#but her brother whose supposed to be smart should have been angry at her for that as well as not thinking about the inheritance

[problemswithbooks]

So, I recently watched Helluva Boss and as always I've been prusing the tags for it on tumblr to see what other people think about the story and characters.

Something that stuck out to me is when people say Striker is a hypocrite because he hates the Royals, puts down Blitz and Fizz for being with Royals, but he, himself, works for one. Also that his pitch he gave to Blitz about teaming up to take down Royals was all a lie.

Now, I'm not going to say he's not being a bit of a hypocrite, especially given how much he hates Royals. What I will say is that I understand why Striker wouldn't see it that way (besides the fact he has a seemingly desperate need to feel superior to other imps).

Striker wants to kill Royals--that is very clear. A huge hurtle to that goal is that they are immortal. The only thing that can kill them is Angelic Steel--something that is rare and expensive. Yes, Striker is supposedly a well known assassin, but it's doubtful he'd ever make enough money to afford Angelic Weapons without taking on extremely wealthy clients. The wealthiest would be those at the top.

We don't know if Striker has worked with Royals before. If we assume Stella was the first Royal he was hired by, that makes his choice to work with her make far more sense. Particularly when we take into account who her target is--her equally Royal husband.

Unless stated otherwise later, Stella must have provided Striker with his Angelic Weapons so he could kill Stolas. She doesn't just give him a single weapon, either. She gets him a sniper rifle, pistols, a knife and a rope so he can incapacitate Stolas and take his vast magic abilities away, rendering him helpless. On top of that, she is also paying him money.

Given Stella never brings up the fact he lost the sniper rifle, or demands he return the weapons she provides, this deal he's making, although hypocritical, is only a benefit for Striker. He's getting paid to kill someone he wants to anyway, and a new arsenal that gives him the capability to kill Royals afterward.

This is why I don't think his offer to Blitz was a lie. I think what he told Blitz is his long term goal/plan, and was simply offering Blitz to join him since he found Blitz to be somewhat equal to him after Blitz did so well in the harvest games. Once they killed Stolas, got Stella's money, they would turn around and start using those funds and weapons to kill more Royals.

The reason Striker doesn't see himself as on the same level as Blitz and Fizz with their relationships with Royals is because he sees himself as using Stella, where he perceives Blitz and Fizz as being used. It's true that Blitz gets similar benefits from his relationship with Stolas (if Striker even knows about Blitz using Stolas's spell book for his business, I can't recall) but given what Striker saw of their relationship, he would see Stolas using silly pet names despite Blitz disliking it and see that as Blitz debasing himself publicly for Stolas. Yes, Stella doesn't treat him with the upmost respect, but it's over the phone, without witnesses. Nor does he give her anything in return except a dead husband--someone he would have targeted anyway.

He sees Fizz as even worse because, to him, it appears Fizz has given up his own autonomy to live a cushy lifestyle. Yes, Fizz gains many benefits from being with Ozzie, but Striker views it as letting Ozzie take advantage of him, to let Ozzie treat him like a pet (which some people do, do to some imps). He doesn't know Ozzie loves Fizz--franky I don't think he'd believe a Royal could love an imp at all anyway.

Yes, he may work for a Royal, and take her orders, but he does so to pilfer more and more Angelic Weapons from her as well as take her money, all of which I'm sure he tells himself he will later use against her and the rest of the upper class. It's a business transaction that he actually holds all the cards in. Unlike Blitz and Fizz he doesn't have to publicly debase himself to get the benefits he seeks. At least that's how he sees things.

[sugar-quilled]

ron weasley x reader

request

a/n: i slipped from the topic a little bit, pretty sure what i wrote isn't teasing, and if you'd like me to change it just tell me :)

summary: While visiting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Ron's clothes get sucked into a machine. All of them, except for his boxers.

genre: comedy and (im not sure if this counts as fluff but) fluff

word count: 1.6k

pronouns: not used

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

Diagon Alley was packed, as it always was at the start of a term. Underneath a beautifully clear sky, students were seen hurrying to purchase potion ingredients and new robes. Those that had already purchased the items on their Hogwarts list were seen crowding around a new and extremely flashy building.

The store front was painted in a shocking orange color, with a large figure standing inside a window and tipping his top hat to the surrounding crowd below. In neat, gold printing, the store was identified to be none other than Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

You entered through the door amongst other eager shoppers, and immediately heard a circus-like music, coupled with the chatter of about 50 people.

Shelves on shelves of brightly colored goods and at least 4 oddly built staircases met your eyes. Immediately to your left was a brightly colored display of candy. Your walked closer, and Fred and George Weasley popped out from a counter nearby.

"Taking a look at those nosebleed nougats are you, Y/N?"

"We've got samples over here if you like-"

"Just eat the red and you'll see the red!"

"And one bite of the other side will stop it just like that."

"And fever fudge!"

"There's only a bit of those puking pastilles left, clearly we're due for a restock, Fred."

"Well, Y/N, welcome to our shop and go enjoy yourself! Call us if you need any help and we'll be right by your side in a jiffy. Now come on, George, one kid over there looks mightily suspicious."

You smiled after the twins' backs, not even angry that they hadn't let you get a word in, when you spotted Ron Weasley taking a look at Headless Hats—now on sale for 1 galleon and 8 sickles! Your previous conversation (could you even call it a conversation?) with the twins immediately left your brain and you made your way over.

Ron had been a long time crush of yours. In fact, the two year anniversary of your feelings was yesterday, and you celebrated by having a whole-hearted sobbing fest while your friends stared awkwardly at each other and tried to console you. Not that your friendship wasn't something to be happy about, but Merlin you just wished you could hold his hand. Romantically. You didn't think Ron could ever like you, what with his being best friends with Hermione Granger who was both insanely smart and jaw-droppingly gorgeous.

"Ron! It's nice to see you!"

He immediately swung around and burst into a very toothy grin. "Y/N! It's nice to see you too! What's up?"

You smiled back. "Nothing much! Your brothers' shop is gorgeous! The, uhh, those nosebleed nougats are really fascinating. And you? How was your summer?"

Ron put a headless hat down and strode closer to you to check out a row of punching telescopes. "Quite uneventful, to be honest. But yeah this stuff they came up with? Have you seen the smart-answer quills? Blimey I'd never have to ask Hermione for help again! And those fainting fancies. Reckon Snape'll believe one of those?"

You laughed. "Are you planning to faint during a lecture? It's our N.E.W.T year, you'll need all the information you can get."

Just then, Fred and George appeared right behind you.

"Having a good conversation, Ron?" Fred said cheerfully, elbowing Ron in the ribs—"Ow, Fred leave us alone!"—"Do you two want to check out the back?"

"Just don't steal anything, Y/N," George winked.

"Unless that something is Ron's heart," Fred muttered. Or you thought he muttered. But the twins' expressions had been wiped blank so that you couldn't tell whether Fred had really said it, and Ron had busied himself in untangling two extendable ears, so whether he had blushed or hadn't, you also couldn't tell.

"Lead the way, George!" Fred chortled, and swept away.

"Alright then. Right this way, you two!"

George led you and Ron, whose mouth seemed to be clamped shut, weaving past shelves higher than you to a door at the very back of the store. A small plaque on the door said: "Weasleys Working: In Progress." He twisted open the door, and beckoned both of you in. Right in front of you was a huge lab and packaging station. You could see potions brewing to your right, and to your left, there were two witches packaging a box of puking pastilles.

"So," George started, "welcome to our work station! Y/N, you might have seen a big gray thing over there upon entrance." He pointed. You looked. "That is actually something we've just installed in and its a bit of muggle machinery. Michelle and Rosalyn over there," he nodded towards the two witches, "used to have to do all the wand work manually but this big old thing makes some parts automatic. Quite useful!"

You stared at the big metal machine. There was a sort of chute at one end, and a big pipe leading up and into the ceiling.

"Well, I'll leave you two to it, and Michelle and Rosalyn," he called, "would you mind helping me out in the main area? Fred's left to check on the upstairs, and there's too many people waiting in line for purchasing." George gave Ron a ginormous wink, and left the room. The door swung back and clicked to a close.

You walked over to the muggle machine, very aware of Ron trailing behind you.

"Blimey, that thing's big. What does it even do?"

"I don't know, it looks like something that deposits goods into this bin under it. I'm not really sure where the goods come from though."

Ron circled the massive thing twice, and the second time, he tripped over a wire. Thankfully, he managed to stand himself upright with one hand leaning on the machine.

You laughed at him, and he looked embarrassedly back with a forced chuckle.

Then there was a loud whirring noise, and as Ron turned around in fright, the thing began sucking.

You were wrong. It didn't deposit things. It took them to be deposited.

With a frantic yell and many grabs at a nearby table, Ron's clothes ripped off. The machine sent them rattling through the chute and the whirring noise came to a stop.

Well. Not all of his clothes.

Ron was left standing in a pair of heart adorned boxers. Red hearts.

He tried his best to cover himself, but seeing as he only had two hands and more than two things on display, it was quite difficult.

You realized that you were staring and quickly looked away.

Ron was carefully looking at anywhere but your face.

After quite a long time's silence, your croaked out, "nice boxers, uh... dude," while looking at the ceiling. A giggle escaped despite your attempts at keeping it in, and you were sure Ron's face now matched the color of his hair.

"If you tell this to Gred- I mean, Fred or Gor- George, I'll-" he started shakily, "I'll die."

Seeing as he wasn't threatening you and assuming this meant friendly conversation could be engaged, you stammered, "they really suit you. You know, the red and all. Although I'd suggest a green pair next time. Because of the color wheel and those two are compl-"

Ron had burst into shaky, suppressed laughter.

"Never- never mind my fashion choices, how the bloody hell am I supposed to get my clothes back?"

"Well I don't see why you want them back. I mean think of the ladies you'd get by walking down the street with this lovely attire. Maybe for accessories you can add a bit more red by eating a nosebleed nougat, I'm sure I saw a few when I entered."

Both of you were laughing now, but a yell of shock from upstairs made both of you jolt.

"Oh no, no, no," Ron muttered, darting his eyes around as if trying to find a hiding spot, "Fred's upstairs, he knows what I was wearing, oh no, no-"

The door swung open. Fred was standing in the doorway looking highly amused.

"Ron, I thought you said you'd never wear those! Aunty Muriel will be pleased her present wasn't a waste of money!" Fred exclaimed, striding into the room and circling Ron, who was shaking fiercely. "They do compliment your hair, maybe I'll have to borrow the pair one day."

You choked back a laugh, bursting a vein for sure, when Fred rounded on you.

"I didn't know you two were already on this level of your relationship. Looks like Ron here neglected to tell me some bits!" Fred said cheerfully, waving his wand so that Ron looked perfectly normal again, except that his entire face was now the same color as the hearts on the boxers underneath the normality.

"Well I daresay you two have looked around, I was up there nearly 10 minutes," Fred continued, gesturing towards the door, "and Y/N, regrettably we have no products that erase recent memories-"

"Shut up," Ron muttered, walking towards the door.

"-but the idea is certainly a brilliant one and I'll be sure to start developing it." Fred gave a hearty wink as both Ron and you had exited the room, and closed the door.

You looked at Ron. He looked back.

"Well you know I never said I wanted to erase that memory. You did look quite marvelous."

Ron laughed, though his face still looked like he supported the UK Quidditch team.

"You should really take my suggestion of that green pair, and I wouldn't mind seeing how that looks either."

Both of you doubled over in laughter.

"And," you choked, "a pair of shoes to match wouldn't hurt either, though I daresay you'd rather go barefoot? Shoes shouldn't be worn to bed, after all."

There were definitely tears coming out your eyes now, and the two of you stumbled drunkily, still shaking with laughter, out the shop and down the ever so full streets of Diagon Alley.

[desertofsnowflakes]

Incorrect Order Chapter 3 (Nesssian AU)

A/N: I'm very(read: kinda) sorry for cliffhanger last chapter. Do inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!

Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.

Trigger Warnings: Language

2094 words | Incorrect Order Masterlist | Read on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cassian never knew such panic. He knew he was being an ass for acting as if he had the right to be protective of her. Of the person he didn’t even know the name of. Of the person he felt drawn to and yet wanted to forget. Of the person who got under his skin so easily. Of the person whose beauty can bring the best of men to their knees and make even queens try everything possible to best her. He didn’t know her at all other than a few conversations that weren’t his best moments, but he still felt as if they had been together since they were just kids.

All of those were reasons good enough to get him to forget other females. But this woman, gods, this woman wasn’t like the others, was she? No, she wasn’t. He found her on her knees with a man standing before her in an alley on the way back home from the library. At first glance, his heart broke for different reasons. He started walking away, before he realised it wasn’t what he thought it was. When he caught the telltale whiff of blood and saw the glint of a blade from the corner of his eyes.

Undiluted panic and rage —both feelings he didn’t have the right to feel— spurred him forward, knocking the man unconscious and breaking a bone or two for good measure, only to find the woman laying on the floor, her heart beating too fast for her good. Cassian debated entrusting the man and woman over to the authorities. Somehow, Cassian felt that the man and woman were well acquainted before today. He felt all of this was planned from the man’s side. So he brought both of them to his house. The guy was shoved into the basement with a strong sedative. The woman was left in the guest room one of his brothers or friends slept in whenever they stayed over. He didn’t take her to his room. No, he won’t. That would rip open a wound he still struggled to keep closed. A wound that wasn’t even closed properly. That would remind him of images he didn’t want to admit was stored in his mind. One of those images rose, of the woman laying on his bed, golden-brown hair fanned around her flushed face, her eyes screwed shut in—

Cassian shoved that image away and sighed. He should probably have a little chat with the woman once she wakes up.

Today, when the woman didn’t wake up after one week of unconsciousness, when her face was ghastly pale, he felt the optimism that incentivised him slowly seeping out. He started regretting his decision of not handing things over to the police. What if Cassian’s first aid hadn’t been enough? Worse, what if he did something wrong? What if, because of his actions —done knowingly, or unknowingly— would be the reason why the earth loses a certain gray-eyed beauty?

Cassian was close to giving up. It pained him to see her like this. If not for the slight rise and fall of her chest he would think she was dead already. He slowly walked to her bed, crouched and tucked stray strands of hair behind the shell of her ear. He tamped down the emotion cresting in him. Her pulse was getting steadier day by day. He should be happy— his one week of taking leave from both of his jobs and tending to her was paying off. But his mind shot to the moment that day when they first met. When he was stunned by her beauty. Her side-profile, not even her full face, at that. That day, when he realised something deadly was brewing between them. It had been growing from that day, he realised. It was barely five weeks since he had known her— he didn’t even know her. They were just acquaintances. Still, Cassian knew he was falling hard for her. This time, he couldn’t contain the swell of emotion in him. He couldn't hold back the tear rolling down his cheek. He slowly slipped out of the room and sighed. To say he was screwed was a major understatement.

***

Everywhere hurt. Death was supposed to be one's liberation. No one mentioned that there was physical pain in death. There shouldn't be, right? One didn't even have a body to feel physical pain after death. Mental pain? Probably. Physical pain? A big no.

Nesta blinked open her eyes — which again, no one mentioned ghosts would be able to do.

Huh. She expected Hell —for the mistakes she'd atoned, she assumed Hell would be her place— to be all dark and gloomy. What she didn't expect was for Hell to have separate rooms— with furniture and bright blue walls, no less.

She wanted to sit up and get a sense of her surroundings and clear her still groggy head. That's when she heard muffled footsteps. She jerked upright —and immediately regretted it for her head hurt even worse than before — and her pulse raced. She paused. Pulse raced?

She cautiously placed her hand on her wrist, then her neck and on her chest to be sure. Pulse. She had a pulse. She wasn’t dead?

The door flew open revealing a hulking, heaving figure she knew all too well. What was he doing here?

Ohh. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of memories from the alley. Of Tomas. She opened her eyes to find the man sitting on a chair near the bed. Immediately she was keenly aware of the limited space between them. He silently passed her a glass of water she gladly downed, refilled and let her drink her as much as she wanted.

She set her glass on the bedside table and looked up at him, at the concern etched deep on his face.

“Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” he asked.

Why is he being kind? Why is he making it difficult for me to hate him?

“Why am I here?” she asked instead.

“I asked you first,” he deadpanned. Typical.

“Mhm, nice way to deflect. Too kiddish, though,” she said.

“As if you aren’t deflecting,” he retorted.

“How about this? Your answers for mine.”

He huffed. “Whatever. So, are you okay?”

She smiled, “Me first.” At his glare she said, “I’m sick, aren’t I?”

“How nice of you to pull that card,” he murmured.

“Why am I here?”

“I found you on your knees, your nose slightly broken, bleeding here and there with a man holding a knife to your throat in an alley.” He shrugged. “I brought you and healed you as well as I could without gaining attention from the authorities. This is my home.”

She opened her mouth to ask her next question.

He cut her off with a smile and said, “My turn, sweetheart.”

She clenched her jaw. His audacity.

He leaned forward on his elbows. “Does anything hurt?”

“Yeah,” she allowed herself a small smile, “My head feels like it's being hit with a hammer by a particularly unkind person. My nose feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. My scalp feels like it’s being used as a cotton reel. I’m in dire need of a bath. Other than that, I’m fine I guess.”

He nodded, “Well, I’m glad you’re fine.” There he is, being all kind and caring to me again. He chuckled. “No need to give me that look. I’m just glad my one week off didn’t go down the drain.”

That was what she wanted to hear. But it still stung. Her head snapped up as realisation struck. “Wait— has it been one week already?”

He smirked, “Yes. Now, my question—”

She frowned, “It’s my turn.”

His smirk only grew larger. That bastard. “ ‘Has it been one week already’ is a question, my love.”

Shit. She should’ve thought about that. He was correct but still, “How dare—”

“Calm down, darling, calm down. If you want—”

She sighed and said, “Bring it on, then.”

His jaw ticked. He’s angry, she realised. “Who was he?” he asked quietly.

She drew in a breath. “That was Tomas. Tomas Mandray. My ex-boyfriend. He probably wanted revenge for putting him in jail.” She didn’t explain. She didn’t want to and he seemed to understand that. She slightly dreaded the next question. She put on her no-emotion face and asked, “Where is he?”

His face said he saw right through her facade. He pursed his lips, “In the basement. I figured the both of you had some sort of personal history so I wanted to wait for you to wake up before I did anything. He’s not awake; I’ve taken care of that but I don’t think he’ll be unconscious much longer. Do you need anything?”

She nodded, she was still in the same clothes as that day. There were blood stains throughout her black shirt. The mere thought that she hadn't cleaned herself for one week made her shudder. He didn’t change her clothes and she appreciated that though it seemed her face, neck and hands were wiped with a cloth. “I’d like a bath.”

He seemed to consider this before saying, “Sure. You can use my friend's clothes from the closet. The bathroom is there. Take a bath, use whatever you want. I'll get breakfast ready.”

He turned to leave. “Wait,” she called.

He arched his brows, waiting. “Thank you. For everything.”

He gave her his signature half-smile, “Anytime, darling.”

***

Making breakfast was normally very easy. Today, however, it was proving to be a very, very difficult task. Apparently, your brain turns to mush when the woman you've been drooling behind is bathing under the same roof. Also when you're talking to her. He found it a miracle that he didn't make a fool of himself earlier.

But he was sober enough to see the vulnerability behind her guarded expressions when they were talking about her ex-boyfriend. Gods, her ex-boyfriend. The anger he felt when he saw him in the alley was less than a tenth of what he felt now. He didn't know why he was angry. He just… was. He knew she was smart and brave and strong. But that didn't wipe off the fact that somewhere, beneath the tigress exterior, there was a scared little rabbit. He knew what he was going to do might be stupid. He knew it might not work out. Still, Cassian was going to arm the scared rabbit, consequences be damned.

***

Turns out, he makes delicious breakfast. There was steak, salad, boiled potatoes and a number of other foods. Nesta didn't know when she last had such mouth-watering steak. Not that she'll admit it though.

“Did he see you?” she asked after a hearty meal. “Tomas,” she clarified.

“No,” he replied, “I came from the back. His guard was down so he wasn't ready. I don't think he's trained in this kinda stuff. He probably knows a little but not good enough. Why?”

She shook her head. “I don't think I want anything to do with him. Would you mind sending him to the police? Maybe you could just attach a note saying you found him abandoned somewhere or something like that. I really don't want to get you into trouble either.”

She didn't dare look at him, afraid he'll say no.

“Fine,” he said. “You can call a cab whenever you're ready to leave. Take my first-aid kit if you want. Anything else?”

“No, no, nothing.” She cleared her throat. “Thanks. Again

For, uh, everything.”

Gods, why was she getting so flustered?

She packed her old clothes and some medicines he recommended for her headache, ignoring the pang of disappointment. Before she left, he passed her a scrap of paper with an address scrawled on it.

“What is this?” she asked.

“It's a centre I run with my brothers. In three weeks from now, after that Sunday, do you want to come? It's a self-defense arts centre. We could teach you a bit here and there. If you want. Totally no pressure.”

Nesta was stunned. That was exactly what she was thinking about in the shower earlier. Learn how to fight. Learn what to do. Then, payback time. She really didn't understand how he managed to read her mind. She smiled. “I'd love that.”

He grinned. She felt happy. Soon, she was going to give back suffering for all she got. Tomas was so going to pay. She's going to learn how to fight. Never again, she vowed. Never again would she be vulnerable.

taglist:

@shadowsinger07 @im-someone-i-guess @saltyfortunes @cressjacquine @julian-blackthorn-supremacy @champanheandluxxury @zemiraa @ladygabrielli1997 @nehemikkele @heartless--aromantic @sv0430 @ddsworldofbooks @irenethaleia @sjm-things

[sirixsconversations]

strawberry lemonade • chapter one

warnings: besides cringe and breakups, nothing

summary: After breaking up with your boyfriend of three years, you move out of your apartment as your best friend’s high school friend comes back to Japan for a “break”.

wc: 1.3k

|| masterlist || previous || next ||

Breakups were supposed to be hard, it’s a well-known fact, but you couldn’t help but cry out of frustration as you looked at all the boxes you had packed in a rush. Even though your friends had offered to come help with moving out of the apartment you had shared with your ex-boyfriend, you refused. After all, you were stubborn, not even a breakup could change that. However, your plan on doing everything yourself was soon abandoned as you whipped out your phone, cringing at the lock screen you had yet to change. 

Pressing the top number, you only waited for a few seconds before the other end picked up. You never had to wait with him. 

“Hajime, I know I said-” he cut you off before you could finish your sentence. 

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be right over with food.” 

You smiled at the fact that he always knew what to do and what to say. 

_

You met Iwaizumi Hajime just before leaving for the United States in order to study abroad. In contrast to your frantic and nervous behavior before flying, he was calm and put-together. By some miracle, the two of you were sat together, and you learned you were going to the same college in California. He told you how he went to Aoba Johsai, and you told him how you attended Fukurodani. 

Over the course of a year, you and Hajime became best friends and saw each other at their worst. You would wear each other’s high school apparel and eventually would share an apartment in your last year before returning to Japan. Although others misunderstood the relationship between you two, it was defined as a familial bond. He was your older brother, and you were his younger sister. 

_

Back to the present day, Hajime sat in your living room as you began to sort through your clothes. Snorting at a familiar old teal shirt, he laughed. 

“What are you laughing at?” you scowled at the man who was sprawled across your sofa. 

“Nothing, it’s just that I can’t believe you still have that! It’s not even mine,” he clutched his stomach, seeming like he was remembering something. You just narrowed your eyes before throwing the fabric at his face. 

“Well if it’s not yours, whose is it?” you questioned the brunette boy. He sat up before opening his phone up to show you a picture of four boys at graduation. You had seen the picture before, it was framed in his bedroom. He pointed to a taller boy who had wavy hair and was holding up two fingers behind Hajime’s head. 

“Oh, Oikawa right?” you asked Hajime, as he had told you about his high school friends before. He nodded before saying that the shirt belonged to him. 

“I’m not even sure why I have it, especially because it wouldn’t fit me,” he questioned to himself. He set down the food container that was still on his lap and sat down next to you in order to help pack more efficiently. He seemed to be lost in thought before turning to you. 

“Where are you going to stay after this?” you set down the skirt you were holding in your hands before letting out a sigh. 

“I don't know Haji. My sister said I could stay with her, but she lives in Kyoto, and that’s too far from everything.”

“I would offer you to stay with me, but Mattsun brings too many people over. It would just be uncomfortable for the both of us.” you laughed as he rambled on about his roommate’s antics. 

Issei Matsukawa, another high school friend, was Iwaizumi’s roommate. You had met him many times, along with Hanamaki, another friend. The three of them made up ¾ of the Iwaizumi’s lock screen. The only person you hadn’t met yet was Oikawa, as he was living in Argentina as a professional volleyball player. Hajime was extremely proud of him, even though he wouldn’t admit it to his face. 

“Maybe I should call up Kaori and see if she will let me crash at her-”

Your sentence was cut short as the Godzilla theme began to play from Iwaizumi’s pocket. He took a look at who was calling before excusing himself to the kitchen, although it was no use. The next words that fell from his lips were very loud and said with disbelief. 

“You’re coming home?!” 

_

Two weeks later, you were sitting in Bokuto and Akaashi’s shared apartment browsing through the apartment listings when Iwaizumi called you. 

“Haji, what’s up?” your ears were met with an unfamiliar voice that was definitely not Iwaizumi’s. 

“Haji?! Is that what she calls you Iwa?” you could hear Iwaizumi sighing on the other end, as Akaashi entered the room with tea and a glass of wine. You thanked him quietly before hearing an argument break out on the other side of the phone.

“Hajime? Everything good over there?” you asked as you sipped the warm tea. It was quite good, and you made a note to thank Akaashi later. 

“Good? Yeah, no. Could you come and pick us up from the airport?” you could sense the frustration in his voice, but decided not to ask questions right now. Instead, you hopped in your car and drove towards the Tokyo airport. 

Upon your arrival, you saw Iwaizumi standing near a taller male who had light brown hair. You immediately recognized him as the man from Iwaizumi’s lock screen, but wasn’t he in Argentina? You strolled up to the pair and raised an eyebrow at Iwaizumi’s angry demeanor. He just sighed and pulled the man and his bags towards your car. You just took his silence as a sign to just drive.

On the way back to Iwaizumi’s apartment you learned three important things about Oikawa. 

He was very smart and handsome

He was back in Japan for a year at most

He easily was going to become one of your closest friends

His behavior towards you was light and cheerful, and you had no trouble keeping a conversation but Iwaizumi seemed to be lost in thought as you drove closer to his home. Oikawa sat in the backseat, telling you all kinds of stories, including the one where he decided to come home and take a break. 

When you pulled up to Iwaizumi’s shared apartment, you watched as Hanamaki and Matsukawa gave the boy a large hug before asking about his life in Argentina. It was almost worrisome as you watched Iwaizumi hold back from rejoicing with the others, but he eventually gave in. 

_

After a few drinks with the four boys, the conversation turned to where Oikawa would be staying while he was in Japan. He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck before setting down the drink he had been holding for a good portion of the night. Turns out, he stopped drinking heavily after a night in Rio that he refused to talk about. 

“Ah, well I don't currently have a place,” he gave a short laugh before Hanamaki spouted out that you didn’t either. You and Iwaizumi both slapped his head as Oikawa and Mattsun laughed.

“Is that so!” You turned as Oikawa placed his fingers on his chin, seeming like he was in deep thought. He then acted like he had discovered lighting. 

“I got it, y/n be my roommate!” he grabbed your hands and begged you to stay with him, even though you had barely known each other for 6 hours. Iwaizumi interjected right away. 

“No, absolutely not.” He crossed his arms and began to have to stare at Oikawa intensely before laughs broke from the tall boy’s lips. You hated to admit it, but you were very desperate, and shot Iwaizumi a pleading look. He eventually broke, much to everyone’s delight. 

