.

“What kind of request?” Patton asked, his head tilted slightly.

“Well… as you know, Roman is still not feeling quite like his usual self. I would propose that he and I spend tonight, and perhaps tomorrow night, or ideally however many it takes until he is well, in the living room with you. We would stay on the couches, without bothering you any more than necessary. I would greatly appreciate it—"

Virgil had heard enough. “No. No, absolutely not.”

Patton didn’t exactly look keen on the idea either, but also didn’t seem to agree with Virgil’s flat refusal. “Virgil…”

“I said no.”

“It is their home,” he said softly. “They’re letting us stay here. We should hear him out.”

“No. I know you asked me to be nice, but no. We’re not doing that.”

“I understand why you would be reluctant,” Logan said, “but all I want is for more of us to be around, in case something happens. I doubt anything will, but… I…” Logan swallowed. “I almost didn’t find him. I almost didn’t get out of bed.” He looked to one side, appearing briefly lost in thought. He straightened again. “It would ease a lot of anxiety, to know that I was not the only one around to notice if something happened.”

Virgil frowned at him, still not exactly pleased.

“If something did happen, what could we do?” Emile asked quietly, but loud enough for the human to hear, posing what Virgil felt was a very good question.

“Not much,” Virgil put in.

“Perhaps not physically,” Logan allowed, “but you could alert me to his plight.”

“…Won’t you be there anyway? Why can’t you have a sleepover in one of your rooms?”

Logan colored slightly. “I have considered it, but… I’m not the lightest sleeper,” he admitted.

The littles all glanced at each other. Emile gave a one-shoulder shrug. Patton was biting his lip. Virgil folded his arms.

Logan looked towards the kitchen. “Just… allow me to fetch him. Please. So that you can see him, before you make up your minds.”

Pretty sure I already made up my mind, Virgil thought. But he didn’t say anything as Logan left.

They heard a few whispered words, and then Logan returned, with Roman holding onto one of his arms.

Patton let out a small gasp, and Virgil’s arms unfolded as he stared at the human.

Roman’s face was dotted with bits of sweat, his hair dull, his face paler than usual. He leaned on Logan, his breathing shallow. Virgil could hear it as he wheezed in and out.

Still, when he saw the littles, he smiled.

“Sit down here,” Logan urged, leading Roman to the seat on the couch closest to the doorway. Roman sank into it gratefully, leaning his head on the back of the couch and closing his eyes, like just walking in from the kitchen had exhausted him.

…Damn it.

“Fine,” Virgil said.

…

Logan had set Roman up on the couch, propped up on pillows and covered with lots of fluffy blankets, holding a smoothie and with Netflix pulled up for him on the TV.

“They added Avatar,” Roman told the “mouse-men”, his voice softer and airier than usual, but still cheerful, “So it’s... a lot easier… than the DVDs.”

The “mouse-men”, who were all sharing two bottle caps, each filled with a bit of Logan’s and Roman’s smoothies (Logan’s was strawberry-banana, Roman’s mango-blueberry), clearly didn’t understand what this meant; but Emile especially seemed happy at the idea of watching more of the cartoon series.

Logan was very glad that the three of them had agreed to let him and Roman stay in the living room with them. It made him feel better, knowing that there were three more people around to notice if Roman had another attack and couldn’t alert Logan.

He thought of the night before Christmas Eve, when Roman had had his attack. Logan had only gone to check on Roman because of the second crash, not the first. What if there had only been one, only the sound of the rocks being knocked to the floor? Would Logan have woken enough when it had happened to recognize what it was? Or would he have assumed the same thing he first assumed when he heard Roman’s dresser drawer fall—that Roman was simply being a bit careless as he worked on things in his room? Would he have found his friend in time?

Sure, after what had happened, he would be significantly more inclined to check on his friend after any sort of crash, or remotely similar sound; but that fact didn’t guarantee that Logan would wake up in the first place, or recognize what had woken him. He was a heavy sleeper, as much as he wished he could be otherwise. What if something happened, and Logan slept through the whole thing? He shuddered at the thought.

“Too cold?” Roman asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Logan glanced up. “What?”

“Your smoothie,” Roman said. “Brain freeze?”

“Ah… perhaps a bit,” Logan said. He took another sip, then gestured at the television. “Have you decided what episode you’re going to watch?”

“We’re on The Siege of the North.”

A couple of episodes later, as the credits began to roll, Logan got up to dispose of his now-empty smoothie cup, Roman caught his eye. He looked meaningfully at Logan, then at the “mouse-men”, and back.

Logan paused. Presents? he mouthed questioningly.

Roman nodded, and put his hands together in a begging gesture, hidden behind a pillow so the “mouse-men” couldn’t see. Not that they would have noticed anyway—Emile and Patton were too busy talking about the ending of the first season of their show, dragging an only somewhat reluctant Virgil along in their excitement.

Logan nodded, went to get rid of his cup like he had planned, and returned holding the three small packages he had found in Roman’s air vent, as well as the small decorated Christmas tree he and Remus had brought to the hospital. He’d even put on the ridiculous elf had Remus had given him. By the time he returned with everything, the “mouse-men” had mostly calmed down, and instead watched as he handed Roman his reindeer antler headband, placed the little Christmas tree on an unoccupied table, and then set the gifts before the “mouse-men”. Thankfully, they had just finished not only an episode but a season of the show they had been watching, so the timing was good for Roman hit pause.

“What’s this?” Virgil asked, eyeing his box. Logan had informed them about the presents’ existence, but the “mouse-man” was clearly unsure about what said presents might be, and how he should feel about them.

“Presents,” Roman said simply, smiling.

Patton inspected his box as well, then looked for a long moment at the small, plastic Christmas tree with an expression Logan couldn’t read. Emile followed his gaze and hesitantly pointed at it. “What’s that?”

“That is a Christmas tree,” Logan said, sitting on the second sofa, since Roman was taking up most of the first. “They’re traditional for the holiday. Sometimes they’re real trees; but as you can see, this one is artificial. People decorate them with lights and ornaments, often winter or Christmas themed, although they can be almost anything. Most commonly, they’re colored spheres.”

Emile looked no less confused, but he did seem interested. “Why?”

Roman shrugged, snuggling into his blanket nest. “Fun? I always liked… decorating them with… my family.”

Emile seemed to accept that answer, and turned to look at his present. Patton pushed it closer for him while Virgil looked on, conflicted.

“You may open them,” Logan encouraged.

Roman was also watching, clearly trying to hide how excited he was.

Patton and Emile started peeling back the paper, with Virgil following their lead a second later. Patton finished opening his present first. He lifted up the lid, and pulled out an inch-square piece of paper.

“It’s a drawing! Of…” he blinked. “Me?”

“Do you like it?” Roman asked, sounding simultaneously very excited and very shy.

Patton stared at it for a second, then nodded, his eyes wide. He murmured something that Logan didn’t make out, then said, “How did you draw this?”

Roman looked sheepish. “With great care… and about six tries.”

…

The drawing of Patton was done in very careful colored pencil. The lines were thick enough that it was very obviously a drawing, but it captured Patton’s face almost perfectly. He was smiling, his hair smoother and fuller than it was in real life, and looked as if it would feel soft if you were to touch it. Great care had clearly been taken to get just the right blue-green hue of his eyes.

It was a good drawing, Virgil would admit, especially since a human’s large, clumsy fingers had managed to create it.

Virgil looked away and lifted up the box lid of his own present, revealing that he had also received a drawing. It was done in colored pencil, like Patton’s, and also like Patton’s, it was of him. Virgil pulled it out and looked at it. He could feel Roman’s eyes on him, probably hoping for a reaction, but Virgil did his best to ignore him and just look at the drawing.

The drawing looked just like Virgil, even with the right eye color and the graphite smeared under his eyes, and the start of the hoodie he always wore. He wasn’t smiling, but he looked… strong. Confident. Defiant. Capable. Not at all like the weak, helpless tiny thing he might have expected a human to see him as.

Huh.

Emile was the last to get his gift open, given the fact that he had to do so with one arm. Once he got the box lid off, Virgil helped him pull out the paper within.

“I had to make some guesstimates… with yours,” Roman said, reaching up to touch his temple where the bandages covered Emile’s own. “I hope I got… it right. ”

He had. The drawing in his and Emile’s hands looked exactly like Emile, minus the injuries and bandages that currently obscured his features. He was smiling in his drawing, like Patton, although not as widely. He looked… the only word Virgil could come up with for it was protective. Which suited Virgil’s brother very well.

“Do you like them?” Roman asked.

“I do,” Emile said.

Virgil nodded, looking back at his own drawing.

