#but her bolts need to be warm colors (red.. pink.. yellow.. orange) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lizzy-williams · 4 years ago

Text

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐭

🐺Warnings: Alpha/Omega dynamic, SMUTTTT, neediness, language, mature themes, dubcon?

🐺Masterlist

🐺Summary: Every Omega knows that going into heat is rough, especially when unclaimed. All eyes are on you. So when it hits you in the middle of a coffee shop with your friends, a particular alpha is very willing to help.

🐺Theme (All I Need by Radiohead)

🐺A/N: Lol we gonna get dirtttyyyy. By the way, you’re small in his, like body proportion wise, like 5′4 small so there’s that. I know people want the ‘independent strong hardheaded alpha female’, but in this one ur compliant, sorry if ya don’t like it. There will most likely be a part 2 :)

“Y’know, I dunno how you drink that stuff,” Anna-Lynn said from across the table, making [ y / n ] roll her eyes and look up.

“You’re just jealous cause your tastebuds are weak,” she retorted, taking a teasingly long sip of her dark black coffee.

It was nice having a day out like this. Especially when everyone seemed so busy with preparing for the spookiest holiday of the year. Paper bats and small pumpkins littered the store-fronts of London, the summer weather fading with the light chilly breezes autumn seemingly brought.

The calm warm light streamed through the window of the coffee shop the three young women were in, the dusk just hitting them. The tree leaves complimented the light as it covered the area in a soft blanket of pink and orange hues.

“So, um,” [ y / n ]’s other friend, Elizabeth, began to speak, clearing her throat and shooting a daring look at Anna-Lynn, “Have you thought about Ethan at all?”

Ah, yes, Ethan. He was Elizabeth’s younger cousin, just then turning 19, a simple beta with no claimed mate.

[ y / n ] shook her head, and to this, the two girls let out a defeated huff, “You need to chose someone,” Anna-Lynn’s voice was clipped as she huffed, but it had a hint of concern. Worry even.

And of course there was a stipulation to one of [ y / n ]’s favorite seasons. Because for her kind, not only was it autumn, but it was also mating season. A dangerous time for any omega unclaimed. If you were unclaimed when the time came around, you were easy pray, and other alphas and betas could smell you much much easier.

You would become a target. Even more so if you were in heat.

“I’m not worried about it.” [ y / n ] sighed, nonchalantly, taking a large gulp of her drink before setting it back down. But deep down she truly was.

“We just don’t want you to become like one of those other omegas... you know, getting claimed by someone on the street during their heat... someone they don’t love at all and being forced to have pups, it’s just barbaric.” Elizabeth glanced down at her dwindling hands.

“I understand that. But I’ve had no issues with this before. I’ll just... lock myself up in my room with a vibrator and some porn. That’s worked before,”

“Bullshit, you were a grump for like a month because you had built up aggression. Ethan’s a good guy. You should really consider it.”

Yes, Ethan was nice. But when it came to [ y / n ]... she just felt as if they weren’t meant for each other. And there was no way that she would consider having pups with him and-

Speak of the mother fucking devil-

It was as if she was hit with a million bricks at once, her body becoming hot, a powerful wave of uncomfortable warmth crashing through her body like a tidal wave, her mouth clamping shut tightly. Her breath hitched, her thighs tightening around nothing, her legs shaking as she felt herself feel as if she were going to throw up. The moisture between her thighs was uncomfortable as she felt her panties stick to her mound.

How could she be so careless? Now she was in heat in public and she knew that nearby alphas and betas had already caught onto the scent, most likely heading their way. She knew it was roughly the time she would go into heat. And it was hell on earth right now, knowing that now that the sun was just now taking it’s last breaths over the tall buildings, the night heightening her kind’s senses acutely.

Her friends caught on almost immediately, knowing the mannerisms of the heavy breathing and the quivering lips. Her eyes were wide as she bit down on her bottom lip harshly, trying her best to keep her whimpers and whines in the back of her throat.

Thoughts raced through the young woman’s mind. Thoughts of her being taken in the most delicious ways possible by any man that just so happened to look her way. And her friends could tell that there were already at least a few alphas coming in hot, the sudden howling through the now darkened air making the 2 other girls’ senses hyperactive.

What was ironic was that there was a conversation going on between two baristas behind the counter, “The dogs are at it again, they’ve been a lot noisier than usual.”

“We need to get her home, right now.” Anna-Lynn commanded, Elizabeth giving a chaste nod before flipping through her phone as a poor, squirming, [ y / n ] sat right across from them, panting in her intense discomfort.

She shut her eyes tightly, desperately trying to ignore the ache in her core. She wanted, no, needed to be filled up. To be claimed. But the thoughts only drove her down deeper, desperation seemingly seeping out of every pore.

As soon as she was called an Uber, it was an agonizing amount of time before it finally came to a stop, the driver flashing concerned looks at the poor squirming girl in her back seat. Throughout the whole ride, it took everything for [ y / n ] not to touch herself, and all she could do was shift her thighs together, and thankfully, (soon enough), the car came to a stop.

[ y / n ] let out a strangled ‘thank you’ to the driver before getting out, and after the woman drove off, she found herself stumbling into an alleyway. Her whole body was on fire and she needed release, any release.

Her back violently hit the brick wall of a darkened alleyway, her loud and labored breaths echoing through the seemingly empty face. She needed tension. At least a little bit.

As if her legs weren’t her own, [ y / n ] spread her legs only a small amount, just enough to slip her hand under her pants and softly drifting her fingertips over her clothed clit.

A smooth and controlled rubs soon turned into harsh and fast circles, her needful thoughts forcing her mind to tune out the howling that was getting closer and closer to her. It wasn’t until a low and terrifying growl resonated through the hollow space, making her stop in her tracks, yanking her hand out of its position, doing her best to stand up and steady herself.

But it was far too late, because by the time she finally started bolting towards the opening in the cold alleyway, her body was caught and thrown against the frigid brick, a pitiful yelp leaving her lips, unleashed tears forming in her eyes.

“You smell fucking delicious,” a dark voice spoke, no doubt an alpha, and [ y / n ] wouldn’t dare look up and meet his eyes.

“P-Please, I c-can’t-”

[ y / n ] didn’t even know why she was saying please, for there were so many reasons she could be saying it.

Please don’t.

Please help the pain.

Please touch me.

Please don’t touch me.

Please.

But the young woman’s thoughts were cut short by a violent tug to her hair, forcing her gaze on the person in from of her. He had bright red hair, freckles apparent, even in the dull light of the closed off space. He wore a jet black hoodie, and that was all that [ y / n ] bothered to take in.

“You’re a pretty one...” his words rattled through her mind, muffled by the sharp ringing in her heat from the sudden contact to the wall only moments earlier, “Glad I claimed you before anyone else could,” he paused to chuckle to himself, “Would hate to touch damaged goods.”

[ y / n ] whimpered and almost recoiled away, but she knew better. This alpha seemed ill-tempered, and she didn’t want to find out what would happen if she dared to disobey.

He gave a rough tug to her hair, standing her up, and immediately started to kiss her neck in hopes of warming her up a little bit more, not that she needed it, but nonetheless, his lips continued their assault on the young woman’s neck, whimpers and whines escaping her lips.

“Just one little thing, pretty girl, you’re unclaimed, I can smell it on you.” he spoke before leaving a long, sinful lick up her throat, “I’m going to bite this pretty little neck and make sure that nobody else is going to touch what’s mine.”

The girl’s body shivered violently. He was talking about a claim mark. If that happened, she could never escape him, it was a tracking device. Where ever she decided to go, he would know exactly where she was.

“Please, don’t, I-”

But a violent growl made her blood run cold and her words pause half-way up her throat. But it wasn’t from her captor. His head was already snapped towards the source of the sound, which was at the opening of the alleyway, the minimal light caused by the streetlight exposing a clothed figure with its hands in its pockets. They weren’t tall but they weren’t short, but their stature was confident.

Great. Another alpha.

“Drop her.” the voice spoke, straight to the point and commanding.

“Fuck off, she’s mine, I got to her first.” the ginger male snapped, his eyes now a vibrant scorching gold, shining in the darkness.

“Drop the fucking girl or I’ll rip you’re fucking head off.” this time it was a vicious growl, strong and unwavering that sent goosebumps down [ y / n ]’s spine.

“That a challenge, pint-size?” the ginger taunted, referring to the other alpha who only stood at a good 5′8, while he stood at a large 6′1, slamming the girl onto the ground making her yelp out in pain.

Finally, the young alpha stepped into some form of light, making his face visible, and the ginger’s expression of defense faded into a face of fear and regret, the eyes that once glowed yellow dying down to it’s original color.

“T-Tom, Jesus, man, excuse me, I didn’t-”

The alpha, apparently named Tom, harshly grabbed the ginger’s shirt, pulling him in and looking up at him with deadly eyes, “Leave.”

And just like that, he was gone, and hopefully never going to be seen again.

Tom’s expression turned soft when he saw the poor writhing omega in a mound on the hard concrete of the ground, small whimpers of discomfort making his chest clench.

“You live here?” he questioned, motioning to the building she was now leaned against.

All she could to was let out a whine of confirmation, nodding her head slowly as she clamped her thighs together as tightly as possible.

“Come on then, can’t have you out in the open, there’s already talk, let’s get you inside,” he said, kindness and understanding in his tone, holding out a hand to [ y / n ], who in turn took it almost immediately.

It took her a second to walk, her knees weak, not to mention it was hard not to notice Tom’s muscles, and his face. God, he was truly attractive.

She let her mind wonder as they began to walk, his arm firmly around her waist, trying to keep her steady. She wondered what it would look like when he came, filling her up to the brim, making her full, a thin blanket of sweat covering his body, his eyes glowing, hungry, and she let out a whimper at it.

“You’re staring.” Tom smirked as they stepped into the elevator of the complex.

“S-Sorry,” she muttered, trying to shake the embarrassingly dirty thoughts from her mind as she continued to try and focus on just getting to her apartment.

The sooner she got there, the sooner she had her vibrator, the sooner she had release. She was convinced, at least, that that would solve her problems, at least temporarily.

She led him to her apartment, still holding onto him for dear life as her core throbbed with need and want. When the door unlocked with a small click, she turned the doorknob, almost collapsing through the doorway.

“Do you need any help?”

This could have meant many things. But of course, [ y / n ] was oblivious in her response.

“N-No, I think I can manage to put myself to bed.”

Tom gave a small chuckle as he sat her down on the couch, sitting next to her as she slouched back, “No, I mean I can help with your problem... that is, if you want me to,”

[ y / n ]’s mind was clouded in a haze of neediness, so with no hesitation, she whimpered a small yes, before immediately unbuttoning her jeans and slipping them down a little bit to eagerly.

She knew this was happening to quick, almost irrationally quick, but the need in her pounding cunt was much more important to her at the moment than her petty morals and reason.

“Are you sure?” he looked at her with sincerity, watching as she shifted out of her pants and took his hand, placing it on her covered mound.

“Please, just touch me, Tom,”

Hearing his name on her lips was almost enough to make him lose his control and say ‘fuck it’, but he figured that if her were to do this, he might as well try to do this right.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, darling,” he muttered, easily finding her sensitive bud, even through the material of her panties.

She let out a soft and breathy moan, taking her hand of his own and moving it to his bicep, squeezing, as if it were anchoring her down to Earth, because she had never been touched like this, especially by someone else.

As if Tom had read her mind, he looked up at her, drinking in her reactions before speaking, “Are you a virgin?”

She nodded her head, his pace never faltering.

“I’ve been waiting- ugnh - for the right person... I trust you,” she managed to get out between moans.

“You barely know me,”

“But I want to. There’s - ah, fuck - something about you. I l-like you,” she admitted, the filter between her mouth and her brain nonexistent as she felt nothing but pleasure and a release from the uncomfortable pressure she was feeling only moments before.

“Fuck,” to Tom, it was nice to hear that somebody needed him, trusted him, especially with something like this, so sacred and meaningful. She was giving him the gift that could only be given once, and he was happy to receive.

After a few moments of him rubbing her in all the right ways, he hesitantly pulled his hand away from her, hating the noise of protest that she released.

“Come on, princess, let’s take this to you're bedroom, yeah?”

[ y / n ] was compliant to his suggestion, standing up best she could without Tom’s help, but soon leaning on him as she directed him to her bedroom door.

The door was busted open, and she was thrown onto the bed, and as soon as she hit the mattress, she stripped off everything else, leaving her completely nude, and her actions inspired Tom to do the same.

He quickly got on top of her, grinding the length of his cock against her soaking wet folds, making him growl.

“Fuck, darling, I’m not even inside you yet and you feel heavenly-” he hissed, the little omega nodding in response.

“Alpha, please, I need you inside me, I want you to fill me,” she desperately pleaded.

Tom let out a feral snarl at the use of the word ‘alpha’, surprised it had so much of an effect on him being used like this. It was so fucking hot. She had him wrapped so tightly around her pinky and didn’t even know it.

“Anything for you, darling,” he muttered, lining himself up and ever so slowly easing himself inside his new mate, a pained whimper escaping her, his cock seemingly splitting her in half.

Tom finally remembered that she was a virgin. And that made him even harder inside her. He waited for him, for her mate, while he was out fucking every omega that crossed him. But with her, she wasn’t just an omega. And he wanted to prove it to her.

He took his time, almost cockwarming, staying still inside of her as her body naturally adjusted to his size, feeling so close to each other, it was enough for the two of them to almost fall in love right then and there. Tom finally took in how perfect she was to him. Someone he knew he wanted to keep around in the long run. Someone he knew he wanted to protect, even when she didn’t need protection.

[ y / n ] scratched up his back, signaling that she was ready, and confident that he could move with little to no discomfort from her.

The alpha started to move his hips, her tight cunt making his eyes roll back in his skull as he dropped his head into the crook of her neck, leaving soft and reassuring kisses to her neck as she made the most delectable noises, making him addicted, almost like his own brand of opioid.

“So fucking tight, princess, you feel like fucking paradise,” he praised as he drank up the omega’s reactions as she experienced her first time with him.

She’s like this for me and only me.

Her face was scrunched adorably in pleasure, her eyes shut tight as she felt the moment, his skin under her finger tips, the burning that was set in her core easing as she finally had pleasurable relief. Like getting a refreshing drink on a particularly hot day.

Tom couldn’t help himself, and as if his body wasn’t his own, primal instinct took over as he began to make his strides harder and quicker, making the most pathetically cute noises release from her mouth.

“You like that, darling?” he panted licking and sucking her neck, making one of her tiny hands weaving itself though his chestnut curls, “Why did I bother asking, of course you do. You love it when your alpha fucks you.”

All she could do was nod her head as she felt a coil inside her tighten. Tom felt his cock inflate as he continued to drive into her, pounding her into the mattress as he growled praises into her neck, her moans and whimpers never stopping.

Soon the praise turned into a single word, falling out of his mouth like a prayer, even though what they were doing was the farthest thing from holy.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

The omega could take it anymore, whimpering out, “P-Please, I... want you to b-bite me. Please, I need you to claim me,” she begged, which made his assault on her cunt falter slightly, slowing down to a calm and intimate pace.

He knew what that meant. When an alpha bites an omega, she’s claimed. It means that nobody can touch her. Almost like an unbroken bond between two of their kind, and it meant a lot.

And though they had just met only a half an hour prior, he knew that she was special, and he knew that this was who he was meant to be with, and his heart swelled at the thought of getting to know her inside and out. A true connection.

“You want me to claim you, huh?” he paused his movements, [ y / n ] nodding frantically, wanting more than anything, “I’m not going to go easy on you. I want you to feel nothing but you inside me while I claim you, nothing but rapture as I claim you as mine.”

[ y / n ] nodded once again, to while Tom protested, “Words, darling,”

“Yes, alpha, I understand, I- OH FUCK-,” she yelled out. And she thought he was going hard before, but that was nothing compared to the pleasure she was now presented with, his cock properly railing into her as he left a long and sinful lick up her neck before taking a bite, his eyes glowing a bright fluorescent gold as she let out one of the most pornographic moans she had ever heard.

The copper taste in his mouth tasted like candy, and home, the sweet substance covering his lips as he finally pulled back, knowing that she was close.

And close she was. She was so close to release she could almost taste it, and god did it taste good. Without warning, the coil inside her snapped, making her vision cloud, her thoughts unable to collect themselves as her vision clouded, and she swore she blacked out for a second.

She was so overcome with pleasure, she didn’t notice that he had cum himself, the sensation of him pulling out and his cum spill out of her enough to get her riled up enough. But if what just happened didn’t vanquish the heat she was experiencing before, God only knew what would.

Tom stepped back, taking in the sight of his new mate, completely fucked out and covered with marks, his cum dripping out of her like a faucet. He wished for this image to be branded into his mind so he could see it every time he closed his eyes.

“Absolutely stunning.” he praised, his hands now running up and down her thighs.

[ y / n ] was finally Tom’s, inside and out, and Tom couldn’t be more proud.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, love, yeah?”

The morning was soft and filled with nothing but admiration to each other, the two staying in bed most of the morning until they finally went to the omega’s kitchen to make breakfast/lunch.

[ y / n ] was cooking the bacon and eggs when she suddenly felt arms wrap around her from behind, a chin resting on her shoulder.

“How’re you holding up?” he questioned, and it make [ y / n ] blush at how considerate she was about her state, his fingertips dragging lightly over the violent-looking bite mark on her neck.

“I’m absolutely perfect,” she smiled, “Feels nice to belong to someone.”

“You know what? I was thinking the exact same thing.”

And for once, the two of them were truly excited for the future.

#werewolf au #alpha #omega #alpha!tom #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #peter parker #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #marvel x reader

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bornintartarus · 4 years ago

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Posted for the annual Jason Todd Birthday Week! Also on AO3

Jason's feet are numb as he walks the lonely streets of Gotham. They are barely protected against the ice and snow he treads upon, covered in the remnants of shoes that had been brand new five years ago. He wiggles his toes to bring back some warmth as he walks, hands tightened in his tattered jacket pockets. One of his hands is clenching the leather wallet he picked off a businessman chattering on his phone, the other a bracelet he stole from a woman when she helped him up after falling to his knees in the snow.

A stab of guilt worms its way into his young heart and he squashes it down resolutely. His mom needs this money, he needs this money. It's the only way they'll survive past this stupid winter.