“That settles it! y/n tomorrow we go apartment shopping!”

As you and Oikawa talked over plans, and how things like rent would be handled, Iwaizumi stared at his friend in confusion. One thing had been bothering him since the phone call he received two weeks ago. 

Oikawa Tooru did not take breaks. Ever. 

a/n: y/n is very naive, i think we should establish this before we move one. second of all, y/n and her ex seemed to just fall out of love, but y/n DOES still harbor feelings for the mysterious man

taglist: open!!!

[warriorsfireandwater]

Laurel power of the 3?

Laurel: What changes to the books would you make if you could write the series?

I got two requests for this one! While I'm sort of following the same idea of "sticking closer to canon but making it functionally better", I think this series is really indicative of how poor planning made it functionally worse than its predecessors. So while I'll try to avoid diving too deep into AU territory, there will be some more significant changes to try and make it all work together better. Some of my thoughts on this have been influenced by @tennelleflowers‘s video on their Po3 changes - it’s a really great take on the series!

First, I would straight up butcher this series into three books. There’s a lot of filler here with the ancients and visits to the tribe and the mess that is the last book, and I would just boot all that to the curb. There could be some mentions of ancients, but the tribe visits feel less than necessary to the plot.

The Sight: Lionkit, Jaykit, Hollykit are just starting to grow up in ThunderClan. I would put greater emphasis on how they’re raised by the other queens in the nursery, especially Ferncloud but Daisy as well. They still love Squirrelflight and view her as her mother, but they’re very close to Ferncloud and Daisy. Squirrelflight has kept up with her warrior duties since Ferncloud has nursed the three when Squirrel’s milk didn’t come in. All around their kithood is just fuzzy and warm and they grow up encouraged by everyone - INCLUDING JAYKIT. None of that “everyone looks at him with pity :(((((” shenanigans. If anyone suggested Jaykit was unfit for anything, Mama Ferncloud had some stern words for them.

Things play out mostly the same across the book. Jaypaw starts out his training with Brightheart and Hollypaw with Leafpool, but they do end up switching. For Jaypaw its not because he’s bad at being a warrior or because Spottedleaf is harassing him into it, but because he has been aware of the strange dreams he has and more than once has woken up in the dreams of other cats. He feels like he’s been getting signs from StarClan but he can’t make sense of them, and he likes the allure of being able to communicate with StarClan and have that position of power and respect in the Clan (which is reinforced, because the watering-down of the influence of medicine cats later series is frustrating). Hollypaw conversely realizes that being a medicine cat is far more lonely than she expected, and notices how lonely Leafpool clearly is, even if she isn’t open about it. Hollypaw doesn���t want that for herself and sees the fun the other apprentices have, so she agrees to become a warrior apprentice instead. Brightheart takes over her training.

Lionpaw doesn’t have a huge arc here, he’s mostly kind of a doofus who comes off arrogant due to his skills but starts to learn throughout his apprenticeship that just being a meathead isn’t going to get the other apprentices to like him. Him and Berrypaw have a friendly rivalry. The Sight ends with Jaypaw receiving the prophecy from StarClan.

Dark Eclipse: Borrowing the title from my Wind!Po3 au... this is when Sol is introduced. He arrives to the Clans, showing himself to lone warriors or small patrols, making minor predictions and claiming to be able to preform miracles. He mostly predicts cats futures - if they’ll find love, how many kits they’ll have, silly things like that. Cats start eating it up despite being suspicious of the loner, because their medicine cats don’t do that kind of thing and honestly, it’s fun. Sol is mysterious but friendly, keeping cats at an arm’s length while dangling information in front of them. He also generally positions himself as being very all-knowing of the history of the lake, sun-drown place, and the “ancient cats” that used to live here.

While Jaypaw is out collecting herbs on his own, he happens across a tunnel (by accident, from falling into it), where he meets a cat with no scent that leads him out. He finds the ancient stick, and wants to know more about what the tunnels are all about - so of course, he goes to Sol to learn from him. Sol is more than happy to teach Jaypaw about the history of the ancients in exchange for information about the clans today (under the guise that he is something of a historian and likes collecting information wherever he goes). Sol also has heard of Jaypaw’s prophecy, and he claims he wants to help Jaypaw understand it and grow into his power.

Lionpaw starts having dreams with Hawkfrost and Tigerstar, and while he doesn’t trust them, he DOES want to learn their fighting skill. They also seem to have some sense of his special abilities, and claim to want to help him better understand them. This is when Lionpaw’s power in the waking world starts to have more... uncomfortable tones. Lionpaw starts losing his temper easily, becomes more aggressive, and finally during a training session he unsheathes his claws to claw another apprentice. This lands him in trouble, and he’s told he has to spend a quarter-moon helping Leafpool and Jaypaw in the medicine cats’ den to learn how to take care of others. During this Jaypaw walks in a dream with him and catches him visiting Hawkfrost and Tigerstar. Afterwards, Jaypaw threatens to tell Firestar unless Lionpaw stops visiting them. Lionpaw doesn’t want to give up his training, but he doesn’t want to get in trouble with Firestar, either - so Jaypaw admits he has his own teacher who Lionpaw can visit.

Hollypaw, meanwhile, is adjusting to being a warrior apprentice. She’s unlike her brothers - she’s much friendlier than Jaypaw and more intelligent that Lionpaw, and she’s not bad at hunting or fighting but not particularly egotistical about it. She can be a stickler for the warrior code, but generally she gets along with the other apprentices and begins to become the ringleader of the group. She is notably distant from her brothers, though, which makes her upset but she isn’t sure how to fix it. Jaypaw is fixated on his medicine cat training and is inherently separated from her by his role, but Lionpaw has just been... tired and grouchy and mean. To make matters worse, he starts disappearing during the day, too! Hollypaw is fed up with this and stalks her brothers one day (feeling a bit hurt that they’ve been spending time together without her) and catches them meeting Sol. She finds this absolutely disgraceful - he’s a rogue, smart or not! Jaypaw tells her that he can help them understand the prophecy, which only infuriates her more - because why didn’t they tell her about it in the first place if that was the point of meeting him? Furious, she storms right off and reports them to Firestar. They are both in trouble now for leaving the territory and their training to talk to a rogue, and Firestar is especially concerned to hear they’ve been sharing information about the Clans with him. A ThunderClan patrol tries to track him down, but Sol seems to have vanished.

Sol later shows up at a Gathering (with mixed reviews from the audience - as it turns out, all four Clans have seen this mysterious loner, and some admire his knowledge while others are pissed off about this outsider frolicking across the territories distracting their warriors and NOW having the audacity to strut into the gathering). He says he’s going to make the sun go out. Cats are like “wtf????” and Sol repeats this and says he is more powerful than StarClan and will show the Clans that it is so. Cats grow angry and fearful, some even wanting to kill him for suggesting such a thing, and Sol just sort of smirks and says “If your StarClan is so powerful, then I suppose they’ll keep the sun lit tomorrow.” With that he takes off and cats are freaking out, clouds are covering the moon, and the Clans call off the Gathering.

Cut to the next day when things are progressing more or less normally (with some general nervousness). A WindClan patrol storms right through ThunderClan territory, claiming to have heard ThunderClan is harboring Sol. Of course, they’re not - and when WindClan is about to attack them, a ShadowClan patrol races to ThunderClan asking for help because RiverClan is attacking them for “harboring Sol”, which they claim not to be doing. WindClan turns on ShadowClan, ThunderClan is confused, fights are breaking out, its all around madness. A few hisses turns into all-out war, but no one knows whose side is fighting for whose. Someone cries out that Firestar is losing a life - 

Then the sun goes out.

Outcast: This book picks right back up in the middle of the panic, with some cat shrieking that Firestar is dying. Thing is, no one is sure who killed him, because it’s chaotic and hard to see due to the, you know, black sun. Jaypaw is trying to get his way through the fray with Leafpool to make it to Firestar.

They don't make it in time. They get there and he's dead. Actually dead. Jaypaw is in shock, and Leafpool is shaking with grief—but Jaypaw catches a sense of rage in her.

"He had two lives left," she snarls. "He had two lives."

Jaypaw understands and is horrified. Firestar's wounds are fatal, but they're not horrific. Coming back from the loss of his eighth life should have healed him enough to survive through the ninth. Someone waited and killed him again.

The eclipse ends with Sol atop a tree, declaring he has proven himself to be stronger than StarClan. Cats are horrified by the aftermath of the short but bloody battle. All the Clans are calling for blood, until Blackstar admits that Sol clearly has knowledge that would benefit ShadowClan and brings him back to camp with him.

ThunderClan is feeling really low after everyone realizes Firestar was killed. Cats are willing to accept it was an accident until Leafpool reveals what she realized, and that just ramps them up to pissed. Cats pretty quickly jump to thinking it’s Sol, but Jaypaw isn’t sure. Sol was never aggressive, and he had seemed to be out of the fight. Jaypaw tries to say this with mixed effects. Lots of fingers are pointed, but Brambleclaw doesn’t want to start off his leadership attacking another Clan without being sure. There’s a bit of an early-to-mid book lag here, with cats trying to maintain normal Clan life but Very Stressed about the fact that their leader was murdered twice in battle. Aaaand cue the fire.

Fire scene plays out like canon. Ashfur traps the three and Squirrel reveals the truth to the horror of her kids. It’s a bit more emphasized here that he had some involvement with Firestar being trapped in the fox trap a while back - he specifically says “I just regret not staying to make sure the job was finished”. Lionblaze believes this means he killed Firestar in the battle.

A couple days pass. Ashfur’s body is discovered. Cats are FREAKING out thinking someone is trying to murder ThunderClan cats now. Bramblestar finally gets a patrol together to go to ShadowClan and demand they give up Sol—but ShadowClan won't have it. Things are just weird there, with Sol and other rogues just hanging out and Blackstar declaring ShadowClan is following Sol's wisdom now. Sol comes down and says he did not kill Ashfur or Firestar but is happy to help with their investigation. Hollyleaf and Lionblaze go along and Lionblaze INSISTS Sol must be lying. Hollyleaf is notably feeling eaten up inside from the reveal of not being Squirrel's kit, and starts to work out the whole truth. At the next Gathering, she jumps on the the tree and reveals everything—how Squirrelflight lies about being their mother, about Leafpool and Crowfeather. Chaos ensues. Hollyleaf runs away, and Lionblaze chases her.

"What's wrong with you?" he snarls. "You ruined everything! Do you have any idea what I did to protect us?"

Jayfeather catches up and sees his memory of Lionblaze killing Ashfur. (I think HE should be the one to kill Ashfur so Hollyleaf's breakdown/killing feels less contradictory and because it fits Lion's power + Ash was his mentor.) When he killed Ashfur, he basically beat him to a pulp until Ashfur admitted he was the one that killed Firestar and repeated he was just sorry he hadn’t done it when he last had the chance to hurt Squirrelflight. Jayfeather shares this with Hollyleaf, who is horrified by what her brother has done and is afraid of how angry he is. She runs off into a tunnel, which collapses, and Jay and Lion believe she’s dead. Lionblaze feels a tremendous amount of guilt, believing he just killed his sister. Jayfeather is shaken and asks how the prophecy can still come true without her, which makes Lionblaze angry - “Don’t you care that our sister just died?”

The book ends on a dark tone, with Lionblaze being eaten up by guilt from Hollyleaf’s death, and not speaking to Jayfeather. Jayfeather is upset that Hollyleaf is dead but is extremely concerned for the sake of the prophecy (to the point of being half in denial about her death - thinking she simply can’t be dead because the prophecy needs her). The story ends with him helping Whitewing birth her kits, Dovekit and Ivykit, and when Cloudtail comes to visit his daughter, he is struck by the recollection that Whitewing is Firestar’s kin as well, making her daughters “kin of his kin”. He feels more hopeful after this, thinking to himself that he will keep a close eye on the kits so that they aren’t lost like Hollyleaf. This also leaves some plot threads for OotS to resolve - Sol isn’t gone, ShadowClan is clearly starting to have issues, and the Clan still isn’t sure who killed Ashfur.

[rrickgrrimes8]

Normality is Death

Chapter Four ~ Atlanta and the Vatos

masterlist

It has been a few days since Addie last spoke to me but it's for the best really. We're not supposed to be together and it took me a while to figure that out but now I know and I won't ever forget it. I know she's been avoiding me since we almost kissed and I guess I've made my peace with that but today that ends. Today, we have to go into Atlanta for a supply run. It was a normal thing for me and Addie to go on a run together but today I felt different. I don't know whether or not it's because of my nerves or maybe something completely different all I know is that I'm scared more then I would be usually. I guess I could put it down to the reckless asshole that put the biters on high alert. What happened was that Mitchell said he saw some dude enter Atlanta on horseback and be surprised by the biters and got cornered in a tank or something. He's probably dead now though, everyone thinks it as no one makes it out of Atlanta after making that much noise and I'd be very surprised if he was alive. 

The supply run should be easy today as we gave it a couple of days before going out and just so they wouldn't be on such high alert. I haven't spoken to Addie about coming with me but she hasn't spoken to me either so I guess she's still planning on joining me.

I stepped out of my shared house, ignoring the blazing Atlanta heat and walked over to Mitchell, "Still going on a run today, right?" I asked him to which he nodded. "Yeah. Addie's waiting for you at the gate." I smiled at him and span around mentally preparing myself to face Addie.

"Oh and Jacey?" Mitchell called after me.

"Yeah."

"Stay safe. I know somethings going on between the two of you I don't want that to cloud your judgement. Be smart about it, alright?" I nodded at his words internally sighing and walked away.

I approached the gates seeing Addie stood there nervously and holding a rifle and my machete and handgun. "You ready?" I asked her snapping her out of her daze she nodded curtly before motioning the people on watch to open the gate. 

"Well this is going to be fun," I muttered to myself before taking my weapons and leaving camp.

Upon arriving in Atlanta you could tell that the biters had maybe doubled in numbers since our last run. I sensed Addie's fear to which I just looked at her and smiled, "We'll be okay, we always are." She smiled back and relaxed slightly before taking the lead and heading into the city centre careful not to cross closely to any biters. I pulled my hood up as we passed through the numerous remains of what once were people and kept close to Addie before turning into the first alleyway. 

"So what's the plan today?" She asked looking over her shoulder for biters and then back to me.

"Just the usual. Hit the mini markets and then see what we get," I shrugged at her before continuing, "Oh and Mitchell mentioned the other day to get some more clothes if we could." She smiled softly and nodded.

"You ready, Grimes?"

"Always, Smith."

We said to each other before running out of the alley and across the street ignoring the reactions we were getting from the many biters we crossed.

Addie and I got to the other side easily and snuck into the first shop. We shuffled quickly through each shelf grabbing what we needed and leaving everything we didn't. It was all going so well until we heard voices. Neither me nor Addie spoke we just watched through the window closely. The voices couldn't be more then a store away from us and we probably wouldn't have been able to hear them if they weren't being so damn loud. 

"You got a lot of balls for a Chinaman." One of the men remarked in a deep southern accent. I rolled my eyes at his words and looked over to Addie, who looked terrified. 

"I'm Korean." The other man, who sounded more youthful than the other man, corrected him. I looked back over to Addie and mouthed 'I'll be right back. Don't move.' She attempted to call after me as I left the shop but I ignored her and discreetly followed the voices, finding them in an alley. 

Still hidden around the corner I heard one of them say, "Whatever." I walked away from the pair hoping that they hadn't seen me yet. 

I was about to leave for good until I heard a small familiar scream pierce the air, "Jacey!" I span around to see a biter almost taking a piece out of her neck. I got my gun out quickly not thinking about the sound it'll draw and shot. It hit the corpse perfectly and Addie ran back over to me. 

"Hey! You two!" a hushed voice called to us from the right. I looked over to see one of the men from the alleyway before. He was a younger man wearing a t-shirt and a cap and holding a bag of guns with the bold lettering of 'SHERIFF' on the side. 

"What the hell are you thinking, setting that off?" I rolled my eyes at him and got ready to retort but he interrupted, "Forget it you've gotta follow me it's not safe out in the street." 

"Yeah well it's probably not safe with you neither," Addie snapped. 

"Just follow me, okay? The way you came from is blocked off now this is the only option." I looked behind me and sure as hell, he was telling the truth, about a dozen or so biters clambered across the street towards us. I heard Addie gasp in shock causing me to grab her wrist and pull her in the direction the man told us to. 

Once we get into the alley I see the mans friend on the floor being beaten by what looks to be a metal pole. The two men who were beating him pushes me to the ground and one of them hits me across the face. I hear Addie scream and I look up to see those pricks grabbing both her and that guy, attempting to throw them in the back of the truck. I spat out some blood and looked to my side grabbing a crossbow and shooting at the guy, who had Addie, in the ass. I pushed myself up and ran after them but missed them by a mere second as they drove away. 

"No Addie!" I shout after the car and got ready to run after them but was pulled back by two arms. 

"Stop struggling yer damn bitch," He growls to me before throwing me next to a younger boy. 

The redneck picks up his crossbow and aims it at the pair of us, "Tell me where they jus' took ma friend." The boy next to me looks scared but I just roll my eyes and grab my gun aiming it right back at him. 

"I don't fucking know," I hear voices call for the man to stop but I ignore them and push him out the way and ran back into the now biter filled street. 

"Hey get back here woman!" I hear him shout before one of his friends closes the gate between us. 

"No can do asshole. See ya in hell!" I walked away from the group setting myself down in the closest store. I had to fight back the tears thinking about what they could be doing to my girl right now. She could be dead already for all I know and it would be my fault. My thoughts drifted back to the man that was taken with Addie. He was nice - unlike his friend - maybe he's protecting her like he was trying to do before. I bow my head thinking about all the places I know of in Atlanta hoping to have any clue of finding them. 

I've got to save them.

~

Rick paced around the room slowly, looking back and forth between the boy, whose name he learnt to be Miguel, and Daryl. Daryl was angry it had been clear since the start of this endeavour and Rick could almost fear that. He understood that a man could do a lot of damage on anger alone. 

"Those men you were with, we need to know where they went," The officer spoke down to the boy. 

"I ain't telling you nothing," He spoke sternly and with as much confidence he could muster causing Shane to sigh and sit back on to one of the tables. 

T-dog looked over to Daryl and asked, "Jesus, man. What the hell happened back there?" 

Daryl looked up at him and sneered, "I told you, this turd and his douchebag friends came out of nowhere and jumped me." 

"You're the one who jumped me, puto, screaming about trying to find his brother like it's my damn fault." Miguel sassed rolling his eyes at Daryl's madness. 

"They took Glenn n' that other girl too. Coulda took Merle as well," He justified a hint of sadness in his voice once he spoke about his brother. 

"Merle? What kind of hick name is that? I wouldn't name my dog Merle," Miguel laughed at him causing Daryl to try and kick him which Rick intervened. 

"Damn it, Daryl. Back off." Daryl moves away sitting in the background still giving the boy a dirty look. 

The redneck looked over to Miguel once again and moved over to his back, unwrapping his brother's hand, "Want to see what happened to the last guy that pissed me off?" Daryl dropped the cold hand onto the boy's lap making him freak out. Shane picked up the hand and put it back in the bag ignoring the laughs he got from Daryl, "Next imma gonna start with the feet."

After the boy calmed down T-dog looked over to Daryl and inquired, "Hold on you said they took some girl, who was she?" 

"Yeah, and who was that girl you were shouting after?" Shane joined and looked at the redneck. 

"Don't know who they are. They were just with Glenn," He shrugged. 

"Then why the hell did you point your crossbow at her? She could've helped us." Rick scolded him. 

"I thought she might've been on their side," Daryl attempted to explain, "She was a bitch anyway, doubt she woulda helped shit." 

"She was just a kid, puto, a badass one but still just a kid," Miguel added seemingly almost fully recovered from seeing that hand and the threats Daryl made afterwards. 

"How do you know?" The brunette man asked. 

"Dunno she just looked it. Couldn't be more than 15." Both Rick and Shane's heart seemed to sink at his reply - she was just a kid. A kid that was the same age as Ricks daughter when she died. Knowingly Shane looked over to his brother, a sigh getting caught in between his lips as he looks at the face of sorrow and grief he had on. 

"She was only 15, Daryl!" Rick snapped at Daryl, "And you were prepared to kill her for nothing!" Both Daryl and T-dog looked at the man in shock and if he was honest with himself he was shocked too. Why all of a sudden did he care so much for a girl he had never met. Shane sped over to his partner and pushed him back slightly, "You gotta chill brother." Rick looked at him with a death glare and then back at Daryl.

"Chill man she had her gun on me anyways. Was kinda askin' for it." 

Shane rolled his eyes ignoring Ricks anger towards the man and moved back over to Miguel, "The men you were with took our friend. All we want to do is talk to them, see if we can work something out."

~

Addie faced the wall not daring to make a noise as the man she met from earlier sat closely as if he was ready to protect her. She felt herself begin to cry letting the bad thoughts of what these people could do to them take over. But the worst one she could think about was that she'd never get to see Jacey again. 

"Hey, it's okay. Please don't cry," The boy next to her whispered, "My friends will get us out of here. I promise." Although she weakly smiled at him they both knew it was fake - they were both terrified there was no denying it. 

"Thanks for what you did back there," He looked over to the girl confused, "For trying to help me and my friend. She'd hate for me to admit this but you really saved our asses even if it brought us to this."

He smiled at her and said, "Its no problem really. I mean I'm guessing you're only young it would've been wrong to leave you with a ton of walkers. My names Glenn by the way."

"Addie. I would shake your hand if I weren't tied up," Glenn laughed, "and yeah I guess were younger I'm 16 and my friend is 14."

"14, Jesus. She's so young and I mean so are you but she's like just started high school," Glenn muttered sadly, this world was too hard for a girl that young. 

"If you got to know her you wouldn't expect her to be that young. She's pretty badass."

"I could tell. She shot that Walker and you know didn't miss. Whenever I try it takes me a few times," Addie laughs at his embarrassed face.

"I think she's had practise though. Our leader taught her a lot but her dad was a cop before all of this and he taught her some stuff."

"Another cop, Jesus, do they grow on trees," Glenn whispers inwardly but Addie still hears it.

"What do you mean?" she leans her head back onto the wall, still looking at him.

"Oh we just have two cops in our group and you guys have another one. It's kind of stupid saying out loud I understand lots of people are cops I just... I honestly don't know nevermind," They both laugh, him doing it more out of embarrassment rather than humour.

Addie sighed sadly, "Her dad isn't in our group though. He died before I even met her."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Do you know how?"

"Gunshot." She stated simply remembering back to the conversation they had about him.

"Wait, no way! No was one of the cops in our group! He got left behind or something but reunited with his wife and son. They all thought he was dead," He excitedly yelled, still remembering the tearjerking reunion.

Addie looked shocked at the man's claim and was about to answer with a bombardment of questions but was interrupted when the door slammed open.

~

The four men enter the hideout guns raised and moving in a way best described to be as a troop of soldiers. Rick took the lead, a shotgun in hand, and a look of pure determination to get his friend back, alive. Miguel shakily walked in front of them, arms tied behind his back. 

"You sure your up for this?" Shane looks to the group. 

"Yes," T-dog replies as Rick starts to nod. 

As if it was on cue, a group of older men, some that Daryl could recognise from earlier, came pouring out of the building. The leader, Guillermo, walked ahead of the group and up to Miguel checking out any bruises he may have, "you okay, little man?" 

In response, Miguel shook his head biting his lip softly, "They're gonna cut off my feet, carnal." 

"Cops do that?" He asked him looking over at the group, eyeing Rick's sheriff hat and Shane's cap. 

"Not them. This redneck puto here. He cut off some dude's hand, man. He showed it to me." Guillermo looked at Daryl his eyes grazing over his crossbow. 

"Shut up," He spat roughly. 

Out of nowhere, another man came out of the building his gun raised to the group of men, "Hey where's that puto? The one that shot me in the ass with an arrow?" The man looked over the group men still not spotting the girl that did this to him. 

"Chill, ese, chill. Chill. This true? They want Miguelito's feet? That's pretty sick, man," Guillermo looked at the group scoffing. 

"We were hoping for a calm discussion," Rick clarified. 

"That hillbilly jumps Felipe's little cousin, beats on him, threatens to cut off his feet and some girl shoots Felipe with an arrow in the ass and you want a calm discussion? You fascinate me." 

"Heat of the moment. Mistakes were made from both sides," He said looking over at the redneck. 

"Where is that girl anyway? Hiding in the bushes to ambush us?" Felipe gulped as Guillermo spoke and looked at the nearby bushes. 

"No. She's not with us. Was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and so was her friend," Shane spoke up. 

Guillermo nodded still unsure and looked over to Daryl as he spoke, "You got my brother in there?" 

"Sorry, we're fresh out of white boys. But I've got an Asian and an African American. You interested?" 

Rick stepped forward looking at Guillermo intimidatingly, "I have one of yours, you have two of mine. Sounds like a good enough trade." 

Guillermo shook his head looking back at Rick just as fiercely, "Don't sound even to me." 

"G, come on, man," Miguel begged. 

"Not only do my people got attacked but you offer an unfair trade. Where's the compensation for their pain and suffering? More to the point, where's my bag of guns?" 

Rick shrugged, "Guns?" 

"The bag Miguel saw in the street. The bag Felipe and Jorge were going back to get. That bag of guns." 

Shane looked to the man who was still eyeing Rick suspiciously, "You're mistaken." 

The man shakes his head saying, "I don't think so." 

"About it being yours. It's my bag of guns," Rick shares. 

"The bag was in the street. Anybody could come around and say it was theirs. I'm supposed to take your word? What's to stop my people from unloading on you right here and now and I take what's mine?" 

"You could do that or not," Rick says pointing back to T-dog, who was hidden behind a wall, a sniper in hand. Guillermo looks to T-dog and back at his group and nodded to them. 

Seconds later, two men appear on the roof dragging behind them a girl and a man with bags over there head, "I see two options. You come back with Miguel and my bag of guns, everybody walks. Or you come back locked and loaded, we'll see which side spills more blood." The gang turned around heading back inside the building and leaving Rick, Shane, Miguel, Daryl and T-dog behind. 

~

Rick say down the bag of guns in front of the group and thought silently for a moment. He starts to divide the guns up causing Daryl to scoff, "Them guns are worth more than gold. Gold won't protect your family or put food on the table. You're gonna give that up for them kids?" 

T-dog joined in looking at the angry Daryl and conflicted Rick, "If I knew we'd get Glenn and the girl back, I might agree. But you think that Vato across the way is just gonna hand them over?" 

"You calling g a liar?" Miguel almost shouted, drawing Daryl over to him. 

"Are you apart of this? You want to hold onto your teeth?" Daryl threatened, slapping him sharply. 

"Question is do you trust the man's word?" T-dog questioned. 

"No, question is what are you willing to bet on it? Could be more than them guns? Could be your life? Glenn and some stranger worth that to you?" Daryl countered looking at Rick. 

"What life I have I owe to him. I was nobody to Glenn, just some idiot stuck in a tank. He could have walked away, but he didn't. Neither will I. And let's not forget that stranger is just a kid. If that was your own kid you wouldn't leave her behind, would you?" Shane looked at the man and felt his heartbreaking. Maybe Rick knew she was left behind maybe Lori didn't even tell him. To Shane, it didn't matter he saw that the man was struggling. 

Daryl ignored the question and continued, "So you're gonna hand the guns over?" 

"I didn't say that. Nothing is keeping you three here. You should get out, head back to camp," Rick directed at them. 

To which T-dog shook his head, "And tell your family what?" 

"Come on, this is nuts. Just do like g says," Miguel tells them the fear evident in his eyes. 

Shane looked to Rick again and whispered, "Brother I think you should go back to camp." 

Rick's head snapped to him upon hearing his words, "What?" 