After the presents were opened, the humans switched from watching Avatar; The Last Airbender to a movie Virgil didn’t recognize. A Christmas movie, they said. Virgil wasn’t sure what elves who wanted to be “dentists” or deer with glowing red noses had to do with Christmas, or how any of this made any sense; but Patton seemed invested in the movie from the start, so he just watched without saying anything. Patton even seemed to be ignoring the Christmas tree, even after Logan had plugged in a cord to light it up.

Next, they watched a movie called The Nightmare before Christmas.

“I think you’re gonna like this one,” Roman had told Virgil knowingly as Logan put it in the player.

…He was right. Virgil didn’t just like it. He loved it.

Not that he would tell the humans that, but he knew that he wouldn’t have had to.

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 76 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Previously: Violet was shocked to learn about Sutan’s ex-wife.

This Chapter: Christmas Day continues. Violet asks some tough questions and gets even tougher answers.

***

As Courtney strolled down the beach, Bianca’s fingers laced in hers, she couldn’t help wondering if she’d ever been this happy in her life. They’d spent a lazy morning in bed exchanging presents and kisses until their lips were swollen. After that, they'd soaked in the hot tub for awhile before walking to the resort’s restaurant for a Christmas brunch right on the water, the gentle waves nearly reaching their table at one point.

After they’d finished eating, Courtney had carefully removed the designer clothes she was wearing (one of her many Christmas presents from Bianca, of course) to reveal one of her new bathing suits, and raced out into the waves, diving into the cool, refreshing water.

It had probably been less than six months since she’d last touched the ocean, but that six months was the longest Courtney had gone since before she could remember. There was something so cleansing about it, so pure, and when she finally emerged from the waves to run back to Bianca on the beach, she felt reborn and fresh, all of her stress and worries washed away.

Bianca was uncharacteristically quiet on their walk back to the suite, simply holding her hand and pulling her in every few feet for sweet, perfect kisses.

She tugged on Bianca’s strap, giggling a bit at the scandalized look Bianca gave her in return.

“What? You said you’d let me peek whenever I wanted.”

“Hmm...well, I guess a deal’s a deal, huh?” Bianca’s face melted into a naughty smirk as she let Courtney pull her top down and leer hungrily at her chest.

“Oh, yeah, that’s the stuff…” Courtney said, and Bianca lunged forward to tickle her sides.

She shrieked with laughter and took off running down the beach, making sure not to go too fast...after all, she wanted Bianca to catch her. Bianca wrapped her arms around Courtney from behind, lips quickly finding the tenderest part of her neck. Courtney let her eyes fall closed, basking in the warmth of her embrace, the delicious feeling of her plush lips, the absolute perfection of the whole day.

***

The most irritating thing about Pearl was how goddamn sexy she was. When Dahlia agreed to sneak away from her grandmother’s house in the middle of Christmas day and meet up with Pearl at a diner on the Lower East Side that happened to be open, she was anticipating a little flirting over a plate of French fries, maybe some light making out.

She was planning to be a tease, to make Pearl really work for it. After all, the fact that Pearl knew how goddamn sexy she was had to be the second most irritating thing about her.

Dahlia was prepared--even excited--to make her suffer.

But that wasn’t how it happened, not one bit. What happened instead was that after barely two minutes of her attempt at teasing, she folded like a house of cards, following Pearl into an exceptionally dingy bathroom. It was those knowing, sleepy blue eyes that did it...or maybe the way her fingers so expertly drew designs on her thigh under the table.

It wasn’t the first time that Dahlia had been roughly fucked against a dirty cement wall, but it was the first time she’d liked it so much.

The first time she begged for more, moaning and whimpering as Pearl’s fingers curled perfectly inside her, until her knees gave out and Pearl had to hold her up to keep her from sliding down to the sticky floor.

“Fucking fuck,” she whispered hoarsely, once she’d finally caught her breath.

Pearl laughed, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, warm hands sliding up from her waist to her tits.

“So, uh...Merry Christmas, I guess.”

“Merry Christmas,” Pearl grinned as she sucked two fingers into her mouth, licking them clean. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Well...it wasn’t the worst date of my life,” Dahlia told her.

“My roommates are gonna be out all day tomorrow, and you seem like a girl who can scream,” Pearl continued. “So, if you feel like coming to my place...let me know.”

Dahlia shrugged, feigning nonchalance, although her heart already hammered in anticipation of what a whole day together might be like. “Yeah...maybe.”

Pearl smiled again. She knew. Of course she knew, this wasn’t her first rodeo.

Dahlia sighed, internally accepting that she was really and truly falling, that she could no longer pretend that she didn’t care, that this was all just a game to get back at her former friend. Oh well.

***

“There.” Sutan closed the trunk, pressing down on the car key, two beeps giving the confirmation that it was locked. They were in the underground parking garage, Raja and Raven already long gone in the elevator, Raja carrying the majority of the presents while Raven had chatted away, Christmas always putting her in the very best mood.

“You good?” Sutan turned to Violet, stuffing the key in his pocket as he balanced the small tower of Christmas gifts. “Do you need me to carry anything?”

Violet shook her head, her bag around her elbow, his girlfriend leaning on her crutches. Violet had gotten stupidly good at getting around on her own, but Sutan had to admit that he was looking forward to the cast coming off, just so things would get a little bit easier for her.

“Okay,” Sutan smiled, making his way towards the elevator, Violet behind him. She had sat in the back with Raven on the way home, not saying much, but Sutan hadn’t worried about  the quiet, Violet kissing his mother’s cheek before they left so she had to be in a good mood.

If Sutan was being honest, he was beyond thrilled with how well Violet was getting along with his mom, and most importantly, how much his mom seemed to like Violet.

It filled him with warm delight every time he thought of it, his chest almost hot with how happy it made him.

“I know we’ve eaten a lot today,” they stepped into the elevator, Sutan pressing the button for their floor, “but I was thinking that we could have-”

“Sutan.” Violet cut him off, not looking at his face, a sadness in her voice that made Sutan pause immediately even though he could hear that she was trying to be casual. “I have to… I have a question.” Violet paused, clearly fighting to get her words out, “I need to know if…”

“Yes?”

“You were married? Before?”

Sutan raised an eyebrow, the question kind of strange since Violet had literally seen his wedding photos earlier that very same day.

“And you didn’t,” Violet’s fingers tightened on her crutch, her eyes focusing on the elevator door as they rode up, “I know I’m not perfect, and that I’m not…great…at telling you things, but you didn’t,” Violet turned to him. “You didn’t think I deserved to know that you have an ex-wife?”

“What?” The elevator dinged, and Sutan didn’t know what to say. “Violet, why do you think? Deserve? Why would I ever?” What she had just said didn’t make any sense, the fact that he had been married common knowledge.

“Please don’t toy with me.” Violet had retreated once again, no longer watching him, the two of them making their way towards the door, Sutan digesting the information she had just given him. They made their way inside, Sutan putting the presents down by the door, glancing over at Violet who was taking off her jacket, carefully balancing on her good foot.

“...Are you telling me you didn’t know?”

“How would I know?” Violet looked up at him, shrugging her jacket off. There wasn’t any venom in her voice, just a sad reluctant confusion.

“It’s on the first page of my google results?” Which was unfortunate, but true, the wedding photos refused to budge though he had finally managed to get them to the bottom of the page so they weren’t the first things anyone saw anymore. “Everyone covered the wedding.”

It had been Kahmora’s wish, some of the press even invited in for part of the reception, and Sutan almost wished that he had been smart enough to protest.

“Your google results?” Violet put her jacket on it’s hook, Sutan doing the same thing.

“Yes?” Sutan kneeled to take off his shoes, taking Violet’s shoes when she stepped out of them to put them up with his own. “Haven’t you googled me? When we first met?” He looked up at Violet, who was biting her lip, her white teeth sinking into the plush pink, “Everyone does that.”

“You googled me?” Violet seemed genuinely surprised, like she didn’t believe him.

“Of course I did.”

It was one of the first things Sutan had done after he had dropped Violet off at her apartment after their wine bar date, the name Violet Chachki barely bouncing anything back. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, had simply put it down to Violet being young and a new professional in the industry, though the lack of both Facebook and an Instagram had seemed strange to him.

“I’m not a psychopath.”

“Hmm…” Violet didn’t say anything more, instead turning around and making her way to the living room to sit down on the couch.

If it had been anyone else, Sutan would have believed this to be a ruse, to be some sort of manipulation, for Violet to be aiming for something, to be acting out in petty jealousy, but she just seemed sad and bewildered, like this whole thing was genuine news to her.

“You truly didn’t know?”

Violet shook her head, her crutches off to the side, her fingers playing with the edge of her skirt.

“Well, fuck.” Sutan groaned. He regretted joking about Kahmora now, but Violet had seemed so okay with it in the moment that he hadn’t even considered her feelings. “I was married, yes. For a time.”