Winter in Gotham City is much like everything else he's experienced in his life this far, brutally unforgiving and a death trap on the streets if you weren't careful. It makes him shiver in his sleep, the wind's screaming jolting him awake in the middle of the night. He loves his city, it's the only home he's ever known, but that doesn't stop him from being tired.

The stealing is rough, but it hurts less than coming back to his mom without anything to feed her. It doesn't help that she's getting weaker by the day, barely accepting anything to eat anymore. Jason fondly remembers the days before his life became a living nightmare, before his dad left and they were living out in the cold.

His mom was filled with life back then, her cheeks pink and eyes glowing. She was healthy, not starved and always exhausted. He had sobbed at first when he realized what the drugs were doing to her, depriving him of a mother who was actually capable of taking care of him. There is no sparkle in her eyes now, all traces of mischief and adventure gone.

Jason realizes that he doesn't really know his mom anymore.

Wind whips at his cheeks, pushing hair in front of his eyes. He brushes it aside with trembling fingers and readjusts his hood to cover more of his face, gasping when the wind steals its way through the cracks and engulfs his ears in the freezing cold air.

Better hats, better socks, better gloves- there's a list of clothes he needs to survive this season, all with expensive price tags. It's either being cold or going hungry, and even at eight years old Jason's smart enough to know which one will get him killed first.

He has an actual list too, one back in that ramshackle shelter he and his mom call their home. He used to carry it with him, but just looking at the store windows made him want to tear it to pieces with desperation. They need food that isn't stale, water that's hot, clothes that actually fit. He doesn't know how much longer he can go on like this.

They've only been out on the streets for two years now, and a part of him swears he's never been this cold. He spent the last couple of days nailing scraps of wood and plastic garbage to block up the cracks at their little shelter, trying to root out where the cold air forces its way in. He spends the rest of his time out on the streets, scrounging for anything that can substitute for blankets and stealing things here and there from people to buy food from the dingy convenience store around the corner.

He takes the time to check on his mom, usually just to reassure himself that she's still breathing.

"Hi mom."

His throat closes up and not for the first time he wishes he was less of a crier.

"I have to run out to get some things."

No response.

Jason sniffles and holds back tears. He can do this, it's been two years, but seeing his mom like this never fails to cripple him.

He clears his throat. "I'll be back soon."

He doesn't expect a reply as he whispers a quick "Love you" and bolts away.

So that's what he's doing now, out in the cold. As he passes the Gilzean's Turf he keeps his head as low as possible, making himself smaller as he inches away. He's perfected the art of being invisible over the years, the only way to get away with trespassing on another gang's land. He knows that the gang members in Gotham have no qualms about killing children, hell, half of them make a living by selling drugs to kids in public schools. The thought makes his blood boil with anger.

He skirts around one of the drug dealers, hands inadvertently clenching around his stolen items. If he's caught with the wallet and the bracelet he'll be a prime target for life.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he finally passes safely, but something bright stops him in his tracks.

The store window is closing for the day, but the lights are still on and the cakes are on display. He hasn't seen anything this beautiful in the two years he's lived on the streets. The cakes come in all shapes, colors and sizes, but the one that catches his eye is fire engine red, yellow and orange icing swirling on top to imitate flames. The whole thing has a ridiculous toy fire truck on the top, and at that moment all Jason desperately wants to know is if it's edible or not.

He's stomach is growling with hunger while his mouth waters in vain. His fingers twitch at his sides restlessly. He doesn't know how long he stands there, cold, tired, hungry.

It's his birthday.

He's turning nine, he knows he's turning nine. It's his second birthday on the streets and he misses everything he's lost.

He misses his full stomach, his friends at school, his warm bed. He misses his books and toys, and the way his mom used to laugh when they spent time together.

He misses it all, and none of it is coming back. The feeling hurts more than anything he's ever felt, and he wonders if the hollow feeling in his chest will subside over time.

Suddenly, someone in the store shuts off the lights and the cake vanishes from view, a pang of misery resonating within him. It's gone, and some lucky kid will probably eat it tomorrow.

He stuffs his shivering hands back into his pockets, hands immediately finding the wallet. At least they'll have food tonight.

He makes his way back home after stopping at the convenience store, purchasing two cans of microwavable soup and a bottle of water with a $20 bill. The cashier looks suspicious as he hands over the change, and unease ripples through his empty stomach until he leaves.

He wastes no more time getting back, drinking the cold soup straight from the can. It's the cheapest he could find, greasy and too salty, and the chilly liquid does nothing to prevent the chills racking his skinny frame. Pouring the other into a chipped ceramic Tupperware container, he makes his way to his mom.

"Mom?"

She's awake this time, eyes glassy. Catherine Todd is right in front of him, but all Jason wants to do is cry about how far away she is.

"I brought you soup. You need to eat some this time, alright?"

She turns her head to face him briefly but doesn't respond. He sits next to her and tries to stop his hands from shaking as he feeds her small spoonfuls of soup.

She gets through half of it before she's pushing him away. He leaves the bottle of water next to her, knowing with a heavy heart that he'll find it unopened in the morning.

He pecks her on the cheek and pulls their best blanket over her, pausing to say goodnight before he leaves.

He knows that it'd be warmer if they slept together, but he knows he can't handle seeing her so frail for longer than an hour, and his crying upsets her.

He pulls out his raggedy piece of carpet to cover himself with to bed. He found it a couple of weeks ago in a garbage can, it's the warmest thing he possesses.

He makes a wish, hoping that his mom will live long enough to be there for his tenth birthday.

He dreams of red fire trucks.

___________________________________

ii.

It doesn't take long for time to pass; the days blur into weeks and weeks into months. The cold fades away and suddenly Gotham is warm again, bathed in summer light. The trees grow new leaves, the birds come back, and in no time at all the world moves on.

Wayne Manor hasn't changed in the slightest. The famous Robin costume hangs in the cave, Batman's proudly standing next to it. The manor is spotless as always, the endless hallways and rooms free of dust. The banisters are polished, the fireplaces cleaned of any ash.

Bruce's life simultaneously feels normal and completely out of order at the same time.

He still gets dressed in the morning, still eats breakfast and leaves for Wayne Enterprises. He still deals with boring meetings and pesky co-workers who won't stop staring at him.

It's difficult to get out of bed nowadays.

That, at least, is new. The wretched feeling of hopelessness weighing him down like an anvil. It makes his head hurt and his hands shake. His chest is left feeling tight and it’s always hard to breathe.

No matter how hard he tries to hide it, he knows almost everyone can see the change in him now, and a part of him hates himself for being weak while another part can't muster up the energy to give a damn. Lucius gives him pitying looks whenever he drifts off during a conversation. The league members are more gentle with him now, speaking in low tones without the biting remarks from before. Alfred tries his best to hide his concern when Bruce wakes himself up in the middle of the night screaming his son's name.

Everyone treats him like glass now, fragile, delicate, and liable of shattering. It doesn't help that it's exactly how Bruce feels, like one wrong word could break him for good. The only time he can remember hurting this bad was when he was eight years old and kneeling in front of his parent's bodies in that god forsaken alley.

He lets out a whimper of despair when he remembers finding a 10 year old Jason in that very alley, wrench in hand and grime on his face. He shoves his head into his hands to try and bury the memory, pulling at his hair.

The boy had looked so guilty, crouching in front of the Batmobile. He reminded Bruce of a scared cat, frightened to come forward but fierce in a fight.

He brought the kid a burger.

It had seemed logical at the time, Jason was obviously starving and he figured it was a smart way to get the boy to trust him.

That memory used to make him feel proud, now all he feels is nausea churning through his stomach.

If Jason never met him in the first place he'd still be alive. Maybe hungry and out of school but still breathing.

Adopting Jason had been different from adopting Dick. Dick was cautious as a child, still grieving over his parent's gruesome deaths. When Bruce looked into the acrobat's eyes he saw himself, someone desperately alone who needed love and support. When Jason was brought into his life it was sudden but welcome, and it made Bruce feel a little less lonely in the Manor since his first child spent most of his time in the Titans Tower.

Loving Dick felt like a responsibility, in a way. The boy deserved the attention Bruce had been deprived of after Martha and Thomas Wayne were murdered. It made him proud to witness Dick's journey through teenage years, standing by his side in some of Gotham's darkest moments. He's fought Penguin and Scarecrow and Riddler, and he gets better every time.

The arguing was new, but Bruce knows it's normal. He just wishes it didn't rile him as much as it does. Their fighting is loud, angry and sharp. Words are tossed around, ones that hurt, and they make Alfred sigh sadly. He can't help but feel annoyed at Dick acting out, but he knows that Dick hates it more when he gets left out.

It doesn't take long for Dick to realize he needs some space, and Bruce doesn't stop him when he leaves to train with the Titans.

But in that amount of time Jason Todd has wormed his way into his heart, slowly but surely. He manages to fill the gaping hole in Bruce's heart, and he comes to love the boy more than anything. While his love for Dick is as natural as breathing, instinctual at this point, his love for Jason is all-consuming, and it burns inside of him like a roaring flame.

Dick was never happy about Jason's presence in their lives, and he'd told Bruce once that it made him feel replaced and unwanted. It was hard work, but eventually the four of them had learned to make it work, coexisting with some semblance of normalcy. Nothing made Bruce happier than seeing his sons get along, and it made his heart swell with pride.

Life was good. Dick came by the manor more often and they fought less, Jason was settling in nicely, Alfred was overjoyed. Their small family wasn't normal, but Bruce gave up tradition when he put on the cowl for the first time.

Bruce wants that life back so badly. His heart aches and his head burns with memories. Dick is grieving as well, in his own way. It hurts to see Dick at his worst, awakens something primal in him that screams and shouts, demanding his attention. Dick runs himself ragged, stubbornly contributing to the Titans Team and Gotham at the same time. When Bruce voices his concerns, Dick shouts at him, cries out that he’s doing the best he can.

It makes Bruce feel even more like a failure.

In the end he holds Dick while he weeps and tries to pull himself together, because Dick’s grief is his fault, Jason’s death is his fault.

Today is as bad as any day, his legs feel like dead weights and his brain is mush. He knows how to get past this, he’s been battling this feeling for almost a year now. He swings his legs to the side of the bed and pulls himself upright.

He picks up the phone lying on the bedside table next to him and starts scrolling through his notifications. He reads through the schedule Lucius has made for him for the day, making mental notes as he goes along. He makes adjustments when needed, planning on the meetings he’ll attend. He swears internally when he realizes he’s overbooked for 5:00. He wastes no time switching to his calendar, searching for a free spot when he freezes.

The date is there, staring him in the face like a warning sign. He gazes at the letters almost hypnotically until they’re etched into his brain.

August 16.

He barely gets the chance to register the fact that his legs are moving until he’s crouching on the bathroom tiles, throwing up his dinner from the night before. Sweat beads his forehead as heaves, unable to focus on anything except the fact that it's August 16.

When it finally ends he pulls his legs forward and haunches himself up into a ball on the floor, head tucked inwards. Tears escape and he sobs, grief tearing his heart in two.

17. His little boy would have turned 17 years old.

The realization makes panic seize his chest until he’s gasping for air, fingers trembling as they scramble for purchase. There are hands on his shoulders, warm steady ones pulling him out of his head.

“Bruce, it’s gonna be alright.”

The words float towards him like distant echoes.

“I need you to breathe for me B, c’mon.”

He’s had panic attacks before but in his experience there’s no way to be fully prepared for one. His throat feels like it’s closing up, palms sweaty. His eyes bounce back and forth manically, finally settling on his eldest son.

“That’s good. Focus on me now.”

He tries his best, and eventually his breathing slows. Dick eases himself onto the floor gracefully, covering Bruce’s trembling hands with his own.

“Talk to me Bruce.”

After months spent alone, struggling to get through the days and dealing with his grief alone it’s all that’s needed to break the dam.

“He would have turned 17 today.”

The words are barely a whisper, but he can’t stop the tears that roll down his face from the confession. Dick squeezes his hand and gives him a silent nod of encouragement.

“If I hadn’t gotten him involved with being Robin in the first place he’d still be alive today.”

Dick shakes his head firmly.

“This is my fault, Dick, I-”

“Remember when he put on the suit for the first time?”

His brain scrambles as he's taken back to that day. Like he’d ever be able to forget. Jason was so excited he’d been worried about him falling off one of the buildings while he ran and leaped, doing somersaults in midair.

“He put it on and preened in front of a mirror, then jumped onto a table and screamed about it being the best day of his life, remember?"

Dick laughs softly and Bruce can't help but return the favour with a watery chuckle.

They sit for a few more moments, collecting their thoughts. Dick turns to face him.

"Here's what we're going to do B. You're gonna change, I'm going to help Alfred with breakfast and call Lucius to tell him you're taking the day off."

Bruce groans. "No, Dick, I've got the product launch meeting to supervise, the company's been working on it for months-"

His eldest gives him a hand to help him off the floor and glares at him. "You're taking the day off. Don't make me bring Alfred into this."

He finally relents, heading back to his bedroom to find some clothes. Dick retreats to the kitchen, grinning victoriously.

He abandons the suit he was preparing to wear to work and picks out the softest sweatshirt he owns instead. His phone rings unexpectedly and he grabs it, expecting it to be Lucius.

"Bruce?"

Clark's soft voice rings through the phone and Bruce's breath catches. He hastily presses it to his ear.

"What's wrong? Is it Metropolis or the Justice league?"

He's already running the scenarios through his head, calculating the amount of time it'll take to grab his batsuit and get there.

The voice on the other end halts, Clark clearing his throat. His unease grows.

"No, Bruce." The kryptonian sounds surprisingly gentle. "This is about Jason."

Ah.

Bruce takes a minute to wipe the tears stubbornly forming at the corner of his eyes again. Clark uses that silence to continue.

"Look, I know what today feels like for you and your family. I've been there."

The emotion in his voice instantly lets Bruce know that his friend is talking about Jonathan Kent. Clark's father had passed away two years ago from a heart attack. The memory is still fresh in his mind, Clark barely holding himself together as he spoke at the funeral, clutching his mother's hand.

He swallows. "It's just hard-" his voice cracks with emotion and he starts over. "Hard to move on. A part of me feels like I'm just leaving him behind if I forget the moments we spent together."

He doesn't feel like locking his emotions away this time, he's been doing it for the last couple of months and it's definitely making him worse. The reasoning makes him feel significantly better about his breakdown.

"How are Dick and Alfred holding up?"

"Better then I am, but at this point I have no idea. A part of me is afraid that Dick's distracting himself from his grief by taking care of me instead. He's spreading himself too thin with Gotham and the Teen Titans and-"

Clark stops him before he starts spilling his soul into the phone. "Alright, so work through this together. It's pretty obvious that you both need each other right now."

"I know he needs me but I don't know how-"

He can hear Clark's smile through the phone. "Bruce, c'mon, you're overthinking this. Just be there for him, trust me."

Bruce swallows audibly. "Alright."

"I'm here too, if you need me. For anything."

And shit if that doesn't make him want to start crying again. He manages to whisper his thanks and accepts Clark's casual "Anytime."

He hangs up, and heads downstairs, eating breakfast with Dick and Alfred. The rest of the day passes without incident, Dick calls Lucius and they spend his day-off relaxing in the manor and taking strolls around the grounds. Overall the day is one of the best he's had in a long time.

That doesn't stop him from going to visit Jason's grave in the middle of the night, shakily opening up his copy of Oliver Twist and reading it out loud until his tears start to blur the words.

___________________________________

iii.

He spits out curses as he walks down the street, breathing laboured under his signature red hood. His ribs are bruised and he can't seem to muster up enough energy to hide his brand new limp.

Black Mask's men had attempted to take over some of his turf once again. Usually Jason didn't mind, it was pretty low on his list of concerns. He let them have it for a couple of days before moving in, killing most of the idiots on sight. He figured Black Mask would get some better men by now but it seemed he was as much an idiot as they were.

The problem with this particular spot was that it was home to an apartment he'd brought earlier and rented out to a couple of street kids. They were all minors, some of them living on their own while others lived with roommates. If Jason was loyal to anyone it was those kids and he wasted no time going in with guns blazing.

Not exactly the nicest way to start off his 23rd birthday but hey no one could say it hadn't started off with a bang.

At least all the kids were safe. Most of Sionis's men were dead, but that was normal at this point. One of the kids stopped him as he left, concern painting his features.

"You look like shit man, stay here."

At least the kid had spunk; not all of them were brave enough to approach him. He looked about 15, barely fitting into clothes that were dirty and about two sizes too large. Jason searches his memory for a name, comes up blank. He might have been one of the kids who tagged along when he'd picked up someone else.

His musing is interrupted as the kid steps in front of him.

"I'm serious, you look like you're about to keel over."

Jason ignores the lightheaded feeling as his surroundings spin lazily around him. He clears his throat.

"I'm good. Make sure you lock the windows and doors tonight, call me if anything happens."

The kid nods, looking unconvinced. Jason pushes forward.

All he wants to do is spend the night snoozing in one of his safe houses, but the thought of sleeping in one of his cots makes him groan with discomfort. The possessions he keeps in his safe houses are always meager, he doesn't want to lose his supplies over something as stupid as being caught.

He prepares to walk home and scowls when he realizes he's going to need to stop somewhere for food, his stomach is growling. He makes a right on the next street and propels himself to the nearest grocery store, grateful that it's a dingy place with hardly any customers.

He ducks into the alley next to it and ditches his helmet, breathing in the fresh air as it comes off. He swaps it for a baseball cap and covers up his suit with a light jacket. He zips it up as he makes his way into the store, head down and steps purposeful.

He browses the shelves and picks out some water bottles and stops at the freezers to grab microwave lasagna. He grins at the thought of Alfred shuddering at his meal choices, he could practically hear the man complaining about the unhealthy ingredients used.

On his way to check out he finds a table cheerfully advertising cupcakes that are 50% off. They look like they're on the verge of expiring but it's been a while since he's had something sweet. He shrugs and picks up a pack that isn't too crushed.

He dumps his items on the conveyer belt and roots through his pocket for money, groaning internally when the price totals to $27.88. Money isn't hard to find nowadays, what with all of the connections he's gathered over the years, but a small part of him is still a starving nine year old desperate to feed himself with the little he has.

He wonders dimly if that part of him will ever fade.

He's startled out of his thoughts for the second time that night but the woman behind the cashier. He knows he needs to bandage his wounds and sleep it off, but he can't do that unless he focuses and gets his ass back to the safe house.

The woman's name tag indicates that her name is René and she peers at him worriedly from behind her glasses.