"I think you need to leave. All this," He paused looking back at the hideout, "It's getting too personal for you." 

Rick sighed, "Glenn saved my life. I'm not leaving him." Rick sat up from sorting the guns and went to the window. 

"You know full well this is not about Glenn," He snapped causing him to bow his head, refusing to look at his best friend. 

"That girl, whoever she is reminds you of Jacey. I get that, of course, I do b-but it's not her," Shane told him, "Jacey's gone, man, and that fucking sucks but there's nothing we can do about it." The officer shut his eyes fighting off tears. 

"I'm sorry Rick. I'm so sorry but you need to leave. You just found out Jacey is dead you can't be here. Hell, you shouldn't have come out, to begin with." 

"I'm fine. I can deal with it," He attempted to convince Shane. 

"No you can't," He sighed, "You snapped at Daryl earlier for pointing his weapon at some kid just because she was around Jacey's age." 

Rick slid down the wall leaning his head against the rough bricks, "When he said that she couldn't be more then 15 I guess uh I thought what if it was her. I thought that I might get my angel back," He confessed breaking the silence between the pair. 

"She's gone, Rick," He said causing Rick to cry to himself quietly. 

"Head back to camp okay, take T-dog with you. Just be with your family okay? It's what you need right now," He looked at him unsure, "If not for you, do it for Carl. He misses his sister more than anything. And no matter what I tell him he doesn't believe she's dead," Rick nodded sadly, standing up and wiping away any sign of tears. 

"T-dog you go back with Rick. Take the spare car," T-dog nodded but looked confused at the teary-eyed male. 

"I'll see you back at home, brother," He said to his friend hugging him tightly. 

They left soon after leaving Daryl, Shane and Miguel in the room. "What the hell? You just sent away half of the group. How we supposed to protect ourselves?" Daryl snarls. 

"We'll be fine." Daryl glared at the man unsatisfied with his answer but remained silent.

"Why'd he leave anyway?" Miguel asked curiously as if he weren't the hostage. 

"He lost his kid. I didn't want him to lose it when we're facing them and lose his life too," Daryl nodded to the man almost sympathetically despite the obvious hatred between the two. 

"We ready to do this shit then?"

[prrplwtch]

not to be thirsty but your headcanons on how do you think the brothers would treat an mc who fucked all the brothers as well as simeon and solomon. would this be heaven or hell lmao

Lucifer

When Lucifer finds out about MC’s “adventures”, he acts completely indifferent – as though he already knew it was happening.  

He did not, of course, but his pride does not let him act any other way. 

On the inside, he’s angry and hurting. For Lucifer to enter a sexual or romantic relationship with someone requires a certain degree of trust, and he can’t help but feel that his trust was betrayed. 

He’s also upset because he always wanted to be “special” to MC, someone she liked more than anyone else, so it’s rather hard to face the fact that he is one of the nine people she sleeps with on a regular basis. 

Lucifer wants MC all to himself, of course he does, but, after finding out that she’s sleeping around, he won’t ask her to enter into a monogamous relationship with him. Lucifer is very proud, and this pride makes MC’s behavior seem like a betrayal. 

A small part of his mind tells him that he’s not justified in feeling that way, after all, no promises were exchanged between him and MC, but he does not want to listen to reason. 

Will pull away from MC and won’t sleep with them again. In part, because he hates sharing and in part because he’s afraid of falling for MC even more than he already did.  

Mammon

When Mammon finds out that MC sleeps around, he’s completely crushed – he’d fallen hard and fast for MC and he was really hoping that she felt the same way about him. 

Can’t help but feel that some of his brothers Levi are involved with MC to get back at him for something. 

Of course, Mammon wants MC all to himself – he’s the avatar of greed, after all, and he is not used to sharing anything. Ever. Especially not something as precious as MC. 

The revelation makes Mammon act pouty and sad, but he denies that anything is wrong – almost like he denies his feelings for MC. 

He cannot get rid of the nagging feeling inside his chest that this was inevitable. After all, if he thinks about it logically, his relationship with MC was too good to be true. How could someone as special as her actually love a scumbag like him?

It will take him a while to gather up the courage to ask MC for an exclusive/monogamous relationship, since that involves having uncomfortable conversations where he has to admit his feelings. 

Even if MC turns down the relationship, he won’t stop sleeping with her (if she wants to, of course). He does not have the self-control required to refuse her and he still has feelings for her. 

Will likely act very needy/clingy during those sessions and be very loud while he and MC are going at it, because he wants his brothers to know that it’s with him that she has the best sex. Will also litter MC’s skin with love bites, in desperate attempt to mark her up as “his,” even if he knows that it’s not true. 

Leviathan

Levi had never, in all millennia that he had been alive, felt as jealous as in the moment he found out that MC sleeps not only with him, but also with his brothers as well as Solomon and Simeon. 

He lashes out – not at MC, of course – but alone in his room, letting his anger, frustration, jealousy and hurt take over him. It takes a while before he somewhat calms down, and when he does his room is almost in shambles. 

Afterwards he feels sad and empty and a little bit stupid – how could he actually believe that someone as beautiful and as amazing as MC would actually fall in love with a gross otaku like him? It’s no wonder she’d been sleeping around – all the other men she’d been with are, no doubt, better than him. 

Levi pulls away both from MC and his brothers – even though he and MC were not formally in a relationship, he cannot help but feel betrayed. 

Levi will not ask MC to enter into a relationship with him – he can hardly get the images of her sleeping with the others out of his head. Besides, he thought they had something special and unique and that illusion was absolutely shattered by the discovery. It will be a while before Levi could trust people again. 

Even though he would never sleep with MC after finding out she’d been sleeping around, his mind enjoys playing cruel jokes on him. Every night Levi is haunted by the dreams of MC, by the memory of her touch and the softness of her skin, by the way she tasted and by the delightful moans that left her lips when she was especially enjoying something he was doing. 

In those dreams, he’d always touch her roughly, almost punishingly, the way he never did in life, hoping to convey the depth of his hurt. That did not help, of course, because those were just dreams, and when he opened his eyes, he was all alone in his bed.  

Satan

 Satan react quite calmly when the news of MC’s adventures reach him. That is not to say that he’s unaffected – he’s jealous of course, but Satan, more than anyone else, is willing to listen to reason. 

He understands that he and MC were not actually in an exclusive relationship, and, hence, it’s unfair to expect her to be “loyal” to him. It obviously hurts his pride a little, but Satan’s willing to work through whatever feelings he has. 

As calm and as reasonable as he tries to be, it’s still very hard to get over the fact that MC slept with Lucifer. Satan cannot help but think that Lucifer did it in part to get to him. 

Still, Satan would ask MC to enter into a monogamous relationship with him. If MC agrees, Satan will be very happy and try his best to move on from thinking about all of her previous “adventures”. 

He’d probably act somewhat possessive of MC around his brothers, and would take extra pleasure in littering MC’s skin with hickies and bites to show to his brothers – and everyone else in the Devildom – that she’s his. 

Satan usually does not like to show off, but in this case, he’d relish in the feeling of being chosen over all his brothers, especially over Lucifer. 

If MC refuses to enter monogamous relationship with him, Satan would inevitably pull away. How is he supposed to get over feeling jealous if MC gives him a new reason to be jealous every day? Besides, if she insists upon carrying on her affair with Lucifer… 

Asmodeus

So whoever brought Asmo the word of MC’s adventures meant to tell him that MC had Asmo’s dream threesome with Solomon and Simeon and did not invite him? The audacity!

Other than being upset over being excluded from the said threesome, Asmo reacts pretty calmly to the news – after all, he’s the avatar of lust and understands better than anyone how fun it is to sleep around. Still, he’d probably feel better if next time MC was going to sleep with Solomon and Simeon, she invited him along. 

After learning that MC had slept with all of his brothers, Asmo can only sigh. He understands completely why she’d go for Lucifer or Beel or Satan – in fact he’d try his luck with all three if he was not their brother – but for the life of him, Asmo cannot grasp why MC would want to sleep with that scumbag Mammon or with Levi, who does not shower nearly often enough. 

The relationship between Asmo and MC hardly chance after the revelation – they still continue to sleep together and hang out with each other. 

Asmo’s totally fine with MC having as many partners as she wants – after all, he has plenty – but only if he feels that he’s getting a sufficient amount of attention from MC. As soon as Asmo feels MC’s too preoccupied for him, he cannot help but be threatened. 

But, so long as he gets all the attention and affection from MC that he wants, he does not if she has some fun on the side. 

Beelzebub

When Beel finds out that MC sleeps with all his brothers and also with Solomon and Simeon, he’s a little taken aback. He knew about her involvement with Belphie – it was hard not to know when the two of them shared the room – but he did not think that he was one of nine rather than one of two. 

He does not say anything to MC – he does not feel like he has the right to demand anything of her – but deep inside he’s unhappy and jealous. In his heart of hearts Beel knows that he wants MC all too himself – to never share her with anyone, not even with Belphie. But he tells himself that it’s unreasonable and foolish to expect that. 

Beel also hates feeling jealous and is ashamed of himself for being that way, so he tries his best to control/suppress his emotions. Jealousy is an uncomfortable feeling for him and he thinks MC would not appreciate him acting upon it. 

He definitely wants to ask her to enter into a relationship with him, but seeing her happy with the current arrangement stops him. After all, the only thing her ever really wanted was to make her happy. 

Beel still loves MC, of course, so he spends as much time with her as he can. Even if it feels bitter-sweet, knowing that he’s not the only one whose love and companionship she desires. 

Will still sleep with MC if she wants to sleep with him – he wishes he had the self-control and resolve to deny her, but he just loves her too much.  

Belphegor

The fact that he’s not the only one MC sleeps with is hardly news for Belphie – but still, it’s one thing to share her just with Beel, and an entirely different thing to share her with the rest of his brothers. Especially when one of his brothers is Lucifer. 

The thought of MC sleeping with Lucifer and then coming to Belphie’s own bed makes him feel a little disgusted. 

Part of him cannot help but wonder if Lucifer had gotten involved with MC on purpose – after all, he’d spent millennia making Belphie’s life miserable, so what reason does he have to chance now. 

Belphie will oscillate between acting cold and indifferent towards MC and acting pouty and whiny. Even though he’ll never actually explicitly tell MC what wrong. She’s a smart woman, she should figure it out. 

Will talk to Beel, asking if Beel would like to suggest to MC that the three of them enter an exclusive relationship. When Beel seems reluctant, Belphie will take matters into his own hands. 

If MC refuses to enter exclusive relationship with him, Belphie will be quite hurt, but he will not show it. After all, that would be too desperate, and he does not want to appear that way. 

If MC refuses to enter monogamous relationship with him, but still wants to sleep with him, Belphie’s unlikely to refuse her, especially if she’s still involved with Lucifer. Belphie would derive some kind of twisted pleasure from having MC fall apart under his touch, from leaving bright marks of love bites on her skin for Lucifer all to see.

HC list | Fic list

[butchlilith]

try again (and again and again); a niles/daphne fic

summary: niles has chance after chance to tell daphne how he feels, and he doesn’t keep his mouth shut. at least, not in every sense. three confessions that didn’t happen and probably shouldn’t have.

words: 7.5k

rating + warnings: pg-13. one of these is the obligatory “daphne hates sherry” alternate ending, so some discussion of sex is present.

notes: old draft of some experimentation with voice, c.a. early-mid 2019, cleaned up a little bit for publishing. possibly my first and only str*ight frasier fic? by which i mean "i don't actually know how straight people do anything, but niles is ostensibly a man in this one." also available (with better page breaks) on ao3.

part one. how it ends.

scenario 117. She leaves the next morning more shamefully than any fling’s apartment, leaves after breakfast and a real apology. Dr. Crane’s brother is a bit too eager to act as reference, and Daphne never does find out what he says that gets her placed as fast as she is. It’s not a live-in position, but the pay’s a bit better, and the patient’s wife gives Daphne a discount when she visits her shop, so she doesn’t mind. She finds an apartment on the Hill with a lenient policy on pets and swears off men for just over three years.

scenario 406. Niles doesn’t ask again, even after the divorce. He spends more time with Daphne than he’d ever hoped—he even joins her on a trip to some kind of outlet mall one day—and gets further from telling her with each hour. When he notices what they are now, Dad will give him too much sympathy, and Niles will insist that he prefers it this way, and Frasier will analyze all of it to death. There’s never a proper ending, not one that either of them can point to, but they know that something is over. They only half know what it is.

scenario 421. They’re horrible secret-keepers, and the secrecy was much of the appeal of their arrangement, whatever that arrangement was. Without it, they are Frasier’s pet project and the butt of their friends’—that is, Niles’s friends (few) and Daphne’s friends (many), separate entities, for they have no real friends in common—jokes. They last longer than the heat does, but they break just as suddenly. Eventually, they will confess to feeling the same relief, too.

part two. the “it” in question.

scenario 117. For the longest time, everything is comfortably quiet. Just the drum of the rain, the occasional crack of the fire. Dr. Crane running his fingertips along her arm. Dr. Crane kissing her. Dr. Crane kissing her more gently than she’s ever been kissed. And it’s strange, if not entirely unexpected, but it’s nice, too, in its way. Nice in the way he’s always been nice, sometimes maybe a bit too eager, and other times maybe a bit too reserved, but so impossibly aware that she can’t help but think there’s a kindness to it. But it’s really that—the awareness—before anything else. Daphne’s sure of it: She knows because he’s mirroring her. And he’s able to mirror her because she’s kissing him. And she’s kissing him because she likes it and probably because she’s a bit on the rebound at the moment but mostly that first one because Eric certainly didn’t ever do what he’s doing now, and it’s hard to call something a rebound when it’s that much better than the real thing. Hard to call something a rebound when you can hardly picture yourself wanting to stop getting closer to him. When your hands are doing everything they can to keep that from happening.

And that’s how she realizes: “This isn’t right.”

“Oh,” he says, and Daphne comes close to forgetting her morals because he’s moving his hand back to hers, as if she hadn’t appreciated (more than appreciated) what he’d chosen to do with his just before. “I can— I suppose I’m so used to—” He stops himself. He’s realized it, too. “Oh, that’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Of course,” he says.“It was foolish of me to think…”

Daphne assumes, at least at first, that he plans on finishing this thought, but he stays quiet, well after the time it could take anyone to supply the right word. So, he’s staying quiet, and Daphne has just learned what becomes of the quiet between them. She knows that it can’t happen again. “Me too,” she says.

“You?” he asks. They’re not touching at all anymore. His choice this time, not Daphne’s. She wishes she weren’t keeping track.

“Yes,” she says, and her voice is certain even as he goes on over it, because if she doesn’t admit it, there’s really no way she can go on respecting herself.

“How were you—?”

“Well, thought you might’ve noticed in the moment, but I wasn’t exactly stopping you, was I?”

“Of course not,” he says, and it’s like she’s made it worse. “How could you have? You were in my home, in my— In her— And distraught and shocked and I���”

“You were, too,” she says because he was. Those last two, that is. More than she was, even. “Didn’t stop either of us.”

“But I—”

Daphne isn’t listening. She says, “Look at me.”

He doesn’t, but he tells her, “I have been.” And then, like it’s not the fault Daphne’s third-worst decision about an outfit to date, he adds, “If I hadn’t, we would never have had this problem.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” she says. “I come into your house, and you’re a perfect gentleman to me, and when your wife’s clothes are too small for me, I find this. What else could you have thought?”

“Well, Maris has a very delicate build,” he says. This is a bit on the generous side to all three of them. Daphne can picture them laughing about it, if all of this were different.

“I could have borrowed something of yours if it were such a problem,” she says, already resenting the fact that she’s making excuses like this. “Nothing sexy about that, swimming in a man’s trousers, but I decided to try this on and—”

“No, no, I should have known—” He nearly touches her again when he says this, and Daphne nearly indulges herself in letting him, but he seems to remember what brought them to this point because he draws his hand away at the last possible moment.

“But you couldn’t have,” Daphne says. It’s too quiet. She’s supposed to be angry. At someone. Preferably Dr. Crane. “I didn’t even know until it happened, and it felt… I thought—”  She sighs, and the anger’s here at last. “Well, I didn’t think, did I? I just put my—”

Daphne’s put a few too many things a few too many places, but Dr. Crane isn’t listening, so it hardly matters if she says hands or tongue or dignity because he just says, “I’m a psychiatrist,” before she can even decide which the worst of them is.

“Did you know, then?” Daphne asks.

And then he says, “I should have.”

“No, I mean…” It’s embarrassing now, knowing that he’s convinced that she’s the vulnerable one in all this, but she does need that answer. For some reason. A reason that is definitely rational. “Did you know that we…?”

“Oh, I…” He hums like he’s searching for a diplomatic answer to the question. “Only when you… and I…”

“So it was my fault.”

“Not at all. I was—”

“Didn’t think you were the type of man to… Then, suppose I did think, or I wouldn’t’ve…” She tilts her head back, resting it on the seat of the chair behind her, partly from exhaustion and partly from a fear of what would happen if she looked him in the eye.

“And now?” he asks.

“I’m not sure.”

“Of course.” He’s being too kind, maybe because he’s a gentleman or maybe (most likely, Daphne decides on the basis recent events) because he thinks she’s not as smart as he is, but he’s being kind, and Daphne wishes more than anything that he’d stop.

She says, “We really didn’t do anything.” Vaguely, Daphne recognizes his interruption (“Daphne, I—”), then goes on anyway. “You know, a kiss between friends. Bit more involved than I’m used to, but what else? Hands may’ve gotten a bit off track, but whose haven’t?”

“Mine haven’t.”

“Don’t know if you’d still want to say that, Dr. Crane.”

“Of course,” he says again. “They hadn’t. Past tense. And now they have, and my marriage is in shambles, and I certainly can’t tell Frasier or Dad or— I won’t be able to come to his apartment. How do I explain that? You spend one night in my home and suddenly— They’ll know in an instant.”

Daphne can’t help but look up. “This a pattern for you?” she asks, and she’s almost hoping the answer is yes. No, scratch almost. She’s really hoping the answer is yes. Because she can’t be interested in a man with a wandering eye. Not a wandering eye with a passport filled up faster than Mrs. Crane’s, anyhow. And she doesn’t want to be interested in Dr. Crane, no matter how much she liked kissing him.

“No, no, oh, God, no,” he says, because tonight clearly isn’t Daphne’s night. He seems ready to say more, which Daphne hopes will be something unforgivable. But tonight, again, is not Daphne’s night. He looks outside and takes off his jacket. “Would you wear this?” he asks, bringing up a number of unfortunate realities.

“And didn’t I say—”

“No, no, I didn’t—” Dr. Crane seems to regret this choice of words. “It’s cold here,” he revises, “in the house, um, particularly when it rains, and with you in so little...”

“Seems a bit like you’re implying something.”

“Oh. No, I— That was—”

“Just having some fun,” Daphne says, not entirely sure that she is. “Too fresh?”

“No, ah—Hm.” He pauses, and Daphne is forced to spend the intervening seconds guessing whether he’ll actually keep talking this time. He does: “No, I think we’ve passed the point of forwardness.”

“Soon, I mean.”

“Even better. Ten minutes?” A weak laugh. Hideously weak. “Lifetimes away.”

“All right, then,” she says. He hesitates. Daphne nods. And just like this, they are near each other again. He could lay the jacket over her shoulders. Could even hold it out for her, the way he’s done before, so that she could slip her arms inside. He doesn’t. Not this time. Daphne takes it by the collar and puts it on herself. Dr. Crane folds his hands.

It’s quiet, the way it was before, and Daphne refuses to be surprised again. She says, “I don’t have to keep working for your father.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Well, you may remember where you—”

“I remember. I mean—“ He frowns. “No, that is what I mean. You know, you really should—”

And there’s plenty that Daphne knows she should do, but she doesn’t care to be reminded, so she says, “I suppose you’re right. But that’s just the point, isn’t it? I’m going to be walking around your brother’s place, and you’ll stop by, and we’ll say hello and all that, but then what? I—” She considers redirecting the thought, then decides against it. “I don’t mean to imply anything by this, Dr. Crane, but I was getting to appreciate your company.”

“Were you?”

“Wouldn’t have come here tonight if I wasn’t,” she says. Whispers, really, if she’s honest with herself, but she’d really rather not be because, being honest, she has to admit that it’s hard to take something like that platonically.

“Ah,” he says, and Daphne swears he heard it too, because he’s nearly smiling now. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“I just don’t think it would be wise to hang about where you’re likely to drop in, after something so…” There isn't a word she can use here that doesn't mean admitting that she knew what she was doing. She doesn't use any.

“Yes?” he asks, which feels a bit hypocritical given his history. She hadn’t asked him what he’d meant after all, and not for lack of wanting.

“It doesn’t matter. I just— You know I would never mean any offense, but you can be a bit sensitive sometimes.”

For a moment, he sounds like himself again, which means that he sounds like his brother, and Daphne thinks it's over. “I’d hardly—” he says, but he doesn't continue. “No, no, you’re right, of course. I can. But to think of you... giving up your life over one indiscretion…”

“I’d say it was more than one.”

“Of course, yes, I…” He hums again, and Daphne’s back to waiting for him to say something, even if it’s not honest. Maybe especially. He doesn’t.

She says, “You think I should keep working with your father, then?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“It sounded like you were trying to convince me—”

“Daphne?”

“What?”

“Do you plan on staying?”

“Tonight?” she asks, not sure if this is the question she’d like it to be. “I haven’t got much of a choice, have I?”

“No, no, I mean…”

“Forever,” Daphne suggests.

Dr. Crane presses his lips together. He looks painfully like himself like this. Then, he’s been himself the whole night, and Daphne knows that, she really knows that, but it’s harder like this. No way to maintain the illusion now. “That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t see how I could.”

“It would be difficult, wouldn’t it?”

“It’s not that I… I just think— With you…”

“With me, yes. Could I—?” He adjusts his posture so that it almost looks relaxed, except for the way it happens—almost spasmodically. “There’s been something on my mind recently.”

“Yes?”

“When I— When you came here, tonight, and you…” He frowns, like he doesn’t quite know what to say. “Daphne,” he decides. “You have a lovely name. Do you hear that often? Daphne. A naiad, wasn’t she? Daphne. Then, maybe I’ve been a bit on the Dionysian side tonight.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s the first time either of them have said it since. Daphne doesn’t know what it means. Doesn’t know if he’s apologizing for more than a misunderstanding. “I’m avoiding the point,” he says and runs a hand through his hair. The gesture lends a sort of exhaustion to his appearance, so that his exhale feels heavier than it is.”You really don’t suppose we’ll be able to forget this?” he asks.

“It’d be easier if we didn’t see each other as much, but…”

“You said, before I… Before we… This… You said that you wanted—” And, God, she finally knows where this is going, and she hates every bit of it, because she still feels so terribly close to him. Still wants someone to love her the way she thought he loved Mrs. Crane but can’t possibly love Mrs. Crane because if he did he wouldn’t have done what they’ve done, wouldn’t be saying what he’s saying. And the part of her that’s still crashing from the breakup believes him. Believes that it could be him. Wants it to be, even.

But Daphne isn’t stupid and certainly not as stupid as he must think she is, so she says, “You shouldn’t.”

“I know that, but I—” and she can feel him saying it now, and she can feel herself believing him even though she shouldn’t. And it’s not just the part of her that’s been broken up with, or the part of her that hasn’t had decent sex in six months, or the part of her that’s stuck in some childish romantic daydream. It’s just Daphne. Wanting him to tell her what he can’t possibly mean. He stops himself. He looks at her for too long, with the eyes she never noticed until tonight. He sighs. “You know,” he says, and Daphne knows the moment has passed, “you’re right. I shouldn’t. It’s late, and I’ve embarrassed myself quite enough, so… Our rooms aren’t the most comfortably furnished, I’m afraid, and, under present circumstance, I can hardly imagine… Where would you like to sleep?”

Daphne doesn’t let herself answer foolishly.

scenario 406. Here is everything that goes better than Niles predicted: Daphne is not horrified. She does not immediately flee the scene, does not reach for the phone to book the next flight back to Manchester, does not so much as flinch when he asks her. She just looks at him with the eyes about which Niles has sworn to himself he will no longer wax poetic, presses together the lips about which Niles has sworn to himself he will no longer fantasize, and nods. It could almost pass for assent.

And then she says, “You’re married.”

And this is technically true, but he says, “Separated,” because there isn’t much else he can say with the potential to right this minor detail.

“Still married,” she says, and, really, she’s right, but, really, there is very little Niles can do about this at the moment, and he doubts Daphne will still be available the next.

So he says,“I suppose I am, aren’t I?” and waits for what is probably not entirely enough time before continuing. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“You are.” She exhales in a way that almost sounds like a laugh.

“I know. I meant the other question.”

“I thought I did,” she says. There’s no way for Niles to convince himself that she’s laughing this time.

But he’s committed to his optimistic streak, even as he watches her settle onto the arm of the couch, back toward him, so he says, “Oh?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. Her voice is clear even though he can’t see her face. Insistent. “You’re married.”

“Separated,” he corrects.

“And married.”

“And married, yes But, if, hypothetically, I were no longer married—“

Daphne turns back to face him. “You’re going to divorce your wife?”

“It’s a possibility. That’s why we’re speaking hypothetically.”

“Right,” she says. She’s facing the kitchen again, meaning Dad’s chair is the logical place to sit if he hopes to conduct anything resembling a normal human conversation. He sits instead on the cushion nearest her, functionally eliminating the possibility, and Daphne says, “Well, you’d be divorced.”

“Yes, that’s typically how it works.”

“You think I’d date a man right after his divorce?”

“Well, perhaps if he—”

“He needs time,” she says, and this really is better than Niles predicted—not because it’s not a no, and not because it suggests that there is maybe, someday the possibility of a yes, but because she means that she loves him.

But Niles cannot say, “I love you, too,” because she hasn’t actually said that she loves him, and, even if she had, that may be moving at something of a brisk pace given circumstance. So he says, “Yes, I suppose he does,” because this is the nearest he can get. Daphne, evidently, appreciates the gesture, because she shifts properly this time, a full ninety degrees, so that neither of them has to contort to see the other.

“So,” Niles says, “and this is still hypothetical, of course—if we suppose that I—that he—were divorced, and he’d been divorced for some time, and he’s completely over Maris—his wife, I mean… Would you…?”

Daphne grins and it is, for a moment, as if nothing has changed between them. As if they’re still dancing, or talking about her brothers, or watching the last half The Shop Around the Corner. “You’re asking if I’d ever date a man who’s been married before?”

“Yes.”

“Any man?” she asks. In another, better world, the first half of their conversation has not happened at all, and Daphne is asking this hopefully, longing for Niles to at last say how he feels. But in this world, which naturally is worse, Niles has already said it, and Daphne has already declined. No, not declined. Something softer, enough to make Niles go on.

“Well,” he says, “hypothetically, say it were me.”

Daphne smiles again. “In this hypothetical,” she says, “did this man—did you—did you ask me, while you were married? Say, three hours after I’ve been dumped?”

“Yes,” Niles says, finally as ashamed as expected to be the moment he spoke. “He’s exactly the same person. Purely for the purposes of the hypothetical, of course.”

“Right.” There are roughly forty-three ways the old Niles could describe Daphne’s eyes in this moment before devolving to the shameful-if-accurate “sparkle” and its kind, but he remains set on avoiding this pattern. In any case, it doesn’t keep him from noticing.

“You can say no,” he says, pretending it does.

“I know.”

“It won’t be the first time I’ve been rejected,” he adds.

“I know.”

“I suppose I was asking for that, wasn’t I?”

“A bit,” Daphne says. Then, just as quickly, “You’re in my spot, you know.”

“Your…?”

“I always sit where you’re at now,” she says. “Then you’re the one over. Every time you’re here. Even half an hour ago. Right where you are.”

“You sat down first.”