Sutan took a seat on the couch, putting his arm along the back of it. He hated telling the story, but it seemed like he didn’t have a choice, Violet deserving to hear it from him.

“The divorce proceedings lasted twice as long as the whole relationship.” He huffed, almost rolling his eyes at how stupid he had been, the tabloids practically celebrating when that information had come out. “We were only actually together for a little over a year.”

Looking back at it now, Sutan could see where it had all gone wrong, everything moving way too fast, he and Kahmora barely knowing each other before they had tied the knot.

As he had gotten older, it had become clear how he was at fault too, how he should have said no and been honest about his feelings, but back then he had just wanted to make Kahmora happy.

“And where is she…”

“My ex-wife lives in LA now. Not an Amrull anymore mind you.”

It was one of the things Sutan had doubled down on with his lawyer, the thought of Kahmora running around with his last name something his younger self hadn’t been able to stomach. He had given up the Malibu beach house and the Malibu cars in exchange, but it had been a small price to pay for the peace of mind.

“If I never have to see her again, I’ll be a happy man, but she still delights in torturing me whenever she can get away with it.”

“Dramatic.” Violet snorted, clearly thinking he was joking, but he wasn’t, Kahmora the main reason he didn’t want to set foot in the state of California.

“She is. It was.” Sutan sighed. “I’ve made a lot of very bad dating mistakes. Like. A lot. Kahmora is the worst but…” Sutan trailed off, realising for the first time that if Violet didn’t know about Kahmora, there was no way she would know about Jinkx.

Fuck.

He almost wanted not to tell her, wanted to hold his tongue and just ignore it, but he knew how he felt when Violet shared about her past, when she finally came to him with something she had kept hidden.

“I was engaged to Jinkx Monsoon. Before Kahmora”

“... Jinkx?” Violet raised an eyebrow, “Jinkx Monsoon? From the theater?”

“And the trust funds and the TV and the child star thing.” Sutan took a deep breath, not believing that he was voluntarily telling the story. “We met during my hardcore clubbing phase, when Raja and I first got to New York.”

If Violet hadn’t looked him up in the tabloids, hadn’t consumed his online presence, she would have no idea about the drugs, about who he used to be, how wild he and all of his friends had been in their early twenties.

“We’d…dance…” Sutan waved his hand, knowing that he was underselling and underselling hard, what they had done a lot closer to lines of coke and orgies than dancing, “And sometimes, whenever either of us were fucked up enough, uh...”

It didn’t feel like the whole truth, because it wasn’t, but he didn’t want to tell Violet how important Jinkx had been to him, how deep their years of friendship had been, how she had done so much for him and how much he had led her down.

“We didn’t actually get…together…until my father’s death…” Sutan paused, talking about his dad still painful even though it had been years, “I never should have asked her to marry me, but I did because she was amazing and loyal and bright and because at that time I couldn’t imagine anyone else ever loving the broken mess I was.”

Sutan swallowed, the words turning his stomach sour.

“We weren’t good for each other, not in the way two functioning adults should be, and I have so many regrets about that period of time.”

More than he’d ever be able to count.

“I feel terrible for how I treated Jinkx.” He sighed, tapping his fingers against the back of the couch. “I was a real dickhead to her, and she didn’t deserve that.”

“Okay.” Violet nodded, her brown eyes resting on his face.

“Okay? That’s all you’re going to say? Okay?” Sutan had expected Violet to explode in fireworks of rage, to do something, anything, more than just listen to his story, and take it all in. “No plate throwing or yelling? No big dramatics and threats of leaving?”

“Sutan, I’m not upset, but I’m not happy either…” Violet sighed, looking down at her hands, which were twisted in the edge of her skirt. “I obviously wish you would have told me, but…I understand.”

“Really?” Sutan took it all in, not truly believing what he was hearing.

“Yes. Besides, in situations like these, keeping secrets, not telling the whole truth…I don’t have a leg to stand on.” Violet shrugged.

“Well you do technically have one good leg left.”

“Oh god,” Violet rolled her eyes, a smile on her lips, the tension thankfully breaking with his bad joke. “Are you always this clever?”

“I’ve been known to have my moments.” Sutan smiled, leaning forward, Violet thankfully accepting as he pressed a kiss to her lips, gratitude and what he almost dared call love blooming in his chest.

***

VIOLET: Do you google people when you meet them? Like look for them online?

PEARL: I know what google means, lmao

PEARL: And of course?

PEARL: Who doesn’t?

PEARL: How else are you supposed to slide into the DM’s ;)?

PEARL: Why?

Violet was lying in the dark, tapping carefully, the light all the way down since Sutan was asleep next to her.

VIOLET: No reason

Violet dropped her phone on the nightstand before lying back down, rolling over on her side so she could look at Sutan.

She had meant it when she said she wasn’t upset with Sutan, but she had also been honest when she said she wasn’t happy.

Mostly, she just felt strange.

Strange about the fact that her boyfriend had an ex-wife that he hadn’t told her about, strange about how casually the phase hardcore clubbing had fallen from his lips, strange at how he had expected her to have breeched his privacy without his consent, but mostly, how he have done that to her.

Violet bit her lip, reaching out to gently touch Sutan’s cheek, rubbing her thumb over it, a satisfied sigh coming from him at the caress.

All it had taken was a simple google search, article upon article popping up, Sutan either in the forefront or background of more pictures than she could count.

It was unsettling to know that she most likely wouldn’t have liked her boyfriend if she had met him when he was her age, the man he had been in his 20s and 30s so different from who she knew now.

She couldn’t blame him for his past, not when she carried around her own burdens, not when she knew how much a person could change because she herself had changed.

That thought settled it, an easy sense of forgiveness washing over Violet, taking away the unease in her chest.

Sutan could look past her difficulties, could care for her even after she had shared her secrets, and she’d be damned if she couldn’t extend the same grace to him.

Violet shuffled, moving so she was lying against Sutan’s chest, her head hiding in his neck. She felt an arm around her waist, a smile spreading on her lips as Sutan’s hand spread out over her back, her boyfriend holding her tight even in his sleep.

She’d forgive him, because he had forgiven her, and because they were worth fighting for, even with their flaws.

***

Fame had to admit that she was impressed with the extent of what was included in Julia and Owen’s new drawing kits.

She had picked them up as an afterthought at the bookstore where she had been looking for Patrick’s Christmas presents. Her husband was notoriously difficult to buy for, his unspoken wish lists only ever filled with books or tennis equipment. Normally, she would have found books for Bianca too, but this year that thought had only made her stomach sour, so instead of looking at the biographies, she had drifted to the children's section, where she had filled her basket to the brim with gifts for the Sanderson kids.

“Auntie Fame?”

“Yes honey?” Fame looked up from her drawing over at Julia, the little girl sitting next to her at the table, a glittery purple pen in her hand. Owen was across from them, while Kelly lounged nearby with her legs slung over the side of an armchair, listening to something with her new noise-cancelling headphones.

“I wanna do that-” Julia pointed at Fame’s drawing, and Fame smiled. Galactica didn’t do any kind of children’s wear, but Fame had drawn a selection of princess gowns, the sparkles and colors from the kit practically begging to be used for some glittery fun. “I wanna draw princesses too.”

“Well,” Fame smiled, “What’s holding you back?”

“It’s too hard,” Julia pouted her lips. Fame looked at Julia’s drawing, the stick figures she’d produced only vaguely humanoid in the way that was unique to children's drawings.

“It takes time to get good at something.” Fame ran a hand over Julia’s hair, the black locks collected into a high ponytail with a butterfly attached to it, “You simply have to practice, and try, and try again.”

“Mine’s already good!” Owen proclaimed, holding up his picture of what Fame guessed was probably a robot, though she couldn’t be positive, and Julia collapsed dramatically, dropping her head down on the table.

“Oh no!” she moaned, and Fame had to bite the inside of her cheek not to laugh, the level of drama truly remarkable.

***

“There!” Trixie watched Katya’s entire face light up, an excited giggle leaving her.

They were in Target, discounted Christmas decorations all around them. It was an annual tradition of theirs to go raid the Target out in Brooklyn for everything it was worth.

“Isn’t he the cutest?!” Katya held up a black bird that was wearing earmuffs in red and green and a multicolored scarf.

“Is that a penguin or an owl?” Trixie took a sip of his gingerbread latte.

“Does it matter?” Katya smiled, putting it into the cart. “Ooh! Look! He has a little foxy friend!”

Trixie laughed, following behind Katya as she went through the store, grabbing everything that caught her fancy. With Trixie’s salary, they didn’t need to do this in Target, and they certainly didn’t need to do it when everything went on discount, but he knew he wouldn’t find this ritual of theirs anywhere near as fun if they had gone to some fancy store.

Part of the joy of their Christmas collection was that it was eclectic, that they hadn't just swiped a credit card in a department store and bought out entire displays.