He flashes her a tired smile. "Sorry, I'm a little distracted tonight." He hands over the cash and she busies herself with the register, printing out his receipt. While the machine spits out the paper she turns to face him again.

"Are you alright? You look like you were hit by a car."

Even when Jason was a street kid, he loved to watch people. It was a great way to practice his thieving skills, finding out who would be an easy target long before slipping his hands in their pockets. One thing all citizens in Gotham had in common was their bluntness when it came to the crazy crime sprees and sudden robberies. Barely anyone batted an eye when there was a home invasion, and unless the body count was above five it wasn't even featured in the local newspapers.

To outsiders the cold disinterest might've been considered cruel, but it didn't take Jason long to figure out that it was the way that people coped. Keeping yourself numb kept the pain at bay, and he could probably relate to that fact more than anyone.

So René's reaction to an injured young man showing up at her store instead of a hospital wasn't surprising, but at least he could deal with this.

"I'm fine. Just ran into some people, you know how it goes."

She nods as she bags his items, pausing with the cupcakes.

"You sure you want these? I know it's technically my store but you seriously don't want to know how long they've been on these shelves."

He can't stop the sudden bark of laughter at her words and tries to stop himself from doubling over and crying out. He's starting to reconsider his original evaluation of the state of his ribs.

In the end all he manages is turning away and wheezing, trying to quell the coughs that makes his insides feel like they're on fire.

René stares at him with unease, looking like she wants to simultaneously pat him on the shoulder and take a couple steps back at the same time.

She settles for grabbing him a bottle of cold water from the fridge behind her, unscrewing the cap and pushing it into his shaking hands. She glares at him until he relents and takes a gulp, the cool liquid soothing his dry throat. He keeps his eyes on her as he finishes it.

"Thanks."

"If you start coughing up blood like the dude in the horror movie I saw last night I'm kicking you out. I'm not staying overtime, I got a girlfriend to binge Stranger Things with," she warns, not unkindly.

"Wouldn't dream of it." He gives her a smirk, or tries to. He'd like to think he pulled it off. "And yeah, I'll take the cupcake. I am the birthday boy after all."

She raises an eyebrow. "No kidding? I'm guessing the blood and twisted ankle is from a surprise party gone wrong?"

He doesn't grin this time, eyes focused on the bags containing his items.

He keeps his tone carefully uninterested. "Nope. Decided to celebrate the occasion on my own this year."

He doesn't miss her sigh. Once you move to Gotham you see some things on a daily basis that make you stop questioning the why behind the crimes. It's just a fact of life at this point, trees are green, pizza is good and Gotham is where bloodthirsty maniacs call home sweet home. She's probably seen thousands of tired, ragged kids on their own stumbling into her store just like he's done tonight.

The thought stirs up the familiar rage he's been carrying with him since he was little. The sick feeling that haunts him as he sleeps, the knowledge that the children in his city are raped, beaten, kidnapped and killed almost regularly.

He grabs his purchases and avoids René's gaze, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. He knows he's practically running out of the store but can't seem to give a damn.

He's already outside when he hears it, the shout muted through the glass doors.

"Happy birthday!"

It's enough to stop him in his tracks as he contemplates going back. She was nice to him, there's no reason to leave things awkward.

He settles for sticking his head back in the door and yelling out a "Thanks!" before bolting.

He heads back home, head throbbing in tune with his heart. He shrugs off the dizziness as he walks, pausing to catch his breath as he leans against the wall of a building. He inhales the sharp smell of cigarettes and gasoline, a combination he's been familiar with for longer than he can remember.

Cars speed past him, the bright lights almost dizzying as they flash across his vision. He rubs his hands against his eyes to get rid of the bright spots, trying to quell his rising nausea.

Miraculously he makes it back in one piece, and it takes all of his willpower not to collapse on his cot and pass out. He heads to the small shower and runs the water until it's hot, shedding his jacket and dirty armour. He climbs in and sighs out loud at the blissful feeling. He shampoos his dark hair, fingers dragging through his scalp as he works in the soap until it starts to foam.

He rinses it all off, wincing slightly when the hot spray of water hits the worst of his bruising. He grabs a towel and grabs some clean clothes, settling into a comfortable tee and a pair of sweatpants. He dries his hair methodically, swiping the first aid kit from his bathroom cabinet, an ice pack from the fridge and his plastic bag of items from the store.

He settles on the cot and cleans out his wounds with antiseptic. One of the cuts is deep enough for stitches, and he clenches the muscles in his jaw as he passes the needle through his skin. It's a task he's done countless times before, usually without anesthetic. He finishes the job neatly, snipping the thread and dabbing it with antiseptic before wrapping up the whole thing in gauze bandages.

He works on the bruising on his torso next, which is covered with black and blue. He rubs salve over the worst of them and bandages the rest.

His leg is last, his ankle throbbing from the walk home. He focuses on the part that's swollen and red, grimacing as he alternates between pressing the ice pack to his ankle and the bump on his head. He's fairly certain it's not bad enough to be a concussion but it's giving him a headache. He makes sure to keep his ankle elevated and rifles through his purchases, pushing the conversation with René out of his mind.

He's starving, hasn't had anything to eat all day. He's too exhausted to muster up the energy to get back up to heat his frozen dinner, so he leaves the lasagna for now and grabs the cupcake instead.

It's minuscule, barely the size of his palm and covered in bright yellow icing. Little blue sprinkles are scattered on top. He unwraps the white wrapper and takes a cautious bite.

It doesn't take long for him to register the taste and he spits it out, wiping his mouth on his sleeves. The cupcake is definitely stale, rock hard and inedible. Imagining Alfred's disapproving face makes him grin.

He decides that at least alcohol is worth getting up for and heaves himself off the cot. He's careful with his ankle, maneuvering his body to ensure that most of his weight is on his good leg.

He scoops up the frozen lasagna from the floor and heads to what substitutes for his kitchen, containing just a tiny fridge and a microwave. He puts his meal in a microwave safe dish and watches it as it cooks, grabbing a spoon and a can of beer while he waits.

The friendly beep signals that it's done, and he curses when the plate burns his fingers slightly as he walks back to his cot. He studies the books kept carefully organised on his shelf, picking one at random.

Finally he settles, sighing in relief when his twisted ankle is cushioned and iced once more. He pops the lid and takes a satisfying swallow, putting it aside to eat the lasagna.

Happy birthday to me! He thinks sarcastically. The lasagna is warm but doesn't even come close to some of the after-school snacks Alfred had made him when he was 13.

He digs through his food, pausing momentarily to flip through the book. His heart hardens when he realizes that it's a battered copy of Gone With the Wind. Memories flit through his head, Bruce reading it to make him fall asleep and Dick taking him to a library to renew his borrowed copy for the billionth time.

He figures that it's poetic enough for the occasion and opens it up to page one.

“Scarlett O’Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were. In her face were too sharply blended the delicate features of her mother, a Coast aristocrat of French descent, and the heavy ones of her florid Irish father. But it was an arresting face, pointed of chin, square of jaw. …eyes… brows… lashes… magnolia-white skin…so prized by Southern women… bonnets, veils, mittens… against hot Georgia suns.”

He smiles at the familiar words, nostalgia overtaking him as he reads.

___________________________________

iv.

Steph and Cass were the first to bring it up, crashing into his current safe house like they owned the place.

He will grudgingly admit that it isn't entirely unwelcome, spending time with his sisters makes him feel less like a bastard.

That didn't mean the topic was a good one, and Jason is willing to ditch his very nice safe house in an attempt to escape.

"Please, Jason? For us?"

Steph is practically begging at this point and Cass is looking more and more like a kicked puppy every minute.

"No. Not a chance in hell."

Steph rolls her eyes. "C'mon big bro, live a little! It's not like it'll kill you."

Cass, the little devil that she is, grins at that while he groans.

"You did not just bring up the death card." He stabs a finger in her chest. "I'm the only one who gets to use the death card."

She blows a raspberry at him at him and winks. Cass tugs on his shoulders.

"It'll be fun."

Jason snorts. "Yeah right. Spending a whole evening with my greatly extended family for a birthday bash sounds exactly like fun to me." sarcasm drips from every word as he puts air quotations around "birthday bash".

Cass hits him and glares at her.

"Alright, ow, you don't have to be mean!"

Steph grins. "Does that mean you'll come?"

Jason shakes his head and dodges the expected blow from Cass. He smirks. "No, that means I'll consider coming."

Step shrugs. "Good enough."

Thankfully that's the worst of it and they spend the rest of the time eating chips and playing Mario Kart.

His luck doesn't last though and Tim is next. They're barely halfway through staking out a weapons drop-off when the interrogation starts.

"So, your birthday's Sunday huh?"

Jason lets out a laugh. "Subtlety was never your element."

"Everyone's hoping you'll-"

Jason waves him off. "Yeah, yeah, show up at the manor out of the blue and spend the evening with you guys, Cass and Steph already gave me the rundown."

Tim smiles at that. "I'm not surprised.” He frowns thoughtfully. “I am surprised that you didn't agree right away though, those two are fierce when they want something."

"And I'm not?" Jason can't stop himself from asking or the annoyance that comes with it.

Tim puts on a mock expression of sadness. “Don’t worry Jason, I’m sure the street thugs are still scared of you. But face it, Cass is a full blown assassin, you couldn't compare in the slightest.”

Jason shoves the younger teen and Tim cackles. “Fuck off!”

As Tim regains his balance the truck beneath them finally starts its engine. He knows Tim still wants to continue the conversation but he brushes him off hastily.

“Too bad, guess we’ll have to finish this later!”, He sings, unable to contain his smugness.

Tim scowls. “Whatever dude, but don’t come crawling back to me when Dick finally makes his move.”

And with that happy thought the pair are off into the night, conversation forgotten almost immediately.

As the week progresses he isn’t surprised to see Dick’s number ringing on his cell in the middle of a turf war. He ducks behind a car as the gunfire gets progressively louder as he groans out loud.

“Dickiebird, make this quick. I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

“Are those guns?”

Jason smirks despite his situation. “Nah, just some moron doing fireworks in his backyard.”

“In the middle of the day?”

“Who are you to judge, going out in spandex at night-”

“It’s not spandex, dammit, how many times are we going to argue about this-”

Jason cuts him off again. “Whatever dude, told you, I'm a little busy-”

His brother snorts at the end of the line. “Sure. What a busy life you lead, without a day-job and any personal relationships that haven’t been forced onto you by your loving family.”

Jason grins. “Hard day at the police station, Officer Grayson?”

Dick sighs audibly. “We’ve had three complaints filed at the station for incidents relating to this one stupid cat who invades people’s backyards. The little guy’s a menace and has no owner. I’ve been talking to angry neighbors all day today and i’m pretty sure Rowell broke the coffee machine too but he won’t admit it and I haven’t had any goddamn coffee all day today-”

Jason rubs at his eyes, trying to quell the headache that’s already forming. “Slow down, you’re starting to sound like Tim. Remind me why you work at the police station again?”

Dick sighs again and the sound flashes Jason back to Bruce after he used to return from a long day at Wayne Enterprises.

“To help people legally”, Dick drawls, annoyance creeping into his words.

Jason snaps his fingers intentionally knowing his brother can’t see him. “Exactly! If you weren’t so hell-bent on being a good person you might be less miserable on a daily basis!”

“Shut up, Jason.”

“Make me. Any reason you’re calling me in the first place?”

“Just wondering if you have plans for Sunday-”

Jason hangs up.

He’s starting to tick off the family he has left, he doubts that Bruce or Alfred will approach him and that leaves Barbara, Damian and Duke.

He decides to grab some coffee and a croissant before heading out for the day, stomach rumbling at the thought. For once he’s not in a hurry, so he smiles at the woman at the cafe who brings him his order and settles down to enjoy it on one of the park benches.

He’s taken his first bite when Damian slides in next to him, trying not to choke at the sudden appearance of the youngest Wayne.

Damian notices his reaction and smirks like the little shit he is, folding his hands neatly in his lap. After he gets over his shock he’s taken aback at how casually Damian’s dressed.

“You look relaxed”, he points out, sipping his coffee.

Damian scowls. “Tt. Jonathan’s convinced I need to blend in using civilian attire.”

Well that makes him grin. “Jonathan Kent huh?” He elbows his brother in the ribs. “Spending a lot of time with him lately, aren’t you?”

The shade of red peppering Damian’s face is gratifying and he can’t stop himself from laughing out loud as his brother fumes silently.

"There's nothing going on between me and Kent, you imbecile, and even if there was-"

Jason puts his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright, jeez. But if you ever need advice or someone to talk to, I'll be here."

The offer seems to take Damian aback and his shuts up, looking thoughtful. "We'll see," he finally mutters.

Jason claps his hands. "Awesome. I'm guessing you're up next to torture me about my birthday?"

Damian nods. He puts a warning hand on his arm.

"Don't even think about running away. I'm a trained assassin, I will find you."

"Having fun is hard for you isn't it?" Jason replies idily, staring up at the blue sky.

Damian ignores the jibe. "Think about Bruce's face, Todd. He'll think he's finally gone delusional if you end up showing up."

Jason opens his mouth with mock surprise. "Are you trying to bribe me with the opportunity to give your own dad a heart attack?"

The younger boy sniffs. "He can handle it. The others just want you to be there."

He doesn't include himself in that sentence but Jason gets the message. Damian wouldn't be here if he didn't care.

Oh, how he hated to disappoint.

Damian shakes his head resolutely, a gesture so Bruce-like it gives Jason deja-vu.

"I thought that'd be your response. Which is why I came up with a back up plan."

Well fuck if he doesn't like the sound of that, recalling Damian's earlier threat when he consideres running away for the hundredth time. Damian bends over to rummage through the bag he brought with him, and Jason smiles when he sees the amount of knives instead and something that resembles a katana sheath.

Eventually his brother finds his phone and presses a few buttons, handing it to Jason with a smirk as it rings steadily.

Jason contemplates dropping the phone and stamping on it until it shatters when the person on the end picks up.

"Master Jason, I assume that's you?"

He freezes like a deer in headlights and Damian's smirk grows impossibly wider. The little shit! He knew this was going to be a deathtrap.

"Master Jason, you know it's rude to leave someone waiting."

The british accent is one he hasn't heard in a while, and the familiarity of it makes him want to tear up. He holds the phone up to his ear with a shaky hand.

"Hi, Alfred."

"Ah, you're alive. I'm assuming Master Damian has explained what this is about?"

He shoots his brother a dirty look, the other inspecting his fingers smugly.

"Yeah, he may have mentioned it."

"Excellent. You'll be at the manor on Sunday then?"

His throat is dry. "Or course."

"Wonderful. Come no later than 7, Master Jason, the others will be delighted."

"I'm sure they will", he mumbles.

Alfred hangs up after they exchange goodbyes and he hands the phone back to Damian.

"You're a cheater."

Damian shrugs. "Honestly, you should have expected that to happen eventually."

"Demon spawn," he mutters under his breath.

"Piece of shit," the younger retorts.

Jason raises his eyebrows but can't exactly say that he's surprised and resigns himself to his fate, but not before delivering some well-deserved pay back.

"So, about Jon-"

Damian shoots him a warning glare and leaves.

"Karma's a bitch little wing!" he yells at the quickly retreating form, ignoring the annoyed looks of the people around them. Jason sighs and finally finishes his croissant in peace.

So now he's standing in front of Wayne manor, trying to school his features into something that doesn't look like apprehension. He's wearing casual clothing, jeans and a sweater. A part of him wanted to wear his full Red Hood suit just to get under the idiot's skins but there was no way he was wearing full bullet proof armour all evening long.

He jogs past the fancy garden sculptures and fountains, letting himself into the unlocked house. He makes his way through the foyer, finding his family huddled around an Xbox playing Call of Duty: Modern Warfare.

The group is laughing, smiles all around as they banter back and forth. His heart aches dimly to be a part of that something, an intense yearning to be integrated into their family dynamic. It looked so easy.

The moment's ruined as soon as Dick spots him and wraps him up in a hug. "You made it!" The grin on his face is blinding. "Guys, birthday boy has arrived!"

Fuck this. This family sucks.

"Jesus Dickface, get off-"

"You're crushing him Dick", Barbara says, tone reproachful.

And jeez, literally everyone is there. Tim, Duke and Steph are crouched on the floor, still engrossed in the video game. Damian is standing beside Dick, looking too smug for his own good. Barbara and Cass are right behind them.

Someone starts to ruffle his hair as they walk past. He's about to shove the hand away when he sees who it belongs to.

"Aunt Kate?"

Kate grins. "Good to see you kid. Happy birthday!"

"I wasn't expecting you to be here."

Kate shrugs. "Life's been slow recently and besides, there was no way I was going to miss a Wayne party!"

He laughs at that, making his way over to give her a hug. Kate has always been one of his favorite people, he distinctly remembers the chocolate she used to smuggle to him when Bruce wasn't looking and she hung out during patrol.

Bruce and Alfred are next to enter the room, and Jason smirks when he sees Bruce stop his sentence abruptly when he sees his second son. Jason catches Damian's eye as he winks.

"Hey Bruce."

Bruce cautiously steps forward, unease rippling across his features. Things have been better lately but some wounds take longer to heal then others. He squashes the guilt as Tim's bloody face flashes beneath his eyelids.

"It's good to see you Jason."

Jason spreads his hands. "It took some convincing," he replies, words directed at the others. Tim smiles and Dick laughs.

Alfred wastes no time drawing him into a tight hug, one that no one comments on after Jason gathers his composure.

Alfred smiles brightly at all of them, and fuck, Jason knows that coming was worth it.

"Dinner will be served shortly, if you all want to follow me to the kitchen?"

There's a mutter of agreement around the room and Jason is soon swept into various activities. Dick grabs the plates while Bruce helps Alfred with the dishes. Cass and Duke chat as they swipe cutlery while Tim and Steph set the table. Damian carries the knives, rather ominously in Jason's opinion but no one bats an eye.

There's some jostling as everyone finds a seat, Damian and Tim shoving each other to get the chair next to Dick. Cass finally sighs and switches with Tim, whose face brightens considerably.

He chats to Dick quietly about things in Blüdhaven, Bruce resuming his conversation with Alfred and Tim. The girls talk about school, Damian bringing up the art show he's participating in next week. The food is as good as he remembers, roast paired off with potatoes and countless salads, sauces and side dishes. Unfortunately there's no alcohol but he eats enough for two.

As the food is cleared away and multiple praises are directed Alfred's way for the meal, they drag Jason to another room. He grins when Steph pulls out the alcohol.