“Well, I thought you’d be heading out soon. Getting late and all. Wasn’t going to settle back in just for you to leave, was I?”

“Oh, um…” Niles feels suddenly aware of how this all seems, suddenly aware of how out of practice he is. He’s in her home, after all. Looking at it most simply, he has her trapped here. The realization is less than romantic. “Should I?” he asks.

“Depends on whether you’ll be staying where you’re at,” she says, apparently unaware of the gravity of the question.

“You’re kidding.”

Daphne takes on a mock-serious expression. When she speaks, there seems to be a trace of Niles’s own voice in it: “You’re not telling me you’re unschooled in the high-stakes art of couch politics.”

“Couch politics?”

“Come on. You have a brother. You’re telling me you spent all those years in the same house and you didn’t have a spot on the couch?”

Niles considers this. He didn’t. “I had a nook,” he offers.

“A nook?”

“A nook,” he says. “I was never much of a couch child.”

“Oh. Suppose that adds up, really.” She waits—for what Niles is unclear—then seems to hit upon something. “Well, you’ve got a side of the bed, at least.”

“Have I?”

“Had one, then,” Daphne corrects—an insufficient amendment given the nature of Niles’s marriage. “Scoot.”

Niles complies, shifting so that he sits exactly at the center of the cushion. Daphne sits beside him, closer to him than strictly necessary. Niles attempts to dismiss this fact. He says, “We slept apart.”

“Come on,” she says. Her right shoulder bumps up against his left. The action itself is entirely dismissible. Becoming swept up in it is entirely inevitable. “I’m not married, but I’ve got a side.”

“Have you ever considered that you’re simply a particularly territorial person?” he asks.

Daphne laughs. “Coming from the man who’s got a whole separate bedroom from his wife,” she says, and Niles resolves to take the opportunity he’s been given to redirect. “That’s rich.”

“So, ah, if I didn’t have a wife,” he says, “and I hadn’t for some time, and I happened to ask you on a date…”

“Oh.” Her voice sounds as if she has genuinely forgotten. Niles isn’t sure what to make of this, whether there is perhaps some distant possibility of normalcy between them after all. “Right.”

“You could say no,” Niles says, casually if not for the slowness of it, as if it’s the first time he’s saying it.

“Right.”

“So,” he says, decidedly less casually.

“I could say no.”

It isn’t a question, but Niles answers it like one: “Easily.”

“Long time to wait for a rejection, though, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure he’s waited longer.” And then, because the possibility is so strangely beguiling, to think that this could be over—to think that perhaps everything could return to the way it was—he says, “But it would be a no?”

“It could be,” she says, which is consuming in another way.

“But not necessarily?”

Niles watches Daphne study him, withdraws into that world of imagining himself in her place. By the time she answers, she’s directed her gaze toward the television, the pair of them reflected in its black screen, where Margaret Sullavan and James Stewart had stood just before them. “I’d have to think.”

Niles says, “Of course.”

“I’ve known him for years,” she says. Her eyes are still on the television, unfocused now. “What would it be by then? Five?”

“Something like that, yes.”

Daphne hums. The sound of it is excruciatingly mellifluous. “You know,” she says, and this is all it takes to know that what follows will be worse still, “hypothetically, don’t think it’d be a bad idea for him to get divorced.”

“Oh?”

“You know,” she says again, and this time he knows nothing at all. “Deserves someone who cares about him.”

“Ah. And that’s why you wouldn’t…?”

“I might,” she says.

“Of course,” he says.

“If it felt right.”

“That is everything, isn’t it? Feeling right,” he says and, for the first time in recent memory, keeps himself from revising the thought. “The strangest thing. For years, I thought that meant feeling comfortable.”

Daphne finally looks back to him. “You’re still comfortable with her?”

“I would be,” he says, “if this all ended, and we were still married.”

“But you don’t want that.” Her tone is indecipherable, or else Niles is resisting his need to decipher it. He resists his need to decipher the disjunctive.

“Maris doesn’t.”

“Then you do,” she says.

“Maris doesn’t.”

“Well, then it’s like I said,” Daphne tells him. “You deserve someone who cares about you.”

“I suppose I should say, ‘Maris doesn’t,’” he says.

Daphne shrugs. “Be a nice symmetry.”

“It would. I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Dr. Crane”—this is a blow all its own, but Niles supposes he can hardly expect better—“I don’t mean to be rude, but, when you say all this, you have to understand why I said what I did.”

“Of course,” he says, and he does, though he’d easily prefer the alternative. “It would be foolish of us, wouldn’t it?”

“A bit. Doesn’t mean you can’t date other women, though.” And then, with a wink, “Or something other than date, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Oh, well, I suppose so,” he says before realizing that this, perhaps, is not the best of times to ignore a gesture’s possible implications. “Of course, not— That wasn’t why I was asking—“

“You asked me on a date because you didn’t want to have sex with me?” This is fair if unanticipated, and Niles wonders just how visibly warm he’s become. Too visibly, surely.

“Ah, I, well, not— I don’t mean to—“

“Oh, I understand,” Daphne says. “Just having fun. And, speaking of, there’s this bar Roz told me about, just off Pike. She said she’d go with me, but…”

“I wouldn’t want you to cancel your plans.”

Daphne waves away the thought. “Oh, no.” She takes up an exaggerated new expression. ”’Strangest thing,’” she says, now miming the presence of a phone in her hand, as if the point couldn’t have been made without it, “‘but before I even got the chance, someone’s already gone and asked me on a date. Oh, yes, he’s gorgeous.’” (Niles makes the gallant effort to take this for the joke that it is.) “‘Anyway, I told him I was free tomorrow night…’”

scenario 421. Like this, Niles finally has sex with Daphne. And it isn’t particularly good. It isn’t bad, because it couldn’t be bad, but it isn’t good because... Well, it’s Daphne, of course, but it’s also Daphne, and the Daphne that occupies Niles’s fantasies is not quite the Daphne that he knows, and he knew this already, because he willed it to be so, but this means that, for all the years of dreaming of a woman who was nearly her, Niles is entirely unprepared for the real thing.

Of course, the Daphne-who-was-not-Daphne never was quite the same even as herself. One evening, nervous and softer than anything. The next, certain and stopping for nothing. Most recently, for the third time in eight months, speaking to him. Telling him everything he was too afraid to tell her. Everything. So that when they finally did have sex (because that was, admittedly, always the reason for this not-quite-Daphne’s appearance), it was nearly an afterthought. A pleasant afterthought—an exceedingly pleasant afterthought—but an afterthought nonetheless.

Even in all of this, it was never quite so awkward. They were never unused to each other in the fantasies, never hesitated after each first touch (before, perhaps, but never after), never seemed to be three seconds out of sync. And Daphne never kissed him like the real Daphne does. It isn’t bad, necessarily, not first-kiss bad, or even two-too-many-drinks bad (though it is nearly as messy), or, really, bad at all, except that it is, just a bit, if Niles is completely honest with himself. But mostly, and this is really about ninety-five percent of it, it’s surprising. New.

“Daphne?” he asks, and saying her name is enough to convince him that the sex was not bad or mediocre or even merely good. It was, Niles is now certain, easily the best sex two people have ever had. Not two. Any number. The best sex ever had, period.

But Daphne isn’t looking at him. She isn’t touching him. (How strange for that to be noteworthy!) She seems entirely set on forgetting everything they’ve done—already back in that borrowed dressing gown, half-sitting in his bed since returning to it, head tilted toward the ceiling. She replies anyhow: “Yes?”

“How are you?” This is not necessarily the question Niles had intended to ask, is not necessarily suave or charming—is not necessarily much of anything but strangely melodic, which is not quite the impression Niles had had in mind. But he says it, in the spirit of the day, because he can’t help but to say it with Daphne there, in his bed, looking as she does. More directly, which is to say more honestly, he says it on an impulse.

“All right,” she says. Polite. Noncommittal. “And you?”

“Similarly,” he says. “But I’d really—“

“We’ve really made a choice with this one, haven’t we?” She laughs at this, just barely, and he does, too, allowing them both the diversion.

“Yes, it seems we have.”

“Have to admit I never really thought…” Daphne sighs, and this calls to mind several events Niles expects to sustain him for at least the next decade. “You know. Us.”

“And now that we have…”

“Bit funny, isn’t it?” she says.

Niles considers this. Of all the words he has prepared for this occasion, funny was never among them. Still, it’s preferable to many of the alternatives, particularly given how readily mistake springs to mind. “Yes.”

“Never thought you’d be—” Daphne wrinkles her nose, conveying an emotion Niles can’t quite interpret. “Well, I suppose that means I must’ve thought about how you’d actually be, but… What about you?”

“You’re asking me if I ever thought about—?”

At this, Daphne relaxes slightly and turns to her side, resting her head in her right hand. Relief at her apparent lack of repulsion aside, Niles wishes Daphne would have waited, this being quite easily the moment at which he would least like to face her. Nearly smiling now, she says, “Sex. With me.”

“I don’t—”

“Oh, come on,” she says, still painfully buoyant. (Niles thinks she will touch him again, but her arm stops short of his.) “No reason to be embarrassed now, if you have.”

“Isn’t there?” he asks, for he has come up with fifteen in the time since her asking.

“So you have?”

“Well,” Niles starts, but it’s obviously futile. “Oh, I suppose you’re right. Yes. I have.”

“You always have been a flatterer,” she says. “So, did I measure up?”

And he says, “Oh.”

Daphne echoes him, dropping her voice: “‘Oh.’” She laughs. “Suppose I spoke a bit soon there.”

The answer, most honestly, the thrill of saying her name aside, is no because four years of trying to substitute fantasies of someone for an actual sex life makes for somewhat unrealistic expectations. The answer, somewhat honestly, is that, yes, in terms of his actual sex life with actual women who existed for longer than thirty minutes at a time, Daphne was... Daphne was... “Oh, well, I—”

“It’s all right if I didn’t,” she says before he has the chance to further embarrass them both. “I mean, wouldn’t be the kindest thing for you to say to me after… Do you have any more of that pineapple?”

“Oh, um, let me— Did we finish it?”

“I’m not sure. Got a bit swept up in the moment, I suppose.”

“Right,” he says, but any grasp he had once had on his composure has vanished. “I’ll— Actually, I don’t know that it would still be particularly— You know, sitting out. I could make you something?”

Daphne laughs until it fades into a sigh. “With all due respect,” she says, “I’ve seen the kind of dinner you serve your dates.”

Because now seems an inappropriate time to confess that, in fact, he had never had any intention of inviting anyone else for dinner that night, Niles says nothing, and Daphne accepts the invitation to continue.

“It’s for the best, really. Can’t imagine sitting in this heat with an oven going as well.”

“It doesn’t have to be—“

Daphne stands. “I’m going to take a look,” she says.

“For what?”

“See whether we’ve left any pineapple. Is it all right if I bring it back here?”

Since his separation, Niles has adopted a stricter policy with regard to eating in the bedroom, figuring that, when living alone, such an allowance could only lead to his regression into the worst sort of bachelor. Also, he no longer pays someone to wash his sheets. Both of these points, however, feel increasingly trivial in the context of recent events. “Certainly.”

And with this, Daphne is past the doorway, and Niles is alone, and he supposes he’ll have to get used to that feeling again, once the awkwardness of their own situation outweighs the abrasiveness of the other. And just as quickly, she’s back, and Niles makes an effort to indulge in this more pleasant reality while it lasts.

“Anyway,” she says, settling into the bed with the platter a bit more precariously than Niles had hoped, “back to what I was saying. I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t…”

“Oh.” This is an unfortunate redevelopment, as Niles had hoped that her own diversion had been sufficient in turning the topic of conversation elsewhere. “Are you still—?” he asks.

“Well, when you’re working that hard to keep from answering, can’t help wondering—“

Niles attempts a redirection of his own. “Drawing comparisons is…”

Daphne takes a bite of pineapple, and the silence between this moment and her reply does nothing to conceal the flaccidity of this attempt. “You did, anyway. More than.”

“Oh,” Niles says, deciding to overlook the less-than-complimentary implications of this formulation. This afternoon’s developments aside, he is not a man terribly accustomed to such good fortune; no other reactions are in his repertoire.

“It is all right if I say that, isn’t it?”

“Of course. I— Does that mean you—?” he asks. He means, Does that mean you intend to do this again? but saying it aloud seems to be crossing one too many a boundary, so he refrains.

“Do you?” she asks, presumably meaning the same.

“Well, we’d have to be more—” Careful, he thinks, but they were careful. Particularly him. Particularly in a way he would really rather he hadn’t been. “Today, we were—” Reckless, he thinks, but they weren’t reckless. They progressed in the smallest of steps, and they both knew it, well before it happened, and the real risk of recklessness is whatever he’s about to say knowing that he wants it to happen again. “We shouldn’t—” He reaches for a strawberry.

“But you’d like to,” Daphne says.

Thinking this is dangerous and saying it worse, but Niles does think it. He does want it, and more desperately than before, but more desperately still, he does not want to lose whatever they had that made her want to stay with him. “Only if you would.”

“You can say you’d like to without qualifying it, you know. If you would, that is.”

“I wouldn’t want to overstep,” Niles says, as if he could have reached this point by any other stride. (The strawberry in his hand is still uneaten. There are several versions of Niles that would choose to weave this into a less-than-artful metaphor.)

“All right,” Daphne says. Niles, at this moment, finally takes a bite from the strawberry, and he feels her eyes on her as he does. He hears the way her voice drops when she says, “I think I would.”

“You would?”

She laughs. “What, just being polite?”

“God, no.” This is too much. Niles knows it before he’s finished saying it, but the afternoon has already rewarded his imprudence; he has a streak going. “I— No. I— So… Hm. What would you like? From… this, I mean.”

“Oh, I’m an adult, I can handle—“

“I wouldn’t ask you to handle—”

“All right,” Daphne says. “Usually go on a few dates before sleeping with someone, but I suppose we’re past that, so the next best—“

Niles has imagined a few hundred too many ways of formulating the question to be beaten to asking it. He says, “Would you like to go on a date?”

“I wasn’t asking for that.“

“What were you asking?”

“I wasn’t asking anything.”

“What would you like?”

“Well, I’ve already told you, haven’t I?”

“Would you remind me?”

“I’d like you to stop asking me what I’d like,” she says, and Niles remembers suddenly that it was an argument that brought her here. “I’d like you to tell me what you’d like.”

“Well, if it isn’t overstepping…”

Daphne sounds almost annoyed, replying too soon and too briefly: “It isn’t.”

“I’m afraid my motivations today haven’t been entirely pure.”

“I noticed that when—”

“No, no, after that. I— This isn’t entirely how I planned to tell you…”

Daphne’s face softens. She speaks more slowly than she has in months: “You’ve been wanting to tell me something?”

“Yes. For some time. I just can’t seem to say it.”

“Yes?”

“You’ve been a wonderful friend to me lately.”

“If I was really that bad, you could just tell me.”

“No,” Niles says, the inappropriateness of his long-practiced admission only now occurring to him. “No. It’s— It isn’t that. I couldn’t say it, before, because you had been such a good friend, but we…”

“You can say that we’ve ruined it,” she says.

“We’ve taken a risk.”

“We don’t have to keep doing this.”

“I— Of course not, no. I was— I’d like to go on a date. With you.”

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“I’m not—“

“You know, you’ve always been such a gentleman to me.” Daphne licks the pineapple juice from her fingers, and Niles can imagine nothing further from the truth. Then, his imagination is otherwise occupied. “Even today. Especially, really. But it’s not the same, something like this. Don’t have to ask me just because we’ve had sex.”

“I’m not.”

“Dr. Crane—“

“Please, call me—“

Daphne doesn’t acknowledge his interruption. “I’ve seen the kind of women you date.”

“Who are you—?” Niles tries without success to work through the steps that led her here. “There’s Maris, Adelle…”

“That’s just what I mean, though.” She offers a wry smile and another strawberry. Niles accepts. “No one like me there, is there?”

“That’s certainly true.”

“So, you’re expecting me to believe that, after all that, you’re going to start dating me?”

“Not dating, necessarily,” Niles says, reasoning that it would be in bad taste to detail just why such a departure might be welcome. “We could start with one. You— I seem to remember you having a fondness for first dates.”

“I do,” she says. “You don’t.”

“I don’t. I was hoping that this one might be different.”

“And if it is?”

“A second, maybe.” With an intention that embarrasses him the moment he does it, Niles takes another strawberry as he continues. “A third. Fourth. Fifth…”

“Sounds like we’d be dating.”

“We could,” he says. “Eventually.”

“And until then, what?”

Cautiously (and probably too optimistically), Niles says, “We could keep…”

“We could.”

“Is that—?”

“Yes.”

“Are you—?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” At Daphne’s grin, Niles rushes to amend this. “I don’t usually say— Not that I’m frequently— Being recently separated— But you… I— I’m sorry.”

“I like that,” Daphne says. “’Thank you.’ It’s sweet.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you.”

“Second one’s not quite the same.”

“Ah. I don’t suppose it ever is.”

“Could always get it out of the way now.”

“Oh.” Niles knows he must say more than this, knows that Daphne is already rounding the corners of her mouth to imitate him if he doesn’t. He says the only thing he can both think and bear to say: “You called me Dr. Crane earlier.”

“I’m not doing that while we’re having sex,” Daphne says. “Last time I— Oh, well, never mind that, but—”

“I don’t want you to do that.”

“Too ethical for a bit of roleplay?” This feels like something of a turn, but Niles is still too dazed by Daphne’s earlier suggestion to voice it.

“As it happens,” Niles says instead, then considers this, too. Realistically, he concludes, this is a far more generous interpretation of the request than he deserves and certainly less pathetic than the reality. “Something like that, yes.”

“Well, don’t worry. It’s nothing I’m after.” When Daphne speaks again, her voice has lost its firmness: “Why’d you bring it up, anyway?”

“I— We’re— This isn’t just sex?”

“I think ‘just’ is a bit unfair.”

“No, I mean… No, it doesn’t… Would you call me Niles?”

“I don’t think I can.”

“I’m sorry?” Niles says.

“I mean, when we’re alone, that’s one thing, but if I start doing it then, I’m liable to start slipping it in other places, and, before you know it, it’ll be in front of your father. And how’d I explain that? I know we’ve been a bit friendlier as of late—”

“I think we may have passed by friendly sometime this afternoon.”

“Well, that’s just my point, isn’t it?” she says. “I spend a few evenings alone with you in four years, and all of a sudden I’m calling you by your first name.”

“And you don’t want to tell them?” Niles asks.

“Tell my boss I’ve been sleeping with his brother?”

“Ah,” Niles says, the general configuration of their relationship at last settling in. “I suppose not. Then, I believe your use of the present perfect continuous would imply something of a more extended arrangement, at which point it may be appropriate to use the word ‘dating.’”

“You know, I really don’t know that I’m sure about that.”

“Oh. Of course.” (And it really is what he had expected all along.) “I certainly wouldn’t want to rush— Of course, to some extent we already have, but—”

“It’s just—“ Daphne pauses. Niles watches the movement of her eyes until they meet his. She continues: “It all seems a bit strange, doesn’t it? The two of us. Dating, I mean. Not that I’d planned on this happening either, but I can’t even imagine where we’d go.”

“Where would you like to go?”

part three. how it starts.

scenario 117. Daphne puts on Mrs. Crane’s negligee because it fits and she’s never touched anything so soft and possibly also because she really needs the reminder that she’s worth something. Beside Dr. Crane, she feels it. Every time he speaks, she feels it more and she likes him more and she comes closer and closer to doing something reckless. He does it first.

scenario 406. It’s just them in the living room again, in spite of Frasier’s best efforts. Daphne had surprised them all, earlier in the evening, and asked if, so long as it’s not too much trouble, Niles might want to stay and chat a bit, and Niles had said no, of course not, it couldn’t possibly be any trouble at all. By the time Niles gets the courage, they are dancing again, the way they haven’t since last winter, not-quite-there but not-quite-drunk on Frasier’s most mediocre wine. Before he speaks, before Daphne can feel his hands shaking, Niles pulls them apart.

scenario 421. The heat wraps them up, and Niles is trying to remember that old letter about summer and lethargy and something else, trying to forget each look that Daphne gives him, but he can’t do either. It’s too much, with the two of them so close, her smelling of his soap, wearing his dressing gown. It’s inevitable. She’s the one who acts first, in the end, the one who finally says it. She says it like it’s something rational, like she’s the one who has to worry about being rejected: “You know, Dr. Crane, if we’re both feeling the same way, and there really is just the one solution…” He finishes the sentence for her.

[kyberphilosopher]

𝐀𝐤𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚

The both of them were searching for someone whose demons would mirror their own.

Word Count: 5489

a·kra·sia/əˈkrāZH(ē)ə/ noun

“akrasia: the state of mind in which someone acts against their better judgment through weakness of will.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi had always been far too versed in the light side of the force for your taste. It was annoying, to say the least. The way the Jedi walked around like they’re better than everybody else, and then denying it. The narrow minded point of view. The ridiculous robes. It was all very exhausting to deal with. 

The Jedi Order had no recollection of you. There was nothing to suggest you had ever been a part of them, or even ever fallen under the power of the Republic. Therefor, nobody knew where you came from. 

Anakin and Master Kenobi simply encountered you one day as a General for the Separatist forces. You were also a Sith of some kind- they weren’t sure on the details. The very first fight ended with you nearly killing Anakin, Obi-Wan having to bandage his knee, and you receiving a scar from your left collarbone to your shoulder. Another time, you and Kenobi went head to head. You would’ve killed him, had Anakin not intervened. 

So, Anakin didn’t like you very much. Fine with you. 

The real prize was Obi-Wan. 

As stated above, Kenobi was far too attached to the light for your liking. As far as you could tell, the man wasn’t tempted by the darkness in the slightest. This fact baffled you. You had seen what Kenobi’s life would be like if he became a Sith. He would’ve been far powerful than many of his fellow Jedi. You would've even been willing to venture that his skills would come close to your own! But, the man was inexplicably, irrationally, and annoyingly selfless. 

Similarly, Obi-Wan had taken note of your own fatuous traits. 

Obi-Wan, through all his goodness, had never thought you to be selfish. There were times where he saw you make selfish decisions, or act selfishly- but you were not selfish by nature. Obi-Wan knew, somewhere deep down, that you felt guilt at your bad deeds. Unfortunately, that distant guilt was not enough to stop you from being ruthless and cunning in battle. And for that, Obi-Wan felt that he had somehow failed you, even though he didn’t know anything about your previous life. 

So, if Obi-Wan had to describe you, it could be summed up in a few words. Lethal. Intelligent. Devious. Unnerving. Powerful. Dealing with you was something that Obi-Wan never looked forward to, unlike Anakin, who was secretly rooting for it.

 However, despite all your flaws, Kenobi shared something incredibly disturbing with you.

You were the one that had started it. The night of your first encounter, you couldn’t stop thinking about the man. He was just so... good. The way he fought used the third form of lightsaber combat- the one that focused more on defense than offense. So he wasn’t aiming to kill you, and he probably never would be. Baffling. You could sense that he wasn’t excessively good with the use of the force, but well enough. Kenobi was in no way attracted to power or stepping on others. This, in it’s entirety, is what made you decide to try a bit of psychological warfare. 

You appeared to him in the night. Projecting yourself across the galaxy, across the moon and the stars, you let him see you. He couldn’t see where you were or where you were going to be, only you. Dressed in black robes and your hair tied back casually, you wore the little scratch Kenobi had given your cheek with pride. 

While you were proud of this feat, Kenobi was caught off guard. He had just finished a conversation with Anakin about the young man was seriously skirting the line with the council, ending in Anakin walking away with thin lips. Obi-Wan sighed, glancing at the ground and leaning against the wall in deep thought. 

He couldn’t explain what happened next. One blink, and it was the other half of the archive room. The walls glowed blue with technology and magic. The floor was a clean and sterile white. But then, it wasn’t. It wasn’t even really the archive room anymore. In the next blink, Kenobi was looking at the other half of a gray, blockish room. It reminded him very much of a Venator, especially with the giant window that gave a view of the trillions of stars against the ink black heavens. 

And, of course, you were there in the middle. 

Obi-Wan perked up in shock. His blue eyes widened, his shoulder coming off the wall as his lips parted. You stayed still, your hands clasped behind your back as a smirk danced across the corners of your mouth. 

“Hello, my dear Obi-Wan,” you greeted slyly. “What’s the matter? Did you miss me already?”

Obi-Wan took only a second to understand the situation. He wasn’t sure how you were doing this, or a certainty as to why. Still, he was a smart man, and he saw that if this was how the night would go, then so be it. 

“Oh, of course,” he answered with equal tone. His own lips were curling up into a smile, the way they did when Ventress tried to pull dialogue like this with him. The only difference was that he truly preferred you doing this instead of her. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten about me.”

“How could I forget the man with such a clean technique?” you quipped back. Your right hand raised up to gesture at the dark red injury on your face. 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow smugly. The retort he had thought of was not even a true one, but he knew how this banter would go. “I suppose any technique would appear clean to you, Y/N.”

Yes. There it was. That little twitch in your lips that revealed the Jedi had struck a nerve. “Oh, and here I was believing Ventress when she told me you were a gentleman.”

“Did she? Why don’t you tell me where she’s going to be next so I can talk to her about it myself?”

“Does it matter?” you questioned. Step one of throwing him off was complete. Now it was time for step two- sowing doubts. “You’ve already lost the war. You’re going to lose the battle, too.”

“That’s bold talk from you,” Obi-Wan challenged. 

“I’d call it truthful gossip,” you mused. “And in case you’d forgotten, I almost killed your precious padawan today.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but take a sharp, defensive step forward. “Anakin is more than capable of holding his own.”

“But you care about him,” you ventured. Your grin was becoming more and more poisonous as you began to waltz around the area. You knew exactly what you were doing, and Obi-Wan knew that. “What’s going to happen when you’re forced to kill him? Ah, I can only wonder.”

Kenobi was at a loss for words. His eyes were flitting back and forth between your own, trying to make sense of your statements. Were you lying to him? Was this part of the obvious ploy to upset him? If so, it was working. He cared for Anakin. He couldn’t imagine harming the man he called his brother. 

“Oh, how I wonder,” you smirked finally. Then you turned away from Obi-Wan, and he was left alone in the Archive room again, as if you were never even there. 

                                    ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The next time you had come to him, things ended differently. 

It was days before your third encounter, and your second fight. The last time you’d seen him, he’d only caught a glimpse of you smirking before disappearing into the depths of the ship and most likely the escape pods. But this time, Kenobi and Cody had hatched a brilliant plan to intercept you outside Christophsis. During the battle to attempt to slow your troops, Anakin and Obi-Wan would infiltrate your ship and attempt to subdue you. There was no way you could reach the escape pods this time- a new confrontation was inevitable. 

While Obi-Wan leaned over the holotable, studying the battle plans and maps, he stroked his beard thoughtfully. His blue eyes glinted in the glow of the room, sparkling like two little planets. Even you had to admit, the General had a beautiful, analytical brain that everyone could take a few lessons from. This only spurred you on more in your endeavor to ruin him, however. 

“What’re you looking at?” you mused. 

Obi-Wan stiffened upright, focusing on your voice. He knew you hadn’t somehow sneaked your way onto the ship at least, which left the second most likely scenario more realistic. 

“I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure that out,” he said. Obi-Wan turned around, careful to leave one hand looming over the button that turned the table back to simple planets. In a swirl, the maps and plans were gone, replaced with artificial stars and systems projected into the air. The ocean light of the room fell over your features faintly, which confused the Jedi for a second. The only colors he had ever seen as shadows with you were the deep red from your lightsabers. Usually, they were so angry and stark that you looked menacing. 