Trixie loved their stuff because it came from a million different places, but mostly, he loved it because he had found it all with Katya.

He watched as Katya picked up an entire case of leftover forest animals, the sweater she was wearing tightening around her belly. It was starting to get more and more noticeable, the woman of his dreams slowly filling out with his son or daughter.

Trixie couldn’t wait to meet them, though he hoped that little Killer would grow up to sincerely love Christmas.

Otherwise, they’d have some tough years ahead.

***

It had been another blissfully perfect day for Courtney--lounging on the beach, body surfing in the cool water, sipping sweet and delicious rum-filled cocktails, then getting all dressed up for a romantic dinner, where she got to stare at Bianca’s beautiful face in the candlelight, holding her hand and listening to her stories.

And now, she lay sprawled across the bed, the alcohol still in her system making everything spin pleasantly as Bianca knelt between her legs, driving her to delirious ecstasy over and over. She gave in to the thrilling dizziness, letting go, mind soaring and body reacting on auto.

“Angel…” Bianca’s voice was the first thing that snapped her back into the present, as she lifted her head, chest still heaving. There was a naughty grin on Bianca’s face, her dark eyes glistening in the moonlight as she asked, “You still got more in you, huh?”

Courtney nodded, gasping out, “Don’t stop,” as her fingers gripped Bianca’s hair tighter.

“Hold that thought…”

“Wait,” Courtney whimpered, reaching out as Bianca slipped from her grasp, her head lolling pathetically on the pillow. “Come back.”

Bianca chuckled, pawing through her suitcase and pulling out a large canvas bag, which she unzipped and then dumped unceremoniously on the bed.

“See anything you like?”

[baby-grayson]

Kind Stranger|GBD|Part 11

Parts 1-10 Word Count: 3k tags: @styles-dolan​ @evergreendolan​ @someonetogray​ @vintagedolan​ @prettyboydolan​ @dolansficsandpics​ @graysavant​ @baby-turtles​

“She used some fancy word—I don’t remember it” Ethan’s whispers mimicked the annoyance of the look on his face. He kept his voice low, trying to keep his conversation with Grayson clandestine to the sleeping Kate on their couch.

“And why is she here Ethan?” Grayson did not try to disguise the agitated edge in his words. His jaw held a tight clench. He ran his hands through his bed head, gripping the strands. He bit a soft piece of his top lip between his bottom teeth.

“The hospital wasn’t letting her take an Uber home because of the pandemic—something about contamination and post-op risks,” Ethan shrugged softly, holding his palms open for Grayson to see. He sighed. A part of Ethan felt like he had just been caught doing something wrong, but another part of him reminded him that he made the right decision.

“So you drove my ex-girlfriend—” Grayson’s face contorted when Ethan interrupted him in a cool tone.

“Yeah Gray. She called me—me of all people—doesn’t that tell you the she had no one else?” Ethan signed softly, displeased with the reaction behind Grayson’s twisted expression. “I was mostly glad she have the sense not to ask you.” “Not to ask me?!” Grayson’s head jutted back as he waved his hands in the hair. His hands scooped up from where he stood, rocking on his back leg. She should have asked him! Grayson was the one who knew her the best. Grayson was the one who spent all those nights with her. Grayson is the one who knew what she looked like when she was upset. But Kate asked Ethan to pick her up to after surgery.

Ethan recognized Grayson’s temper all too well. Where Ethan had always been able to maintain his cool, Grayson was easily swept up in emotions. That summer, Kate was the emotion Grayson all too willingly got swept up in. A few weeks ago, Grayson had gotten swept up in Kate when he declared his love for her on the sands of a Malibu beach. The day after that, Grayson had gotten swept up in the all too familiar hurricane of Kate’s heart when she declared her commitment to her own independence and ended their short love affair. In the weeks between their breakup and finding her on the couch, Grayson bathed in sadness, resentment, and guilt from having lost the most beloved woman he had ever held. That morning, Grayson got swept up in the anger, confusion, and betrayal of hearing about how his twin brother had gone behind his back to care for his ex-girlfriend after surgery. Ethan could read Grayson like the back of a cereal box, “Yeah I’m glad she didn’t ask you—I didn’t think you could handle it and you’re proving me right.” Grayson’s jaw shifted from where it was clenched. He sucked in his teeth while he looked at his brother. He crossed his arms, “I thought we don’t keep things from each other…” Ethan sighed. Internally, he admitted that Grayson had a point. “I was going to tell you,” Ethan licked his lips, “After she was in her own apartment.” Grayson opened his mouth to retort when a distinct clacking side came from the opposite side of the kitchen. When the twins looked behind them, they found a groggy Kate sitting up and reaching for her crutches.

Kate was experienced at waking up after surgery. Since her accident, she hadn’t gone 18 months without needing some kind of major procedure. Where constant operations assuaged any fears she had going into the operating room, waking up after surgery was something she never mastered.

Her eyes fluttered, feeling as if they were being weighed down with lead balls. Her dry mouth tasted metallic, and the back of her throat ached with soreness from being intubated. Her left arm was patterned with splotchy, purple bruises from an IV. Her left leg felt weightless: wholly numbed for the next 48 hours. A few strands of hair stuck to her cheek, tacked into her face with drool from her sleep.

Instinctively, upon waking up she jostled around looking for her crutches. Her crutches were a light weight stainless steel pair of specialty Lofstrands meant for frequent use: a gift from her mother on her twentieth birthday. The crutches had accompanied her through many different medical procedures. On that day, they stood beside her while she recovered from a deep scar tissue removal operation. Reaching out for one of them, the crutch fell from where it was leaning on an armchair and landed on the floor of the Dolans’ living room with a sharp clatter.

Grayson looked back at the exact moment Kate looked up after the crutch fell. Their eyes met. An ominous fog entered Kate’s mind as she realized exactly where she was waking up from surgery. Grayson gulped hard, this was the first time he had seen her since she ran out of his house in his t-shirt and sweatpants. In that moment, she was dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of capri leggings with a dense, wrap around her left foot. Her hair was unruly and unkept; her lips were swollen from drooling; she looked like a mess while Grayson felt like a mess.

Ethan rolled his eyes at the sight of his brother’s eyes going wide, as if he had never seen a woman before. Ethan let out a small cough to break the silence. He stepped forward, resting his hands on the back of an armchair. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Kate blinked a few times, “Or good considering.” She sat up straighter and used a hand to swipe away the strands of hair on her cheek.  Her eyes darted to Grayson quickly before landing back on Ethan. Her heart was beating fast. Had Ethan only said yes to get her in the same room with Grayson? Suddenly, she felt like a pawn in the chess game of the Dolan Twins: the exact thing she wanted to avoid when she broke up with Grayson. “You didn’t have to bring me back to your place Ethan,” she tried to sound gracious but wasn’t sure the tone had conquered the sound of groggy sleep in the back of her aching throat.

Ethan opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a fourth person walking into the room.

“ooo sorryyy,” her voice sounded like an overused chew toy. A tall, lanky blonde stepped out of Grayson’s bedroom door. She had the grace of something between a bumbling barbie doll and a hungover pageant queen. Kate’s eyes went wide. Grayson’s bottom lip curled up. Ethan brought his hands up to his face.

She stumbled over to Grayson while Ethan finally felt like the smarter twin. “Grayson,” if silicone had a voice, this would be it, “My uber is here. Could you open the gate?” A far part of Kate’s mind was surprised when the girl blinked. In her experience, barbie dolls did not blink: but apparently, life size ones did.

“Uh yeah,” Grayson mumbled, “no problem.” He quickly pressed a few buttons on his phone, while his night-time companion scampered into the daylight.

Once again, the trio were alone in the twins’ living room. Kate wished she could melt into the couch and never return. Grayson gnawed at his bottom lip so hard he tasted the faintest twinge of metallic blood. Ethan opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it. Even Ethan didn’t have a comment sharp enough to cut this tension. Kate broke the silence first, her words were breathy and exhausted, “I should go. I’ll call a car—” “No,” Grayson’s voice was strong, “I’ll go.” Kate blinked quickly, taken aback by the offer. Ethan’s voice echoed her thoughts, “Grayson, you live here.” “Yeah,” Kate supported in a hoarse whisper, “I should go.” Grayson shook his head. “No,” his mouth flatlined. “You just had surgery,” he motioned toward her wrapped foot, “You shouldn’t be by yourself, not like this.”

“Grayson don’t be ridiculous. I’m not kicking you out of your home. I’ll leave.” Kate licked her lip softly. Her heart bounded in dread: hearing Grayson’s voice beckoned memories forward: the memories of a happy, love struck couple on a beach during sunset. “Just stay,” his voice was nearly a plead at this point. “I’ll go somewhere,” Grayson offered, “I’ll go to the other side of LA and count the cracks in the sidewalk all day if I have to.”