Damian and Tim groan out loud and Kate shoves them. "Don't worry, I'm sure there's juice in the fridge", she teases. Damian scowls at her.

Alfred informs them that he'll be in the kitchen preparing dessert and he leaves promptly, Damian following him to the fridge.

Bruce raises an eyebrow at his daughter. "We do have better drinks."

Steph shrugs. "I'm convinced there's a difference between getting drunk on fancy red wine and getting wasted on cheap beer that's past its expiry date."

Bruce relents, an incredulous look on his face. They sit in a circle, passing chilled bottles around.

Steph grins. "We're gonna play 'Most Likely'."

A mixture of gasps of delight mingle with complaints as the room descends into chaos again.

Steph raises a finger and whistles piercingly. "Ah ah ah, no buts. We're playing. It's simple, one person says a scenario and everyone else chooses a person in the group who they think is most likely to do it. The person with the most votes takes a drink."

Duke opens his bottle and takes a gulp, laughing at Dick' expression, Damian returning with cranberry juice for Tim and himself.

Cass laughs. "I'll start. Most likely to set the manor on fire?"

Bruce chokes at that one, eyes flashing dangerously. Jason grins. The votes are casted here and there but when he counts most of them are on Kate.

The woman in question smirks and gives a mock bow as she takes a swig of her beer.

"Can't say that I disagree."

That makes a bunch of them nod and laugh out loud. Kate swallows and starts the next question. "Most likely to get punched in the face by a stranger?"

Jason can count six other hands pointing at Dick, including his own.

The five others are pointed in his directions, but like Kate's answer earlier he can't really argue. He's gotten punched by tons of strangers, usually people undercover for Roman Sionis or other drug dealers he's managed to piss off. He takes a mouthful of beer, smiling from the burn.

"What are you talking about?" Dick complains. "I'm a nice person!"

"Sure, but you're also oblivious as fuck-"

"Language." Bruce mutters.

"-and you can't catch a hint to save your life. I can name some of the girls and guys who've flirted with you and didn't get a reaction," Tim finishes.

Dick pouts dramatically and takes a drink. "Most likely to giveaway hints by accident while playing poker?"

That one causes an uproar and Jason can't really choose who gets this one. They're all pretty decent liars, they have to be in their line of work. He ends up picking Barbara, only because she's had trouble keeping Batgirl a secret from her dad.

He's not the only one who brings that up and the votes are tied between her and Duke. The pair each take a drink.

Duke chews his lip as he thinks, brow furrowed in concentration. His face lights up when he figures out what to say.

"Most likely to use their kids as an excuse to get out of commitments?"

Simultaneously, everyone points at Bruce, who looks guilty and amused at the same time.

"How many times did you tell Wayne Enterprises I was sick as a kid to leave a meeting early, B?" Dick asks with a raised eyebrow.

Bruce smirks. "Not nearly enough times, those meetings give me migraines."

He unscrews the cap and takes a long swallow, his kids cheering. He shoots Steph a look. "You prefer this to red wine?"

Steph grins and nods, Cass and Barbara agreeing along with her.

Kate claps him on the back. "That's more like it!"

Bruce smiles and proceeds with the game. "Most likely to kill someone out of spite."

Jason counts two fingers pointing in his direction, one at Tim while the rest point to Damian.

The youngest Wayne scowls, raising his glass and taking a grudging sip of his juice, eyeing Dick's bottle wistfully. Dick gets the memo and pulls his beer away from his younger brother, tightening his hold just in case.

The game continues for the next hour, all of them getting progressively more drunk as the sun sets. Tim's declared to be the 'one who's most likely to be a criminal mastermind', Bab's 'most likely to run for president'. Alfred steps in just in time to win 'most likely to manage to survive while being stranded on an island'.

Overall, Jason is happy and sleepy and wasted.

The cake is brought out, cheers ringing out as plates and forks are passed around. The cake is shoved in his hands, and he takes a moment to blink with surprise.

"You made a cake in the shape of my helmet?"

It's really the only possible explanation, the cake is absolutely drenched in red frosting. It's in the shape of an oval, frosted white slits substituting for where his eyes would be. It's bigger than his actual helmet, and Jason turns it around to inspect it from all angles. A single candle glows brightly on top.

He stares at them. Dick and Alfred are squeezing his shoulder supportingly, Tim and Duke flashing him grins. Kate looks nostalgic as she hands him a knife, Damian's face carefree. Barbara starts to sing happy birthday softly, Steph joining in while Cass gives him a hug.

"Happy birthday chum," Bruce whispers, eyes bright as they reflect the flames. He smiles in response and blows out his candle.

Tim nudges him. "What did you wish for?"

To stay here forever.

Jason snorts. "I wished that one of those birthday presents you all suck at hiding contains a new gun."

Dick laughs at his response and Alfred smiles. Cass gives him a comforting look however, and not for the first time Jason's taken aback at how well she can read him.

It doesn't take long for everyone to settle down with a piece of cake. Jason takes his first bite and sees stars. It's just moist enough and the icing melts perfectly on his tongue. He gives Alfred an appreciative nod.

As the plates are returned to the kitchen they all find themselves in front of the TV, arguing on which movie to watch.

"For the last fucking time Dickface, no one wants to watch Dumbo because it makes you cry every single time his mom gets taken away!" Jason retorts.

Tim opens his mouth hopefully.

Damian cuts him off before he can even speak. "The same goes for you, asshole. No more Lion King fiascos."

Tim shoves Damian and he stumbles, both of them tackling each other to the ground. Kate claps slowly while Bruce breaks it up.

Jason takes the opportunity and steals the remote, grinning with triumph.

"It doesn't matter what you losers want, it's my birthday so I'm picking." There's a chorus of groans and Jason's smile widens. He scrolls through the Netflix suggestions and finally decides on Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.

Steph yells with excitement and throws a pillow at Duke who groans, Cass's features morphing into one of confusion.

Barbara shrugs. "It's a classic."

Jason whoops as the movie starts, all of them fighting for popcorn and soda. Halfway through the film the mood gets increasingly more relaxed. Dick’s head is on his shoulder, Damian’s fighting for more leg room with Tim on his other side. The girls are spread out on the floor, Cass’s head in Steph’s lap, Babs sitting comfortably in her wheelchair beside the couch. Duke is falling asleep on Bruce, who Jason realizes is already asleep, snoring lightly into the cushions. Kate’s perched on the edge of the sofa’s armrest, watching the movie with interest. The only person who still looks dignified is Alfred, lounging in a chair he’s pulled up.

The movie marathon continues with Steph’s suggestion, Mean Girls, and they’re halfway through King Kong when they finally shut off the TV. Alfred wakes Duke and Bruce, Cass and Tim pulling Jason through the room for presents.

The pile of presents is larger then he would have guessed, boxes covered in shiny wrapping paper and small parcels. Everyone scrambles to sit around Jason, pushing their gifts forwards. He doesn’t know if he should be amused or terrified at the looks of eagerness around the room.

Kate gives him her present first, grinning slyly at her cousin. Bruce frowns, knowing he’s not going to appreciate what’s in the package. Jason tears the wrapping paper and lovingly pulls out one of the knives from its sheath.

He holds it out and tests the balance. “Well these’ll be useful.”

Steph hands him his present next, the weird object decked out in black wrapping paper with comic style font all over it. He squeezes it and scowls immediately. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

Steph shakes her head, eyes bright with mischief. The plushy Jason’s holding is a frog that looks like it’s seen better days, a dirty brown color that may have originally been green. One of the buttons used for eyes has popped off and he's pretty sure the hole at the bottom has been leaking stuffing for years.

He holds it up to face her and she smirks. The others are laughing as well. "What the hell is this?"

"Your birthday gift!", she sings. "Found him at a thrift store last week and I couldn't just leave the poor guy there, his eyes are so full of love, you know?"

"You mean eye, singular,” he points out.

"So he's a cyclops, why does it matter? Turn it around."

He does, biting back the urge to start laughing uncontrollably. The front of the sorry looking toad indicates that his name is Jason. He groans out loud when he sees the tell-tale smear of sharpie under the frog's name.

Jason Toad.

Dick throws his head back and laughs, while Babs gives Steph a high five.

"Yeah, yeah, very funny. Now shut up or I'll leave him here." He abandons the plushy and grabs the nearest gift instead.

The package is soft and he crinkles the wrapping paper as it tears. His breath catches when he finally sees his present in its full glory.

"Whoever brought me this is automatically my favorite sibling." his gaze slides over to Damian and Tim and reconsiders. "Unless it's Replacement or Demon Spawn, they can be promoted to third."

Tim rolls his eyes and Damian shoots him a disinterested stare.

"Be nice Master Jason", Alfred chides lightly.

Duke puts a hand on his shoulder. "Guess I win then."

Jason grins at the other man. "Thanks dude, way better choice then the toad."

He wastes no time pulling on the soft leather jacket, stretching his shoulders out comfortably and digging his hands into the pockets.

Tim's present turns out to be a key-chain with a mini chainsaw attached, because "Bruce wouldn't let me buy you a real chainsaw."

All of his other gifts are just as good, Alfred gives him Bluetooth headphones, a brand new copy of Life of Pi from Dick plus boots and eyeliner from both Barbara and Cass respectively.

Damian's present is one of the last and when he pulls apart the wrapping paper he’s left with a thin rectangular box. He stares at his younger brother.

“If this is jewelry it better be nice.”

Damian shakes his head, a small smile forming on his lips. “Better than jewelry.”

The gift turns out to be bullets, all of different sizes and shapes. They’re organized carefully, each with a label attached underneath.

Jason studied one that’s sleek and silver, little slits in the sides. The little lettering in the case lets him know that this one is filled with gas. He grins.

“Are these personalized?”

Damian nods. “Each and every one, tailored to your favorite gun. I modified the version father uses for his Batarangs and transferred it to work with bullets.” He shrugs. “I figured they were more your style.”

Jason stares at him, silent for a beat before turning back to the weapon. “Fine, I guess you can be my fourth favorite sibling.”

Tim huffs. “I helped him with the tech.”

Damian elbows him smugly.

He almost doesn't register Bruce standing in the back until the chatter dies out. His adopted dad looks like a kicked puppy and Jason feels an unexpected fondness shoot through his heart.

"You have something for me Bruce?"

Suddenly something is roughly being shoved into his hands and he stares at the thin object for a second. The room goes silent, the entire group fixated on Jason and Bruce.

The slips of paper are familiar and he swears he's held them before. He turns them over to read the minuscule writing.

Gotham City Knights vs Gotham Giants

Featured in Gotham City Stadium

Mon Aug 31 2020 7:30 PM

“You got me baseball tickets?”

Bruce clears his throat and presses on, looking uncomfortable. “You used to love going as a kid, and I brought two so you could take someone with you if you wanted.”

Jason’s voice catches and he swallows around the lump in his throat. “Sure, are you free Monday?”

Bruce’s “Yes” sounds more like a croak but it’s there, an open invitation to spend some time together. It’s not an apology but it’s a start, and he’ll take it. Jason’s heart swells.

After that they all goad him into sleeping over, an offer he would have declined if not for Alfred’s stern glances. They decide to grab some pillows and blankets and settle on the floor, everyone comfortable and sleepy.

Well, if anything, it’s not the worst birthday he’s ever had.

#jtbdayweek #Jason Todd #Dick Grayson #Tim Drake #Damian Wayne #kate kane #clark kent #Alfred Pennyworth #bruce wayne #Duke Thomas #barbara gordon #cassandra cain #Stephanie Brown #Happy Birthday Jason!

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pollylynn · 4 years ago

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Ignus Fatuus—a Caskett one-shot (Future Fic)

Title: Ignus Fatuus WC: 1600

She has no trouble finding them. She follows the trail of pictures he’s been sending her as she crawled along in traffic she’d been determined not to get stuck in—not today, but the precinct, as usual, had different ideas. She hasn’t stopped at the house. She hasn’t stopped to change or to grab a much-needed cup of coffee, and she’s so glad she has no trouble finding them.

He’s lying, face up, on the first-base side of the pitcher’s mound in the middle of a pee wee baseball diamond. His legs are covered in sandy orange dust all the way to the hem of his cargo shorts.

Not far off—just a yard or two toward home plate from the pitcher’s mound—Lily has a lap full of dandelions. Her hands work slowly at two stems. Her total concentration on the task is obvious In the way she chews at corner of her lower lip.

The peaceful scene in the middle of the diamond does not extend to the base paths. Those are occupied by an enormous, shrieking dust cloud that seems like it must contain some kind of horde, but her ear readily picks out just the two voices—Jake mostly, and Reese every once in a while.

She has no trouble finding them. She’s relieved about that, but she takes a moment with her fingers curled in the chain link fronting one dugout to drink in the picture—the mix of quiet and chaos—the four of them make.

It’s Lily who spies her first, in the last breath before the beauty of it can overwhelm her to the point of tears.

“Mom,” she shouts. Her long-legged girl, who is too grown up most days to call her Mama any more, pushes to her feet, scattering knotted green stems and vibrant yellow flowers. Her sparkly pink sneakers pound over grass, over the third base line, over the pale orange, hard-packed dust in front of the dugout. She collides with Kate, enveloping the two of them in an orange cloud. “It’s still day time!”

“It is!” She tickles the underside of her daughter’s chin until they’re both squinting up, funny faced, at the sun still clinging to the western sky. “I didn’t miss it.”

“I ran a hundred miles, Mama!” Reese joins the huddle, tugging at her left hand. His dark hair is plastered to his forehead and his cheeks are cherry red with exertion.

“A hundred!” Kate lets her eyes go wide. “All around the bases?”

“The base paths!” Jake jumps with both feet on one side of the the chalk, then the other to emphasize his point. “I ran a hundred hundred miles, Mama.”

“That’s a thousand.” Lily looks down her nose at Jake, but he’s too busy walking the baseline like a tight rope to notice his big sister trying to boss him.

“How many is a thousand thousand, Lil?” Castle’s voice drifts toward them. He’s still lying, face up, on the first-base side of the pitcher’s mound, but he’s striking a dramatic pose now. He has a dusty arm flung across his forehead. “A thousand thousand is how many miles I have run on this, the longest of days.”

“A thousand thousand. How many do you think that is, Reese?” He lifts his arms pleadingly, and she hikes the dusty, sticky boy up on to her hip. She rests a hand on Lily’s shoulder and nudges her mound-ward—Castle-ward. Jake sees that they’re on the move and does an about face. He rushes, full tilt, to home plate and does a three-sixty spin before he makes a beeline for his father. “Castle!” she calls out a sharp warning. “Incoming!”

“Got it.” He sits bolt upright, all his feigned exhaustion shed, and manages some kind of twisting sideways maneuver that has him snatching Jake around the waist, rather than absorbing the full impact of their most rambunctious child’s body.

“Not a thousand thousand!” Jake hollers. He laughs as Castle sweeps an arm beneath his knees and turns him upside down with his head in the grass. “Daddy didn’t run a thousand thousand.”

“He couldn’t run a thousand thousand miles.” Lily stoops to gather up her scattered dandelion crowns in progress. She plumps down closer to her father and fills her lap again. “That’s hyperblee.”

“Hyperbole?” He makes a great show of being offended, a great show of hefting Jake upright and banding his arms around the squirming boy to keep him close for however brief a moment, as Kate eases her way to sit at his side with Reese still cuddled against her. “I wouldn’t have thought I could run a thousand thousand miles either. But then your mother tricked me.”

“Mama does tricks?” Jake tries to twist around to see if Castle has his tale-telling face on. Lily looks up from the work of twining stems together and even their sleepy-on-a-schedule Reese lifts his head from Kate’s shoulder.

“It’s news to me, Jake.” She shoots Castle a dirty look that he meets with something hot, lascivious, and utterly ridiculous all at once.

“What kind of trick?” Lily wants to know, and Reese tugs at Kate’s shirt and whispers in her ear half a dozen shy, confidential questions about rabbits and hats and ladies in big glitter-paint boxes.

“I still haven’t figured out what kind of trick it was, but she has a Lily and a Reese and a Jake to show for it.” He risks loosening his hold on Jake to bump Lily with his shoulder, to run light fingers down Reese’s back.

Jake knows an opportunity when he sees it. He breaks free and heads for first base. “That’s three tricks.”

The words trail behind him like a kite string that tugs Lily to her feet again. She chases after him. “It’s two tricks. I’m one trick and you and Reese are one trick.”

“One trick!” Reese says against the curve of Kate’s neck. He clings tight to her for a moment longer, then he’s off and running the wrong way from first base to home. It puts him on a collision course with his brother, his big sister, who—today, anyway—is not too big to play silly games with her babies, games with swirling, constantly fluctuating rules.

“So I’m a two-trick pony?” She scoots sideways toward him. The grass is wet in patches and there’s probably no hope for this pair of work pants, to say nothing of the light-colored summery blouse that’s picked up countless pale orange handprints.

“You are a many trick pony, Captain.” He flops on to his back and his head in her lap. He offers an ear up for the twist he knows is coming. “But tricking me into having not one, not two, but three athletic children was your greatest feat.”

On cue, Lily calls out some convoluted rule about sliding into each base. Kate makes a move, but he has her by the wrist. “It’s skidding,” he assures her as he tangles his fingers tight with her own. “Purely on their feet. No skin left behind.”

Kate twists to see, and sure enough, she sees the sun catching the pink sparkles of Lily’s shoes somewhere in the cloud of dust, then the rapid-fire blue-red flash of Reese’s Spider-Man sneakers, the Hulk green of Jake’s.

“Now that’s a neat trick.” She skims her fingers through the hair that’s grown long enough to brush the curve of his ear. “How’d you convince Danger Boy?” She asks as Jake, on cue, executes another of his signature three-sixty spins on top of second base to celebrate his perfect skid.

“Invoked your dad and exercised some artistic license,” he murmurs as he turns his head further into the soothing motion of her fingers. “Lily can cite Gramps, chapter and verse, on elbows and curveballs. I just extended the principle to ankles and big kid slides.”

“And for your next trick.” She laughs and plants a kiss on his forehead.

“Oh no.” He peers up at her, crossing his eyes to hear the music of her laughter again. “For your next trick, tell me again what the heck a double switch is. Jake won’t buy my Cold War spy analogies forever.”

