#but since I’m weaving w singles for the first time it will probably be the rigid heddle

[viciousewe]

Lol. Lmao.

I have completely neglected the alpaca/merino project in favor of the Icelandic fleece. Like I said I wouldn’t.

[xnchxntmxnt]

Hiiii i pull a 5star? Uk me. Drabble w my guy Reki Kyan w the prompt Love At First Kiss. Interpret that anyy way you'd like I'll be looking forward to it <333

dude,,, you already got my whole rant about how much i loved this but to sum it up just. REKI.

Hi.

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Characters: Reki Kyan

Warnings: one really brief food mention, swearing, potential second hand embarrassment

Notes: guys i love him so much you have no idea. my little sunshine boy he deserves every single kiss ever. also thank you koi for proofreading for me <3

gn!reader

Reblogs > likes

There were so many ways he could have said that differently

Sure, he was an idiot. But that much of an idiot? Really?

Apparently so. 

Here was 18-year-old Reki Kyan, sitting on his bed, staring, as he realized he just said “hi” when he was about to kiss the person he had a major crush on.

The two of you had been going out for a couple weeks after a long time of him complaining he didn’t know how to ask you out to his friends at S. Joe was nice enough to help him out, and he charmed you enough to convince you to go on a date. Since then, he’d (unfortunately) shown you he was not that charmingly awkward teenager he tried to come off as, but was instead just the awkward part. 

It took you a moment to process what the hell he just said before you started laughing. It shattered the silence enough for him to fall back on his bed, covering his face with a pillow while you continued to break into a laughing fit. 

“What the hell, Kyan?” you teased, only to start laughing again. He groaned—this is where he was meant to die apparently. Smothering himself in a pillow because of the embarrassment. 

You calmed down and slowly pried the pillow out of his hands. Still with a smile, you mocked, “hi.”

He hid his face under his hoodie sleeve and groaned again. “Leave me alone!” he complained. He didn’t want to know how red his face was at the moment. 

“Aw, come on, it was cute,” you said, pulling him to sit up. You poked his nose with your finger, making his face scrunch up. “You’re an idiot, Kyan. But a cute one.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” He rolled his eyes but smiled nevertheless. “Not my finest moment, I know. I was trying to uh…ask you…something—” In that moment he realized you were looking at him with that gentle “this is my idiot” smile, and the eye contact just about did him in. “Y'know what, it, uh- it doesn’t matter! Doesn’t matter what I was gonna say. Do you wanna watch something? Or, I’m actually kinda hungry, do you want something to eat or—”

“Kyan.”

“Yes?” he sqeaked. 

“What did you wanna ask me?”

He could feel his face grow hot again when you asked. Just a few minutes earlier you had been so close to kissing, and he wanted to seal the deal, but that was the wrong thing to say to break the tension in the room. 

Either way, he took a deep breath and looked at the suddenly very interesting weaving in the denim on his jeans. 

“Would it be weird if I kissed you…?” he mumbled, unsure if you actually understood what he said or not. 

“What was that?”

He looked up finally, deciding to just go for it. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, probably a little louder than he wanted. 

You smiled at him and brushed a little hair out of his face. Your hand stayed there, resting on his face, making him feel like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. 

“If that’s what you want, sure. You said you haven’t kissed anyone before, so…”

No teasing. That was good. He knew you wouldn’t try to say anything mean, but in the back of his head he was worried you’d laugh at him and call him an idiot for real. 

“I…trust you? If that’s the right word. But if you want to, then—”

Any other words he tried to spit out were silenced against your lips. In the movies, first kisses were always described with fireworks and butterflies and all sorts of corny things like that. He always thought that was stupid. Now that he was actually kissing someone, and that someone was you, all he felt was warmth and comfort. 

He wasn’t sure if he was a good kisser or not, but he tried his best. Both of your hands held his face, so (without pushing too many boundaries) he let one of his rest on your hip. It was just more warmth and it felt incredible. 

Your hands slid back to lace behind his neck as you pulled away, resting your forehead against his. He chased you for more before realizing his need for oxygen. 

If you let him, he’d kiss you forever. In your arms, he felt like he was home, and he rarely felt anything that felt better than that. 

“Hi,” he mumbled as his eyelids fluttered open, scanning your face for any sign that he did something wrong. 

Instead, you just smiled. “Hi, yourself.”

taglist

@emswordss @kodzukoi @sirimirihiro @momoewn @tama-jam

[alexromero]

I feel like S/R is just a ploy for the press to come after R, but how NO ONE went lol wtf he's your 21 employee has me worried they're going to revisit it later. That + Ted/Sassy happening again (even if I don't think they'll be a thing) has me thinking the writers will pull a "soulmates aren't necessarily romantic" bs by the end. Never trust male writers.

you know anon, I think after this last episode I've begun to let go of my expectations just a little. there's a lot to be said for the way the show has dealt with this relationship (s/r) thus far that can't be erased. that, I think is an incredibly valid point to uphold the show to. now, as far as ted and rebecca goes... this episode exceeded my expectations. especially after episode eight.