***

Even though she wasn’t his to protect, Grayson felt a fierce instinct to keep her safe. Even if it meant protecting her from himself. Grayson had trouble comprehending that Kate broke up with him because of his lifestyle, and not because of him. He had trouble separating the two concepts. The weekend after she tore his heart out, Grayson visited his mother in New Jersey.  At night, Ethan would call his girlfriend from his and Grayson’s shared bedroom. Grayson took the opportunity for alone time with his mother to ask her opinion on the situation. He lit a Wakeheart Clarity candle and enjoyed a cup of tea with her on the porch.

“She has a point,” Lisa’s nails clacked on her ceramic mug. Grayson’s eyebrows raised, “What do you mean?” Grayson’s mother had always offered expert advice to him, tender with a mother’s care but with the flavor of honesty he could only find in someone who truly loved him. In his younger days, he had shyly kept his girl troubles away from his mother, feeling the shame of a teenage boy. As he grew older, he slowly started divulging his struggles with women. Of course, he smartly left out his stories of frivolous hook ups.

Grayson placed his mug down sharply. His mind twisted in confusion when his mother agreed with Kate for breaking up with him. Lisa placed her mug down kindly and continued, “If she can’t handle it, she was right for leaving before things got serious.” Grayson’s heart lurched. Before things got serious. What he had felt for her, that was serious. The way she had massacred his heart, that was serious. He let out a loud sigh. His mother seemed to intuitively recognize her son’s broken heart: she placed a hand on his shoulder and rubbed softly, “It wasn’t meant to be. But you’re so young Grayson, I don’t know why you’re so preoccupied about this.” Despite her words, Lisa knew. Lisa knew that her son was near obsessed with finding his soulmate because his heart craved the familiar, warm, comfort of having his own family. Grayson exhaled through his noise, triggering an ache in his head. He sat back, loosing evading his mother’s hand. “I just don’t get it. What did I do wrong mom?” Lisa shook her head softly, “Nothing Grayson. At least, it doesn’t sound like you did.” She took a sip of tea and listened to the crickets in the August nighttime for a minute, “She didn’t want to be…” she chose her next word carefully, “swept up in everything you guys go through, you know with your channel and everything.” “But is that bad?” Grayson’s question was honest and real. Being plunged into celebrity status at a young age, Grayson was often mystified by the parts of normal life that he did not understand. The few times that he watched the news, he would question what someone could buy with minimum wage. When his best friend Deon studied for finals at UC Berkley, he wondered how hard the exams were: Grayson hadn’t taken an exam in six years. When his sister complained about job interviews, he was stumped at what an interview would even consist of. As much as Grayson Dolan was a compassionate, kind, and fun spirit, he lacked a deep cognizance of life outside of LA.

“It’s a lot,” Lisa admitted, “I can see where she would be scared.” “Do you think it’s worthy of being scared?” Grayson hadn’t considered that his mother might have distaste for the attention that he and his brother drummed up over the years. Lisa had periodically reminded the boys that she preferred not to be on camera but wanted to send them all of the love she could from behind the scenes. Grayson had always thought this stemmed from her humble, demure nature: but his heart gaped at the idea that his popularity negatively affected his own mother.

“If you Google me,” Lisa started, “It says I am Grayson Dolan’s mom. Not even Ethan’s,” Lisa chuckled. “There is an entire world of people out there who know me in association with you. Regardless of the business I’ve built, the life I’ve lived, or whether or not I even want them too.” She took a sip of her tea while Grayson found a spot on the porch to stare at. Internally, he replayed her words as she said them. He tried desperately to grasp what his mother was implying. “In choosing you, she had to accept that.” Grayson’s heart lurched at the mention of her, the wounds on his heart and soul were still fresh. “Besides,” Lisa tried to find a positive note, “You wouldn’t want to be with her if your life made her that uncomfortable.” Lisa’s touched Grayson’s forearm in a comforting manner, but Grayson’s internal monologue went wild. If he didn’t want to be with her? Had his mother listened to Grayson ramble about how beautiful Kate was? How brilliant she was? How kind she was? Thought? Wonderful? Perfect? Grayson Dolan could not imagine a world where he did not want to spend the rest of his life next to Kathleen Walker.  

***

Grayson left Ethan to tend to Kate, while he brusquely exited his house. He grabbed his bike and headed Northbound, without a specific destination planned. His chain dangled on his neck as he bent forward to push himself up and around the hills of Ensino. His hair fluffed up into a disorderly shape on the front of his head. It didn’t take long before his body broke out in thick layer of sweat. He hoped that the sweat would replace the layer of tension left on his soul from the morning.

Never in his wildest dreams did he think that he would slink out of his bedroom in the morning, freshly fucked from the night before, and find Kate’s sweet, angelic, sleeping face buried into the cushions of his couch. Kate hadn’t left his mind since she broke up with him. When he was mid-thrust last night, he sneered in disgust at his partner’s juvenile sounds of approval—even though his penis dominated his actions, his heart dominated his thoughts that called for Kate. His heart called so loud that she ended up on his couch the morning after. Grayson found it extremely difficult to flirt with LA girls after tasting what it’s like to love a woman.

Grayson pushed forward on his bicycle, hoping to rid himself of his angst. His legs chugged with the power that his lungs wanted to use to yell at her, to tell her how much he missed her and how desperately he wanted to her to change her mind. Grayson rode his bicycle until his muscles ached with the same soreness that his heart had felt for the past week.

Across town, Ethan and Kate spent an awkward, but sweet day together. Ethan apologized for Grayson’s guest interrupting their morning conversation. In truth, Ethan had not planned on bringing Kate back to the rental. He woke up that morning with intentions to pick her up at the hospital and drop her off at her apartment. But when Kate had crutched into his Tesla, her hair a mess and dark circles planted on her face, Ethan couldn’t bear it in his soul to leave her alone for the day. Despite the fact that she was his twin’s ex-girlfriend, she was a person who clearly needed help.

Ethan had brought her back to the rental and tucked her into the couch thinking that Grayson would be none the wiser until told. Since Kate broke up with him, Grayson had been sleeping until 1pm. Grayson’s mind could not find quiet between the pang of his broken heart, the Wakeheart candle release, and the continued stress of twitter fingers. Ethan thought he could cleverly wait for Kate to feel better and drive her home before his brother woke up and ambushed them all with his one-night stand.

Grayson tossed his bicycle by the side of the rental. His quickly pulled off his sweat soaked tank top and shoved it in his pocket. His entire body was covered in a thick layer of sweat so much so that even his socks were soaked. He sauntered into the rental and stopped in the living room doorway, finding Ethan and Kate playing cards. Grayson had expected her to be gone by the time he got back. Ethan locked eyes with his brother, lowering his hand of cards to the table. Kate followed Ethan’s gaze to find Grayson in the doorway. Grayson swallowed, feeling like a stranger in his own home. “Hey,” he greeted lowly as he hesitantly stepped further into the room. “Hey,” Kate surprised herself by answering him. They held each other’s stare: mouths slightly agape and tongues going dry while not finding words. Kate held her stare at his gorgeous gold eyes, not daring to let her gaze stray to his half-naked, sweat coated body. “Uh, I’m gonna head out real quick,” Ethan stuttered slightly, “I gotta…” he didn’t finish as he smoothly stepped out of the room. He had barely survived the tension between Kate and Gray that morning; Ethan was not looking forward to swimming through it again.

Grayson sucked in his bottom lip and straddles the arm of a sofa. “So,” he started lowly,  “How have you been?” Stupid. He was stupid. She just went through surgery and he asked that. He used the most bland question in the world on the person who excited him the most.

“I’ve been good,” Kate’s tone was steady, “I got assigned to write that chapter for the academy of sciences.” She smiled in a thin line: Grayson saw it as a ghost of the bright smiles she used to share with him.   Grayson nodded, “Congrats, I know you really wanted that project.” Was he really doing this? The woman he so desperately craved was sitting in front of him and they were talking about work? She had him smelling sweet citrus scents in his sleep, and he couldn’t muster up a conversation for her?

Kate swallowed hard, her eyes finding the floor, “You didn’t have to leave your own home today, you know?”

“Yeah I did” Grayson’s voice was flat. He sucked his bottom lip in, immediately understanding the meaning of his words. He was telling her that he couldn’t be in the same space as her, which was true. But only true because looking at her reminded him of the future he had lost.

“Gray,” Kate started but instantly regretted being so informal. “It shouldn’t be like this. We—I mean you didn’t do anything; it just didn’t work.” She rested a hand on her knee and looked up at him, her face twisting quizzically.

“Feels like I did,” Grayson’s voice was low as he rocked back on the arm of the sofa. He wiped some sweat from his brow and inspected his fingers. He looked back at her and rubbed his bottom lip, “I just—I really thought we were—I thought this was…” “I know,” Kate interrupted, “I did too.”