Make no mistake- you were menacing. Obi-Wan would never be foolish enough to think that you weren’t. But in the sapphire light, you reminded him of a Jedi. You looked- dare he say it?- pretty. Softer. Is that what you could’ve been at one point? A Jedi? Soft, and pretty?

“You flatter me,” you purred as you dipped your head. “I almost really believed you weren’t a gentleman.” You gave Obi-Wan the moment to respond, but he did not take the possibility. In fact, you could see that he was clearly raking his eyes over your face in search of some kind of answer. Perhaps you should do the same.

“Tell me,” you continued. “How does the gentleman intend to capture the lady tomorrow?” 

You took note of the faint wrinkles under his eyes. They weren’t from age or ailment, but lack of sleep and too much experience. There were few marks on his face, but still noticeable. No, they didn’t make him appear unattractive or undesirable, but instead gave him a sort of character. Did he have scars along his body? Was there ever a foe who marked him forever? Sure, you had scratched the Jedi with your lightsaber not too long ago, but it was nothing that wouldn’t eventually fade. Even then, it wasn’t like he hadn’t done the same to you. Your cheek was still streaked with a thin, pink gash that had begun to heal as a part of your flesh from what Kenobi had done to you. 

“Perhaps the gentleman would rather avoid conflict all together?” Kenobi mused. Ever the polite one, this man. “Perhaps you could turn yourself in now and save yourself the troops?”

You scoffed audibly. It was close to a laugh, but not quite. Did Sith’s laugh? “You are easily mistaken if you believe I care for the lives of a few clankers.”

“Clankers? Spending some time with the Clones, are we?”

“I’ve had enough of them in my detention cells to know what kind of language they use,” you said with a promise. In truth, you had captured a few Clone troopers, but that wasn’t how you had picked up the term ‘clanker’. You had gathered it after hearing some Clone describe it while listening in on transmissions. Finding it catchy and somewhat clever, you adopted it yourself. 

“Is that something you enjoy?” Obi-Wan quizzed. He took a step forward, his hands coming together with bent arms to hide each other in the length of his sleeves. 

No, actually. It wasn’t. You’d never cared much for torture. Sure, you had used it when you had to, but it had never been your first resort. You had no explanation for this. It just didn’t seem high up on your priorities list. 

“Now, who doesn’t love a good torture chamber?” you quipped. 

Unfortunately for you, it was too late for that kind of response. Obi-Wan had somehow seen the fault in your face. Maybe he saw your brow twitch, or your eyes dull, or your throat catch- you couldn’t say. But he had seen it. 

Obi-Wan nodded once, his lips still upturned at the stimulation from the interaction. “I don’t believe you.”

You weren’t sure where to go now. Your cocky and sarcastic features were beginning to fade away, replaced with a slow and diminishing frown. 

“Give up this fight,” Kenobi ventured. “If you turn yourself in now, you’ll avoid bloodshed. We both know that’s what you want.”

You swallowed dryly. Did you want that? To avoid bloodshed? You hadn’t minded it in the past, but there were times when you found enough of it distasteful. Could tomorrow’s battle be one of those times? 

“A Sith does not negotiate with the weak,” you finally answered. Once more, your face hardened back to it’s original expression. Menacing. 

Obi-Wan wondered if he should’ve said the next words. He played them over in his mind several times in the next second, before finally deciding on giving them a try. “Then perhaps, you are not a Sith.”

Your eyes widened at the statement. It struck a million things inside of you- anger, frustration, wonder, longing, embarrassment, astonishment, fear- everything. Your lungs tightened so much in your chest, they felt sore. From the sheer impact of Kenobi’s words, you took a step back defensively. 

Then you disappeared again. 

Obi-Wan stumbled backwards, hand reaching to clutch his heart. A dull headache had immediately begun forming in his temples, thrumming around like a growing drill. His lungs felt like they had had all the air kicked from them. His right cheek stung in the shape of a straight, thin line. Struggling to catch his breath, the Jedi reached his free hand back to grip onto the edge of the holotable for support. 

Mirroring the man, you jolted back as his form vanished. Your feet slipped from under you, and one of your knees was now angrily demanding your attention. Your bottom hit the floor flatly as your chest heaved up and down, gasping for the breath you had somehow lost. A bead of sweat had singularly formed on the side of your face in something like terror and shock. 

Neither you, nor Obi-Wan could explain this. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

By the third... ‘projection’ between you and Obi-Wan, you had met eachother on the battlefield six times, and Anakin five. The scar Kenobi had given you from your first encounter had softened significantly. Even so, it would remain forever. As much as you hated it, you had spent several nights awake thinking of how it was like a kind of mark he had made on you. Not quite something that ‘claimed’ you, per say, but a type of signature. A permanent autograph or stain that was made by the person who bothered you the most. 

Ventress, who was probably the closest thing you had to a friend, had told you it was awfully seductive in her overly sweet voice. While her hand caressed your cheekbone, the heaviness of your heart only briefly softened before falling back. 

But the third projection was different. You were not the one who initiated it. In fact, after your second meeting, you were perfectly happy to never interact with Kenobi again, unless you were fighting. During those combative moments, you could put your deep thoughts aside in order to accomplish your mission. 

But this time was not a combative moment. And yet, you were having some trouble accomplishing your mission. 

“Go on,” your master commanded in his low voice. “Execute the younglings.” 

Your lightsabers were in your hands, crossed over each other. When you would pull them apart, the sabers would slice out, and heads would roll. That’s what was bothering you. The heads reminded you very much of your young nephew, who had turned six not too long ago. 

You couldn’t remember why you had to do this. All you could remember was that Count Dooku was telling you to do it, and his patience would not last forever. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to kill younglings. They hadn’t done anything wrong, and they had no place in the war. 

And thus, this was why you were hesitating. Every time you thought you had the surge of energy to do the deed, your heart pounded so hard your arms stayed stiff. 

“Is it really so hard?” Count Dooku said tautly. His eyes narrowed in disappointment at you, frown deepening. 

And then, Kenobi’s voice called out to you. Like an angel, or a kind of conscious, you could see him so clearly in front of you, it was like you were actually speaking to him. 

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows were furrowed together in concern as he looked you up and down. He could see your stance, and the force surrounding you so intensely. He could analyze the sweat forming, your heart rate that matched his own. Your expression was laced with anguish and conflict, and he just knew you were about to do something you didn’t want to do. Obi-Wan understood that you were about to kill.

“Where are you?” he asked. 

You couldn’t answer. You would’ve looked like you were talking to yourself, and how horrible would that have been in front of Master Dooku? Instead, you only open and closed your chapped lips softly. Your eyebrows twitched. 

“What are you waiting for?” Dooku boomed at you. 

Obi-Wan leaned back and widened his eyes at the recognition of the voice. “Y/N, whatever you’re about to do, don’t.”

“If you’re unable to do this, my young apprentice, I will have to find someone more suitable.”

You squeezed your eyes tight. 

“Don’t!” Obi-Wan called. 

You didn’t stop yourself. You so desperately wanted to. But you didn’t. 

Your arms sliced apart. The searing hum buzzed through the air crisply, followed by multiple thumps against the ground. 

“Very good,” your master praised coolly from behind you. Even with your eyes shut tight, you could tell he had a cold smirk of relief resting on his face. “Meet me back at my ship.”

You opened your eyes slowly. Your skin felt sticky with sweat, and every muscle in your body was tightened up. Your shoulders and neck felt sore, and even your eyelashes felt heavy. The familiar weight of guilt sunk into your stomach so much more solid than ever before. Maybe it was because you had just committed something so terrible in front of one of the most noble people in the galaxy. Maybe it was just the sheer and straight anxiety that came with doing something you knew was against your better judgement. 

Obi-Wan looked at you silently. He knew what you had done. He knew the irreversible, evil and disproportionate thing that you had done. 

But now, he also knew that you needed help. You looked at him with pure fear and shame, and he could see how vulnerable and inhumanly human you were. He could tell, for a fact, that you would never be a real Sith. Did you have fear? Anger? Hate? Were you suffering? Yes. But you were not evil. Obi-Wan might’ve even dared to say that you were incapable of being so. 

You tore yourself away when Count Dooku called your name from the ship. Eyes darting between his blue orbs. The first step you took away from him, you evaporated into thin air, and Obi-Wan was alone in his ship once more. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The fourth time was the one that changed everything. 

You had only faced Obi-Wan and Anakin one time since he saw you kill the younglings, and unfortunately, Obi-Wan had also noticed you had a split second to kill him during the fight. Obviously, you hadn’t taken it. 

Your hands balled and unballed themselves against your knees. Palms sweaty, your whole abdomen had begun feeling like shaky jelly. Ever since the day with the younglings, you had begun to lose weight. You felt weaker, even though the darkness inside of you told you to feel so good. The circles under your eyes had darkened and deepened, and several lines had appeared on your face to make you look far more detached. 

You look unhealthy and unhinged, to be frank. 

Luckily, Ventress was there to tell you you still appeared inherently ‘handsome’. 

Your lungs pierced themselves and screamed with every breath. 

A hand reached out to touch your own, your left. 

You only allowed yourself a few moments to look it over. You observed the veins through it, the strength and width. It was a man’s, and a rather wise man’s at that. You could see little divots and callouses from work with a lightsaber, and clean nails that showed the owner had no time to bite at them anxiously. Despite how much you hated touching, you felt yourself sinking into the simple touch from the hand. It was, to be direct, the most comforting thing that had ever happened to you. 

Still, you gripped a hold of your heart, and shot your hand away. Your head raised to meet the owners eyes. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi, though you hated to admit it, had the eyes that you found yourself looking for often. Whether it was to avoid him, or find a comfort deep down, you did it. They were dapper and blue and deep, and changed in the shades of the sunlight. In contrast to his strawberry blonde hair, they shown and glimmered like an ocean. 

Obi-Wan felt the same about your own. Your eyes were conflicted and obviously conveyed several emotions, but also held a history that captivated him. He felt that they deserved everyone’s captivation. He wanted to study them like he would an ancient story, and memorize every changing detail within them. Even with the tired darkness underneath, he felt that they were uniquely beautiful in their own way. 

“Why are you here?” you seethed lowly. 

Obi-Wan glanced down, and then back up honestly. “I heard you calling out.” Before you could scoff, Obi-Wan quickly added, “I felt it.” 

You shook your head. “I wasn’t calling out. I would never call out for you.”

The man swallowed, determining the best approach. “I know that you are angry, but I’m here to help you.”

Kenobi’s tone was sincere, but you wouldn’t- couldn’t- believe it. “Help me?” you scoff. “I don’t need help.”

The Jedi tilted his head at you, looking deeply into your eyes. His orbs were piercing and infinite, it seemed. “You know that’s not true.”

At that, your anger washed away. A frown came down over you. Your eyebrows knitted themselves together in pain. Your eyes became rimmed with simultaneously hot and cold tears. Cheeks grew pink enough to totally disguise Obi-Wan’s signature. 

The way he was looking at you was just so intimate and understanding. Never, not in your whole life, had somebody done this. It seemed, in fact, that Kenobi could see right through you. He could feel you. He could feel your heart, your ribs, your tendons, and your pain. He could feel the soreness in your muscles, how tired your head felt. He wanted, more than anything, for you to have a rest. The Dark Side had done everything it was ever going to do for you. You didn’t need this weight any longer. Obi-Wan wanted to know how you would look when you laughed. 

Your head hung down as your first sob came out. Your fists balled even tighter together, both returning to your knees. 

Feeling his respect for you, mixed with your sadness, Obi-Wan reached his hand out again. His palm ran over your right fist for the second time, and this time you did not rip away. Instead, your own fingers unraveled and relaxed. The Jedi ran his thumb over your angry knuckles and your cunning fingers, silently keeping you close, even though you were far, far away. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

You did not see Obi-Wan in projections again. 

Some weeks later, you had however, seen him in his entirety. 

Your ship was on fire. Some stupid clanker had miscalculated and allowed your fleet to settle right into General Skywalker’s attack. With every jolt, you stumbled and struggled to maintain balance. Your internal conflict had been continuing to cause you to lose weight in the worst way, and it had recently gotten hard enough to keep yourself upright. 

Finally reaching the hanger, you heaved in exertion. Somewhere, Obi-Wan was outside, either flying around or searching for you aboard. You found, to your nightmare, you had missed him terribly in this exact moment. 

The igniting hum of a lightsaber made you raise your brows. In the middle of the hanger, with sparks falling from above, was that young Togruta girl. The Skywalker padawan. What was her name again? Aheka? Aurora? Ahsoka? Yeah, Ahsoka. 

She glares at you angrily. Her face is scrunched in determination, something that reminds you so much of Anakin himself. Both her sabers were at the ready, and her stance was that of one about to pounce. 

Yes, Ahsoka was trained by someone powerful. This, however, did not mean that she was a match for you. If you fought this one without restraint, you would undoubtedly kill her. You did not want to do that. 

“Hello, General,” she taunted. Definitely Anakin’s padawan. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Despite your exhaustion and the sharp pain in your ribs, you answered her sincerely. “Please,” you called out. “Please, move aside. I don’t want to fight you.”

Ahsoka’s eyes narrow at you. “You’re under custody of the Galactic Republic now. If you won’t fight, you’ll be detained.”

You shook your head, exhausted and defeated. “I can’t go with you. I won’t fight you, but I won’t go with you.”

Darkly, the Togruta replied to you. “Then I will make you.”

She launched forward from the balls of her feet. In a flash, you managed to take out one of your sabers and switch it on. The red clashed against the green in defense, making you lean back before pushing forward. 

No. You would not kill Ahsoka Tano. 

You are very strict about playing offense in the next minute. The only time you ever actually strike the young one is when your blades catch each other.

Not so far away, a voice yells, “Snips!” 

Ahsoka Tano looks at her master. You identify Anakin quickly enough, and seize the opportunity. Your leg snaps up against the Togruta’s stomach. She crumples on herself with a gasp, and you push her to the ground before moving past her. 

As you sprint as fast as you can, you can hear Skywalker scream, “Ahsoka!”

You move down the hallway as fast as you can. You have to get to the escape pods. The hanger is no longer an option. Either that, or find Obi-Wan. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

It doesn’t take you long to find him. You stand at the opposing side of the bridge, your breathing rapid as your headache tortures your temples. There was so much pain inside of you, falling off your robes and your skin like steam. You just wanted this all to end. You wanted to be free. At this point, you didn’t care if it was from the Dark Side, or the Light Side. 

And Obi-Wan knew that. 

As he finished analyzing you to make sure that, no, you wouldn’t hurt him, he took a tentative step forward. 

You looked terrible. Kenobi wanted to fix that. 

“Y/N,” he called calmly. “I am here to help you.”

You nodded your head, suddenly feeling very hot. “I know,” you confess. Your lip quivers under the weight of everything- the pain, the anger, the frustration, the conflict, the admiration for Kenobi. He looked so handsome now, even with the ever growing danger surrounding the both of you. “I need help,” you admit, voice breaking. “P-please help me.”

Obi-Wan walked quickly to you, sensing your weakness. He knew that at any moment, you were going to collapse both outside and in. Your turmoil had bubbled over, your Akrasia breaking whatever spirit you had left. He knew that you were too tired to feel darkness now. You had nothing left to fear, anger, hate, or suffer over. 

“Obi-Wan,” you said shakily. Your hands came up to rub your arms as if you were cold. “I love you.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi knew how selfish it was to replay the words over in his head at the moment. He just couldn’t help it. 

You had always been radiating. You had always been strong and worthy of admiration. When you struggled with your guilt, you struggled with your deeds, and that gave Obi-Wan hope. You had restored his faith all on your own, and he had already known that it was worthy of being expelled from the Order. But this was you. This was the woman he had grown to care for, like a mold to fit into, and had come to understand. The Jedi felt hungry for that. He felt hungry to know you. To analyze you. To help you. 

“I know,” the man said, sincerely and slowly. Against his better judgement, and the rocking of the falling ship, his right hand reached out to cup your face. Your skin was warm. Slightly sticky from the sweat, but Obi-Wan didn’t mind. “I know.”

His other hand opened up. His calloused and strong palm revealed itself to you, drawing your attention, and reminding you of the night that he had held your own inside. “Y/N, I need to know if you will follow me.” Obi-Wan paused, looking into your eyes. This was his confession. His begging, his pleading, his longing, was a confession for the love he felt for you. “I need you to come with me. You must leave this behind.” Then Obi-Wan swallowed. “Come with me. Please.”

The both of you were betraying your Orders. 

Your right hand came to meet his. Palms against palms, skin against skin, you connected. You could feel Obi-Wan’s need and frustration, and he could feel your longing and fear. 

“Yes,” you said, tiredly. “Yes. I’ll go with you.”

And, in that moment, you could see a life with Obi-Wan. 

He would not leave the Jedi. You knew that for sure. But you would go back to Scarif, where you were born. On a shore, near the crystal blue waters, Obi-Wan would build you a house. He could visit when he had the time, holding you in your sleep to protect you from the oncoming nightmares, and you could kiss the scars on his back. Every time he would leave, your heart would break, but he would always bring you something small to apologize. Perhaps you could start to draw again? Obi-Wan would’ve loved to draw with you. He could teach you how to meditate, and clear your thoughts. Somewhere deep in the ground, you’d bury your lightsabers and never touch them again. On top of that ground, Obi-Wan would hold your form tightly as his skin moved against your own. Everything would be like a song, and maybe one day, you could give him a new verse. You could give him a child. You could have peace. Not fake peace, but real peace. The kind of peace that follows the storm, and lingers til the end of your days. 

A choke escapes your throat. 

You feel your lungs quiver in weakness, then refuse to allow any more air in. Obi-Wan watches your face change from sorrowful, to shocked. Your mouth agape, eyes wide, you suddenly go very, very pale. He feels you still yourself upright, and he tells himself the blue blade in your chest isn’t real. 

Anakin pulls the lightsaber out of you. Your pupils dilate as the blood begins to drip from your nose thinly. You can’t think, you can’t even move. You cripple to the ground without choice. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi keeps you close to him as you die. He has nothing to say to either Anakin or yourself, and he knows there is nothing he can do to heal you. He watches you watch him, your vision fading in and out as you try to memorize every detail of Kenobi’s face for the last time. Your vision of a life with him becomes nothing more than a distant memory and a sad dream, and you don’t know when it ended. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Obi-Wan burned and buried you in secret. 

The Jedi had loved you, and he had known you enough to see that you deserved respect. You were not to be shipped off into the ground like any old Sith. You were to be cared for, and cradled until the end. Even in death, he wanted to help you.

And perhaps, simply that statement alone, was his greatest form of Akrasia. 

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo @chokemeanakin​ @typicalfanlife​

This is the version that was requested. Please let me know how you feel and if you noticed any errors! I wrote this while I was very tired, and I may want to tweak some things. 

[saiilorstars]

Running Home

// Companion to Dare To Forget Me //

Pairing: Rafael Barba x OFC

Summary: It’s nearly Christmas and Rafael has the unfortunate duty to tell Montserrat he won’t be making it home in time. How Montserrat takes it is just as he predicted. The only question is, will he really not make it home? 

Taglist: @ocfairygodmother @anotherunreadblog​ @maaaaarveeeeel​ @stareyedplanet @perfectlystiles @averyhotchner

A/N: Just some angst/fluff one shot! And of course, it's an AU! You'll understand why as you read ;)

Montserrat's laughter filled her living room to the point that, in the end, she had to cover her mouth. "I didn't know it was possible for you to be funny," she remarked to someone on her laptop. She shifted on the couch to better adjust the computer over her lap. "Especially as soon as we start the chat."

"I can do many things, Montserrat. You know that." Rafael was on the other side of the video chat. He was smiling at her through the screen. She looked absolutely comfortable in her spot, making him wish he was there with her instead of...where he was now.

Montserrat lowered her head, her lips curving into a smirk. "Oh, I know." She reached for something off screen and had Rafael laugh when she waved a nice glass of red wine. "Don't you wish you were here with me right now? I've got the heater on, my blanket," she gestured to the polka-dotted turquoise blanket covering her legs, "Your bottle of wine..." she sighed heavily, and dramatically too.

"I'm going to need that refilled by the way," Rafael warned her.

Montserrat laughed. "We'll see." She shifted again while she sobered from her laugh. "So, how's Iowa treating you? Can't imagine they're more in the Christmas spirit than dear ole New York is, right?"

Rafael bobbed his head. "You'd be surprised. It's different but...yeah. I'm just trying to blend in, honestly."

"Mm, and you think blending in means growing a beard," Montserrat leaned closer to the screen. She couldn't get enough of him right now but he didn't need to know that.

"I'm in Iowa," he repeated, thinking that was enough of an explanation. "Is it that terrible?"

Montserrat found it incredibly hard to stay on the plan of teasing. She leaned back and pretended to think about the question. "Well..."

"Montserrat."

She sighed in the end. "Of course not. I like it, of course I like it." She admitted. She liked when he started with the scruff—did he seriously think she wouldn't like what came next? For such a smart man, he was an idiot sometimes. She was just thankful (just for that one minute) that they were miles apart so he wouldn't see the blush on her face.

Rafael smirked. "There we are. You see how much easier this whole marriage thing works when you're honest?"

Montserrat rolled her eyes at him. "God, I married a smartass," she muttered, making him laugh. She smiled slightly. She missed their bantering so much. "Tell me it's Friday already," she said calmly. "Because when it's Friday, you'll be here with us."

There was something on Rafael's face that she couldn't yet describe but whatever it was, it had something to do with guilt. "Uh, about that..." he started, "I don't think I'll be home by Friday."

"What?" Montserrat frowned. She put her glass on the table then brought her laptop closer to her. "What do you mean? It's Christmas. You said you'd be back before then."

"I know but things change all the time. I'm sorry—"

"Rafael, you've been gone for a month!"

"I know—"

"No! You don't know. You've been gone for all of December! That's not just any month, Raf, especially when you have a da—"

"Montserrat, why are you acting like I don't want to come home!?" Rafael snapped at her, resulting in her momentary silence. "Of course I want to come home. It's like you said, it's Christmas. I want to be there instead of...here!" He exclaimed with a flap of his arms to gesture to the grim room he was in at the moment.

"You've already missed buying the Christmas tree, decorating it. We're waiting for you to come home and help put the star on top. You've missed out on everything but it was going to be okay because you were going to come home for Christmas." Montserrat looked to the side, very much huffing with anger. "You want to explain that to her?"

"Don't do that," Rafael warned. "Don't you dare use her—"

"I'm not!" snapped Montserrat. "But you know she's been waiting for you. We want you here," she said softly. Of course she wasn't angry with him. He wasn't in charge of the schedule but if she wasn't angry with him, where should her anger and disappointment go then?

"I'm really sorry," Rafael told her. What he would give to be there with her, cuddling with her under their favorite blanket and with their special wine.

"Yeah," Montserrat mumbled. "Merry Christmas." She ended the call right there and then, shutting her laptop with a thud. She grabbed her glass of wine from the table and drowned it all in one go. Just as she had returned the glass to the table, she heard a door in the hallway open followed by a quick sprinting of feet.

"Mama!" A little five year old girl came rushing into the living room, her floppy brunette hair making a curtain over her face when she hopped onto the couch.

Montserrat was caught off guard and thanked the heavens that her wine was all gone. Of course now she hoped she hadn't overdone it. She could not be drunk in front of her own daughter. "You're supposed to be asleep!"

The little girl giggled. "I tricked you!"

"Tricked—no! You don't trick your mother! If I say go to sleep, then you go to sleep!"

The girl smirked in an all too familiar way. Montserrat pinched the bridge of her nose. At her five years, Iris Barba-Novak was a near carbon copy of her father.

"I swear to God," Montserrat dropped her hands to her lap and mock-glared at her daughter. "I carried you for 9 months and you have the audacity not to look like me!?"

"I'm sorry," Iris shrugged her shoulders, acting as if she fully understood what her mother had said. "Maybe if you give me a little brother or sister, they'll look like you?"

Montserrat pointed a sharp finger at her. "We are not talking about that young lady."

Iris groaned the way only a five year old did when she wasn't getting her way. "But it's what I want for Christmas!"

"I know, you put it in your letter," Montserrat mumbled under her breath. She didn't have a good laugh with it like Rafael had when she read the letter to him.

"Santa always gets me what I want so I know that he'll get me this too!"

"No he will not," Montserrat once more mumbled under her breath. "But you, missy, have to go to sleep for real now!"

Iris made a face. "But I wanted to talk to Daddy. I know you were talking to him. You were laughing loud."

"I'm sorry sweetheart, but he, uh, had to go." Or she might have sent him on his way, who could remember.

"Aww," Iris pouted. "Is he going to be here for my recital?"

"Um..."

"Because he said he would be," Iris went on, her delicate green eyes flickering to the Christmas tree whose ornaments were mostly comprised of ballerina figurines. She got to choose the theme this year and she was very proud of it. "And he has to help me put the star on the tree!"

"Uh, Iris..." Montserrat reached for the girl and brought her to her lap. Iris was quick to grab the blanket and drape it over her and her mother. "Daddy might not make it home for Christmas this year."

"What?" Iris tilted her head up at her. "Why not?"

"It's his job..."

"Again?" Iris huffed. "But that always happens! He promised me he was going to be here for my recital!"

"I know, I know," Montserrat hugged her tighter. She pressed a kiss over Iris' hair. "But hey, you know I'll be there. And grandpa, uncle Gael, your cousins..."

"But I want my Daddy," Iris huffed. She buried her face in her mother's chest.

"I'll record everything and send it to him," Montserrat offered.

"It won't be the same."

Montserrat sighed. No, it wouldn't be the same and she knew it too. "I'm really sorry, Iris." She could only offer useless apologies and promises of videos and pictures. It wouldn't make much of a difference for Iris but Montserrat would try her best. She always did when it came to her daughter.

~ 0 ~

It was the 23rd of December: Christmas Eve Eve as Iris had declared that morning when she woke Montserrat up with excited bouncing on the bed. Montserrat had the day off from work specifically to cater to Iris that day since it would be her recital that evening.

"Is Daddy going to call today?" Iris asked after lunch while she helped her mother clean the table up.

"Um, I'm not sure sweetheart," Montserrat said, making a quick rush for the kitchen sink to dump the dirty dishes in. "He's working, remember?"

"But he can't call for just a tiny bit?" Iris held her index finger and thumb inches apart from each other. "Teeny-tiny bit?"

Montserrat half-smiled at her. "I'm sure he would if he could. You need to take a bath. Go to your room and I'll be there in a bit."

Iris shrugged and hurried for the living room. Montserrat returned to the table to pick up the last of the utensils. She glanced at her phone sitting on the counter. It hadn't rang with a call nor a text from Rafael ever since their argument a few days ago. She supposed it was on her to call him and apologize. She'd been the one to snap. He wasn't calling his daughter because of her and that was the last thing Montserrat ever wanted. Plus, it was nearly Christmas. Would they really not say a 'Merry Christmas' to each other?

Montserrat shook her head. "What am I doing?" she whispered to herself. She left the utensils on the table and grabbed her phone from the counter top.

'Can we talk, please? Iris and I want to video chat.'

She had just sent the text when Iris called her from the hallway.

"Moooooommy! Am I going to take a bath or not?"

Montserrat left her phone on the table and hurried for the hallway. "Yes, of course!" Making a five year old take a bath on a schedule was hard enough. Montserrat would need all her focus and determination to do it. She managed to get Iris out in half an hour and only after fighting her on it.

She was far too much like her father, always making arguments.

"Seriously, you have the audacity here," Montserrat muttered after finally convincing Iris to put on some pajamas while she dried her hair. Her ballerina costume would get wet otherwise.

"I want my hair brushed in here!" Iris had come running into her parents' room.

Montserrat followed her in with a brush in hand. "Assume the position munchkin." Iris giggled as she climbed up on the bed and sat cross-legged. Montserrat sat behind her and started brushing her wet hair.

"Mommy, is Daddy going to call now?" Iris eventually asked.