“A double switch,” she says absently. Her eyes are on the three heads bent together, talking over one another, with Reese’s voice uncharacteristically on top as he lobbies for some new rule of his own. Castle tugs at the front of her shirt, as child-like as ever in his own demands for attention when he knows their happy little monsters are entertaining one another. “A double switch,” she repeats briskly. She holds her wrist out, then brings it close to her face as though he’s making an exaggerated study of her watch face. “I don’t think we have that kind of time.”

“Time?” He rises suddenly on his elbows to kiss her sweetly on the lips. He catches her chin in his fingertips. He guides her gaze toward right field where the kids have their hands planted in the grass and kick their legs upward into clumsy attempts at handstands as some new part of the game. “Solar-powered children.” He coaxes her head back and plants a kiss beneath her chin. Her breath catches as the sun, still clinging to the western sky, warms her face. “Longest day of the year,” he murmurs as his lips travel down her neck. “We’ve got all the time in the world.” A/N: I know the solstice was yesterday, and I did start this then, but only just finished this now. For someone who hates the sun, I always feel drawn to stories about the longest day.

#Castle #Caskett #Castle: Future Fic #Kate Beckett #Richard Castle #Lily Castle #Jake Castle #Reese Castle #Jim Beckett #Fic #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Fan Fic #Fan Fiction #Writing #Summer Solstice

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piprocrastinator · 4 years ago

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Pumpkin Spice Feelings and Apple Cider Kisses

MewGulf

Fluff piece. could be considered a proposal piece. Pumpkin patch and carving pumpkins. Fluff. Cute stuff. Fall fic.

Length: 5740

This wasn’t their year-long honeymoon, not even close. This was just a short (two-week-long) vacation - and they weren’t even engaged yet. Not for lack of want though for either party. Mostly for lack of Mews part. He was trying. And Gulf was patient, as ever. The sweet sweet boy.

But it was a vacation and they were together so the rest could be figured out later. Mew wondered if he would finally cave and propose during their vacation or keep pushing it off because (among a few other things), ‘ it wasn’t perfec t.’ Hating his perfectionist side when it came to certain things like work and Gulf. Sometimes there would be a moment that he would think ' yeah this could be it ' but then not do it because ' what if there was a better moment late r'? A more perfect moment.

Maybe it would be in the thicket of trees, surrounded by oranges, yellows, and browns. All bundled up because winters in Thailand were not nearly as cold as they were here in the states. Maybe he could find a perfect moment here?

When Tul had mentioned friends in the states who had a rental cabin, it hasn’t taken long for Mew to book them a trip out. He planned everything (anal as he was about everything going according to plan - there goes that side of him again). Now -a few months after Tul has mentioned it- they were standing in a field of pumpkins surrounded by the most beautiful autumn color scheme. Leaves crunching under their boots as they move from pumpkin to pumpkin.

They had layered up, Gulf only putting one layer -and the damn blue blanket around his shoulder like some sort of cape- stating he wasn’t that prone to the cold as Mew was but immediately shivering as soon as the cold winter chill hit his face. Mew stuffed the extra coat he’d brought (specifically because he knew Gulf would do this) over Gulf, stuffing a knitted hat down over his ears -already pink and chilled, not forgetting to drop a kiss to them to help them warm up - before finally catching those hands to cover them with warm mittens. Mittens that were now holding up a pumpkin above the boy's head, giant smile plastered across his face.

“P’Mew looks at this one,” Gulf yells, uncaring of the other couples and families he’s disturbed in his joy. "It's the best most perfect pumpkin."

Mew can't help but think Gulf fits so well within the surrounding beauty. Like something out of a magazine. His skin glowing with its soft undertones of pink wrapped in the soft browns and yellows (because Mew is nothing if not always fashionable and made sure to pick out clothes that he knew would fit their activities) that blend in perfectly with the autumn aesthetic. He looks like he smells of pumpkin spice that they put in everything here in the states.

Breathtaking was the only word he could think of. But stunning or ethereal might be close seconds. He, like always, was enamored by Gulf.

He could imagine their proposal being in a place like this and is almost sad that he didn’t bring the rings with him. He'd been too worried about making sure Gulf was sufficiently covered up to even think about grabbing them before they left.

“Looks perfect. Does it have a matching pair?” Mew asks, in a much more muted tone than the yell he had received. Gulf purses his lips, wide eyes flitting around.

Mew lets his eyes wander around the pumpkin patch. He lands on a couple a few rows down, two females who are wearing significantly fewer clothes than he and Gulf. He assumes they must have grown up around here to be ok with only a jacket and a hat. No gloves in sight. He's got a winter jacket, a sweater, and a body warmer on and can still feel the chill.

He watches as one leans into the other for a cheek kiss, he can hear the exchange of praise on her pumpkin find. He spots matching rings on their fingers. A little rumble of jealousy rolling up into him because he's not currently wearing matching rings with his beloved. It's petty and he is fully aware it's his fault, doesn't stop the jealousy though. He watches the girls walk out of the field together happily chatting over their pumpkin before he turns back to Gulf - who seems to have made a friend.

The closer he gets he can hear the small child talking about how he lost his parents. Gulf, who's grouched to the kids level, glances around sending a worried glance Mew's way.

“I think he lost his parents,” Gulf says and the kid sends them a weird glance. Probably the Thai instead of English.

“What do your parents look like?” Mew says in English and the boy purses his lips, looking dejectedly around. He doesn’t blame the kid for not knowing, he couldn’t be more than six. Mew probably couldn’t describe his mom now if he lost her in a crowd much less at that age. Thank technology for phones so he didn't have to worry about that.

Mew spots a couple off to the other side of the field, frantically looking around. Gulf catches the stare before he ushers the kid onto his back. Giving a few bounces to earn a smile.

“Is that them?” Gulf asks in English, the small boy peering over his shoulder before letting out a squeal.

“Mommy.” The boy flapping his hands in that direction. Guess they were right.

“Let me take him over-“

“I got it," Gulf interrupts him with a small and another small bounce to adjust the kid on his back, "Someone needs to protect the perfect pumpkin and he's already on my back.”

Mew stands astonished and flabbergasted for a moment. Gulf was not one to be confident in his English but he didn’t see the least bit bothered as he talked to the kid in broken English. Even now as he watches Gulf head across the field, he can see them chatting together and something pulls in his heart.

He adds ‘adoption’ to his mental list of future events to have with Gulf right after getting a house together but before living a long happy life together. He glances down at the pumpkin at his feet, the best pumpkin as Gulf had named it. It was a nice pumpkin.

Mew looks back up to watch -a bit with bated breathe- as Gulf hands the boy over to his parents, Gulf hands wave around (an odd jerky movement because he's unsure of his words) as he explains. Then he wais and Mew snickers at the instinct. The parents laugh, shouting their thanks even as Gulf shuffles away.

Gulf bounds back over to him, face all red from the cold and embarrassment, maybe a little bit of pride. Mew thinks Gulf looks so beautiful, so gorgeous, and then he’s gone from his vision. A moment of panic before Mew realizes Gulf had tripped. A few more seconds pass (Mew debates how long he should wait before bolting over, three seconds, ten? what if Gulf is hurt-) before Gulf is flapping back into a stand, giggles spilling out of him as a few leaves stick off him. Gulf seems unbothered by them as he makes it back to Mew, explaining the meeting (Like Mew hadn't been watching the whole thing happen), while Mew took it upon himself to pick the leaves off his clothes and the one from his hair before leaning in and kissing Gulfs cherry red nose.

Mew thinks he might be sick with love as Gulf smiles back at him just short of breathe, eyes shimmering with anything and everything Mew could ever want. He's definitely sick with love. He'll never find anything better than Gulf because Gulf is it. He can hear Gulf's voice telling him that he's being too sappy but he can't help it. He's always loved too much for his heart, weighing him down like anchors on his feet.

“You did so well Tue ang.” Gulf preens at the words, the glow under his skin no longer from the weather but from his happiness. Gulf hooking their pinkies together for a moment, and the weight feels justified. Like he's loving Gulf just enough as they other soaks in it.

“Did you find the second one?”

“Not yet, let’s check over there.”

Gulf picks up his perfect pumpkin, holding it close to his torso like a child as they walked to a different part of the patch to look. Mew can't help but wrap his arms around Gulf, pressing against his back till they waddle past a few more pumpkins. He pats the pumpkin likes he's done so many times before to Gulf tummy with a soft tung tung tung sound. Gulf pats it a few times as well making a weird rhythm that matches their mismatches steps.

"What about that one?"

Gulf hums glancing between the newfound pumpkin and his own a few times. "I think we found our match."

"Like us?"

"So cheesy," Gulf laughs before glancing around briefly before sniff kissing Mew temple. "Like us."

Mew gets them hot chocolate -made from a powder that was recommended to them by the owner of the cabin when they’d first arrived - as soon as they make it back. Pumpkins perched on a newspaper lined table. They shed their outer layers; coats, boots, hats, and gloves while sharing a few kisses that warmed them up pretty quick. Mew had tried to go further, you know, for warmth.

“Let me warm you up.” Mew kisses down Gulf neck, hands sneaking their way under Gulf shirt but as soon as his fingers made contact with Gulf's warm belly he was pushed away.

“Your fingers are freezing,” Gulf says his teeth chattering with a tiny shiver. “Pumpkins first. That'll warm you up.”

Mew sulked, made sure that he was visibly pouting, tried to give his best puppy dog eyes but Gulf just laughs and kissed his cheeks. Which is a safe place seeing as Mew would take a kiss to the lips as an attack and he was ready for that naked battle. So Mew settled for hot chocolate a handful of extra marshmallows in his cup that he definitely replenished halfway through his drink, Gulf noses at his cheek mid-sip -which he knows it Gulf way of soothing his sulking- before settling beside him in his own chair.

Mew was a bit worried about letting Gulf free with sharp objects but there really wasn’t another choice if they wanted to carve pumpkins.

Gulf gulps his drink as he watches a video of someone explaining how to carve correctly. His right hand holding a knife while the other caressing the pumpkin in a pattern that Mew assuming he's going to try and carve.

“Doesn’t seem hard.” He turns to Mew showing his screen as if Mew hadn’t been watching along from beside him the whole time. Mew leans in to kiss the leftover chocolate residue off Gilfs lips with a soft hum of agreement. Gulf stares at him for a second, something flashing in his eyes before he hazily licks his lips turning back to his pumpkin. Mew smirks.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

Gulf grunts in annoyance, “I’m not a child. I can handle knives.”

Mew bite his tongue from the sassy remark as he bandaged Gulf fingers. Somehow managing to slice across three of them before stabbing his palm. None of the wounds were deep but they were enough for Mew to call the pumpkin carving event over.

“I'm not done with mine though.” Gulf whines, hissing as Mew daps his palm with medication.

Mew blows gently over it before placing the gauze over the wound. “They’re good enough.”

"I'm not going to cut myself again," Gulf grumbles, eyeing his hand now wrapped in white gauze.

"You're right, you won't." Mew puts the first aid kit back together. "Because we're finished carving."

"What are we supposed to do instead-" Mew sends him a look that immediately tells him exactly what they could do instead. "Fine, no more carving. Not that either. There's a stand up the road I saw that had caramel apples. Can we go see that?"

Mew pouts, "I didn't have anything else planned for this evening though."

Gulf slinks forward wrapping his arms around Mew's neck, "It's like 4 in the afternoon. Let's go check out the stand and later when it gets darker we can light up our..."

"Jack-o-lanterns."

"That's it, Jack-o-lanterns, I knew having you around would be useful."

Mew tugs him closer, sniff kissing his neck than his cheek. Pumpkin and chocolate.

They wrap themselves back up and walk hand in hand down the road until they got to the stand, Gulfs hand loosens but he doesn't let go as he looks through all the products and different candy-covered fruits.

Gulf convinces him to buy a Carmel apple slice and a slice of chocolate pear. Gulf shrugs after a small bite, not really liking the taste, so Mew finishes them off. The stand owner is a cute little old woman who ushers them behind the stand when she learns they are foreigners here for vacation. Her excitement shows as she all but swoons over how handsome they were and tuts at them for never having tried s'mores.

"They're mandatory for this time a year." She had exclaimed and who were they to argue when they've never had them.

A small bonfire was going, with about six kids sitting around it. According to her, she's the local babysitter. She sits them down and hands them a stick and marshmallow. The kids show them how to roast it and make s'mores.

"You got to let it catch on fire." A little boy, Tim, yells excitedly as he shoves his marshmallow in the fire. He tugs Gulf stick closer to his, further into the fire.

A little girl, Lily, beside Mew gives an angry noise, "No, you want it to be brown and crunchy. Not burnt."

She places her hand over Mews as they watch their sticks in the fire. Mew is careful to keep an eye on Gulf, his instincts would let him not. The boy's grip on Gulg injured hand was making him weary. Gulf seems unbothered by it.

Gulf's Marshmellow catches on fire and Tim helps him pull it out of the fire. "Blow on it. Blow on it!" Tim flaps a bit and Gulf blows out the tiny flame a little more exaggerated than he needed to but Tim seems more than amused before handing Gulf graham crackers and a piece of chocolate.

"Now smash them together." This Tim and Lily seemed to agree on and Gulf did. The marshmallow oozing out the sides before he plops it into his mouth. Mew moves his marshmallow out of the flames to watch Gulf chew, mouth stuffed and lips pursed out. Marshmellow goo over his thumb and bandaged wrapped pointer finger, which he pulled out of his glove to hold the sandwich. Adorable.

"Yummy." He says once he's swallowed enough to talk. Tim laughs, giving Gulf a high five, that looks and sounds rather sticky before turning to his own quickly darkening marshmallow.

"Is it really good Tua eng?" Mew whispers, nudging his leg.

Gulf turns to him, chocolate and marshmallow rimming his lips. "Pretty sweet but not bad. I think one is enough for me."

Mew tries too, with plenty of help from Lily. She seems like a born leader and she knows it. He likes it but Gulf was right its pretty sweet. He ate one more and stopped there if only because he knew he'll have to work them off later. He might have been on vacation but he still had an image. Gulf likes the biceps so he keeps his biceps. That's just how it works. Also, he's pretty sure that if he didn't stop himself with two he'll eat the whole bag. He definitely sees the appeal of smores and roasted marshmallows.

A while later they head back to the cabin, the sun low in the sky, by the time they make it back the sun has gone down for the day. The moon rising in the sky as they set the half-carved pumpkins outside the doors. The tea lights they put inside glowed minimally through the holes in the pumpkin. It was pathetic and comical. Mews was basically done, two eyes and a jagged mouth starred back at them but Gulfs only had a mouth and part of one eye. Neither were even but they look kind of cute leaning against each other.

They take pictures and post them along with a few they'd taken during the picking stage. Mew sets a particularly cute one as his lock screen. It’s one of them smiling at the camera, cheeks pressed together with the beautiful trees in the background. He changes his Home Screen to one of him kissing a surprised looking Gulf on the cheek, the same beautiful trees in the background.

“We look like a real couple,” Gulf says looking at their matching lock screens.

“In the picture or the marching screens?”

Gulf chuckles, leaning into Mew side. “Both. But also right now. Standing here looking at our masterpieces by the front door.”

They soak it in, the calm of the evening, the chill of the night, their wonkly carve pumpkins. Just let them be in their love. Mew had a thought that this might be one of those moments but Gulf turns to him, a soft smile on his face.

"I love you." And fuck if Mew's heart didn't melt and resolidify so he could continue to let Gulf hold it and take care of it. The next moment they're stumbling through the cabin, Gulf tasted sweet, chocolate and marshmallows against his tongue. The tang of arousal heavy in the air as Gulf raised the warmth through his body chasing away anything that wasn't Gulf from his mind.

Mew was picking up, Tul and some of his college friends were coming over for scary movies because that’s what you did, apparently. Not that he was mad, he just wasn’t a fan of scary movies but he was interested in the food they had talked about eating during the movies. Plus he could just pull Gulf into his lap and hide behind his back if he got too scared.

“How did these...?” Mew grabs the boxers hanging from the oven door next to the towel. He definitely remembers their morning activities where they made use of the big counters but he’s pretty sure he tossed Gulfs boxers to the ground, not the oven. Doesn’t really matter just means he made a good decision cleaning before the guest arrived. How awkward would it have been if Tul (or one of his friends) had found them instead? Though it could be worse, at least it wasn't lingerie or a toy.

“All finished?” Gulf says clad in one of Mews long sleeve shirts and flannel pants, hair fluffy atop his head from his previous shower, a few strands sticking up wildly. Mew pats then down before rubbing his fingers through the soft locks. Gulf groans softly in his chest, eyes fluttering to gives him a stare, a very tempting one. So very tempting.

They'd been having so much sex the past couple of days, Mew was pretty sure they were making up for the lack of sex they’d not been having the past few months because of busy schedules while also maybe stacking up for the sex they wouldn’t be having for a while once they go back to Thailand. Mew quickly pushed aside the thoughts of his already planned out busy schedule to pepper kisses all over Gulf face. Making sure to leave a big noisy one on his lips last before pulling away with a pop. He can't be tempted, people were on their way over and he doesn't want to be caught in the middle of something when they arrived.

“Yeah, we should be ready to have guests over.”

It’s a few hours later when Mew finds himself watch Gulf stir a pot of cider. There had been jokes about it being a witches cauldron and now that the dark amber liquid inside was bubbling it really did look like it. Mew was glad that Tul's friend Ann had already basically finished the apple cider because it takes hours to simmer, according to her. He wasn't sure but he trusted her judgment as someone who says they make it regularly.

Gulf giggles as he stirs the pot, Mark plops a witches hat over his head and the giggle turns to a witches cackle. Mew is the first to start laughing and everyone follows after in a chain reaction. Gulf seems pleased with himself with a satisfied grin on his face as Ann pulls him over the table to help with the cookies. The witches hat falls off and leaving his hair sticking up in the back and Mew has the urge to walk over and fix it.

Mark nudges Mew to turn his attention back to the pumpkin pie, he takes one last look at Gulf who shakes his head, the strands of hair falling back into place.

Mew wasn’t good at baking or cooking but this pie didn’t seem hard. Which it wasn’t. Basically, throw everything into a bowl mix, and dump it into the pie crust - a cinnamon pie crust Ann had made.

Mew sat back watching when the pie went into the oven to bake. Tul was mixing fresh popcorn with Carmel with Ann's girlfriend Veera who was also making ‘the absolute best’ roasted butternut squash soup. The cabin smelled of pumpkin, spice, and every nice while soft indie band quietly filled any silence with melodic guitar riffs.

“P’Mew.” Mew tips his head towards the voice, Gulf is holding up a cookie that looks like a ball with four stubs. “Chopper.”