They stewed in the awkward silence of their tense relationship. Grayson pushed a hand through his hair. The numbness in Kate’s leg felt like it had moved its way to her brain. Both of them struggled to make words out of their emotions.

“Look, we didn’t do anything bad to each other,” Kate started. “And honestly Grayson, I do like being around you. You know, when things aren’t so weird,” she hedged, “And I had a nice time with Ethan today. So maybe we could be friends?” Grayson raised an eyebrow. Kate abridged her previous statement, “Or maybe we can try to be friends?” A/N: Please tell me your thoughts! I absolutely love hearing the good, the bad, and the angsty! We are a few parts away from the end but honestly I feel like I could write volumes about these two, so let me know if you would be interested in a volume 2 after this arch ends.  I have so much writing this, but the most fun is getting to talk about to talk about it with other people. I hope you’re enjoying!  😘

[starlightinhumanform]

Strong As The Sun

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship: Romantic Prinxiety, Platonic Analogicality 

Summary: It’s Roman’s last summer before going off to college; he should be spending it hanging out at the beach and having fun. Instead, he is wasting his time away beneath the eye of his cruel manager and behind the counter of the local fair’s Help Center. His day gets a little more interesting when Virgil Sanders collapses into his arms.

Warnings (in order of strength): Moderate language throughout, Description of physical illness throughout, Not panic but Virgil does get pretty upset a couple times. Please tell me if anything needs to be added.  Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Human AU 

A/N: -The Dragon Witch is Ms. Drakon -Because of his anxiety, Virgil clings to ‘comfort items’ (in this case, his hoodie) And lastly: I am not a medical professional!! This is all based on my own experiences with heat exhaustion and may not be entirely accurate. If you are ever in a situation like this, don’t be like Roman! Get some help!  Hope you enjoy! Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3 Link   Fic Masterpost   Fic Request Info

Roman couldn’t put his finger on the reason he loved his job so much. Maybe it was the suffocating heat that made him sweat so much his hair was consistently ruined by the end of every shift. Or maybe it was the entitled older folks who would yell at him for doing what his manager told him to do. It could have been the way his manager yelled at him for... doing exactly what she had told him to do. The best part was definitely the smell- a magical combination of cheap grease, sunscreen, animal waste, and a good amount of human waste.

Yeah, ok, his job sucked. Standing at the help desk of a local fair for 12 hours everyday was not exactly Roman’s ideal summer plan. It was his last summer before college; he should be getting toned from surfing at the beach all day where he would inevitably find his dream man and they would live happily ever after.

“Roman?! Did you hear a word I just said?”

Roman jerked his head up from where it had been resting in his hand (the perfect position for daydreaming himself away from this hell) and tried to look alert, “Yeah, sure! Of course!”

His manager scowled at him from across the counter. She looked like what would have happened if Snow White had made some sort of pact with the evil witch- sickly pale skin, blood red lips, and smooth black hair that never had a strand out of place. She tapped her nails against the desk and raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow, “Well, in that case, could you repeat it to me?”

“No, Ms. Drakon,” Roman hung his head, hoping his pathetic act would earn him some crumb of pity.

His manager just rolled her eyes, turning around and glaring at him over her shoulder, “I was saying you need to do a better job of looking enthusiastic- more ready to help. If you don’t, well just remember: there are plenty of other desperate teenagers who will easily take your place.”

The witch stalked away, stopping occasionally to bare her teeth at patrons in substitute of an actual smile. Roman barely resisted the urge to flip her off but decided it wasn’t worth the risk. He was positive at this point that she had eyes in the back of her head.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes and standing up straighter in an attempt to look more “enthusiastic”- or at least awake. Drakon might have been the epitome of evil, but she was right. It would be as easy as snapping her fingers to have Roman fired and replaced. And that was not something he could afford- literally.

Roman shoved the thoughts aside as a family walked up. He saw so many of the same groups over and over again that they all started to blend together. This one was no different- a loud, angry straight couple surrounded by a horde of unruly children.

The man slammed his fist down on the counter as he approached and Roman plastered on a smile, “Hi sir! How can I help you?”

Yep. Today was going to be fun. It was only noon and he had already a) gotten puked on by a little kid, b) had nearly been fired, and now c) yelled at because apparently the carnival games were arranged incorrectly and it was somehow his fault.

Roman spent the next two hours trying not to space out but it was so hard when he wanted to be anywhere else. He decided he was never going to a fair ever again. Ever. Unless it was with a boyfriend. Who he would win a bunch of prizes for. And take selfies with while they ate matching cotton candy. And they would ride the Ferris wheel together and kiss at the top. Hmmmm, so maybe he would never go to a fair ever again unless certain requirements were met.

If only his Prince Charming could come along now, jump over the desk partition, reach for Roman’s hand, and whisk him away to some place that had air conditioning. He would be tall, muscular, with a strong jawline, and-

“Excuse me?”

Roman glanced down, trying to find the kid who was trying to get his attention.

“Up here?”

He moved his gaze upwards to find a guy about his age wearing a dark hoodie with his hands shoved in his pockets. Not surprisingly, he looked like he was dying from the heat.

“Oh sorry. I thought you were,” Roman waved his hand at his knee, “small.”

The stranger grimaced, “Gonna try not to be insulted by that.”

“Anyways... how can I help you?” Even though the statement was built into Roman’s subconscious script, he really did mean it. The boy kept swaying and Roman wasn’t sure if it was some kind of nervous fidget or because he was actually about to pass out.

“Yeah. Right. Sorry. I’m just kinda- my head-“ He ran his hands through his hair, “Basically I lost my group and my phone is dead and I have no idea where they are and-“

He tried to take a step forward but stumbled, gripping the desk for support. Roman’s protective instincts kicked in immediately. He swung open the little shack’s gate and began leading the boy back to the shade of the awning, one arm swung around his chest to support him.

“I’m fine, really,” He tried to protest but used Roman as crutch as if this was A Christmas Carole and he was Tiny Tim.

Roman snorted as he latched the gate shut behind them, “You’re not ‘fine’- you can barely walk.”

Roman set the boy down on the rough floors, concerned by how hard he was breathing. He grabbed a water bottle from beneath the counter and offered it as he squatted down. This close, Roman was able to get a better evaluation his guest.

The good news: the heavy darkness beneath his eyes was eyeshadow- not some sort of bruise or dark circles that were so bad they could be seen from three feet away. The bad news: basically everything else. His breathing was labored. His face was deathly pale- nearly gray- and beaded with sweat. His black skinny jeans, heavy boots, and oversized purple hoodie were ideal for perhaps a light rain in mid October; at a fair during the sadistic month of July, the outfit looked nearly deadly.

Roman chewed the bottom of his lip. He really wasn’t trained for this sort of thing. His job was to look cute at the entrance and tell people where they could find the petting zoo. But he couldn’t just turn this guy away, “Look, you can stay here as long as you need but if my boss sees you, I’m dead so just try to stay low or something.”

The boy had been gulping down the water bottle but froze suddenly. His eyes widened and he started scrambling to get up. His feet scrabbled beneath him like a puppy who wasn’t used to their legs yet.

“Hey, hey, stop!” Roman hissed under his breath, trying to avoid making a scene, “What are you doing?”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble. It’s better if I just go,” The boy stopped struggling and stared at Roman with eyes the size of a small planet. They were blue, so deep and dark they almost looked purple. Beneath them, the messy eyeshadow was smudged by what Roman realized were tear streaks.

“Shut up, Emo. I’m not going to let you leave until I know it’s safe,” Roman reached out, brushing his thumb across the boy’s cheekbones to wipe away the dark trails the makeup had made.

The boy looked confused but didn’t try to duck away from Roman’s touch, “What are you doing?”

Roman drew his hand back and stared down at it. He felt just as confused as the boy looked. What was he doing? He huffed out a laugh, “I- I’m not sure. I don’t think either of us are thinking very clearly right now.”

Across from him, the boy bowed his head down so Roman couldn’t see his face and started drinking from the bottle again- less desperately this time. Roman got the feeling the conversation was over.

He stood up and shifted so he was more centered at the desk, “I have to look like I’m actually doing my job, but tell me if you need anything. Try to, uh, cool off or something. I’ve got plenty of water bottles over here.”

“Virgil.”

“I’m sorry?” Roman turned to face the shadow of a human in the corner of his shack. The boy was trying to take up less space, but his  lanky legs made it hard to curl up.

“My name is Virgil.”

Roman smiled, “Nice to meet you, Virgil. I’m Roman.”

Virgil nodded as if Roman had given the correct answer and was allowed to go back to his job.