Montserrat inwardly sighed. She had checked her phone but Rafael hadn't answered. He hadn't even read the text. Was he that angry? Even if he was, he was angry at her. Iris should have nothing to do with it. "Not yet, sweetheart."

Iris sighed and Montserrat could see her pout from the mirror across from them. "I really wanted to talk to him. He's not coming to my recital, is he?"

"I don't think he is, Iris. I'm sorry." Montserrat hated watching the disappointment etch across her daughter's face. She put the brush down for a second and pulled Iris on her lap. "But remember what Mama's gonna do? She's going to record everything and send it to Daddy."

Iris shrugged her shoulders. "Do you think he'll have time to watch it?"

Montserrat may have felt her heart crack a bit with that question. "Of course he will, he always makes time for you." She should've remembered that the last time she talked with him. They both led very busy lives because of their jobs, they understood each other because they worked in the same system, but when Iris was born they both swore that she was now their first priority. Their jobs never mattered more than her. Of course there would be moments that they couldn't control and they had to understand that.

You don't go snapping at him, she berated herself. How she wished Rafael would call so she could apologize.

~ 0 ~

There was an hour left before they had to leave for the recital. Iris was all set up to go—she was twirling in her bedroom for the imaginary audience she'd set up with her stuffed animals. Montserrat promised they would leave soon.

"I have to make sure grandpa has the right address or he'll get lost," she said, making Iris giggle. "I'll go call him. Don't touch your hair nor your face, do you understand?" Iris stopped twirling to dutifully nod her head but Montserrat was no fool to believe her straightaway. She learned that one the hard way. "Iris, you listen to Mommy on this. Do not touch your hair and face."

"Yes, Mommy," Iris nodded again. Montserrat pointed at her with sharp eyes. Iris upheld that look until Montserrat walked away. Iris then sprinted towards the door and poked her head into the hallway. Once she saw her mother heading into the living room, she closed her door and turned for her audience with a big grin.

In the living room, Montserrat settled the details of the recital's address with her father over the phone. "Please be on time," she begged him.

Thomas laughed. "Miss my granddaughter's recital? Never! We'll be there, promise."

"Thanks," Montserrat said.

"Is Rafael there yet?"

"Uh, no," Montserrat sighed. "He couldn't make it. Actually, he's not going to be around for Christmas."

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Yeah," Montserrat nodded. No one was more sorry than her, she could promise it. "We'll meet you at the recital in a few. I have to go make sure she didn't do something to her face."

Thomas chuckled. "Would serve you right for doing that to me all the time. You always say Iris looks and acts like Rafael, but she's a lot like you too."

Montserrat rolled her eyes but for the sake of time, she would let the comment slide. "Bye, Dad." She ended the call afterwards and soon went to check if she had any missed calls or texts.

Nothing.

"Raf, c'mon," she begged. If he wasn't responding to her texts then what hope did she have of him answering her call? She wouldn't be able to take it if Iris was right beside her when she made the call and he didn't answer.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the doorknob of the front door jiggled. She flinched but her instincts (whether motherly or just cop instincts) kicked in. She hurried to the high bookcase near the television. She had just grabbed their emergency gun when the door opened.

"What the hell are you doing, Montserrat?" Of all the ways Rafael expected to be greeted, his wife aiming a gun on him wasn't on the list. "Are you that mad with me?"

Montserrat blinked with wide eyes, truly caught like a deer in headlights. "What the—what are you doing here!?" Her eyebrows knitted together as her eyes narrowed on him.

"Seriously!?" He frowned. "You're asking me that? I live here and would you put that gun down!?" Montserrat realized she was still aiming the gun on him and quickly lowered it down. "God, you know I hate having that thing in here." Rafael reached outside the door to pull his suitcase inside.

"Well, let me know when you stop being a lawyer and I stop being a detective," Montserrat quipped sarcastically. "You know I don't want to ever be caught off guard with my daughter in the apartment. If someone breaks in, they're going to get a bullet." She turned away to return the gun to its safe spot. It was then that she made the connection of his presence. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Iowa."

"Yeah, well, my daughter has a recital I promised her I would go to," Rafael said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"But you said you wouldn't be back in time..."

"I made it, that's all that matters," he said a bit too quickly. Montserrat set her hands on her hips, eyes narrowing on him until he explained himself. With a sigh, he did. "Maybe I got into some arguments, maybe I have to stay an extra week, who cares. I'm here."

Montserrat's face softened with the realization of his troubles. "I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to get in trouble."

"Of course you didn't. It's not your fault," Rafael said, leaving behind his suitcase to walk up to her. "I had to see my daughter...and my wife." His hands raised to cup her face but since he had no idea if she was still angry with him, his hands stopped inches from her.

Montserrat smiled at him and nodded. His hands came to rest on her cheeks. "I texted you," she said.

"I'm sorry, as soon as I got the green light I headed for the airport to find the first flight here. My phone's out of battery."

"How long are you here for?"

"Umm, let's discuss that later, yeah?"

Montserrat nodded. "Okay."

Rafael looked her over with fondness. She was all dressed up in a long black and white flower patterned dress with black boots. "You look amazing," he told her, sounding almost breathless that she had to laugh.

"I miss your dramatics," she admitted.

"Not dramatic, mi vida," he planted a kiss on her lips. "Simply a truth."

Montserrat's smile softened. "Mm, is that my Christmas kiss? Because I have some complaints about the duration..."

Rafael laughed and brought his arms around her waist. He pulled her up to him and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. "I promise to make it up to you tonight."

Montserrat's eyebrows raised with delight. "So you're definitely here for a day at least..."

"One could say that." He leaned close to her for another kiss, a longer one that really made it hard not to forget they had important plans. "God, you have no idea how much I want you right now."

Montserrat flushed a bright red. She couldn't help the small giggle that slipped through her lips. Rafael muffled that giggle with another kiss that she happily responded to. "What happened to the beard?" She took note of the scruff that he now sported.

"I got over it," Rafael shrugged. "But like I said, I was in a rush these last days, so..."

"I still love it," Montserrat draped her arms over his shoulders and leaned on him.

"Duly noted..."

Montserrat chuckled and kissed him again. They only had a limit time before they were interrupted...

"Mama!" Iris' call promptly interrupted them.

There it was.

"Mama!"

The two pulled away the necessary amount to look at each other.

"One of my sparkles fell!"

Montserrat took in a breath then jabbed her finger on Rafael's chest. "Your daughter is going to kill me."

Rafael laughed. "Hold on," he gave her another kiss before calling back, "It's a good thing Mamá always has more!"

Montserrat shoved him away from her with an irritated huff. "Don't encourage her!"

Iris had flung the door of her bedroom open to come zooming out of the hallway. "Daddy!" she made it to the living room in record time.

"Mi flor! My flower!" Rafael opened his arms for her to jump in like she always did when he came home from work. Iris happily did and was subjected to several kisses on her face. "Look at you...all sparkly and...puffy!" The tutu was something he would never get over because she simply looked too adorable in it.

"You're here!" Iris exclaimed. "Daddy's here, Mommy!"

"Yeah, I've noticed," Montserrat chuckled. "Isn't it a nice surprise?"

Iris frowned for a second, puzzling her parents until she pointed an accusing finger at Montserrat. "Did you trick me?"

"What—no!" Montserrat huffed. "He surprised us, sweetheart. He came back for your recital."

"And Christmas," Rafael clarified, earning himself a happy squeal from the child in his arms.

"You're going to be here when I open my presents!?"

"Mhm, and when you open my present." He bopped her nose and earned a giggle in return. All arguments to get here made perfect sense.

Iris' eyes widened until they couldn't. "But if you brought me a present, you have to buy one for Mommy too."

"You think I didn't?" Rafael reigned offence.

Montserrat playfully rolled her eyes at the pair. "I don't need presents," she reminded them. She reached over for one of his hands and squeezed it tight. "I just wanted you home."

"I'm sorry for the last time we talked..." Rafael started but she shook her head.

"It's not important," she said. "I forgot that sometimes things are just out of our control, but you always try for us...for her." She made a nod over to Iris. "That's what we promised to do."

"Daddy, can you help me put the star on the tree now?" Iris asked. She was already wiggling her body so he would put her down to go get the star.

"Of course, where is it?" Rafael watched her dash into the hallway. At his questioning look, Montserrat explained that Iris wanted to keep the star in a safe spot in her room until he came back. The last thing she wanted was for Santa to get confused and put the star himself. Rafael laughed at the antic.

Iris returned with the star in her hands. "I got it!"

"Come on over," Rafael once again picked her up and walked up to the tree. Montserrat was right behind them and watched fondly as Iris was propped up on Rafael's shoulders to reach the top of the tree.

The star eventually twinkled to life. Iris squealed. "It's so pretty!"

"Okay, we have to go to the recital now," Montserrat helped Iris off her father. "Unless you don't want to do it anymore...?"

Iris shook her head. "Nu-uh! It's the Nutcracker and I love that movie. But now Mommy doesn't have to record for you, Daddy." She reached for Rafael's hands excitedly. "Because you're going to be there!"

"Maybe I'll still record," Montserrat said, throwing a glance at Rafael when she added, "Grandma Lucia and Catalina can't make it."

"Oh yes, we'll definitely need to record," Rafael concluded. His mother would kill him if they didn't record her only grandchild's ballet recital.

"Iris, come here." Montserrat sighed when Iris came up to her with a few strands of hair sticking out already. She bent down in front of Iris to try and fix them. "Were you touching your hair?"

"No," Iris made a face that didn't exactly help her make her case.

"Mhm, you're not quite the lawyer yet," Montserrat tapped Iris' forehead before trying to stick a strand down with one of her pins.

"But she will be," Rafael said with a smug smirk. He loved watching Iris argue to make her cases about the simplest of things. It was a sight watching her battle against adults. She often had goes with her mother and those were usually the best because Montserrat swore Iris was him. She had a short fuse when it came to those cases but she typically would let Iris go on until she ran out of things to say.

"C'mon Iris, stop touching your hair, okay?" Montserrat pressed her hands over Iris' hair for any last strands trying to stick up.

"Okay, Mama," Iris said with a soft smile on her face.

That right there was what Rafael loved seeing the most. Iris was hard headed like him but her mother always calmed her down. Montserrat always had a way with her that nobody else did, not even him. Iris loved her and even though she loved making arguments like him, she loved being like her mother. She loved dancing with her mother, making those overwhelming ballerina costumes with her, and so much more.

"Hey Iris," he called to her suddenly, "Why don't you open my present right now?"

Iris gasped. "I can open a present right now?"

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Montserrat straightened up on her feet. "She might get too excited..."

"It's alright," Rafael promised her. "I actually think she needs it." He reached for something in his coat's inside pockets. Iris was quick to scurry up to him. She bounced on her feet in anticipation. "I'm sorry I didn't have time to wrap it," Rafael said once he pulled out a small black box. He bent down in front of Iris, holding the box out for her. "Go ahead and open it."

Iris couldn't get it any faster. She swiped the box from his hands and yanked the lid open. "It's like Mommy's!" she squealed at the ballerina necklace inside. It was on a silver chain with a pendant of a ballerina posing on the end. Iris turned around to show Montserrat the ballerina necklace that was almost like the one currently sitting on Montserrat's neck. "Look Mommy, it's like your necklace!"

"Yes it is," Montserrat chuckled. Iris always went on about her mother's necklace, sometimes even trying to sneak it to her own neck.

"You can wear it for your recital," Rafael suggested.

Iris spun around to him. "Can I?"

"Come here," Rafael motioned her to get closer so he could put it on her.

Iris happily obliged and handed him the box back. She turned around with the biggest grin on her face. Montserrat laughed at the sight.

"Look Mommy, Daddy's putting on my ballerina necklace just like he did with yours on your birthday!" Iris exclaimed.

Montserrat's eyes widened slightly. "Yup." She crossed gazes with Rafael behind Iris. They had told their daughter only the nice parts of that night for a reason.

"There we go," Rafael announced. Iris turned to face him. "It's looks beautiful."

Iris held the ballerina figure in her small fingers. "I'm never taking this off! Mommy never does."

"Well, she does sometimes," Montserrat pointed out. "So Iris will do the same."

"Did you see what's on the back of the ballerina?" Rafael suddenly asked Iris.

Curiously, she tilted the pendant up to see the back of it. She giggled. 'I.M' was engraved on the back. "My name."

"Your initials," Rafael corrected. "So that everybody knows that this is yours."

"Iris Montserrat," she said proudly. "Mommy's name." She glanced back at Montserrat with what she would describe the most adorable smile a five year old could have.

"Exactly," Rafael cupped her face, careful not to even graze the sparkles adorning her cheekbones. "You have a special name and I wanted that to be on your necklace."

"My initials are backwards from Mommy's," Iris said, proud that she remembered that. "Because Mommy's middle name is Irene so her initials are M.I and mine are I.M."

"I have such a smart girl," Rafael praised and kissed her forehead. "Now," he straightened up on his feet and met Montserrat's gaze. "I do have a present for my smart wife...if she's interested..."

Montserrat fiddled with her fingers. "She might be..."

"What is it!? What is it!?" Iris exclaimed, her head flipping between her parents.

"She'll have to open it." Rafael pulled out a second black box from his inside pocket.

"What? Were they were having a 2 for 1 special?" Montserrat snickered, especially when his face fell flat. "Kidding," she walked over to him and took the box from him. She pulled the lid open and found a a golden bracelet inside with one oval shaped pendant. "This is beautiful, Raf." She gingerly pulled the bracelet from the box and realized the pendant was a locket instead. When she opened it up, their favorite family picture was staring up at her. She laughed. "Oh, now this is good. I love it, thank you." She leaned over and kissed him.

"I'm glad you liked it," Rafael said. "I really did have all intentions of coming back before Christmas. I'm sorry for the argument."

"Forget about it," Montserrat practically begged him. "I love this so much, and you."

"I wanna see what it is," Iris hopped beside them in hopes of catching a glimpse of the locket.

Montserrat chuckled and lowered the bracelet for her to see. "It's a picture of us. A family picture."

"That's so pretty!" Iris gawked. "Are you going to wear it?"

"Absolutely," Montserrat nodded. "Will you help me?" she looked at Rafael with a pout to match.

"Of course." He took her bracelet and wrapped it around her wrist. His fingers gently caressed her skin as he snapped the bracelet together. He brought her hand to his lips for a kiss afterwards.

Montserrat smiled. "I'm really glad you're here."

"Me too," he said. He snaked an arm around her waist to bring her to his side. "Are we ready to go, then?"

"Yes!" Iris jumped excitedly.

"Get your coat, Iris," Montserrat instructed. Iris nodded and rushed for her room to retrieve the coat. "She's really happy now, thank you," Montserrat mused. "So, exactly how much trouble are you in for fighting your way back here?"

Rafael pressed a kiss on her cheek. "Don't worry about it. On an unrelated note, how do you feel about spending New Year's in Iowa?"

Montserrat raised an eyebrow at him. "Seriously?" She was ready to laugh but not for the reason he thought.

"I had to make the deal," he sighed. "I have to leave the 26th and I'll be spending New Year's there. I know it's boring and it's far—"

Montserrat leaned forwards and gave him a long, deep kiss. "I would love to," she whispered to him afterwards.

"Seriously?"

She nodded. "You made the compromise to get back here in time for Iris. I can do the same for you. I'm sure Liv wouldn't mind. The newbie can take my paperwork for a few days."

He chuckled. "That...that would be great. You're really good with this?"

"Spending New Year's with my husband and daughter?" Montserrat bobbed her head. "Yeah, call me crazy but I think that sounds great."

"Mama, I got it!" Iris came back in a hurry. Her coat was lopsided on her body but she'd put it on all on her own.

"Yeah you do," Montserrat laughed. "C'mon then."

Iris made her way up to her parents in a series of hops. She held her hands out for them to go. Rafael picked her up on his side while Montserrat grabbed her own coat.

"You're staying for the whole show, right?"

Rafael nodded. "I promise. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Iris beamed and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Mama, are you ready?"

"Yes, yes, Mama's always the last to be ready because she makes sure everyone else is ready to go first," Montserrat dramatically sighed. "It's hard to look this good when you're on a tight schedule."

"And yet you always beautiful," Rafael said, holding his hand out for her to take.

"Flattery will get you..." Montserrat leaned close to his ear to whisper, "...everywhere."

Rafael smirked and grabbed her hand. "Let's go, girls."

Author's Note:

Yes folks I went with a cringy Christmasy angst/fluff one shot that includes one cute kid. What can I say? I'm a sucker for an OC kid.

And listen, I firmly believe that Rafael learned how not to hold his kid like a football after practice okay?

[conaionaru]

Honor and Blood (Ivar the Boneless) Chpt. 1

Blessed are the meek

Synopsis: Vanya is forced to marry a Ragnarsson to keep her country safe from the Vikings. Her brother chooses the perfect husband to break her spirit once and for all - Ivar.

Warnings: forced marriage, toxic family, choking (non-sexual), misogyny, angst

I don't own the gifs.

A woman has to serve the men in her life. First, her father, and then her husband. A sad reality. To be seen as nothing more than a womb. You are born and raised to obey. What they say is the law and must be followed. Your father chooses who you mary, and whose children you will bear.

Her mother called it the God's will. Her brother called it a political sacrifice. Vanya herself would call it torture. She was being married off to the highest bidder, like cattle.

After her father died three years ago, her brother Silas became King. Their kingdom was small, and Silas had no idea how to rule a country. So the council ruled instead. And they choose to make peace with the Vikings who threatened to attack them.

And so she is to be married to a Viking prince as a promise. The Vikings will get her and gold and silver in exchange for peace. It was the right thing to do. To accept her fate and do as said to protect her people. But still, it hurt her. To marry because Silas or the council command her to do so. Not out of love, but out of duty.

She hated him for making her marry some stranger on the other side of the world—a heathen. She heard the stories they told about Viking and how they murder and rape for their gods. She feared the day they would ship her off towards Scandinavia and make her marry some prince with no name to himself yet.

Silas said he chose her a husband he knew would fit her. He did not mention his name. Or how her future husband looked. Vanya hated her brother for that. And he hated her. That's why he offered her a price. To get rid of her. Their father loved her. She was his sweet, cheerful child while Silas was the bitter attention seeker.

She prayed to God; her husband would be kind and loved her with all his heart that their children would be born out of love. She hoped God heard her desperate prayer.

"Princess? The ships are ready." A voice called from behind her. She has been staring out of the window the whole day. Willing the sea to be too wild to sail on, but it did not work.

Vanya turned around, clutching the cross around her neck tighter. The servant in front of her looked at her with pity. And Vanya hated that look so much. Everybody looked at her with pity like it would change anything.

"My lady, you should change before you leave. I heard it is very cold there." The servant girl tried once again. Vanya only nodded and pulled a weak smile before letting the girl redress her.

"Are the Vikings here too?" She asked softly, looking out of the window to catch a glimpse of the fearless warriors from the cold lands.

The smaller girl shook her head in agreement and tightened her dress. "A few ships. I heard Bjorn is on one of them. He is to ensure you make it to their land."

Bjorn. Bjorn Ironside, who made the pact with her brother. Her husband's brother. She saw the man himself twice. He always stood tall and intimidated her. He was huge. And scary. She saw the man only twice. Once when he and his warriors attacked their kingdom and the second time when Silas announced that she would marry Bjorn's brother.

As soon as the servant dressed Vanya did Silas barge in smirking like he won a game, she had no idea they are playing. "Dear sister, you finally look like a proper lady. It's time to go, come."

Vanya looked at him with pleading eyes, her lower lip trembling. "Please, Silas, don't send me away. I promise I will listen. I won't disobey you anymore. Please, they will hurt me, rape me, kill me. Please don't make me go." He always wanted her to beg. Maybe he would show mercy if she did it now.

Her only answer was an angry snarl as her older brother charged towards her like a mad bull. His large hand wrapped around her thin neck and squeezed, making her gasp for breath. "I forgave you every snide remark, every scowl, every time you didn't behave like you were supposed to. Mother doesn't care what would happen to you, but I let you live in my castle in my kingdom instead of throwing you to the pigs in the barn. I have shown you nothing but mercy and forgiveness. And now all I ask of you is to do as I command, to marry a savage for the good of this kingdom of these people. And yet you disobey me again. You will renounce your faith, marry the man I chose for you and birth his children. I chose a man I knew would fit you perfectly. So be thankful."

He dropped her to the ground and wiped his hand on his clothes. As if his hand got filthy by touching her. Meanwhile, Vanya kneeled on the ground, holding her tender neck while gasping for breath and crying. She felt like an animal beat by her master for misbehaving. "You will do as I say. Or I will let the heathen army have their way with you in the middle of the streets." Silas spat at her, making her flinch in fear.

A knock interrupted his anger, and her sobs as a woman walked into the room, looking bored. Her waist-long ginger hair is up in complicated braid as a crown rests on top of her head. Her golden dress drags behind her on the ground as she nears her children. She freezes in her steps when her eye meets her daughter's tear-filled ones. "Mother. How lovely for you to see us. What's the occasion?"

The Queen Mother only held up a blue pearl necklace raising one perfect eyebrow at her son. "I wanted Vanya to catch the prince's eye. I found my engagement necklace and thought it would look breathtaking with her dress. I should also do her hair differently." Silas nodded and left the two women to their jewelry and hair. When the door behind him closed, the Queen walked to the mirror and picked up a brush, mentioning that Vanya should sit on the chair. The Princess picked herself up and slowly walked towards the chair, looking at her red eyes and bruised neck in the mirror.

The Queen brushed her hair and caught her daughter's eyes in the mirror. "Why do you always talk back, Vanya. It always ends badly for you."

Vanya drew in a shaky breath, on the verge of breaking down once again. "Mother. Please make him reconsider-"

"Don't Mother me! Silas made his choice. And you should listen to that choice. He is your brother, your King. Be smart, Vanya. How many times how I told you, love? Blessed are the meek." Vanya hiccuped and looked back at her mother, begging with her eyes.

"They will hurt me." She tried again, hoping to get some sympathy from her mother—anything to make her try to change her brother's mind. "They are savages. I don't want to marry a man I don't know. I want to love my husband. I want his children born out of love, not out of duty. I will never love that man."

The ginger queen scoffed and rolled her eyes at that. "Stop dreaming, child. You are of royal blood. Love was never an opinion. You don't have to love that man. All you have to do is stand by his side, smiling and carry and raise his children. You never have to love him. Only love your children. It that you will have no choice."

Vanya looked back at the mirror, not being able to look at her mother any longer. "Did you never love father? He was always so nice." The older woman shook her head and braided her daughter's ginger hair.

"He was a good King. But a terrible husband. He was kind to you two, but not me. I once believed that I loved him. And he took my love and bedded another woman. I can't fancy a man like that. I just have to look the part as do you. Use your looks to charm the man, and he won't hurt you. Give him sons, and he will protect you. Become important, irreplaceable. And you will survive." She whispered, fixing her necklace around her daughter's neck.

Vanya nodded her head, knowing the fight was lost. Her last hope was that her ship would sink, and she would drown before her wedding. But the Princess doubted the ships would fail now if they survived this long. The Queen stepped away from Vanya and put her hands on her shoulders when she stood up. "Blessed are the meek, Vanya. Remember that. A silent wife is a good one. Just look at the ceiling and think about something pretty. It will be over before you know it."

She took Vanya's hand and led her to the door and down the halls. The young redhead watched her step, thinking of the pretty places her mother mentioned—the bottom of the sea, the graveyard, Hell. When they reached the shore, Vanya was sure she entered Hell. The savages looked at her with hungry eyes while Bjorn stood tall next to Silas, who grinned happily to see her. "May God look after you even in the cold lands." He told her, gripping her face in his hands. It may have looked innocent to the soldiers and heathens. But the royal family knew better. It was a warning. Behave!

Vanya nodded before Bjorn helped her on the boat and ordered the warriors to set sail. She watched her home get farther and farther away. The smaller Silas and her mother got the weirder she felt. She hated her family, but she feared what awaited her on the other end of the journey.

"We will arrive in Kattegat in five days. Aslaug is planning the wedding a week after that." Bjorn informed Vanya standing next to her, looking at the small kingdom they are leaving.

"What is he like? My husband, to be?"

"Ivar's... complicated." Well, that's helpful. At least now she knows his name. Ivar.

[talesofstyles]

On S’envoie en L’air?*

*Shall we have a shag?

So, here we go again ladies. We can never have too many husband!harry and dad!harry on holiday mode, can’t we? Enjoy this 6.5k of Harry dealing with a wriggly baby on the plane who couldn’t sit still, to him teaching his little one how to swim. Followed by a quickie at nap time and a little cockwarming on the balcony to end the day. Yes, you read it right, on the balcony. But no, they didn’t get arrested for indecent exposure. Let me know what you think!

With Harry’s break aligned with your eldest son’s half term, you both figured it would be nice to squeeze in a little early summer holiday where you got a few days of much-needed quality time with your little family. Harry had been away for four weeks and it was the first time you had to handle your two children on your own. Normally, you wouldn’t think twice before packing your stuff and your kids’ to tag along with him wherever he goes, but your three year old just started nursery back in January, and your days of being able to drag him around the world whenever you want were finally over. 

However, that wasn’t entirely a bad thing. Both of you knew right from the start that you wanted to give your son as much stability as he could get, and although the circumstances wouldn’t allow it sometimes, you and Harry knew you would fight for your children to have a normal childhood just like what both of you had. Juggling a three year old—which however sweet he could be, he still has his moments just like any three year olds would—and a one year old who just got the hang of walking—on your own wasn’t easy. Thankfully though you had the most amazing support system. Both yours and Harry’s parents and siblings, even some of your close friends were happy to help you to keep two children alive. Harry called about a hundred times a day—thank goodness for FaceTime because otherwise, you might need to dip into your children’s school fund to pay for the phone bill. You knew that both of you had your own challenges; for you were to stay home and hold the fort and for him was to be away from his family. There was no point on arguing whose position was more difficult because you knew both of you had your own struggles, but that didn’t stop the nosey comments saying that you were basically a single parent although you knew were the furthest thing from it. Comments like that pissed you off because even though sometimes they said it with a good intention to praise you, you hated hearing it because to you it felt like you were dishonouring your husband and all the work he had to do to provide for your family. Before Harry went away, he made sure that all the bills were paid and your cars tuned up so you wouldn’t have any problems whilst he was away. He made sure that your home was good and that there were no leaks. Even though he wasn’t physically with you, it felt as if he was through phone calls and video calls and all that. He was always present.

Still, though, nothing beats his actual presence. The kids were over the moon to have him back home. He slipped back into his role perfectly, effortlessly. Whenever he’s home, you’re reminded again of how much of a husband and a dad he is.

If it was a holiday for just the two of you, Harry would definitely take you on his private yacht to cruise around the Mediterranean. But you both learnt your lesson the hard way last time you went yachting, that toddlers do NOT belong there. There was almost no safe space for your oldest to play outside so you saw less of the sea and spent most of your time inside the cabin making sure that those curious grubby fingers didn’t touch anything and that he didn’t crawl around the area that he wasn’t supposed to. With two toddlers now, you knew that wasn’t an option.

So you settled in a hotel in the French Riviera, or Côte d’Azur, with a private beach where you could let your kids run around without having to worry about the paps lurking around. Amalfi Coast has always been your favourite destination, but this time you wanted to take your children to the Mediterranean coast of France for a change. A cot and an extra bed were placed in the separated living room area for your babies, which was perfect because it wasn't far from your bed yet it wasn’t that close should you and Harry needed some privacy.