Mew crinkled his nose in acknowledgment, a smile still plastered across his face, it was enough for Gulf as he turns back to the cookies. It didn't look like chopper but then it didn't need to, it was the thought around the cookie.

“He’s cute,” Mark comments handing him a cup of apple cider that was done deemed done by Veera moments ago. “You guys seem close.”

"Yeah, we are." Mew sips, coughing for a moment at the onslaught of cinnamon and clove spice hitting him in the back of the throat. Mark gives him a few sympathetic pats on the back.

“Should have warned you, Ann likes the kick.” Mark chuckles and Mew gives a small one as well once his breathing feels right again. He shoots a glance to Gulf who waits for the eye contact to send him a brief smile.

“It’s not bad,” He says taking another sip now expecting the spices. “I could get used to this.”

“Alcohol makes it better too.” Mark sloshes his cup before pointing to the fireball on the counter. Mew shakes his head declining the offer.

“Better watch out for your boy, I think Ann might try and adopt him.”

Mark was right Ann seemed smitten as she coos at Gulf. Pinching his cheek before wiping some cookie dough he’d gotten magically on his nose.

“He might take her up in that offer.” He laughs maybe a little too loud. “He’s probably tired of waiting for me to propose.”

Mark leans against the back of the couch and Mew follows taking a big sip of the apple cider. It's better now that he's used to the taste.

“Why haven’t you?”

He hears a question in his mind, one that he'd been silently asking himself for a long while now. Are you waiting because you think he will walk away, that he’ll leave you? That he'll find someone more worthy of his love.

Though he would never admit that to being a major underlining reason for his hesitance, it was. It rumbled through his mind more often than he would like to admit. It seemed like a silly worry to have when Gulf showed him how much he loves him every day in his own way. So instead he settled on the one that he blamed more often than not.

“I want it to be perfect because he’s perfect for me.”

Something big and dopey crossed over Mark's face as he nudged Mew's arm a few times cooing loudly. “I know what you're feeling buddy.”

Mark looked over to the table, Tul was now helping them clean up, cookies now in the ovens. “I’m engaged to Ann's sister.”

“Yeah?”

Mark chuckles, “Yeah we had decided we would get engaged and I told her I would figure it out. Every moment felt right but not perfect so I kept pushing it back and back until a year had passed and Mealie got so mad with me. ‘Do you not want to be married to me anymore?' she asked. I was a valid question. I told her I couldn’t find the perfect moment. Do you know what she said to me?”

Mew shook his head, sipping his drink.

“Every moment I’m with you is perfect so pick one or I will. And she did. Like a month later she found my rings and proposed to me right in the middle of the family barbecue.”

They both chuckle, Mark a little bit louder as a sense of remembrance crosses his features. “She sounds wonderful.”

“She is." Mark agrees, nudging him again this time it was softer, waiting till Mews attention was back to him before saying, "Not everyone gets to enjoy the opportunity of marriage they way we do, she said, I don’t want to waste it when I found the love of my life.”

Mark throws his arm over Mew's shoulder pulling him close. The smell of cinnamon and spices from the cider hitting him in the nose.

“Even here in the states, there are places that don’t accept it and other countries that condone it. If you get the opportunity to marry your true love, and it’s something you both want. Don't waste the opportunity waiting for the perfect moment, instead just make every moment perfect.”

“...Thank you.”

Mew hadn't pulled Gulf into his lap during the movie instead Gulf leaned against him as they shared caramel corn and cookies. Halfway through Gulf's fingers laced with his under the blankets, giving him a small squeeze every so often. Marks words rumbling around in his head, he drops a kiss to Gulf head, he didn't want to wait any longer.

(Mew hadn't forgotten to get all the recipes that day for Jom, he thinks she'll like these especially the gingersnap cookies.)

Mew wraps his arms around Gulf, looking out at the snow-covered forest. First snow of the year - said the news earlier. Mew was glad that they got to see it. Gulf seems entranced by the ethereal sight as well. The white snow packed down over the earth covering everything into something soft and quiet. Seemingly absorbing all the negativity of the world and leaving behind peace and tranquillity. Everything seemed to have a sheen of sparkles to it like someone had mixed them with the snow as it was falling. It was quite a sight.

“I sent some pictures to the family.”

“They jealous?” Mew rubs his nose into Gulf nape, inhaling the crisp cold air and Gulf's natural musk.

“Maybe a little bit it might not be all because of the weather.” Gulf wiggles until he turns to face Mew. Tugging the blanket around them both, cocooning them in its warmth.

“What else could they possibly be jealous over, if not this gorgeous view,” Mew whispers, placing a butterfly soft kiss to Gulf's redden nose and chilled soft cheeks. Then one to his lips because Gulf pursed them just so and how could he resist?

“You know I thought you had asked me out here to propose finally.” Gulf words were teasing and gently as he curls in to nuzzle at Mew's neck. Mew's hands rub over his back instinctively, holding him close.

They stand in silence for a moment before Mew begins to sway them softly. One hand caressing Gulf waist while the other moving to cup Gulf's neck, fingers burying in his damp chilled hair. Gulf sighs contently against his chest, fingers half holding the blanket and half gripping Mews shirt at his shoulders.

“I thought about it. So many times, I thought about it.” Mew's lips brush against Gulf temple as he speaks, wayward snow crunches under their slipper clad feet as they sway. “At the pumpkin patch, where you looked like you were made for autumn. Or after we got back from the stand and you tasted like chocolate and marshmallows. Or watching you talk in English with such confidence. So proud of you for that-”

Gulf places an open mouth kiss to Mew's neck before another peck to his jaw.

“-I thought about when we woke up and made love with the falling snowed as our backdrop this morning.”

“Did all of your thinking get you anywhere?” Gulf mummers against his chest and Mew tightens his hold. Their swaying slows to a stop.

“I thought every moment could have been the moment but then I worried that there would be a better one later if I just waited.”

Gulf leans away, eyes searching, and patient. "Will there ever be a moment perfect enough for you?" Mew knows Gulf would wait forever for him to find what Mew calls the perfect moment to propose.

"I'm starting to think my standards are too high." Mew feels the soft rumbley laughter against his chest. He lets out a small chuckle as well shifting to begin the soft swaying once more.

"Do you want me to do it so you can stop stressing over it?" Gulf looks up at him with sincerity and love and just a little bit of teasing.

Mew nibbles on his bottom lip, contemplating the offer, Gulf leaning against almost limply as they sway. Everything calm and serin, perfect.

"Maybe I should?" Gulf hums softly against his neck. "Maybe I should just do it because every moment with you is perfect."

Gulf pulls back scrunching his nose playfully as he shakes his head. "Cheesy."

Gulf tugs at his hair pulling their mouths together into a kiss - soft needing filled with everything Mew every wanted and will ever want.

“Will you?” He asks, a little desperately yet filled with hope. Lips brushing against Gulf as he speaks.

“Will I?”

"Marry me?"

Gulf exhales a little puff before rubbing their foreheads together. It's a little aggressive reminding Mew of their workshops for the first season of Tharntype when Gulf didn't understand how to show his softness through touch. When everything he did was stiff and firm and Mew had to ease his hand to be held or show him had card fingers through hair in a loving manner. Gulf huffs again and this time the kiss is forceful. Much like their kisses back then were. Like Gulf was trying to brand his lips with his own.

“I love you Ti Rak,” Gulf says in a low gravely voice before forcing their lips back together, teeth-gnashing and tongues wrapping around each other like he could get enough. It tasting like wanting and need. And a hint of desperate love. But that might just be from Mew.

Mew pulls away the reciprocated 'I love you too' on the tip of his tongue but Gulf cups his face, fingers gentle now as he pants softly. "Your perfect proposal is lacking rings."

Mew was sure it was supposed to be a joke but Gulf breathless words a small feeling of panic within him. Gulf seemed to sense his impeding overthinking by the hitch in his breath and forces another long, slow, kiss from this mouth. "I'm cold."

Gulf looks up at him from beneath his lashes, eyes swirling like a vortex sucking Mew in. "Warm me up?" He asks so softly.

Mew pulls him inside and tosses him to the bed, the blanket fluttering around him. Mew pulls away from the kiss with a pop. He almost lets those sparkling golden eyes draw him back in but he tears himself away, all but throwing himself at his stuff in search of the tiny velvet box. Gulf pushes up on his elbows to amusedly watch Mew.

"I was kidding about the rings-"

"I'm not though..." Mew makes a sound of excitement, box clutched in his hand before turning back to Gulf, one the knee on the ground. He tugs at Gulf's hand until he's sitting up and he holds the box out to him.

"You didn't answer before." He opens the velvet box letting the two matching rings glimmer in the dim light.

Gulf covers the rings with one hand while the other cups Mews cheeks, thumb rubbing a slow circle over his cheekbone. "You just want me to say it out loud."

"It's nice to hear."

Gulf snorts a small chuckle before pulling Mew up and over him on the bed. He pulls a ring out and slides it over Mew's finger even as the older boy is trying to shake him off muttering 'I get to do that.'

"Silly Phi." Gulf says slowly once the ring is on Mew before putting the matching on his fingers "I have been ready since the day we first kissed. I was just waiting for you."

Mews breathe hitches and his eyes water, Gulf rubbed their noses together. "Yes, I want to marry you."

Mew didn't know what he wanted to look at more, the way the ring sparkled in the rays of light streaming through the window, glimmering as snow falls outside their window reflecting off the ring or at Gulf. His beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, wonderful fiance.

"Cheesy," Gulf says looking smitten.

Mew pulls on Gulf hand to kiss the ring, then finger it's settled on, right under the bandage still covering his fingertip before trails his lips over Gulf palm to kiss his wrist. "But you like it?" Mew says hopefully.

"I like you and I guess that means all the cheese that comes with it too."

#MewGulf fic #MewGulf au #my writing #fluff fic #all the cute kisses #fall weather #pumpkins #snuggle moments

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the-fallofperdix · 6 years ago

Text

A Thousand Words

A picture is worth a thousand words.

Bucky stares at the carved wooden plate at the tiny store, hand chiseled and painted a happy yellow color. Little sailboats and suns were painted along the rim and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

It stays with him, the image of a small carved wooden piece. He thinks of the tiny suns and sailboats, so much simpler to understand than round shields painted with white stars and black mouthpieces and electrical wires. Easier than blue eyes staring in recognition (The Asset wasn’t supposed to be a person) and red stars and burning cars.

Bucky’s first picture is of the sky.

Huddled in the bathtub, back pressed against the chill ceramic with a handcuff locked around the tap. Cyro and restraint, the two things that stop him when his grey haze comes back in bursts and spurts and he tries to reporting back to the nearest HYDRA base.

It’s hard to break decades of orders.

But that day, watching the sun rise through the grimy window of the bathroom, he carefully unhooks the strap, rises and takes a picture of the sunrise, purples and blues and light pinks and orange.

He can’t stop looking at it the entire day, and when he can’t keep the phone, ingrained habits too insistent, he finds a computer in a library and prints out the picture. It’s not as radiant as the actual sunset but-

But.

He remembers it.

So he tucks it carefully between the pages of his journal, among half scrawled thoughts and memories, a beautiful thing among pages of blood and death. And every time the grey haze descends and he’s lost ready to comply he holds the fading picture and thinks of a rainbow of colors.

His next picture is when he’s at a park and a dog bounds up to him, tail wagging excitedly. It’s a puppy, curious about a lace from his boot, tugging at it with needle-sharp teeth. He looks around but there’s no one near him and there’s a leash dragging behind the puppy so he picks it up, setting it in his lap and unwrapping the leash from its hind leg. The puppy licks his hand and barks happily and Bucky looks around again before taking a picture of the puppy trying to balance on his legs and sniffing at his metal arm with its tail wagging furiously.

After that, he keeps doing it. Picture upon picture of things he likes. It’s frivolous and wasteful and the pictures are heavy in his backpack but they are memories and he doesn’t want to let them go. Doesn’t want to forget the sunrise that seemed to warm him for the first time ever when he realized he was free, the apologetic girl thanking him for keeping her puppy safe, the ivy climbing up his fire escape or the first cup of hot chocolate he made. Doesn’t want to forget the ice cream he bought because he wanted to or the bird that flew down and pecked at his metal limb out of curiosity.