The next hour passed sluggishly. Roman told six separate women asked where the bathrooms were but he could swear they were all the exact same person. He saw the girl who ran the lemonade stand spit into a drink at least twice. At some point, Virgil fell asleep, the back of his head pressed against the gate and his neck bent at an angle that would probably hurt when he woke up. His breathing was still a worrying rasp and Roman couldn’t help but glance over towards Virgil’s corner whenever he got the chance.

Three o’clock rolled in like it didn’t want to come. Roman slammed down his sign that read “I’m On Break Right Now!! I’ll Be Back In A Few Minutes :)” and dared the Karen who was marching toward his stand to take another step forward.

When he was sure the coast was clear, he ducked onto the floor and grabbed another water bottle as he scooted next to Virgil. This close, Roman could feel tremors that were running through Virgil’s body.

“Hey buddy, wake up,” Roman shook Virgil’s shoulders gently, wincing at the heat that radiated through the thick sweatshirt.

Virgil’s eyes blinked open slowly, glassy and unfocused. He searched around the small space before his gaze settled on Roman, “Where am- oh that’s right. I’m still here?”

Roman couldn’t explain it but something about the venomous disappointment in Virgil’s voice hit him in the chest. He shook the feeling away quickly when he remembered what was going on, “You’re burning up. I want you to drink some more water. And I think you’re going to need to take off that sweatshirt.”

Virgil collapsed in on himself, wrapping his arms around his chest and pressing himself against the side of the shack, “I don’t want to take it off.”

Roman could feel his eyebrows scrunching together by their own accord, “Why not?”

Virgil just shrugged and looked away which perfectly conveyed the message of I know exactly why and I’m not going to tell you.

“Ok, ok, whatever. It’s not like that stupid hoodie is seriously damaging your health or anything.”

Virgil flopped his head to the side to glare with two ice-cold flames. Roman got the feeling that if Virgil had more strength, he would’ve gotten slapped.  

Roman pinched the bridge of his nose, searching for options. It’s not like he could force Virgil to take the sweatshirt off- that would be weird for anyone. Besides, he still hardly knew this kid. Maybe he refused to take the hoodie off because he had some giant tattoo from a gang. Did gangs get tattoos? Like the dark mark from Harry Potter? Roman was getting sidetracked and Virgil looked like the type of person who rarely left his house. Ok so definitely not the type to join a gang.

But the fact that they hardly knew each other still stood. If he pushed it too far, he would be crossing about twenty boundaries. On the other hand, Virgil was looking worse and worse by the second. In the space of a few blinks, his expression had faded from a glare to half-lidded stupor.

Roman grimaced as he pressed the back of his hand against Virgil’s forehead. His bangs were damp and his skin felt like a hot pan just off the stove. Roman brushed his hand upwards, combing his fingers through Virgil’s hair.

Virgil’s gaze flicked over to meet Roman’s eyes, unfocused and filmy. But within those eyes, swimming in the purple beneath, Roman could see so much emotion, it almost hurt to look at.  Those eyes pleaded with him, so full of fear.

Roman sighed. He simply couldn’t say no that stare, “Yeah ok. You can keep the damn thing on. But we need to figure out a way to get your fever down.”

Virgil slumped sideways into Roman, pressing into him instead of the wall. The chills running through his body were so strong that Roman almost wondered if they were contagious somehow. He snuggled further against Roman, his head pressing into Roman’s shoulder.

Roman didn’t know what to do. What he wanted to do was wrap his arms around this strange little shadow and never let go. In reality, though, even this much contact was probably worsening Virgil’s temperature.

“Hey,” Roman shook Virgil’s far shoulder slightly to get his attention, “I had an idea. Would you be ok with just unzipping your hoodie? You wouldn’t have to take it off!”

Virgil responded by wrapping himself around Roman’s arm like some baby marsupial, “Too tired. Just wanna sleep.”

Roman could hardly hear Virgil’s muttering through the material of his own shirt. He sighed, “Yeah. Well too bad. Will you please just keep yourself from dying?”

“Ti-r-ed,” Virgil drew out the vowels like a whiny little kid.

“What- do you want me to do it?” Roman huffed out an exasperated laugh.

Against him, he felt Virgil shrug, “Sure.”

“Oh,” Roman hadn’t been expecting that answer. He had asked as a joke after all. Virgil had made such a big deal about keeping the sweatshirt on that Roman felt that he was crossing a line by even touching it.

Roman untangled Virgil’s arms for his and propped him against the wall. The boy moved as if he were a rag doll in Roman’s hands and it was nearly enough make Roman queasy. He scooted over so he was facing Virgil.

He watched him with those big eyes. Big, soft eyes. They carried so much uncertainty, always tracking Roman’s movement without ever shifting their gaze. But they held the weight of trust as well- feeling safe despite not knowing what Roman was going to do. Roman glowed under the trust, feeling like he had been awarded a treasure few could even find. At the same time, he was positive he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t know if he was doing the right things. How could Virgil seem so certain that Roman would help him if even Roman didn’t know that?

Roman reached forward, hands freezing as they hovered over the zipper that hung just below the dip of Virgil’s collarbone. This was weird. He knew these were “special circumstances” but still... it was weird. Roman cleared his throat, “Uh, sorry, this is just kind of awkward.”

Virgil mustered another glare, less deadly this time but still managing to clearly convey the message of Stop being such a useless gay.

Roman cleared his throat again. He probably sounded like he was developing a case of pneumonia, “Right. Sorry.”

Said useless gay took a deep breath and pulled the zipper down. Underneath, Virgil was wearing a plain black muscle tank to match the rest of his dark outfit. Roman had to give him credit for committing so strongly to the aesthetic. A part of him was still surprised that Virgil’s hoodie wasn’t hiding some kind of green alien body.

“Surprised I’m not some kind of green alien?”

Roman realized he had been staring and immediately tried to find something else to look at. His brain apparently decided that the best solution was to reread the safety rules posted on the back wall. He could feel a blush rising to his face and he was pretty sure it had something to do with the way the tank top dipped lowly across Virgil’s chest and hung across his delicate collarbones.

Roman nearly started laughing at himself out loud. He sounded like a repressed Victorian maiden. What he going to do next? Maybe he would stomp his feet and start chanting Show me your ankle! Show me your ankle!

“Hey, help me with this?” Virgil’s strained voice brought Roman’s attention swinging back to the real world. He was trying to shrug the sweatshirt off his shoulders while still trying to move as little as possible.

Roman reached out again, probably too quickly. He was acting so strange. He wished his hands would stop shaking so much.

“Oh, Roman?” A sugar-sweet, poisoned voice floated into the shack just as Roman managed to get the last sleeve past Virgil’s elbow.

“Shit,” Roman hissed under his breath, “That’s my manager.”

Virgil’s eyes went wide but Roman didn’t have the time to reassure him. He threw the nearest thing over Virgil which happened to be a beach towel from the lost and found. It probably wouldn’t help his temperature at all, but at least Ms. Drakon wouldn’t see him.

Roman pulled out his winning grin as he stood up, “Why, hello, Ms. Drakon!”

She responded with an equally bright mouthful, but Roman wouldn’t dare to call it a smile, “Roman, it seems you have quite a crowd beginning to build up!”

He glanced over and suppressed a groan as he saw the trail of unhappy looking people that glared at him from an ever-growing line. He turned his attention back to Drakon, pointing down to the sign propped on the counter, “Yes, ma’am, I see that. I will make sure that they are all satisfied as soon as my break is over.”

Her eyes wrinkled as her mouth widened, but there was nothing friendly about them, “I think you’ve been on break long enough.”

“Yes, of course!” In Roman’s head, a large anvil had just landed on Drakon’s head.

Drakon disappeared into the crowd and Roman turned to the daunting line in front of him. The snake was headed by a group of 12 year old girls. They were easiest type to deal with. Bless their boyband obsessed hearts- they were probably the only reason the counter hadn’t been broken down by a mob of angry middle aged women with expired passes. He gave them a wink, “I’ll be with you ladies in a minute.”

Judging by the giggles that erupted as he sank down behind the counter, he had bought himself a minute or two.

“Hey there,” Roman was trying to be quiet but he was surprised at how soft his voice came out.

He pulled the towel away to find Virgil fast asleep. His breath was definitely starting to even out. The stupid hoodie pooled around him, still attached at the wrists. A tiny hint of a smile tugged at one side of his lips.

Roman ruffled his hands through Virgil’s hair, “Hang in there, buddy.”

He twirled around as he stood up, adding a little more dramatic flair than needed. He flicked the sign down with one finger. The smile he beamed at the crowd was genuine; this time he had something to smile about- even if he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

Another hour passed by with all of the ease of a root canal. A person told him they wanted a discount because their child had found a dead rat in a trash can. Roman tried to explain that it was a good thing it was in a trash can instead of anywhere else. The lemonade girl flipped someone off. She was Roman’s hero.