It was your second day at the hotel. You’d arrived in the evening the day before and didn’t get to do much besides ordering room service and putting the kids to bed straight away. The flight from London to Nice was only two hours, but there was a two hours delay, which ruined your plan because you’d planned your flight around the time your youngest’s nap time but the delay making her slept at the airport instead of on the plane. Having just recently discovered her feet and got the hang of walking, she could barely sit still, making Harry walk up and down the aisles the whole time holding his baby girl’s hands above her head. You were lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the sight of Harry being on full dad mode as you sat down through a whole movie.

You put your excited three year old to bed with a promise that you’d take him swimming when he woke up. Something that both you and Harry immediately regret the next morning when your little boy woke you up at six am sharp.

“Mummy! Daddy!” a bright voice piped up waking you up from your slumber. “Wakey, wakey!”

Harry groaned from beside you. “Too early, mate.”

“But daddy,” the three year old whined as he walked to Harry’s side of the bed. “You promised we could swim when I woke up!”

“After breakfast, yeah? We’ll swim then,” Harry tried to convince him again, reaching out his hand to ran his fingers through the blond mop that had a curly end now that it was humid. “Now get in ‘ere and give yer old man a cuddle,”

“No!” he scowled, crossing his arms across his chest to make a point of how annoyed he was. His eyebrows knitted, and Harry had to bite his lower lip to keep him from laughing at your little chap.

“No?” Harry repeated his answer before letting out a yawn, as he sat up to lean against the plush pillow before he growled playfully. “How dare you?!”

“Ssh,” you shushed him. “Pipe down, you’re gonna wake the baby.”

“Sure you don’t want to give me a cuddle?” He asked the angry toddler again, his voice lower this time after your warning, and he shook his head firmly. A deep frown visible on his little face. “Right then, I’ll get m’cuddles from mummy.”

You groaned as Harry dropped his body weight dead on top of yours. “Oi! Get off me you fatso!” you protested, trying to push him away and failing miserably. Harry just hummed as he locked you in a bear hug.

You were about to let out another groan when you heard a babbling sound from the living room. The sound made Harry climbed off you and made his way to the living room to get your littlest love. With Harry away, you tapped Harry’s empty side of the bed, trying to convince your oldest again to climb up so you could have at least a few more minutes in bed before you had to get up. “C’mere, yeah? Five minutes. Then we’ll get ready and head downstairs for breakfast. How does that sound?”

“Then we’ll swim?”

“Then we’ll swim,” you nodded as he ran to your side of the bed so you could pick him up. The bed was way too high for him to climb.

Harry reappeared with your fourteen months old on his hip. Her hair, much darker from her older brother, was sticking out and the humidity also made it curly at the end. “Good morning sunshine,” you greeted her and she flashed a huge grin as Harry placed her on the bed so she could crawl to you.

“One of these days we need to get you two to sleep in,” Harry joked as he sat back down on his side of the bed, another yawn escaped from his mouth. “We’re on holiday.”

“M’hungry,” your three year old mumbled.

“Are yeh?” Harry simpered. “Think you’re just saying that so we can go and get breakfast and you can swim.”

George wasn’t quick enough to fight a cheeky smile that was creeping onto his face, realising that his father had cracked his code. “Tha’ a smile I see?” Harry cocked his head, smirking at your smart three year old.

“Alright, come on let’s get ready.”

***

It took nearly an hour just to get everyone out of the door and go downstairs to the buffet area to get breakfast, which didn’t surprise you anymore since you had kids. The weather was lush so you decided to sit on the terrace, taking in the amazing view of the blue sky meeting the blue water of the Mediterranean sea. From where you were sat, you could also see the large outdoor pool and the rows of sun loungers by the pool. There were also several cabanas a little tucked away to the side, and you already had your eyes on one on the left where you could already see yourself chilling when your baby girl naps and Harry takes your little lad swimming.

“Oh, look, there’s crêpes au nutella. Would you like that, George?” you asked your little boy and he nodded eagerly at the mention of his favourite food. You were pretty sure that he could live on crêpes if you would let him.

Harry cleared his throat before he decided to be the party pooper. “No chocolate for breakfast please.”

“Oh come on, we’re on holiday,” you stood up for your little boy. Although that mainly just because you wanted to get the same thing and you knew you wouldn’t be able to if Harry didn’t let him have it. Harry had always been a pretty laid back parent, but when it came to food it was a whole nother story. He was—and still is—the health freak one in your family. “What’s the harm in that?”

“Fine,” he finally sighed. “You better enjoy that mate, none of that when we get back.”

Your little boy squealed happily and Harry knew he made the right decision when he saw how happy he made him just for saying yes.

“Should we head to the beach or the pool after this?” you turned your head at Harry as you fed your littlest her fromage frais.

“Think the beach first would be nice,” Harry said, looking over at the sea in front of you. “Look at the water, s’unreal,”

“Gorgeous innit,” you agreed.

“Are there sharks in the water?” your three year old asked, and both you and Harry laughed. “I don’t wanna go to the beach, they’re gonna bite me!”

“That depends,” Harry deadpanned. “Are you a good boy? Sharks don’t like good boys, they don’t taste as nice. So if you be a good boy and listen to mummy and daddy, sharks won’t bite you.”

“I want to listen to mummy and daddy,”

“Good boy.” Harry praised him, winking at you as you rolled your lips inwards to keep yourself from laughing.

***

“It’s sticky,” George grimaced, twisting his face as you applied the sun cream all over him properly. Getting Harry’s porcelain-like skin mixed with your sensitive skin, your wee bairn burns like he’s ginger so it required proper care under the sun. With his sunnies resting loosely on top of his button nose, he looked beyond adorable with his Finding Nemo swim shorts, the one that you caved in to buy because he didn’t want to let it go even when you were already paying for it at the till.

“I know my love, I’m sorry,” you scrunched up your face in empathy. “But I’m almost done, just a sec- there you go. All done. Harry!”

“Yeah?” Harry replied from the living room, bouncing your baby girl on his hip as he walked to where you were sat on the bed. “S’my turn?”

You hummed in response. “I’ve put it on the kids, now sit here so I can rub it on your back.”

“Oooh back rub!” He exclaimed excitedly. “Been ages since the last time I got a back rub.” He smirked at you before he made his way to the bed and sat down, your baby girl babbling happily on his lap, playing with the cross on his chest.

“Last time this happened, that happened,” you tilted your head to your baby girl and Harry snorted. “All done.”

“Thank you,” Harry stood up, his hand reaching out to take the bottle of sun cream from your hand and tapping the space at the end of the bed so you could crawl forward and he could apply the sun cream on you. “Back’s done. Now turn around.”

“I can do the rest, thanks,” you turned around, reaching out your hand for the bottle of the sun cream and huffed when your husband cheekily shook his head.

“Nonsense, I’ve still got some on my hands here. Don’t wanna waste it, love,” he said as he began to apply it on your arms, shoulders, before his hands creeping down and sneak into your bikini top.

“Hey!” You scolded him. Your tone chastising, stopping him from applying the cream in inappropriate places right in front of your fourteen months old.

“Wha’? S’for the girls!” He defended himself, smiling cheekily as you rolled your eyes. “We don’t want ‘em to burn, do we?”

“Your daughter is right there!” You tilted your head to your baby who was sat on the floor. “Gimme the bottle,”

Harry jutted out his lips in protest but he handed the bottle to you. To make himself useful he double checked the beach bag that you were going to take with you downstairs. “Got everything we need?”

“Think so,” you mumbled. “M’also thinking about bringing the pushchair so your daughter can nap in it.”

“Good idea,” he agreed, before scooping the baby up into his arms and brought her back to the living room area where the pushchair was, and buckled the baby on it. “George, you ready mate?”

“Daddy, can I take this?” He looked at Harry with puppy dog eyes as he showed Harry his Schleich figurines that he took with him. “Please?”

“Yes but not all,” Harry nodded and George beamed with such joy. “Two should be enough, shouldn’t it?”

“Mhm,” the little boy nodded eagerly as he took a blue whale and a dolphin. “We don’t want it to get lost.”

“Alright, let’s go,” you said as you walked into the living room with the beach bag.

“Let’s go to the beach, each, let’s go get a wave~” Harry started singing as he pushed the pushchair out the door and you shook your head as you laughed at your dork of a husband, which you weren’t surprised, really. He had always been such a dork, but what surprised you, it was when your darling three year old started to sing along with his dad as you walked down the hall to the lift.

“They say, what they gonna say? Have a drink, clink, found the bud light,” he sung proudly and you knew if there was any social worker nearby who heard him singing that song they would probably take him away. “Bad bridges like me is hard to come by.”

“Bad what?” Harry stopped and asked him, trying his best to stifle his laughter.

“For the love of God, Harry, don’t correct it,” you lowered your voice so Harry could hear but not your smart little boy because otherwise, he would definitely ask for the correct word. You rolled your lips inwards to keep yourself from laughing.

The private beach was right behind the hotel, so it only took you about five minutes from your room to get to the beach. At just a little after nine, it was still so quiet and empty and the four of you were the first there besides the lifeguard who was already on duty. It was a little chilly, but luckily still warm enough for a dip in the sea. You put all your belongings in one of the empty cabanas and took your baby out of her pushchair so she could walk around on the sand.

Harry was wearing his black swim shorts. His current state of hair that was similar to the one he had back in 2015, shoulder length with the front casually flipped to one side, was put up in a man bun. His tattoos were on display and it took everything in you to keep your hands to yourself and not to run your fingertips along the ink out in public and in front of your children.

Although on the other hand, Harry clearly couldn’t keep his hands off you. You had to keep yourself together when Harry’s cold palm lingered on your bare stomach as he stood behind you, looking at the lush view of the intense blue sea in front of you.

“Come on, mate,” Harry reached out his hand for your little boy to hold. “Let’s get in the water, shall we?”

“No, daddy,” he shook his head and hid behind Harry’s legs. “S’too big. Can we just go to the pool?”

“You’re right, it’s very big,” Harry agreed, nodding at the little boy who was still holding his leg. “But daddy will hold your hand. Can we try to walk there first? You’ll love it when the waves hit your legs. But if you still don’t like it we can go to the pool and try again tomorrow.”

“Y’won’t let go?” He looked up at his daddy as Harry took one of his hand, his other hand clutching the blue whale figurine.

“Never.”

George was hesitant at first, but Harry looked over his shoulder at you and you smiled at each other proudly when your first born walked alongside his daddy to where the small waves can hit their legs. You held your baby girl’s hands above her head and walked with her. You knew then which one you had to keep an eye on as they grow, realising that your little girl was much braver than her older brother. She was wriggling away trying to let go of your hands so she could crawl freely.

It didn’t take too long for George to finally cast out his fear. You laughed as you ran around after your littlest who had been crawling around and trying to eat the sand all morning, looking at Harry and your oldest who were playing with the waves.

“One… two… three… RUUUN!” Harry shrieked as the waves were coming, taking your little boy’s hand to ran away from it. “Fun, innit? Now should we go to the pool so daddy can teach you how to swim?”

“Yeah! But wait,” George cheered as he ran to the loungers to get the dolphin figurine and ran back to where Harry was, now holding both of his figurines on each of his hand. “They need to say goodbye to their friends!”

***

“Y’alright, mate?” Harry asked your little boy as he held him just above his waist. They’d just got into the pool so Harry wanted to make George as comfortable as possible with the water before he started. He was wearing a swim vest so he knew his little boy was safe, but Harry still wanted to take the opportunity to teach him how to swim properly. Harry glided him around, keeping his little body on top of the water.

“Mhm,” he hummed. He had gained a little more confidence in the pool rather than when he was still at the beach.

“First, daddy will teach you how to hold your breath. Can you do ‘aah!’” Harry demonstrated, inhaling as much air as possible before closing his mouth and blowing his cheek. “Then make big giant cheeks! Can you make big giant cheeks?”

The three year old giggled at his daddy as he nodded. “I can!”

“Great! Should we do it together? On the count of three, one… two… three… go!” They both inhaled and blew their cheeks, holding their breath for three seconds before they opened their mouth. “You did so good, mate! I’m so proud of you! Now should we try holding our breath under the water? Can you do it?”

“Yes!” He nodded excitedly, inhaling as much air as possible when Harry said ‘go’ and blowing his cheeks as Harry took him under the water and popped him back up after a few seconds. “Mummy, I can hold my breath under the water!”

“You really did! I saw that,” you praised him as you swam closer to them, holding your baby girl’s pool school floaties so she wouldn’t swim away. “That was really good!”

“Now should we show mummy how to blow bubbles? We’ll go ahead and put our mouths just at the top of the water, alright? Can you do that?” Harry asked him again and he nodded eagerly, mimicking what Harry did.

“S’fun, daddy!” He beamed as he blew more bubbles around the water, making his baby sister threw her head back in laughter.

“I’m glad you’re having fun, mate!” Harry said as he held the toddler on his arms, his little back leaning against his chest. “Now can you show me your soldier toes, sir? Can you point your toes? Good job! Keep them nice and pointing.”

“Soldier toes!” He giggled as he pointed his toes.

“Now can you keep your legs absolutely straight? Not bended knees, but straight legs,” Harry instructed and George listened to him, and began singing a random tune to help George to remember. “Nice straight legs, pointed toes, don’t bend your?”

“Knees!” George cheered excitedly.

“Exactly! Now daddy will sing a song, it goes like this; ring around the rosy, pocket full of posies, splashes, splashes, we all blow bubbles,” Harry sung. “First I will glide you around, and when I do, I want you to kick with your soldier toes. Then when I say splashes, I want you to splash with your hands,”

“Like nemo flipping his fins?”

“Yes! Then you remember how to blow bubbles, don’t you? Now can we start?” George nodded eagerly and Harry began singing. “Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posies, splashes, splashes, we all blow bubbles!”

***

“I feel bad he’s at the kids club,” you mumbled as you entered your hotel room. You’d spent all morning at the beach and at the outdoor pool with your husband and kids and even had lunch by the pool. But before you came back to your room, George wanted to see the playroom so Harry took him there and signed him up at the kids club and came back alone. “How did you drop him? Did he cry? You didn’t force him, did you?”

“Cry? He’d cry if I try to take him here,” Harry laughed. “The place looks sick, it’s huge. ‘Sides, I’ve got this pager and they could just ring if he wanted us to pick him up or if something happened.” Harry held the numbered pager for you to see. “Relax, love, he’s fine.”

“How long is the program?”

“Two hours. But he could stay afterwards and play there until five,” Harry explained as he walked towards the end of the bed where you were sat, fingers intertwined. “He’s fine, yeah? We’ve got nothing t’be worried about,”

“You’re right,” you finally admitted, taking your intertwining fingers closer to your mouth before placing a subtle kiss on his knuckles.

“Give me a proper kiss, darlin’,” he pleaded, holding your chin so you looked up at him. “Haven’t got a proper’un.”

“If you could move the baby to her cot without waking her up, I’ll give you more than that,” you smirked, the tip of your thumb running over his knuckles lightly, moving in circles.

“I’ve got a better idea,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your hair before walking towards the entrance where your baby girl was fast asleep in her pushchair. You thought he was going to move her into the cot, but you were surprised when he appeared in your bedroom a few seconds later with her pushchair.

“What are you doing?!” you hissed, your eyes narrowed, looking at him in disbelief.

“Sssh,” he took his index finger onto his lips, motioning for you to be quiet as he opened the door to the huge balcony that was connected from the bedroom. He pushed the pushchair to the balcony, making sure your baby girl was tucked underneath a blanket incase it got too chilly for her, before coming back into the room with a cheeky grin that matched your three year old’s as he closed the door to the balcony. “How smart is your husband?”

“More like how terrible is the father of my children,” you joked. “Are you seriously leaving our baby daughter out there in the balcony?”

“Hey!” He complained. “She’s living her best life, y’know. The weather’s glorious outside.”

“Doesn’t mean you can just put her outside. She’s not your mum’s cat, y’know,” you deadpanned. Trying your best to keep your facial expression firm and not to smile at your husband.

“Course not, she’s way cuter,” Harry agreed, the corner of his mouth quirked up. He interlocked his fingers back with yours as soon as you were within his arm’s reach again. “We make pretty cute babies.”

“Did we?” You mused, smirking at him. You knew for sure what he was up to, but you decided to tease him a little. “Let me pluck your brows while we’ve got time.”

He looked at you in disbelief, his brows knitted and you rolled your lips inwards so you wouldn’t burst in laughter looking at his expression. “Are you joking? We’ve got time just for us for God knows how long and that’s what you want to do?”

“Could always take a nap if you don’t want that,” you shrugged. “I could use a nap.”

“Absolutely not,” he insisted, taking your chin and leaning down to press a long kiss to your lips whilst he’s got the chance. “We’re,” he paused to press another kiss, this time shorter than before, before he continued. “Not," he took another pause to peck you on the lips. “Taking,” you smiled on his lips as he gave you another kiss. “A,” this time, he didn’t even bother leaving your lips as he spoke. “Bloody,” the pause was far longer this time as he sucked on your lower lip. “Nap.”

“George could page us anyt-” you sucked in a harsh breath as Harry left a trail of kisses down your jawline to your neck and bare shoulders. “Anytime. And Eleanor could-”

“Could what?” Harry smiled smugly, knowing he had already won all along. “It’s gonna be fine, darlin’. She’s just right there, yeah?”

You looked at him, then to the floor to ceiling windows that separated the bedroom and the balcony where your baby girl was snoozing in her pushchair. She was knackered after swimming all morning, and her belly was full as well after you fed her lunch so you knew she wouldn’t wake up anytime soon. Harry knew it was just a matter of minutes before you gave in, knowing you wanted it just as much as he did. Hell, you needed it. Both of you.

“On s’envoie en l’air?” Harry whispered, still standing between your legs as you sat on the edge of the tall bed. You let out a little chuckle. “Wha’?”

“Nothing. S’just your three year old speaks better French than you,” you teased him and he tickled your sides, earning a burst of giggles from you. “It’s true! I swear you only know three sentences; going to the cinema with your family and friends, how to make a coffee this delicious and sh-”

“Shall we ‘ave a shag?” He cut you off, finishing your sentence. A boyish grin plastered across his face as he continued. “Think we shall, hmm?”

“Alright,” you gave in, scooting your body further up to the pillows so Harry could climb on the bed, his body hovering over you. “But we better be quick.”

He smiled smugly as his hand crept down to the waistband of your shorts. Humming as he left his palm lingered a few seconds too long on the particular spot on your knickers where it was far from dry. “Made me went through all those troubles of trying to persuade you yet you’ve been ready all along.”

“Harry,” you choked out his name as he applied more pressure right where you needed him the most. “Don’t tease. The kids-”

“Love, you’re the hottest bird I’ve ever laid my eyes on but if you keep talking about ‘em, m’afraid I won’t be able to do my job,” he shook his head and smiled, purposely licking his lips for a second just to wind you up. “Just lay there and enjoy, yeah? I’ve got you.”

“Where else am I gonna g-” your scoff was cut and turned into a whimper as he thrust himself into you without so much as a warning. “Harry,” his name came out of your mouth in a breathless voice repeatedly.

You knew it had been a while and that’s why you weren’t surprised when the first thrust only allowed you to take a few inches of him. You gasped when Harry pulled out, ready to scold him for doing so and leaving you empty before you felt the tip running up and down collecting your wetness.

On his second attempt, you felt more of him was inside you although not fully just yet. He let out a guttural groan as he lifted up your bum and rolled his hips to try and encourage you to take the last inch.

Dragging back, he repeated his attempt and slid himself into you again, this time completely filling you up to the brink and making you sob into the pillow. His thrusts were sharp and perfectly aimed and he didn’t stop when he felt you spasm beneath him. His lips almost never leave yours, kissing you deeper and longer and more passionate after each time.

You were glad he didn’t take his time. You loved it when it was slow, creating deeper intimacy that you certainly never really shared with anybody else before him. But you knew this time was called for a different kind of intimacy, which you were more than okay with because that was exactly what you both needed in that moment. There was this rush. There was this desperate need. Both of you not arsed to drag it longer than you needed to.

“Harry!” You scolded him as he sucked on your neck a little too hard, really not wanting him to leave any kind of visible mark because you didn’t plan to walk around the beach and chill by the pool in your turtleneck.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologised, beaming cheekily, not looking sorry even just in the slightest bit.

“You’re inveterate,” you chuckled lightly.

“Such a big word,” he murmured as he slowed down his pace, aiming for a deeper and harder thrust each time. “M’not fucking you hard enough then if you can still think properly.”

“You’re all mouth and no trousers, Styles,” you teased him before you let out a gasp when he went even deeper as a response to your teasing remark.

“Better shut that pretty little mouth before I put it to work, doll.”

***

There was nothing like watching the sunset from one of the loungers on the huge enclosed balcony with medium-high walls in your hotel room. Sure, watching the sunset from the beach sounded like a dream, but you knew it was just not possible since it was past your littles’ bedtime, and the view from your balcony was more than enough. The sound of the waves crashing was like music to your ears, beyond peaceful and relaxing, and the sky was a perfect mix of violet, pink and still with a hint of orange.

Both you and Harry had just finished your last parental duty for the day that was tucking your babies in for the night. Bringing your children on holiday means you knew that you wouldn’t be able to go anywhere after their bedtime, so you were stuck with in-room dining for dinner which wasn’t bad at all since you didn’t need the fuss to get ready and could just eat in your bathrobe.

“It’ll be here in half an hour,” Harry announced as he opened the door to the balcony and stepped outside to join you watch the sunset. He had just called the room service to order your dinner, making sure to remind them not once but twice that when the food got there they should knock and not ring the bell because you had sleeping babies. You didn’t think about that on the night before and it took you about an hour to put your babies back to sleep. “Got you some gin and tonic as well.”

“Well, aren’t I the luckiest,” you smirked.

“Wanna sit behind yeh,” he mumbled, his fingers running through your hair. You loved it whenever he played with your hair, and you still do.

“Hmm,” you hummed in response. “Wanna rub my shoulders?”

“Well, I was thinking your cl-” Harry said nonchalantly and your eyes widened, you felt like they were about to pop out.

“Harry!” You scolded him, your tone chastising. You swore sometimes he sounded more like a sex-obsessed seventeen year old rather than a thirty something father of two. “I’m pretty sure that is considered as indecent exposure.”

Harry snorted in laughter. “Fine, we’ll just do something less risqué then.” He took your hand and helped you to stand up before sitting on the lounger and tapping his lap, motioning for you to sit on it, which you obliged. “Can I?”

“Can you what?” You asked him, tilting your head so you could meet his eyes.

“Slip it in,” He whispered. “Please?”

“Harry we’re not doing that out here,” you breathed, shaking your head. “’Sides I’m knackered and we literally just did it a couple hours ago.”

“I’m knackered too, we don’t have to do it. Just sit on it love, please? Nobody would see anything,” Harry begged desperately, his voice low and deep. “Wanna be inside yeh. Don’t have to move. I’m just- fuck, how am I supposed to keep my hands to myself after seeing you walking around basically half naked all day. Darlin’ pl-”

“Alright, alright,” you caved in and cut him off when he started rambling. The word just barely left your mouth when you felt his finger tugged at the hem of your white nightdress, feeling his fingertips ran further up your inside thigh before pushing them apart to spread you a little bit open for him. He let out a pleased hum when he realised that you weren’t wearing anything beneath your nightdress, knowing it would just make it easier for him.

“Fuck me,” he groaned. “No knickers, huh?”

“Eh, can’t be arsed,” you giggled. “You’re welcome, I guess?”

“Gonna be the death of me, y’know that,” he murmured as he pulled down his boxers just enough to let it free, before lifting up your bum to roll up your dress and nestled himself between your folds. You lifted yourself up just slightly higher, feeling the tip settle right where you need it to, and you slowly sank onto his length. You held onto his arm as you felt him disappeared inside you, slowly engulfing him in the warmest, wettest, and tightest spot he’s ever had the pleasure of being in. You threw your head back and he took the chance to pepper kisses down your neck, a small part of your throat, your shoulder. Your body accepted him with not even a slight resistance.

If someone asked you to choose your favourite sound in the world, right in that moment, you would probably say it was the sound that was currently filling your senses. The ocean waves crashing mixed with low hums and quiet gasps and soft, breathless “I love you”s. It was perfect in every way.

You could feel him getting harder inside you. His fingers played with the bow on top of the low V cut of your nightdress, untying it, exposing even more skin. Luckily it was completely dark outside now, so nobody would be able to see anything, not that anyone could even in broad daylight because your balcony was secluded. The feeling of him being inside of you, unmoving, was overwhelming yet somehow calming all at the same time. He was all bare and warm inside you, and you could feel his veins throbbing against your walls as he started to get worked up.

And as if it wasn’t enough for him, you had to sneeze, causing you to squeeze him even more and he moaned rather loudly at the sensation. “Fuck,” he growled, bucking up his hips to thrust into you despite your previous agreement, but he just couldn’t help it.

You whimpered as you felt him nudge a particular spot, and you decided to sit up straight to take more of him as deep as you could. But right just as you were about to start moving on him, you heard the doorbell rang and you jumped off your husband. Harry groaned in annoyance.

“Guess who’s just lost their tip?”

[elichorph]

𝗧𝗔𝗦𝗞 𝟬𝟬𝟮 ( 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗙𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗟𝗬 ) ↝ 𝗔𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬 𝗝𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

pov: your name is avery jeong and you are being kicked out of your house and family at age 18 because your sister snitched about some drunk mistake you made 2 years ago 

as of right now, avery has no relationship with his parents and a minimal relationship with his sister, lilia. however, avery was always treated as the baby of the family. he was set to take over the drug ring when he got older and was given minimal information about it to shelter and protect him from anything that could potentially make his views on the family’s business turn sour. despite this, avery really had no plans to actually take over the business and was going to hand over the position to lilia once she became old enough even though he didn’t tell anyone about this. before avery got the chance to step up, lilia told their parents about how he had broken one of the main family rules by telling someone he’d just met at a party about what the jeong family really did behind the big pharm cover. their parents were absolutely livid and forced avery to move out and denounced him from the family.

refer to liza’s task for more family info idk we really just hate these parents so bad

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗦

𝗠𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥 ↝ iris jeong

our least favorite capricorn sun gemini moon out there! god this woman is the worst! song seonmi fc, this woman is LETHAL. iris’ side of the family were the ones who started the drug ring so miss thing was seriously into it. it was her life, she grew up with it, and she took it so seriously that anyone could tell. she had extremely high expectations for avery to take over too and had originally planned to school him on family law and how the business worked as soon as he could walk, but eventually ended up babying him when it came to preparing to the position thank to her arranged husband’s influence. iris kind of let avery do his own thing growing up, made sure he was on top of his grades and was the one who suggested that he go to a specialized school just to make sure that he was reaching his top brainiac potential to be smart enough to run the show. the little that avery knew about the drug ring came from iris too, but she would always here comes the choo choo train it into his brain so it wasn’t too much for him to take. she knew her son was smart and fit to take over, but she feared him not being able to do so which was frankly her own fault. honestly receiving any sort of care from iris is out of character she literally is scary as hell. their relationship? really didn’t have one. i guarantee if you asked either of them at any point in time to name one personal fact about the other, they wouldn’t be able to come up with one. they just worked as mom and son, stood respectfully at a yard’s distance and only interacted when they needed to for the sake of the family. however, they Really interacted after lilia snitched on avery. iris was the one who came up with the idea to kick avery out and was so assured in her idea that she didn’t rest until he was out of the house and never came back that night. even though they have had no contact in the five years since avery was forced to leave, iris continues to blame every single family issues that arises on avery even if he has nothing to do with it. avery holds so much resentment for iris that it frankly makes him sick!!!!!!!!! and while he might be able to forgive lilia and his father, iris will never be on the docket. 