He doesn’t want to forget these things, and he writes names and dates between the pages of his journal next to memories of people who died early and descendants long dead because he’s a walking record of those who disappeared and they don’t deserve to be forgotten either.

~~~

Bucky doesn’t take pictures when they find him sitting on a back road staring at the ghost of a memory of a crashing car and bring him to the Tower.

He doesn’t take pictures when he sits through the fragmented parts of his memory brought to life and listens to screams and pleads over and over. He takes the first picture of himself locked in the bathroom after he’s declared free from triggers and then destroys the phone.

He doesn’t take pictures of the sunrise off the roof or the pigeon that always comes to beg for bagel crumbs on the balcony.

If he doesn’t remember this, he doesn’t want to ache for something that proves not to be permanent.

His first picture is of DUM-E.

Seven months of drifting through a home he has no night to be in.

Anthony “call me Tony” Edward Stark is the son of two people he murdered but his fingers are always gentle as they open up the arm and fix the bolts and soothe the irritation. Voice blank but eyes soft when he presses numbing cream for his shoulder into his hand, other hand absentmindedly tapping on the trapped star in his chest.

DUM-E brought him a bright yellow colored ball on his second day down and nudges him with a high pitched beep.

“He wants you to throw it.” Tony says when Bucky looks at him in confusion. He stares uncertainly at DUM-E who beeps again and trundles closer and Bucky. Bucky tosses the ball across the floor and multiple high beeps sound as the other two metal bots race across the floor to chase the ball. There was a soft chuckle beside him and he looks to see Sta-Tony’s soft smile as he stares after his bots, small crinkles beside his eyes.

Bucky nearly has his phone out of his pocket before he stops himself. He just has to remember this without the photo, the calm and gentle look Tony gives to his children.

He takes even more pictures to the point the others don’t react. Peter clinging to the ceiling with Tony glaring up at him, James “call me Rhodey, everyone does after Tony.” and Tony arguing over burnt muffins, Harley and Tony bent over a potato gun (they’re on mark 5 now, Bucky put all the glass in closed cabinets), Tony playing with the bots…

He’s got a crush.

He’s the world greatest assassin apparently, but he’s not subtle.

Steve reminds him gleefully about that as much as he can.

He doesn’t do anything about it.

He has a lot of pictures of Tony.

Tony, he thinks, knows, but doesn’t dare to hope that he’s right.

Tony gets him a specialized phone for pictures and Bucky chases him around to get a photo of that smile.

He keeps healing.

Even when he’s safe, when he doesn’t check the closet anymore but checks the windows because some things….some things are as deeply ingrained into him just as much as the name of Bucky Barnes is...

He keeps taking pictures.

Of sunrises and sunsets and people smiling and laughing because he’s alive and so are they and no one can stop him.

But there are also days where it’s bad and he can’t speak and he presses himself to the bathtub wall because the cold reminds him of cyro except he can breathe and he clutches a faded picture of a sunrise and reminds himself that he is free. They come no matter how much of himself he’s glued back together but that’s okay because Steve will sit outside the tub, facing the door in silence and Tony will bring hot chocolate and have blankets ready when he comes out.

He doesn’t know the day he’ll die, or if he’ll die last, but he’ll keep making memories and keep taking pictures even when he knows he’ll remember.

“I went on a walk.” Tony says, presenting him with a wrapped package. He’s nervous, tapping his fingers on his reactor and watching Bucky’s hands.

Bucky unwraps a small carved wooden plate with painted suns and sailboats.

“I figured you could maybe hang it up on your wall?” Tony babbles, waving his hands. “And you could maybe pin up some of your other pictures? I mean, you don’t have to but you’re safe here so you don’t need to keep it in your journals and-“

“Thank you Tony.” Bucky says quietly, and Tony goes willingly into the hug.

They stand there for a while, just breathing.

When Bucky hesitantly kisses the side of Tony’s head, he can feel the smile against his shoulder and Bucky thinks about putting the photo of a sunrise up first.

(Bucky gets JARVIS to take pictures at their wedding.)

@the-flightoficarus is my co-writer :) If you have any questions or want to hear more, hit either of us up!

#my writing #the-flightoficarus #co-writer #bucky barnes #tony stark #winteriron #peter parker #harley keener #steve rogers #ahhh I'm nervous

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lo-55 · 4 years ago

Text

Revel Ch. 4

A Curious Walkabout

Tori went out with him a few more times after that first night. Katakuri showed her the beach and the towns and the faces on trees as the dusk set the sky to a pale pink dusted with periwinkle and flecked with the Stars.

He stayed quiet, most of the time, and it was always Tori who sought him out, but it was an improvement.

He did not go out of his way to avoid her and he put up with her grasping his arm like a proper lady of the court.

It’s bound to be something of a scandal when she gets home.

Katakuri is not a noble lord. He is not from an ancient family whose name is etched into stone walls and sung of in songs. He is not blood of the Novae, he is not even of their archipelago.

He is a stranger, and a demon, and the son of a witch who is eating up territory and consuming kings and countries who do not bow to appetite.

Even more than that, he is going to be their King.

Imperia is not like some kingdoms. They are not like the Grace’s of Lazareth, whose line of success passes through the boys only. Theirs depends upon birth line, and despite her siblings phenomenal talents and contributions to the country it will inevitably be Tori who takes over the country.

Tori, and this strange man who will be their King, who she knows nothing about personally. Only secondhand information and a girls idled musings.

Was that why Big Mom had married him to her? So that she could claim one of her son’s a king? If so, it still didn’t explain why they had chosen Imperia. There was nothing truly spectacular about it. Not enough that it would warrant this.

At least, nothing Tori knew of.

She tried to banish the thought, but as soon as it passed through her mind it would not leave.

Tori looked out the window of the room gifted to her. A plum tree swayed in the breeze, fat red fruit hung low on it’s branches and the sweet smell floated in with the breeze. It tousled her hair, lifting the long strands across her shoulders.

Was there something important about Imperia that she hadn’t known about? Was there something dangerous on her island? Something useful to a woman like her new mother-by-law?

The idea soured the sweetness in the air and made her hands clench at her sides.

Her father was not a man of many words. He had taught them little, indulged them beyond tradition, but it was tutors and knights and lords that had been responsible for their real education.

He had loved their mother. Loved her so much that when she had died his heart had died with her and the light had left his golden hair until it was dusted with white and shocked through silver.

He had withdrawn from them. Tori wondered if it was painful to look at his children, black haired and blue eyed like his beloved Dolce. She had been smart and kind, when she could be, but she did not shy away from cruelty.

When Tori was young she had heard them fight once and only once.

Their marriage had been one of love. Dolce and Lydander had fallen in love during a court season when they were both young. When he was new King, still mourning his father and Dolce was the youngest Dogeressa in history. She was from a good family, an old family, but the marriage had broken his engagement to Laetetia Felicitas, one of the richest women in the Grand Line.

They knew, and their children knew, that they would have to marry politically to save face and to strengthen the political ties in their country. But Dolce, with a fury in her eyes, was the champion of her children.

She told her husband, did not ask but told a king that his children would have a say in their marriage. That they could meet their betrothed and say no, if they so chose. She had made him promise, swear that he would uphold this. His daughters would not fear their husbands, their son would never be subject to a cruel wife.

Lysander had forgotten the vow with her death. He had not given Tori a choice, had not offered the option to say no. Her sister had not stood for her and called for arm in Tori’s defence. Her brother had merely mentioned marriage laws would make an outsider a king.

Lysander had drawn away from his children. He had forgotten his vows, or merely hadn’t cared, and Tori wondered if he had ‘forgotten’ more than just that promise. There were things that could only be passed from one to another, there was training to be a ruler that could only be learned from one that had been there or on one's own.

Had he neglected to tell Tori something important, the way he had neglected to ask her if she agreed to the proposal?

It was true enough, she couldn’t exactly say ‘no’. Her people would have been slaughtered by Big Mom and her children. She couldn’t deny it, but there was something about not being asked that stung her.

“You look like you’re about to spit lightning,” Lapa told her. Her mouth it small and pressed over with blue lips patterned with small stars. The dress she wore was a pale blue that shimmered with silver woven into the floating gauze. Even looking for them it was impossible to see the number of knives strapped across her body.

Tori turns to her. She and Aelia are dressed together in black trousers loose enough to pass as skirts and blue shirts that fluffed around the sleeves and tied across the chest. They were dressed down, the pair of them on their way out of the chateau and into the village nearest by. If Victoria was to rule this land as well, she needed to know its people.

It would do her good to get out of the walls as well, though within the week she and her new husband would be on their way back to Imperia to visit with her father, as was tradition. It was meant to be a way for her father to ensure that she was being properly taken care of, but even if she wasn’t, he wouldn’t raise a hand to Katakuri. He wouldn’t risk it.

Madelle might, if she thought she must. Aelia would, and Lapa would poison him with Daria cooking the pie. Varinia and Flora were hard to say. Perhaps they would fight him. Perhaps they would plot the downfall of his country and his mother.

The thought made her smile.

“We’re to be off,” she told Lapa. “Be safe. Beweary my husband, he may notice that you are not me.”

“He would be the first one to see past us,” Lapa reminded her.

“Still.”

Lapa bowed minutely towards her.

Tori drew Madelle’s arm into the crook of her arm and the pair went off.

The people of Komugi did not keep riding horses. All of their transportation was done on foot, or in a cart, if it was needed. And so Tori was on foot as well. She knew the way from Chateau to the town well by now, she had walked it many times with her husband, in name and perhaps in friendship, though she could not say for certain. A few evening strolls did not make a confidant.

They passed through the servants quarters, and out the back until they had left the chateau behind entirely. It faded into the background and they walked quietly through the woods. The gold sunlight spilled dappled shadows across the pathway and the smell of heat and greenery enveloped the two of them.

Komugi seemed to happily be a land of summer, with warm air that blew in and carried with it bird songs and the whisper of the magical, talking creatures that populated all of Katakuri’s mothers land.

It was pretty, if not still a bit demented.

The more time Tori spent on her new land the more and more she came to realize exactly how isolated her island nation was. Their fashions were old, of tradition and finery and impractical unless they needed to be. Contrarily, everyone she saw seemed content to dress in little. Only one layer, perhaps two if there was a chill in the air.

In thin shirts without the fanciful embroidery and decor that Tori and her people favored. The clothes were not tailored to fit everyone, save those like her husband who had some type of giant blood within their veins.

Even dressed down as much as they had, the pair of them still stuck out. Thought the people had grown used to her handmaidens, and hardly looked at them while they walked past.

The fruit stands in the market avoided bitter things like lemons, limes, grapefruits and ashberries. The bakers were clearly the busiest, and the most popular. They had tarts and fluffy croissants, and breads swirled with cheese and cinnamon and strawberries. They smelled wonderful.

And Tori couldn’t eat any of it.

She and Madelle walked arm in arm away from the aptly names Sifters Street and turned a corner down Bolt Row. Here she found the cloth shops and the merchants. But they were not tailors.

She eyed them in passing. A loom house emulated the steady clacking of a shuttle. One shop boasted long rolls of colors of only the more muted, natural colors. Greys, browns, greens, blues, oranges and yellows. Some were striped, some were plain.

Those were only two though. A few steps forwards revealed something that Tori hadn’t seen in a lifetime.

A real, honest to god, clothes off the rack boutique.

Tori dragged Madelle in immediately. T shirts. Shorts, skirts, tank tops, name brand, cheap, manufactured clothes. Tori ran her fingers across a scarf that was rough enough to catch on the grooves of her fingers. She inspected a pre-patterned shirt that she didn’t have to spend half an hour standing still for.

Her excitement bubbled. She had forgotten how much she missed simple things. Easy, modern things that she’d never paid two thoughts to before she’d died and come here. She started grabbing clothes and inspecting them, trying to figure out her size. She’d almost missed the bull shit involved in shopping for womens clothes!

She grabbed colorful t shirts and a couple of tank tops, to Madelle scandal and flushed face. And jeans. She’s missed jeans so much.

Tori left Madelle behind while she changed. Trying on jeans for the first time in twenty years. They were rough against her soft skin, not worn in yet and tight. She switched to a bigger pair, and then a tank top.

When she looked into the mirror in the changing room she felt more like her old self. She felt less stifled, less restricted, and more free. There weren’t a half dozen layers or a particular lay for the fabric. This was just clothes. She was just a girl.

Tori grinned at herself in the mirror and was surprised by her own reflection. Even dressed in common clothes she was beautiful.

She changed back into her blue and blacks and went to buy her new stuff.

“This is hardly worthy to touch your skin,” Madelle told her as they left. Tori grasped her hand and tucked her hand to her side.

“Mad, dear heart, I like them. And if I’m to be here, I might as well enjoy what I can. I’ll buy you some too, if you want.”

Madelle ‘harrumphed’ but did not pull her hand away.

Tori, grinning, lead the way back to the chateau.

The night was cool and dark.

Tori said nothing to anyone before she snuck away from her room, did not rouse her handmaids from their slumber to accompany her where she was going. There was no need. The Chateau was asleep, quiet as could be. Not even the small talking mice stirred as she slipped out the kitchen.

She traded her fine silk slippers for thick leather sandals and set out into the forest that surrounded the amalgamated building. Everyday she could see more and more of it being eaten up by the sugar themed.

It was harder to see in the black shadows of the night. The donut that made up the mountain and overlooked Komugi was fast asleep, it’s massive eyes shut as well as its mouth. The sun was vanished and only a small crescent made up the moon, a cheshire grin in the black sky.

The shoreline was not precisely close, but it was close enough for her to reach by foot. Far off in the dark waters she could see the barest silhouettes of a few small ships anchored off the ghost, lit by lights within the cabins. To ensure that no one got in or out without Big Mom’s permission, she was sure.

Tori looked away from them.

She walked down the shore until she was standing at the edge of the water. It lapped at her toes and reached across the leather straps until it was at her ankles. She stepped in until she was calf deep in the water.

What little light there was vanished when she closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, drawing the damp air and the salt into her lungs. The lap of the water on the shoreline drowned out all worldly distractions. The darkness left her floating in an abyss of the sea and the sea alone.

Her soft skin chilled under the oceans care.

Imperia had old myths about the ocean.

The Ocean was the mother of everything and everyone. She and her wife the Moon watched over the world, and the people beneath it. The humans were the children of the Ocean and the Sun, who was brother to the Moon. Eons ago, after their children were born Ocean left Sun to be with his sister. Split between them, the humans were given to Earth to be raised and protected and raised along with Earth’s children the plants and the animals and the precious stones. Moon and Ocean had their own children, younger than the humans they were Mermaids, Fishmen, and all the creatures in the seas.

Tori was a daughter of the ocean and a child of the sun and in the water she felt stronger.

She focused, humming the old nursery hymn that her mother had taught her, so very many years ago.

Roll forth Ocean mother

Carry you children far

Shine bright moon hung o’er

Watch over their tepid flight

Bring with you, Great mother

The silver crashing mist

Protect your sons and daughters

Tori felt strength gather inside of her. Her soft, pale skin grew harder and darker. From Porcelain to stone to steal, but it wasn’t enough. She gather the song inside of her, she grasped the feeling of her mother’s arms around her.

She held it tight under the warmth of the memory was too much, until it threatened to bubble over. She released it all at once and the heat rushed out of of her, away from her skin. The ocean parted around her legs, swirling with the power that flowed out of her skin.

Tori stepped forwards and the bubble around her expanded and spread before her. Another step. The water did not touch her but if it had it would have been to her hips. She kept going until she was sure that she was in over her head. Only then did she turn back. She spread her arms around and the water churned and swirled around her, parting until she was standing on dry land once more. Sand scattered along with the water until she finally, finally released it.

Her breath came easier. The warmth rushed out of her and left her feeling cold in her dampened nightgown.

When her eyes opened, she realized she was not alone.

Katakuri stood at the edge of the forest, where the greenery fell away to sand and sage. He was tall, hulking shadow and his eyes were locked upon her. Tori felt bare before him, no make up, no fanciful dressed. Her hair hung around her in waves as black as the ocean.

“I thought you were asleep,” she said slowly, for lack of anything else she could think of.

He looked between her and the ocean, one to the other, before he settled upon her.

“I thought you might be leaving.”

She didn’t know what to think of the tone of his voice. There wasn’t one, and she couldn’t read him at all. But there was no anger or malice.

Tori shook her head. “I am your wife. If I go I go with you. You are coming with us back to Imperia next week, aren’t you?”

He nodded, slowly. “Mama told me to.”

Tori wasn’t sure why her stomach sunk so fast. She lifted her chin, gifted him with a smile that had no false, laid upon lips, and walked into the trees. She was aware he was following her this time.

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #oc #katakuri #charlotte Katakuri #katakuri x oc #victoria di Imperia

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londone-fog · 7 years ago

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Friday, Never Hesitate- Reddie Soulmate AU

AO3 Link

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday

The next day, his mother told him to swallow a new pill. Oblong, slightly pink in color. It was bitter on his tongue, and he didn’t like it. The back pain went away after a couple of days.

But his Mama told him to keep taking them.

He didn’t want to upset her.

Chapter Five- Friday

The next morning, Richie’s mark started to grow darker. The V started to bloom in deep red, burnt oranges, and just the slightest hints of sunshiney yellows.

Eddie saw it first, blinking awake as the sun began to shine through the window. Richie and him had lied awake all night, not speaking much, not touching. They still weren’t touching now, a good five inches between the pair.

And then he saw it. Fire in the summer and lava in the most beautiful form. A deep V nestled between his shoulders. Eddie’s eyes snapped fully open then, shaking Richie’s bare shoulder.

“Richie! Richie, your mark!”

“Hmm?”

“Your soulmark! It’s got colors again!”

Richie bolted up, rubbing his eyes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re punking me, I can already tell.”

“No, I’m not! Go look.”

And so they stood in Richie’s bathroom, holding up a mirror so he could gaze upon the newly changed mark. His mouth lay slightly agape, disbelief and wonder scrawled over his features.

“It’s the greatest thing I’ve ever seen. Wow. Eddie, are you seeing this?”

“Yeah Rich, I see it.” He smiled, happy for his friend. But a lingering sense of dread curled devilishly in the pit of his stomach. If Richie’s mark was growing darker, it meant he would eventually be able to find his soulmate. Whoever they were. Suddenly, Richie turned to him, placing his hands on his shoulders.

“Eds, I feel really good about this. I feel like things are gonna start working out for you too.”

Eddie scoffed a bit.

“You know I hate it when you call me that.”

Richie smiled, and Eddie felt warm.

The pair went straight back to Richie’s house after school, excited for whatever shenanigans the weekend would hold. Eddie’s back was growing more and more sore as he refused to keep taking the medicine he gave back to his mother. But he welcomed it. At least it was honest. Something he for certain was actually feeling and knew was real.

“So, you feeling like a movie tonight or just laying around?” Richie asked over the blaring of his music, staring straight ahead at the road. He was obviously refraining from making his usual amount of jokes, particularly about Eddie’s mother. He both was thankful and angry, but couldn’t decide which.

“I dunno, movie sounds good. Not really picky.”

But the conversation stuttered to an abrupt halt as they pulled up to Richie’s house as they took in what they saw. Sonia Kaspbrak sat behind the wheel of their old station wagon, waiting for them outside of the house. She seemed to have just barely been able to smash herself behind the wheel, part of the reason why the vehicle had not seen much use over the years.

“If we run, she won’t be able to catch us. Right?” Richie asked, tone anxious as well as protective. Eddie shook his head. He’d have to confront her eventually, why not then?

“Go inside, I’ll be in in a minute,” he said, barely above a whisper as he opened the car door. His mother did the same, mirroring his movements. Her face was stern, patchy red in some places. Whether it was from crying or anger, he’d never know. Richie cast him a worried look, before heading into the house.

“Edward, I’ve come to take you home. Grab your things.”

Eddie swallowed, hardening himself for the phrase he was about to utter. A phrase that he’d never said in his life.

“No Mama.”

“Excuse me? I said get in the car, Eddie. That boy is telling you lies.”

Eddie took a step back from his mother.

“No he’s not. You are. You always have. That ‘medicine’ you’ve been giving me? It’s bullshit! All of it!”

“You don’t under-“

“No, I understand perfectly. You’re so controlling! You wanted to keep me here with you even when you knew I had to go. You-“ He swallowed, determined not to let her see him break down. “You took away my chance to find a soulmate. Do you know how much that’s affected me? To be the only kid in class who couldn’t relate to anyone else. The one destined to be alone with his mother his whole life?”

She was silent for a long moment, trying to find the right words.

“Your father left me. I lost him and I couldn’t lose you too. You have to understand.”

“I do understand. You went about it wrong, though. Instead of forming a healthy relationship with me when I was younger, you smothered me. Forced me to your side. Now that I know what you did, even that’s gone. That’s not what a mother should do. That’s the opposite, actually.”

A pause.

“Please come home.”

Eddie exhaled through his nose, pressing his lips together.

“No. I need to be away from home for a while. I’ll come by at some point for more clothes, but I can’t be in a house with you right now.”

“Where will you go?”

Eddie looked toward the house, spotting Richie trying to inconspicuously watch the argument.

“I’ll go wherever I feel safe.”

His mother scoffed a bit, then folded herself back into the car. She gave Eddie one last brief look, one of contempt, before speeding back down the road. He watched her go, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He leaned against the side of Richie’s car, lifting his head up to the sky and closing his eyes. A few gentle tears licked down his cheeks, but he didn’t stop them.

And for once, everything felt quiet.