Virgil only began stirring by the end of it, blinking his eyes open like a owl in daylight. He looked around the shack like he was seeing it for the first time. His eyes were sharper than Roman had seen them before, glittering like obsidian now that they could focus.

Roman tried his best to concentrate on the customer in front of him, but he kept glancing back and grinning at Virgil. It was nice to see him looking more like a human and less like a very unhealthy zombie.

For what seemed like an eternity and a half, the customer refused to leave. Finally Roman made an under-the-table deal consisting of extra arcade tickets and a free voucher for lemonade just to get rid of them. He hoped the lemonade got spat in.

“Coast clear?” Virgil’s small voice came from what Roman had officially began calling Virgil’s Corner. He sounded different- probably because he wasn’t fighting for his life. His voice was still low, but the gravel in his tone sounded far more intentional and less like Holy shit I can’t breathe.

Roman turned around and leaned against the counter, “Ah! Sleeping Beauty awakes! How are you feeling?”

“Would I sound ungrateful if I said I feel like shit?”

Roman made an exaggerated act of thinking about it, “Just a little bit. But also honest.”

Virgil nodded and then looked down at the ground, letting a beat of silence fall between them. Roman got the feeling that Virgil had something to say, but they both had to wait for it to arrive.

Virgil began pulling the hoodie back up around his hunched shoulders, eyes still burning holes through the floor of the stall.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Roman sunk down to the floor, “Don’t put that thing back on. I just got you breathing right again- don’t make us start over from square one.”

He placed his hand against Virgil’s forehead again, “You still feel kinda overheated to me so-“

Roman stopped speaking as Virgil flinched away from the touch. His eyes darted around as if they couldn’t find a single safe place to land. He pulled his arms and legs in, tense and ready to- to do what, though? He looked like he wanted to hide, and run, and fight all at the same time. Virgil had quickly transformed into a cornered wild animal.

“Virgil, what’s wrong?” Roman spoke as softly and slowly as he could but tension was mounting within him as well. Had he done something wrong? Was Virgil hurt?

“They didn’t ask about me, did they?” Virgil spoke as if he didn’t want is voice to be heard.

“I’m sorry, who didn’t ask about you?”

“My group. The ones I came with. They both wear glasses and have brown hair and one’s shorter than the other and the taller one has freckles and was wearing a black button down and the other was wearing a blue shirt and- and,” Virgil’s voice broke and Roman’s heart along with it, “-and they’re my best friends.”

Suddenly Roman remembered the reason Virgil had shown up at his desk in the first place. It wasn’t the heat exhaustion- he had gotten lost.

Virgil succeeded in wrapped himself up in his sweatshirt. He curled into a tight ball, knees pulled against his chest and eyes just barely peeking above top of them.

“Hey, well, they’re probably looking around the fair for you. A lot of people don’t even know about my dumb little shack here! They’ll turn up eventually.”

Virgil shook his head, “They wouldn’t even look for me. They’ve probably left by now.”

“I really don’t think-“

Roman was cut off by Virgil launching himself onto him, wrapping his arms like a vice around Roman’s chest and digging his face into Roman’s shoulder. Shuddering sobs wracked Virgil’s body, all the panic and pain of today running onto Roman’s shoulder and staining his shirt with dark eyeshadow.

But Roman wasn’t thinking about that. He was hardly thinking at all. Roman was angry. Maybe angrier than he had ever been at that Drakon bitch or any of the customers that screamed at him or the kids who threw things at him or the teenagers who would snicker just loud enough so that he could hear them. That was trivial.

He was so mad. Mad at the pigs who stranded Virgil on his own, who apparently didn’t give a shit about his wellbeing, who made him feel so worthless that his immediate assumption was that they had left him behind.

Roman hoped they showed up. He would rip them to pieces.

He wrapped one arm around Virgil as tightly as he could and cradled the back of his head with his other hand. He didn’t want to let go; he wouldn’t let go. Roman could feel Virgil’s nails digging into his back as he gripped Roman’s shirt in fists.

Roman began rocking gently back and forth, moving his fingers through Virgil’s hair and letting his nails scratch softly against his scalp. Soon, Virgil’s sobs subsided into smaller hiccups. Roman could still feel hot tears soaking through his shirt.

They stayed huddled on the floor for a good minute before Virgil slowly raised his head, “I’m sorry, sometimes I get-“

“Hey, don’t be sorry,” Roman ran his thumb across Virgil’s cheek, brushing away the tears that ran down it. Like this, Virgil’s eyes looked ethereal, two pools of pure enchantment. Roman was sure he could spend the rest of his life memorizing the way the sunlight play against them.

“Excuse me?”

“Shit, shit, shit, damn it,” Roman knew he should have put his do not disturb sign up.

Virgil jerked his head up, “Patton?!”

Roman looked up to see another teenager about his age leaning over the counter. He was wearing glasses and a blue T-shirt with the Humane Society logo.

His face melted into a relieved smile as Virgil stood up, “Thank goodness we found you- we’ve been looking everywhere.”

He wrapped Virgil in a hug as yet another teenager appeared. He was taller, with eyes nearly as dark as Virgil’s, and he looked like he might sit down and begin discussing taxes with you at any moment.

This one nodded, “I created a systematic search pattern to use. Unfortunately, we were not even made aware of this place until a rather rude young lady at the lemonade stand directed us over here.”

The one called Patton let go of Virgil just long enough for the other to give him a quick hug before grabbing him into another embrace, “Oh we were so worried.”

Roman felt a pang in his chest. This was good, right? Virgil was safe now. And obviously his friends weren’t  the monsters Roman had assumed them to be. So it was all good. Yep. Definitely. Totally. Then why did he feel so damn sad?

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ok,” Roman looked up to see Virgil wiping off his face as the other two fussed over him, “I wouldn’t be though if it weren’t for Roman.”

The more serious one raised an eyebrow, “Who?”

Roman rose up from the ground, feeling sheepish for a reason he couldn’t explain, “Uh, that would be me.”

“Logan, Patton, this is Roman,” Virgil glanced over and gave him a warm smile, “He helped me out in more ways than one.”

Patton pulled Roman into a squeeze, wrapping his arms around his neck in a way that made Roman bend down, “Thank you so, so much.”

Logan took a moment from talking to Virgil in a tone to stare at Roman, “You got him to take off his hoodie?”

Roman escaped from Patton’s reach, “Uh, well, I think he kind of had heat exhaustion-“

Logan turned his attention back to Virgil, “But you don’t take that thing off unless you’re very comfortable with someone or-“

“Or really like them. Yeah, I know,” Virgil stared at the floor, a bright red rising to his face.

“Oh,” Roman wasn’t sure what else to say. He could feel a blush as deep as Virgil’s tinting his complexion.

Logan looked down at a watch wrapped around his wrist, “Thank you for helping our friend, but we really must be going now.”

“Right. Yes. Of course,” Roman nodded, trying to clear his head. The implications of what Logan had said were quickly replaced by gloom.

Roman hoped the sadness sitting in he’s chest like a lead weight didn’t carry into his voice. He swung open the gate and tried for a smile as Virgil stepped past him.

Roman watched as Virgil stepped down into the dirt, probably the last time he was ever going to see him. Roman almost let him get away. Almost.

“Hey, wait!” Roman leaned out and grabbed Virgil’s hand. He reached for his pocket and waved his phone, “Could I get your number?”

Virgil’s jaw dropped, “You had a phone this entire time?!”

Roman blinked dumbly at Virgil as realization hit him, “Oh my god, I did.”

Virgil looked off into the distance as if he  couldn’t process Roman’s lack of brain cells. At long last he began laughing. It started off as a snicker, developing into a full on cackle and finally dissolving into a wheeze. It was one of the ugliest laughs Roman had ever heard and some of the sweetest music he’d ever listened to. Virgil straightened up from where he had collapsed with his hands on his knees, “Oh my god; you’re so stupid.”

Roman felt his heart drop, “So that’s a no?”

“I didn’t say that either,” Virgil took a step forward and snatched the phone from Roman’s still out-stretched hand.

He gave it back after a few seconds of quick typing and seemed to be about to walk away, but froze, staring intensely at something on Roman’s shirt.

“What is it?” Roman craned his neck to find what Virgil was looking at.

“Well you’ve got something,” Virgil leaned forward, poking his hand against Roman’s chest for a moment before brushing it upwards and flicking Roman in the nose, “Right there.”

Before Roman hand a chance to react, Virgil had turned on his heel and was jogging to catch up with his two companions who were chatting at the gate. He watched as the group headed away, focusing on the purple hoodie in the middle until they turned a corner and Roman couldn’t stare anymore.

Heat still beat down from the summer sky, but Roman was sure that the warmth radiating from his chest could rival any sun.

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~ @phan-fander ~