𝗙𝗔𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥 ↝ tobias jeong

tobs ... the tobster ... aqua sun cancer moon brain rot. this man fixed up an old jeep and made it his entire personality. ya’ll ever had one of those science teachers that couldn’t spell and always lost their glasses when they were really on their head? yeah that’s him. also a certified doormat. and maybe a kim joohun fc but like give him more bill nye wannabe looking vibes. avery and his father had a good relationship for the most part. tobias was really chill, understood maybe 1/3 of what happened in the family. he tried to stand up for avery and lilia in certain situations and understood that iris was absolute trash (even he didn’t truly want to marry her, it was more business between their families than anything), but he was so compliant that he never actually made an impact. however, tobias was the one that truly made avery’s childhood ... good. he’d pick up avery from school in that old jeep he fixed up, play some classic dad music, and drive around for a while so they didn’t have to go see iris so soon. the night avery got kicked out, tobias was the one that actually stuck up for avery. even though it was one simple statement that maybe avery should stay, it was the only time anyone stood up for avery that night. of course, tobias was quickly shut down by iris and he didn’t try to have avery stay after that however he probably feels so much regret for not doing more that night. avery truly was so angry that tobias didn’t try to do more to get him to stay, but like it’s whatever! what the fuck was tobias supposed to do! a few months after avery was kicked out, he actually called his dad at a super low point ( see this gif set ) but even then tobias wasn’t willing to fight for avery to try to come back even after hearing at how he had nothing and didn’t know what to do. avery never truly hated his dad, but he now resents him for not trying when there is so much more he could have done.

𝗦𝗜𝗕𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦

𝗦𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥 ↝ lilia jeong

if there was one member of the jeong family that avery truly loved, it was lilia. avery loved being her big brother. he cared for her more than anybody in his life and truly thought she was capable of so many good things which is why he never had any intentions to take over the drug ring. avery had always wanted that position to go to her because he believed that lilia was the right one to take it because she easily could have done so much better than he could’ve. growing up, avery wasn’t that much of an open book as he is now. if he had a secret though, lilia was the first one to know. he basically told her everything, from explaining some project he’d been working while they walked through an apple orchard or the biggest mistake he’d made in his life which was spilling the family secret. the last thing he was expecting was for lilia to tell their family about that, especially after so long and in a manner that seemed almost self serving after she promised to keep it a secret. even though lilia's decision to snitch literally turned his life upside down and really fucked him over, he’s never been able to see lilia as anything besides his sister. sure, he’s felt true betrayal and never thought he would get screwed over like that, but avery is always one for second or third or fourth or fifth chances even in situations like this. no matter how hard avery wanted to convince himself that he didn’t want lilia in his life, he was never able to do it. lilia always stayed his emergency contact even when they weren’t speaking and no matter how many new people avery met that were closer to new haven hospitals. 

for now though, their shit is tbd! avery is too afraid to talk to lilia about everything because bringing up the past pains him and he’s also unsure of how things will work out. also, he’s most likely expecting an apology first and foremost. everyone knows they’re siblings, but the reason why they’re not close are all lies. they tell everyone that they grew apart and lilia began to tell others that avery fucked up a business deal and made the choice to leave the family which avery goes along with simply because he assumes it’s what lilia wants. sometimes he wished that they actually had just grown apart rather than having to experience all the shit that happened.

even if avery knows he’s already willing to give lilia another chance, he wants an apology and he knows he’s deserving of that at the very least. until then, you can catch avery gazing longingly into the windows of music shops at acoustic guitars that resemble the one he would always play on for lilia and had to leave behind after being kicked out. those same few songs are always stuck in his head. avery hasn’t been able to eat ripe peaches anymore because the taste reminds him of sticky handed food fights and hiding one in their parents’ closet to rot. one time he went on a date with a girl whose favorite band was the moldy peaches and he promptly left to throw up in the bathroom. every time he would enter the underground fighting ring he would try not to lose because that meant lilia might have to get the call that he wasn’t alright even though he wanted her to know if anything happened to him. 

[abtoddler]

Good morning!

Soooooo imma air something that happened. Someone thought it was a smart idea to post meanness of one of my pics.

Yes, im defiantly not neurotypical. I am on a ton of new meds that trying to re established a healthy base.

I have had a meltdown by everyone i loved cause they really hurt me when they prolonged my fears and stuff. So fuck eveyone who wants to give their 2 cents saying that what ever i do hasnt got to with autusm. Fuck those people it the entire reason i was tortured by my mother, my dad was her muscle. Her abuse hit my school, i couldnt get away from them there. I couldnt have regular friends, they all had to be out and away from home because of how much she hates eveyone.

My disability case is being worked on by the disability advocacy center in san diego. This is a scary thing for me when its this bad. Its been this bad a few times. It always costs me my friends. Once someone triggers that kind of a response, it means they will be able to do it to me again, because of the trust they have established.

They use trust to have me vulnerable.

The talk and they tell me to “trust that they know what im talking about so i should not describe it, when they are entirely wrong

They’re gettibg mad at me when they set me off and start yelling at them when they make to much noise i panic

They get mad at me when i ask:

Can i please have the air conditioning on, ir please not talk, or they feel they are entirled to start smacking things, yelling at me for how perfect something is because its the only words i can het out.

So fuck absolutely all of you who would say no im not autistic, or my diapers, clothes, furniture, does in fact come directly from my regression features of the type of autism i have. I will be doing everything my psychiatrist told me to do.

Get safe.

Im doine being abused by people who make me love them, hurt me from their intentional harm because they are angry at me when i get scared. Of yelled at by my daddy when i don’t understand. I love those guys; but i also love my mom whose been compared to hitler, for her inflicting the aba abuses on me for 30+ years.

This is my page, my thoughts what i find nice and I am not going to let them have any say.

I no longer talk to my mother (march)

Daddy and one of my big brother are no longer living with me (april)

Big brother rocket. Is no longer in my life (yesterday) i told him goodbye.

If i will not tolerate the people i love hurting me because they are trying to when im afraid or im scared. I am an actual pirate and a sorcerer. If i have to become a villan in order to live a life free of the abuses by the ones i love.

My daddy hayden does a different everyone he knows how to calm me. Nikki and alex and hayden keep me level when i cant talk. They are in the technology where i speak and communicate (text).

This is my blog, my disability, my pain, my suffering, my abuses and my bad times. Turned into somehow so something good comes from my life.

My plushes are soft, my bed comfy for my bad back. Im medically incontinent so diapers are the entire problem ive had by my parents because for me they are a need: people abusing me because of rhe laundry list of needs that they don’t understand.

There are circles of people, big brother alex calls it like a castle. Or others for as a family. The difference betwen a parent like haydens, to a daddy like xavier: there is no amount of anything other then love to him. Same as big brother nikki and alex, im not normal.

Im a walking toddler, i eat babyfood cause my stomach doesnt digest food properly. I am incontinent front and back, my meds and the pain im in has been 8+ years. The abuses for my regression, my diapers, my personality, that those i love to allow them the kind of relationship where they are involved and a degree of trust had been established. However their actions have made it so i dont trust the network of support im supposed to have.

When im scared, or like unable to be around daddy cause im smoking my weed for pain management. If im talking to people online aboit the stuff that scares me because they are people who.choose me. Regardless of emotional problems and mental issues, to find the level or care i need. When those people in my support network fuck me up, they are no longer able to. My mother; i so dont want to see. Tim i never wish to see again. And i cannot emphasize how much i miss my brother nikki and daddy, and how completely different daddy hayden is. There is no competition for my love of these 4 men, and my loathing of those who intentionally cause me pain.

Im trying really hard. People who do not realize that yea im a disabled autistic regressor in chronic pain and have a laundry list of meds im either on or didnt. I hurt every day. I would rather my plusehs and crib than to not having what im comfortable with. If people do not allow my comfort, or safety. Then they are not ever going to be able to do it again.

My psychiatrist said to get to safety. I live alone now. Im not happy about it. I will be working with a psychiatrist and the disability staff and my doctors to chemically assist the process to balance my thoughts and try to come up with a version of me I like best.

[silverfoxclawwriter93]

When Their ‘Favorite Person’ is Jealous. (BNHA x Marvel/ DC Fem Reader

Bakugou Katuski vs. Damian Wayne

After Bruce had gained custody over Damian and his older sister from Talia, they had managed to create a familial bond that they never thought they’d have. They still had each other’s backs much like when Talia had trained them to be the perfect assassination team but they were now doing it out of love not out of plain loyalty to their mother. They had gotten better, (Y/n) was actually pretty social, but Damian knew that no matter happened that he’d still be his Ukht’s ‘favorite person’.

At least, that’s what he believed until now. 

“Ukht, Jason and Tim want to go to the arcade. Will you be joining us?” Damian asked, peeking through his sister’s doorway.

“Sorry, Shaqiq, but I made plans to show Bakugou around Gotham,” She hissed apologetically, “You can go ahead without me.”

It seems as though Damian’s been going without (Y/n) a lot lately, ever since that Japanese exchange student arrived. Last month, his father agreed to be a foster parent to a hero and training and they got stuck with the egotistical hothead from U.A. (Y/n) was quick to warm-up to him and it seemed to be mutual on his part, too. Now, they seemed to be a unit that couldn’t go anywhere without the other.

“I’m sure he knows his way around by now, Ukht. Take a break and hang out with us.” Damian pleaded.

(Y/n) looked up from her book and raised a brow, “Don’t I say that to you?”

Damian only rolled his eyes and walked away from her room, stomping down the hallway like an angry child. Jason and Tim looked a little worried when they saw Damian walk down the stairs alone.

“(Y/n)’s not coming?” Jason asked.

“No, she’d rather spend time with Bakugou,” Damian growled, venom was evident in his tone.

Tim only looked at Jason in concern, as though debating whether or not they should get involved. Damian often got jealous when he felt like someone was pushing him out of his sister’s life and was quick to put them in their place (They all found that out pretty quickly), but Bakugou was just as stubborn as Damian was. Meaning this was going to end up very badly.

Deku vs. Jon Kent

Jonathan Kent might’ve been a hero but he was also a child, a very selfish child.

“Hey (Y/n)! Wanna play Overwatch with me and Conner?” Jon asked, flying over to (Y/n).

She was currently on the phone with Izuku, the kid that their father chose to foster, and excused herself from the conversation and turned to Jon.

“Sorry, Jonny but I’m heading to the mall with Izuku today. He needs a change of clothes after what you did to his suitcase.” (Y/n) reminded.

Jon swore that he only used his heat vision on Izuku’s suitcase because he saw a really big bug on it although (Y/n) wasn’t so convinced. It seemed like he couldn’t convince her as much as he did before Izuku started living with them and he hated it.

“I said it was an accident,” Jon frowned, crossing his arms over his chest before glaring at his sister, “but you don’t even play with me anymore! C’mon, it’ll be fun! I promise!” (Y/n)’s face softened and Jon almost thought that she would agree. Instead, she ruffled his hair with her hand and gave him a peck on his forehead.

“Sorry, Jonny, but I really want to help Deku out. He’s still not very good with his English so I need to be there for him.” (Y/n) explained.

“No! You just want to be with him!” Jon retorted, turning away from her.

(Y/n) let out a sad sigh before saying that she and Izuku will be back by the afternoon and asked Jon if he wanted anything from the mall.

“A new sister.” He huffed.

The (h/c)-haired Kent only looked sadly at her younger brother before flying away from the fortress, leaving Jon all alone at the entrance. Conner walked in and noticed the change in his younger brother’s mood.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

Jon just pushed past him and walked to his room, slamming the door behind him as hard as he could. Kara only looked at Conner with a questioning look and he only shrugged in response.

Jon stuffed his face in his pillow, the strong urge to just scare off Izuku so he could get his sister back was tempting, but he needed to be smart about this. He needed to remind (Y/n) that he was more important than dumb Deku.

Shoto Todoroki vs. Morgan Stark

(Tony is alive because he’s alive in my heart!)

“So...this is some lovely tea you made.” Happy coughed awkwardly, shifting in the plastic pink chair.

Instead of replying, Morgan just glared at the empty (f/c)-colored chair that her older sister was supposed to be but chose to go to the movies with Shoto. (Y/n) Stark was very outgoing and social but she’d always make time for Morgan no matter what. In fact, they were both featured on the magazine cover for being the closest siblings despite the significant age gap between them.

Now (Y/n)’s sharing magazine covers with the foster child their father Tony had applied for, Shoto Todoroki.

Suddenly it was Shoto this, Shoto that. Shoto’s so cute or Shoto’s so smart. Morgan’s cute and smart yet (Y/n) hasn’t been talking about her as much as she would’ve liked lately. Happy seemed to notice that Morgan was feeling left out and tried to fill in her sister’s shoes, but he was doing a god awful job at it.

“Morgan, where’s your sister?” Tony asked, peeking into the girl’s room.

Happy tried to silence him but Morgan only glared harder at the empty plastic chair while she spoke to her dad, “With Shoto.”

“Actually, Mr. Stark, they just came back from the movies,” JARVIS informed them.

Laughter and talking filled the once silent room and came closer and closer until (Y/n) and Shoto were in view.

“Did you two enjoy the movie?” Tony smiled, looking down at them warmly.

“Yeah! Shoto you totally called it when you told me that the mafia boss was her real dad!” (Y/n) awed at the white and red-haired male.

“It was obvious and I think I know what they’ll do for a second movie.” Shoto chuckled.

“Really? What?” (Y/n) asked, linking her arm with Shoto’s much to Morgan’s displeasure.

“Sissy!” Morgan called out, doing her best cutesy voice.

(Y/n) and Shoto turned to look at the little girl who was dressed as a princess and feathery boa. She stood up from her seat and hugged (Y/n)’s leg, looking up at her with sparkling brown eyes.

“I missed you! Are you going to have tea with me and Happy?” Morgan asked innocently.

(Y/n) gave her little sister a pitying smile, “I would love to, Morgy, but I want to spend the day with Shoto. I promise I’ll come by later.”

Morgan frowned but said she understood. (Y/n) pecked her younger sister’s cheek before standing up and walking over to Shoto. Shoto kneeled down and smiled at Morgan.

“Thanks for sharing (Y/n) with me. Do you want me to come to your tea party, too?” He smiled, but Morgan only looked at him with no expression on her face.

“No, there’s only room for (Y/n). Sorry.” Morgan beamed.

It may have sounded innocent to other’s but they didn’t see the look in her eyes, the look that made Shoto feel slightly uneasy. Morgan went back to her spot to continue hosting her tea party as Shoto gaped at her. He snapped out of it when (Y/n) began to tug his arm to lead him to her workshop to show him her newest addition to her armor.

Morgan only watched in satisfaction as Shoto stared at her with wide eyes the entire time.

Mezo Shoji vs. Kurt Wagner

“Woah! You’re so cool, Shoji!” (Y/n) gasped, watching as Shoji threw the practice robot away from her.

Kurt only glared at the scene, his tail swinging slowly behind him, and his fangs were revealed when he let out a low growl. 

“Thanks, are you okay?” Shoji asked, helping the mutant girl up.

“Yeah, you’re my hero.” (Y/n) cheered, hugging him.

(Y/n) was a sweet girl whose parent’s sent her to Xavier’s Institute so she could control her powers, she was the first person that gave Kurt a chance and really got to know him. She looked out for him and doted on him like an older sister, he always wanted an older sibling. He felt safe with her around, her attention made him feel special, but now her attention was no longer on him.

“(Y/n), are jou okay? That robot did some serious damage!” Kurt shouted, teleporting in front of Shoji and pretending to look (y/n) for damages.

“I’m fine, bruised but fine.” (Y/n) chuckled light-heartedly.

“I can take you to zhe infirmary if jou vant!” Kurt offered, letting his German accent take over since he remembered the (h/c)-ette telling him how cute she thought it was.

“But you’ll be late for your classes,” (Y/n) pointed out, frowning, “I really don’t want you to get in trouble because of a few minor injuries.”

“It’s all gut! As long as I know jou’re safe, it’ll all be worth it.” Kurt insisted, hugging you gently to prove his point.

“You don’t need to trouble yourself, Kurt. I can take (Y/n) to the infirmary, my next class is on the way.” Shoji, the foreign exchange student, offered.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” (Y/n) agreed, “You won’t be late to classes and won’t have to be worried since Shoji is with me!” Before Kurt could protest, Shoji had already scooped the (h/c)-haired girl up and began to walk to the infirmary. (Y/n) thanked him for his concern and reminded him to not be late. Kurt watched as they disappeared into the institute with a sad look on his face. Then sadness turned into annoyance.

(Y/n) was one of the very few people who really gave Kurt a chance and the blue mutant would rather die than have her be whisked away by some student from Japan.

[wolvesofinnistrad]

That time Alec moved to NYC away from his hyper religious family, and Izzy and Jace surprised him at his new apartment.  Read on Ao3

Life was tough for Alec, for a long time.

First military school, then a strict Religious college.

Really the college was something he had to fight for since they wanted him to go to West Point and this was the best he could argue them down to.

Because of all that, and his intense fear of being outed, Alec managed to stay in the closet until he was in his mid 20s.

Even his siblings don’t know.  Well, Izzy knows but only because her and Alec are the closest and she’s smart enough to figure it out on her own.

This also left him severely closed off emotionally, and with very few friends besides his family because he was kind of a stick in the mud.

When he gets an internship in his hometown of NYC he moves back there despite his family having moved away when he was in highschool.

It’s a big fight once again, but finally he’s able to get his own place there.

As he settles in, he still talks to his siblings most days, but slowly those talks begin to get fewer and fewer until Izzy and Jace realize they’ve really only talked to Alec via text for the last 6 months.

Worried he might be depressed or worse, they decide to go visit him and surprise him in NYC.

But when they arrive to Alec’s apartment someone else is living there, but he gives them the forwarding address for where the guy he’s subletting from said he moved.

“Brooklyn?” Both siblings say to each other with shock.

It takes them a while to get over to Brooklyn from Manhattan, but when they reach the fancy apartment building they wonder just how much Alec is making at this internship.

They head up, finding the number of the loft they’d been directed to and knock on the door.

What they expect to see is a surprised Alec, probably wearing a full grandpa style pajama outfit and having been asleep for hours at this point in the night.

What they get instead is another man answering the door in a purple, floral print kimono and a full face mask.

“Why, hello, can I help you?” Magnus asks, not immediately recognizing the two of them.

“Uh...  I think we have the wrong place.  Sorry, we were looking for our brother, Alec.”  Jace is looking anywhere but at the man whose kimono barely goes past his thighs and is open enough to see the smooth planes of his blemishless brown skin and chest.

“Oh, Alexander?  Hold on.  Alexander honey, there’s someone at the door!”

Jace and Izzy share equally incredulous looks at the man’s word choice before being let in to the lavishly decorated loft.

Neither of them are prepared for what they see next though.

“Mags, babe we need more popcorn, I told you if you left me alone I’d eat it all,” Alec says as he walks around the corner smiling, voice and face softer and more carefree than either of his siblings have ever seen him.

Even more surprising though is his physical appearance.

He’s shirtless, showing off a few tattoos on his side and arms,his beard has fully grown out  there’s one shining earring in his right ear, he’s got on a pair of silk pajama pants in the same purple, floral pattern as the other man and where his hands hold the bowl of popcorn they can see his fingernails are painted a matching shade as the other man’s toenails.

He looks, Soft, a word neither of them would have ever used for Alec in their entire lives.

The moment Alec’s eyes land on Izzy and Jace though he straightens, all the comfortable, easygoing demeanor washing out of him as his face flashes quickly to nervous, then an expressionless mask that they’re used to from Alec.

Izzy has her hand over her mouth, because she can’t believe Alec finally accepted himself and got a boyfriend and she wants to scream.  Both from happiness and from the fact Alec didn’t TELL her.

Jace just keeps staring, entirely confused.

“What are you doing here?” Alec says, and his voice has lost all the softness it had just a moment ago, sounding like the stern authoritarian they’ve known all their life.

“We came...  To see you,” Jace says, as if he doesn’t want to be seeing Alec right now, or simply can’t comprehend that it’s him.

Magnus looks between the two visitors and his boyfriend before a lightbulb goes off.  “Oh!  Are these your siblings?  Isabelle and Jace?”

“Yes,” Alec says, and he flinches for a moment when Magnus comes over and lays a hand on his shoulder.

Magnus knows he isn’t out to his family, but he figures the cat’s kind of already out of the bag.

The moment he thinks that Chairman Meow comes over, purring as it brushes against Alec’s leg.

For a moment Alec forgets to be hard and reaches down to scoop the cat up as he usually does, giving it a soft kiss on the head before his eyes trail back to his siblings who absolutely should not be here.

“You hate cats...” is all Jace can say, because their cat Church has always been a thorn in Alec’s side.

Magnus looks shocked, petting the kitty softly with his many ringed hand.  “Alexander is a wonderful cat dad.”

And then for the second time, Alec does something else neither of them have ever seen him do.  He blushes, a shy smile coming over his face as he turns towards Magnus.

That’s the moment Izzy knows, even though she’s never seen it on his face before or even expected to, that the expression Alec has is one of being deeply, madly in love.

“Mags...” Alec’s voice is so soft, so quiet and gentle.

He takes a deep breath and finally he turns to his brother and sister and the mask he was trying to wear slips and instead there’s just a sadness, resignation, even a hint of fear.

“Please don’t tell mom and dad...”

The words have barely left his lips before Izzy is running to him, drawing him into the tightest hug she’s ever given him.

“I’m so, so happy for you hermano…” she whispers against his neck and Alec smiles, feeling one weight lifting off his chest.

“What am I not supposed to tell because I honestly have no idea what I’m seeing...” Jace says, oblivious as usual.

Alec looks to Magnus who gives him a reassuring smile, taking the cat from him, then he looks to Izzy who’s beaming at him.

When he turns his gaze back on Jace he just sighs and shrugs.  “Don’t tell them I’m living with my boyfriend in Brooklyn?”

Jace stares from Alec to Magnus, who is now taking the face mask off himself to be a bit more presentable, looking dumbfounded.

“You...  You...”

“I’m Gay Jace.”  Alec didn’t expect to say that, not that he really needed to considering it was pretty clear, but the moment he does he feels the other weight shifting off him like he can breathe again.  “Magnus is my boyfriend.”

Izzy just clings harder to Alec, slapping him on the chest.  

“I can’t BELIEVE you didn’t tell me!  Jerk, I need to know everything, where did you meet, how long have you been together, where can I get one of these kimonos because, Gorg.”

Magnus laughs as he moves to take Izzy’s hand and kisses it.

“Short answer?  We met at my club, Pandemonium, and it was about seven months ago, although it took me nearly two weeks to get Alec to even talk to me.  And then another month before he was ready to go on a date.  Everything after that has been a bit of a whirlwind.  And as for this” he gestures to his kimono, “I bought them on our trip to Japan last month.”

“So THAT’S why you were mia for two weeks last month.”

Alec looks sheepish, but he smiles and ducks his head, nodding.

“It was an early 6 month anniversary trip.”

“So is Magnus your sugar daddy?” Jace asks, clueless and tactless as always.

Except when he says it Alec just goes red in the face and looks away, scratching at his neck.

“Oh my God...  He is!”

“it’s, it’s not like that!” Alec tries, but he knows he’s kind of already given himself away.  It’s not like an intern could pay for a loft in Brooklyn this lavish or a random trip to Japan for a 6 month anniversary.

Magnus is laughing now, coming to hug his boyfriend and peck his cheek.

“Trust me, Alec fights me on every little thing I try to buy for him.  I wish he’d be my sugar baby...”

“Mags, please...” Alec says, and its a bit needy and whiny and adorable and so unlike the Alec that Izzy and Jace are used to.

Both of them are realizing maybe they never really knew their brother at all, or maybe he never knew who he was until he was able to find himself on his own.

“This is literally the best day of my life,” Izzy says, smiling as she moves to the couch and sits down.

“:Glad you’re enjoying my mortification.” Alec deadpans it, but there’s a curl of lips that hints he’s on the verge of smiling.

He takes a seat, with Magnus moving as if he was going to flop in Alec’s lap before thinking better of it and sitting on the arm of the chair.

“I find out my brother, who by the way I knew you were gay, has finally found his happiness, someone that makes him happy and lets him be the the best version of himself?  This is all I’ve ever wanted for you Alec.  And it doesn’t hurt you snagged a rich hottie.”

Magnus does a little twirl at that and Alec drags a hand down his face.  “Don’t inflate his ego anymore than ti already is.”

“Too late, I can already feel my head getting bigger.”

“You won’t be able to fit your necklaces over your big head soon Mags.”

“Wasn’t talking about that head Alexander,” and Magnus winks at that and Alec goes red down to his chest so fast it’s like someone poured paint over him.

“I can’t believe our big brother isn’t a tightass anymore.” 

Magnus turns to Jace and smirks.  “Oh, he’s definitely still got a tight ass, but I’ve been working on it every night.”

That gets him shoved unceremoniously onto the floor off the chair by Alec who looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole.

“Oh you know if anyone else was here you’d have laughed at that Alexander.”

“Not when it’s my little brother,” Alec says, but he doesn’t seem angry, just embarrassed.

“Sorry, just know that hurt my perfect behind.”

“I’ll kiss it better later,” Alec whispers, not quiet enough to Magnus and Izzy and Jace both about die of laughter.

Figuring there’s literally nothing else that can make this worse for him Alec pulls Magnus into his lap, holding him close like a security blanket to try to deal with the rapid emotional swings of the night he wasn’t prepared for.

“Just, like I said, please don’t tell mom and dad about...  Any of this,” he looks around the loft, his safe space with Magnus.  “I’m not ready for them to know, to deal with that.  I wasn’t really ready for you guys to know either but...  I guess I’m glad I don’t have to hide it anymore.”

Alec sighs, resting his head against Magnus’ side.  “I’m glad I don’t have to avoid you anymore...  I really missed you guys.”

“We missed you too Alec.  You could have told us, all we want is for you to be happy.”

Alec smiles, sad and soft, fingers reaching out to entwine with Magnus’.  “I know, but, just, this has been a lot for me.  I feel like an entirely different person than I was the last time I saw you both and I...  I didn’t know how to reconcile the version of me I constructed for our family and the real me.”

Izzy and Jace both understand that, smiling at their eldest brother.

“It’s okay, I’m just glad I get to meet this new, amazing, happy Alec now.”

“Thanks Iz…”

“As long as you’re happy, I’m happy Alec.”

“I know Jace.  Or at least, I always hoped.”

“Ok one last thing and then we can go and let you finish your little movie night,” Izzy says, “but can we talk about this new look too?”

Alec smiles, ducking his head again and Magnus scratches at Alec’s beard.

“He was such a confused little baby gay.  I had to do an entire wardrobe makeover.”

“It’s true, he threw out most of my clothes.”

“I let him keep the overlong hoodies  and sweaters though, he just looked too adorable, this huge man slinking around with his hands looking like mittens from how long his sleeves were.  That was the only fashion disaster I could abide.”

“At least I got to keep a couple things,” Alec laughed.

“Your body thanks me for getting rid of that, as does your slowly growing fashion sense.”

“Yes, I get it Magnus.”

“I mean the poor boy was still wearing tighty whiteys, when he looks like this and to have such ugly underwear?  I had to get something that showed off his ass and his impressive bul-”

Alec slaps a hand over Magnus’ mouth.  “I’m comfortable, but not THAT comfortable yet Magnus...”

“Whoops” Magnus says, chuckling.

They finish out the night, Izzy and Jace promising to return tomorrow at a normal hour to spend some more time getting to know there brother, for real now, and give Alec some time to rest from it all.

“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize them or I would have thought...” Magnus says when he’s laying with his head on Alec’s chest in their bed.

Alec shakes his head, fingers running through Magnus soft hair.  “It’s okay.  I’m glad it happened like this.  I doubt I could have opened up like that if they didn’t catch me with my guard down.  It’s, it’s good.  I needed this.  And I really did miss them and want them to know.  I want everyone to know how much I love you.”

Magnus smiles at that.  “I know pup, and they will, when you’re ready.”

“When I’m ready.”

“I love you Alexander.”

“Love you too Magnus.”