But it didn’t last long before Eddie felt the crash of another body against him. He opened his eyes to see Richie, arms wrapped around him and chin resting on his shoulder. Eddie hugged him with just as much vigor, letting out a small laugh in spite of himself.

“Are you okay? I saw everything that happened,” Richie said, a little muffled. Eddie rubbed circles on his back, right above his soulmark.

“Honestly, I’m really not okay. But I told her to pound sand.” He released Richie so he could look him in the eye. “I really hate to ask, but could I keep staying with you for a few days? I sort of told her I wouldn’t be back for a while.”

Richie placed his hands on the juncture between Eddie’s neck and shoulders, something intangible behind his eyes.

“Of course. You can always stay with me if you ever need to. Got it, Eddie Spaghetti?”

Eddie chuckled, looking down at his shoes.

“Yeah, thanks Rich.”

And, not for the first time, he desperately wished that he was Richie’s soulmate.

The next night, Eddie woke up screaming.

His back cried out, a pain worse than even the first night when he was seven. It was as though something had become trapped under the skin and was trying to force it’s way out. Sobs wracked his body, shaking his whole person, tearing tears out of his eyes.

Richie scrambled awake next to him, shaking him.

“Eddie! Eddie what’s wrong?”

“M-my back. It’s-” A guttural noise escaped him, preventing him from finishing his sentence.

Richie hastily eased him out of his shirt, closely examining the skin. A noise of shock and worry escaped him.

“Okay, you’re starting to bleed pretty badly. I’m gonna help you to the bathroom real quick, okay?”

Eddie nodded, allowing his arm to go around Richie’s neck. He helped lift him off the bed, letting Eddie lean into his side as they shambled down the hall. The fluorescent light of the room hurt Eddie’s eyes, and he felt warmth dribbling from the source of the pain. Definitely the blood Richie was talking about.

“Okay, Eds. You really have to stay awake here.”

He didn’t want to stay awake. The pain hurt too much. He wanted to close his eyes.

Richie patted his face.

“I’m gonna clean you up. We need to see what exactly this is.” Eddie nodded, allowing himself to be turned around on the toilet seat. He hissed when he felt a wet rag touch his back, wiping away the red to see underneath. The pain slowly began to subside.The pair was quiet for a long time.

Then Richie mumbles something, voice uncharacteristically shaky.

“What’s that?”

“I said-” He swallows. “I said I think it’s your soulmark.”

Eddie went light headed.

“What do you mean, you think it’s my soulmark?”

“I mean I think it’s coming in finally. The animoprophen isn’t stopping it anymore.”

Eddie touched the tips of his fingers to his lips, heart and mind racing in tandem. He was getting his mark? After all of this time? He wouldn’t be alone for the rest of his life?

“I guess you’ll have someone to be jealous of now, huh? Or are you still stuck on my mother?” Eddie jested, feeling giddy. But Richie was deathly quiet.

“Richie, you okay?”

“Y-yeah. Um, I might not have to be jealous actually?”

Eddie turned around, confused.

“What do you mean? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Richie wiped his hand over his face, holding his dark curls out of his eyes.

“Just look.”

And so Eddie stood, craning his neck over his shoulder to glance at the wound. And what he saw shocked him to the core. Blood swirled into orange and yellow, slowly morphing itself into a permanent tattoo. It was familiar, painfully familiar. From the colors to the deep arching V they too shape in.

It was Richie’s soulmark.

It was his soulmark.

His.

Theirs.

We.

Us.

Richie stood behind him, just barely visible in the reflection in the mirror. He gnawed on the skin of his thumb, not making eye contact. Making himself small. He was so unlike the Richie that Eddie saw everyday, and he was scared.

He was so happy, but also distraught. He was almost certain that he was not the type of soulmate that Richie had been dreaming of all these years. He wanted desperately to be the person Richie wanted. So badly.

And then they made eye contact, brown against brown. Personal and scathing and too much.

Eddie lost it.

“I’m so sorry,” he cries, grabbing his shirt and racing out of the room. He ignored Richie’s shouts to wait, instead running out and down the front law. And once again, he felt his life moving in slow motion.

He felt the rustle of his shirt as he pulled it back over his head. Where the shirt stuck to his freshly bled soulmark, definitely seeping through the thin fabric. He felt where rain was beginning to fall on his arms as he ran. He didn’t hear anything.

He didn’t hear Richie calling after him to stop running.

He didn’t stop until he felt another body colliding with his.

He landed hard on his back, knocking all the air out of his lungs and irritating the raw skin there. Richie had landed on top of him, black hair falling into his face, chest heaving. Eddie pushed him off and made to run again, but Richie held onto his wrist.

“Eds-”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Than stop running. Please?” Then, even quieter. “Eddie, please.”

He stopped, looking at his friend. Rain was beginning to fall harder now, but he ignored it. Eddie yanked his wrist away, eyes hard.

“You can’t run like that, Eddie. Now, I know I’m not the soulmate you expected, but we’re in this for life now. You have to live with it.”

“Live with it? I never expected to even have a fucking soul mate, Richie. What about you? Weren’t you expecting to get a girl your whole life?”

Richie clenched his fists.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Bullshit! I know everything about you! We’re soul mates, remember?”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying here.”

Eddie pushed his hands into his hair, flinging the rain out of it. It was coming down harder and

harder, and they were coming close to getting soaked.

“I know you aren’t going to want what I want, okay? I know you’re going to wish I was some girl instead, and I can’t handle that. Not after my mom. I can’t-” He sharply inhales, swallowing the tears rising up his throat. “I can’t. Not from you.”

Richie just stared, his face nearly unreadable.

“What do you want, Eddie?”

Eddie exploded.

“You! You, you asshole! It’s always been you. From when we just seven years old and that kid threw sand at me. I envied you so badly. I envied whoever was going to share a mark with you, because I wanted it to be me. So badly. You were my best friend, you protected me. I could read you better than anyone. You made everything hurt more and less all at once. But I was just the kid with a crazy mom who was going to be alone forever. I was nothing.” He paused, looking back at his friend, who stood with a look of shock on his face.

“Are you going to say anything, Richie? Cause-”

He never got to finish his sentence, because that was the moment Richie strode over and smashed their lips together.

Rain pelted them from above, soaking into their shirts. Hot tears had begun to fall down Eddie’s cheeks, and they blended with the rain as the pair grasped at each other. Richie’s lips were incredibly chapped, but very warm and insistent. It was possibly the best thing Eddie had ever experienced in his life, and it was over in an instant.

Richie gently placed his hands on Eddie’s cheeks, wiping away stray drops of water with his thumbs.

“Eddie, I wouldn’t want anything better. Anyone better. Like you said, it’s always been you. I think I’ve always known.”

Eddie laughs, sliding his hands over Richie’s and placing their foreheads together.

“Let’s get out of this rain. We have a lot to talk about.”

Taglist: @anniewdoodles

#my writing #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #friday never hesitate

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nowitsdarkfic · 5 years ago

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chapter eight (the man in black knows all)

November 24, 1988. Buffalo, New York.

The moon is extra big and full tonight and that's very kind of her to do so, given there was a rather decent sized blizzard over the past two days and now the whole entirety of upstate is blanketed in a fine layer of pure white. I'm out here with my parents to spend Thanksgiving with my aunt and uncle and my cousins, and now I'm bunking in the little twin bed in the upstairs guest bedroom.

It always reminds me of all the times I'd come out here during the summer time when I was in school. I'm looking out the window at the moon and her big white full belly shining through the glass at me.

Speaking of full bellies… stick a fork in me, I'm done. I can't believe I ate the whole thing. Again. Alas, this is Thanksgiving with the Bellardinis: we do it 'til our stomachs are distended and we have to curl up to take a nap or run around like a bunch of brats. Even with my shirt off, I'm as warm as I'll ever be right here without the blankets covering me.

All that nice linguine with that decadent sauce with bits of sausage mixed in, all that lovely squash and zucchini with those tomatoes, that fresh baked bread straight out of the oven courtesy of my mom and my aunt…

And then there was that tiramisu cake and that chocolate gelato. Oh. My God.

I'm laying here in bed, flat on my back and my knees bent up from off of the mattress, with nothing more than my flannel bottoms because it's about ten degrees cooler in here than in the rest of the house and yet I'm willing to sleep with no shirt on. Come to think of it, I don't think they even changed the mattress because it's as bouncy as ever, if not more.

Since I'm alone again, there's a part of me that wants to reach down my pants and touch myself but I've had a lot to eat tonight.

Sadly, I haven't been able to eat that wedge Maya got for me the other day. Oh, well. Maybe when I get home and I'm absolutely starved beyond reason I can eat it. I still can't believe she stuffed me full like that. I also still can't believe she kissed me the way she did, either.

I think back to what she said about me in the latest edition of After the Watershed. I think I'm just overreacting when I confess that I don't know how to feel about it. I'm sure of it: Maya means well. She likes me and I should just accept it. At least it's not the messy kind of attraction with Marcia.

Or maybe it is. I don't know. There's still so much to Maya that I'm trying to uncover and it all feels like a vast ocean, more vast than the big feeling inside of me or the moon beams shining through the window to my right.

I roll over onto my side once I hear the bedroom door down the hall close. My parents went to bed, which means I can now fall asleep for myself. I reach up to switch off the lamp and, once the room is engulfed in darkness, I reach down for the blankets. I nestle down in this twin bed, with my head buried in the soft pillow and part of my hair already falling over my face like a curtain. I pull up my knees a bit and cock out my hips in order to relax my stomach.

I'm thinking of those little belly kisses she gave me after I laid down on the couch with my pants unbuttoned. There was something so weirdly intimate about those. Maybe it's because they were so far down, a mere inch over the belt. She was that close to either riding me or blowing me. As I'm laying here with my eyes closed, I've got one arm around my waist to touch myself there, right below my belly button.

Yeah that was definitely it. Ugh. Good night.

At some point, though, I wake up again because I'm so thirsty.

And the moon has barely moved at all in the sky: the window is still brightly lit as if it's the day time. I lay there on my back, staring up at the pitch black sloped wooden ceiling overhead with some of my hair spead across my face. I still feel full but I need something to drink.

I slide out from under the covers because I want them to stay warm when I come back. I risk it still with no shirt on as I'm heading out to the hallway.

The stairwell still smells of bread and tomatoes as I'm making my way down to the kitchen for a glass of water. The whole house is dead silent as I walk through the dark dining room and the entrance of the kitchen. I click on the light and, after I blink several times, I look up at the clock on the wall above the fridge.

How the hell is it only a quarter to one.

I head for the cupboard for a clean glass and some of the water out of the fridge.

A quarter to one. It's gonna be a long night.

As I'm taking a drink of water, I'm still thinking about those belly kisses. I could use some more of those.

I fill up the glass again with more water.

I'm alone again, and I don't want to really risk it with everyone sleeping so near to me.

I turn towards the entrance of the kitchen again when I swear I see something moving about in the dining room. Something black and cavernous.

Oh, no.

I don't have my dream catcher with me, either.

Oh. Oh NO.

I freeze right there on the spot when I feel the hair on my arms rise up on end. Chills run over the skin on my chest. I hold still right there as the figure makes its way towards the entrance of the kitchen. The bright lights over me cast over it so I can see it.

But there's something else here. Tendrils of curly dark green hair floating past the shoulders and cradling a pallid, gaunt face. It's like the female version of myself with her willowy body wrapped in an oversized emerald green cloak and matching dress: the sleeves bag around her elbows which in turn emphasize her lanky arms, so lanky that they're sparse with flesh.

And my grandmother thinks I need to gain weight: I'm chubby compared to this little lady.

Her long boney fingers curl towards her chest as if protecting herself from me. Her hollow cavernous eyes gape back at me like the eye sockets of a skull.

“You need me,” she whispers to me, her voice echoing over the walls and the linoleum as though she's a mile away.

“I do?”

“I'm the lady you need and fear. From the heart of the machine.”

The folds in her dress seem to glow with a bright neon green light, much like the lights in the heart of downtown Seattle and the ones across the lake from Rochester. The green carries with it glimmers of blue and yellow; I catch the shape of the heads of bolts around her waist, as if her skirt had been fused to her body by mechanical means.

“The machine?” I try to follow along; it's late and all I want to do is go back to bed. I don't want to think right now. “As in—robotics?”

“Lonely boy,” she whispers to me, “darling lonely boy—tread carefully around the machine. Heed the warnings of the Man in Black.”

I shift my weight at the very mention of the Man in Black. I swear, the goose pimples over my skin have goose pimples sprouting up it's so cold in here. The warm smell of dinner from earlier has gone away. Cold and sterile, like the inside of a machine.

“Lady—” I whisper to her. “—is there a reason why?”

The Lady in Green seems to float around me towards the sink and the dishwasher. Moving my feet just a mere few inches, I follow the sight of her while keeping in place right there on the linoleum.

“The Man in Black,” she whispers to me, her knobbly fingers reaching out for me, “knows all—”

Her fingertips caress my face, and the sides of my neck, and my collar bones. The waves of her hair flow back from her head as though it's windy in here. Her full lips, which have like a pale green gloss over that pure ghostly white, loom in closer to mine. I still have the glass of water in hand as she nears me, as if about to kiss me.

“Heed—the warning,” she whispers again, “—of the Man in Black—”

Her lips brush against mine before she vaporizes into wisps of light green followed by nothing. The chills are still spread over my skin as I'm alone in the kitchen once again.

Without wasting another second, I head on out of there, switching off the lights right behind me.

I hesitate there in the dining room with the glass of water still in hand so as to let my eyes adjust to the darkness again. Once they do, I continue on back upstairs to the room. I hear my dad snoring in the room down the hall as I duck through the doorway. I shut the door and make my way back to the bed using the bright light from the moon still shining through the window. I take another big gulp of water before setting the glass down on the nightstand and crawling back under the covers.

I lay back onto my side and push my hair forward so it covers my face again once I've got my face in the pillow again.

I close my eyes and fall back asleep.

I wake up again, this time to an orange creamsicle colored sky and a heavy feeling underneath me.

It takes me a minute to realize that heavy feeling is me.

But I can't look down for examination of myself.

I can only feel the increasing weight of my body dragging me down towards the earth as if I gained hundreds of pounds.

I can hardly breathe. I'm like the center of the Sun, so heavy it's making me too hot.

Then over my head, within the soft swirling orange collecting and changing colors from orange to red to pink to white right before my eyes, a feathery plume of jet black shoots out and takes the form of the Man in Black. His massive eyes gape back at me from his pale withered face. His hair drifts up from his head as if he's underwater. Oh God, what does he want.

I catch the faces of Chris and Matt floating right behind him. They're like fleeting glimpses but they're there, looking on at me with worry before withering away into the pale orange.

“The boy,” he shouts at me in a voice so loud it hurts my ears. “You—the boy—” He clutches onto my wrists—at least, I think they're my wrists. I open my mouth to say something but I can't. My hands are starting to ache me from him holding so tight.

“The boy of water! The boy of water! THE BOY OF WATER!”

WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN.

“THE BOY OF WATER! THE GHOST IN THE MACHINE!”

I shake myself awake to find myself back in the guest room again. It's still night as far as I can tell, except this time there's a bit of gray morning light shining through the window behind me. My hands are aching me, and then I realize I've had them shoved in between my thighs. They fell asleep.

I roll over onto my back and then shake them about over the edge of the blankets to get the blood flowing again. I hold onto the blankets as I lay there, still as warm as ever.

Just a dream. But I think about what the Lady in Green had told me.

That didn't sound like a warning as much as it did just the Man in Black yelling at me.

But the Man in Black terrifies me so much that anything he says should be serious business. Whatever it means, I should take it to heart when I make my trip over to Boston.

I'm also thinking of returning to the Northwest because I think I can find some more answers up there. I'm sure of it.

#after the watershed #who cares wins #now it's dark #chapter 8 #new chapter #fanfic #fanfiction #heavy metal fanfiction #thrash metal #anthrax fanfics #joey belladonna #anthrax #noir au #gothic horror #steampunk #cyberpunk #ghost stories #amwriting #text

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writerspink · 6 years ago

Text

K-12 Words

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capture remark western outcome risk current bold compare resident ambition arrest furthermore desire confuse accurate disclose considerable contribute calculate baggage literacy noble era benefit orchard shabby content precious manufacture dusk afford assist demonstrate instant concentrate sturdy severe blend vacant weary carefree host limb pointless prepare inspire shallow chamber vast ease attentive source frantic lack recent distress basic permit threat analyze distract meadow mistrust jagged prefer sole envy hail reduce arena tour annual apparent recognize captivity burrow proceed develop humble resist peculiar response communicate circular variety frequent reveal essential disaster plead mature appropriate attractive request congratulate address destructive fragile modest attempt tradition ancestor focus flexible conclude venture impact generosity routine tragic crafty furious blossom concern ascend awkward master queasy release portion plentiful alert heroic extraordinary frontier descend invisible coax entrance capable peer terror mock outstanding valiant typical competition hardship entertain eager limp survive tidy antonym duplicate abolish approach approve glory magnificent meek prompt revive watchful wreckage audible consume glide origin prevent punctuate representative scorn stout woe arch authentic clarify declare grant grave opponent valid yearn admirable automatic devotion distant dreary exhaust kindle predict separation stunt

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apprehensive dialogue prejudice marvel eligible accommodate arrogant distinct knack deposit liberate cumulative consequence strive salvage chronological unique vow concise influence lure poverty priority legislation significant conserve verdict leisure erupt beacon stationary generate provoke efficient campaign paraphrase swarm adhere eerie mere mimic deteriorate literal preliminary solar soothe expanse ignite verge recount apparel terrain ample quest composure majority collide prominent duration pursue innovation omniscient resolute unruly optimist restrain agony convenient constant prosper elaborate genre retrieve exploit continuous dissolve dwell persecute abandon meager elude rural retaliate primitive remote blunder propel vital designate cultivate loathe consent drastic fuse maximum negotiate barren transform conspicuous possess allegiance beneficial former factor deluge vibrant intimidate idiom dense awe rigorous manipulate transport discretion hostile clarity arid parody boisterous capacity massive prosecute declare stifle remorse refuge predicament treacherous inevitable ingenious plummet adapt monotonous accumulate reinforce extract reluctant vacate hazardous inept diminish domestic linger context excel cancel distribute document fragile myth reject scuffle solitary temporary veteran assault convert dispute impressive justify misleading numerous productive shrewd strategy villain bluff cautious consist despise haven miniature monarch obstacle postpone straggle vivid aggressive associate deceive emigrate flexible glamour hazy luxurious mishap overwhelm span blemish blunt capable conclude detect fatigue festive hospitality nomad supreme

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exclude civic compact painstaking supplement habitat leeway minute hoax contaminate likeness migration commentary extinct tangible originate urban unanimous subordinate collaborate obstacle esteem encounter futile cordial trait improvises superior exaggerate anticipate cope evolve eclipse dissent anguish subsequent sanctuary formulates makeshift controversy diversity terminate precise equivalent pamper prior potential obnoxious radiant predatory presume permanent pending simultaneously tamper supervise perceived vicious patronize trickle stodgy rant oration preview species poised perturb vista wince yearn persist shirk status tragedy trivial snare vindictive wrath recede peevish rupture unscathed random toxic void orthodox subtle resume sequel upright wary overwhelm perjury uncertainty prowess utmost throb pluck pique vengeance pelt urgent substantial robust sullen retort ponder whim saga sham reprimand vocation assimilate dub defect accord embark desist dialect chastise banter inaugurate ovation barter muse blasé stamina atrocity deter principal liberal epoch preposterous advocate audacious dispatch incense deplore institute deceptive component subside spontaneous bonanza ultimate wrangle clarify hindrance irascible plausible profound infinite accomplish apparent capacity civilian conceal duplicate keen provoke spurt undoing vast withdraw barrier calculate compose considerable deputy industrious jolt loot rejoice reliable senseless shrivel alternate demolish energetic enforce feat hearty mature observant primary resign strive verdict brisk cherish considerate displace downfall estimate humiliate identical improper poll soothe vicinity abolish appeal brittle condemn descend dictator expand famine portable prey thrifty visual

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stance vie instill exceptional avail strident formidable rebuke enhance benign perspective tedious aloof encroach memoir mien desolate inventive prodigy staple stint fallacy grope vilify recur assail tirade antics recourse clad jurisdiction caption pseudonym reception humane ornate sage ungainly overt sedative amiss convey connoisseur rational enigma fortify servile fastidious contagious elite disgruntled eccentric pioneer abet luminous era sleek serene proficient rue articulate awry pungent wage deploy anarchy culminate inventory commemorate muster adept durable foreboding lucrative modify authority transition confiscate pivotal analogy avid flair ferret decree voracious imperative grapple deface augment shackle legendary trepidation discern glut cache endeavor attribute phenomenon balmy bizarre gullible loll rankle decipher sublime rubble renounce porous turbulent heritage hover pithy allot minimize agile renown fend revenue versa gaunt haven dire doctrine intricate conservative exotic facilitate bountiful cite panorama swelter foster indifferent millennium gingerly conscientious intervene mercenary citadel obviously rely supportive sympathy weakling atmosphere decay gradual impact noticeable recede stability variation approximately astronomical calculation criterion diameter evaluate orbit sphere agricultural decline disorder identify probable thrive expected widespread bulletin contribution diversity enlist intercept operation recruit survival abruptly ally collide confident conflict protective taunt adaptation dormant forage frigid hibernate insulate export glisten influence landscape native plantation restore urge blare connection errand exchange

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feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

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install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

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warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

K-12 Words was originally published on PinkWrite

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