I want to withhold my opinion overall until I see the last two episodes but if they're anything like episode ten... I'm genuinely excited once again to see where these two characters are going. I know this season is going to end in an incredibly dark and sad tone. that's been known since before the season aired.

that being said... I find it very hard to believe these writers would take the time to weave such an intricate and intimate relationship between these two characters not to go there. and I'm not saying this through any kind of subjectivity here. I'm saying in from an objective and practical stand point. Jason strikes me as a smart kind of guy. sure, as a writer he's made mistakes this season, especially with rebecca, but overall he has a vision. his vision for season two was individual journeys for both of these characters. whether we liked their journeys respectively, that's a whole other argument (one I've made before and we all know.)

going back to jason. he spent the better part of three to six months trying to find the perfect actress to play the role of rebecca. they went as far as auditioning famous celebrities and people apple wanted to pick. yet, jason picked hannah because she fit the role the best. it was the person he envisioned for the role of rebecca. he already has, in his mind, mapped out these journey for both of these characters and I don't see it being where they don't go to the full depth of their emotional capacities as adults who got divorced, underwent such intense traumas and came out of it to find one another. it's just a lot there for it to be this friendship in passing, where ted ends up with someone he's barely gotten to fully know. at least, know like he knows rebecca and connected w/ her the second they locked eyes.

what this season has shown us, both through them and through us as the audience, is just how much they rely and depend on one another. how much rebecca, no matter how many men she physically connects w/ (because I do find it interesting that she sleeps with sam at the first chance she gets & I don't say this in a judgemental tone, but in a "hey isn't it funny she was looking for an emotional connection and when she finds out its sam she immediately has sex with? funny how she's been using sex to cope all season as opposed to really opening herself up for a genuine connection w/ someone? & why she felt compelled to use two apps to make that happen?") it's all very interesting w/ rebecca because while she is putting herself out there, she's all holding back. she needs ted for all of her emotional needs (needing him at the pub w/ her mum, needing him at the funeral, needing him through food as she still relies on those biscuits, needing to know he's okay during his panic attack and needing him for emotional support during a talk w/ her mum) like we've seen how rebecca relies on this kind of emotional intimacy that should she ever really date someone and she still needs ted in this way... it would be awkward because a relationship, a romantic one that can last, begins in friendship and slowly morphs into what we see with rebecca in this season (the emotional validation and comfort ted brings to her.) this season for rebecca was about finding out what she doesn't want and for letting go. letting go of her father and her resentment and anger towards him. which is why she breaks it off with sam after. she has to let him go. let go of all the things she knows are only adding to the weight of her anger and grief. now, I know a lot of people aren't satisfied w/ the way she ended things because it leaves the "door open." tbh, rebecca in that moment realizes that he's... a kid. not in the infantilizing way but in the way that young people who are infatuated halfway in love with someone are. keeley tells her to be gentle. for rebecca, gentle is living that door open for sam and not shutting him off completely from the possibility of love for the future. not with her. but she doesn't want to be the one to make him resent love. a lot like her dad did and rupert.

for ted, I see it as a defense mechanism. he's incredibly afraid of a lot of things this season that have been bubbling since season one. his arc this season is all about overcoming his fears of not being present enough, or being enough for everyone. it's about his fear of not doing the right thing by everyone and forgetting to do well for himself. he's also someone who compartmentalizes. a lot. I mean, he thought that if he put the issues with his wife on pause and he left to Richmond, that somehow would fix their problems. time. he thought time would do it. but he's coming to realize that things are ever-changing and that sometimes the thing you may want is not really the thing you need. change is a hard thing for ted, just like it's a lot for other people (rebecca*). it also stems from his father's death. not just his death, but the way he did. ted is always afraid of losing people. of the suddenness of that loss and he's trying to overcome that fear this season. which is why I wouldn't be surprised to find out ted is scared of loving again. he's probably felt something for rebecca that is so strong and so scary he's... compartmentalized it for another day. he's also not aware yet of just how much he depends on rebecca. that need to bake for her every single day? that's stability. but once he found out she started dating? boy did he get spooked and started to withdraw. if you are at a distance, nothing can hurt you right?

this is just a tidbit into the many other thoughts I've had about this but I will say this... for someone who used to be afraid, like really don't the entire trajectory, I don't anymore. I'm certain that this is a love story where these two people come together. they are bound to one another by time (September 13, 1991 to be exact), and no other relationship, of love because that's what this show is about, can ever be it for either.

[ragingpancake]

McShep prompt: no regrets?

Thank you so much for the prompt! @gingerpolyglot I really appreciate you sending this to me!

The pain in his shoulder radiates outward until his whole arm feels like it’s on fire. They need to operate, to clean up the mess of splintered bone, fragments of bullet, but he refuses to let them put him under, not yet. Not when Ronon, Teyla and Rodney have yet to come back through the Gate. It’s only because he’d lost consciousness at some point or another that he’s here, pacing the gate room despite the way each painful step threatens to bring to him to tears. No one is talking, refusing to give up whichever Marine it had actually been who had dragged him through the Gate, leaving the rest of John’s people on the other side. Likely because they knew the soldier wouldn’t escape unscathed for ignoring the single, most important rule: we don’t leave people behind. It was meant to be a routine mission. A quick return to M5-X385 to check in on the Zamains and make sure they were settling in okay to their new settlement. It’d been fine at first, a cake walk really, until some faction of the old Zamani militia, pissed at being removed from their previous plant (despite the fact that it was, you know, showing signs of the beginning of an actual ice age), showed up. Their weapons were primitive, but effective. A bullet had caught him in the shoulder and while bullets had never taken John down before, the damn rock that conked him on the head from the damn trebuchet definitely had. He never would have left them. Never.

Ronon and Teyla, they could take care of themselves, John knew that. But Rodney… Rodney, who was never meant to be a soldier, Rodney who, most days couldn’t even get a handle on his own P-90… Rodney, who John had sworn to protect at all costs and not because he was honor bound to do so, but because… well, because it was Rodney, was still out there. He trusted Teyla and Ronon with his own life, trusted them with every single person on this base, but… But. Rodney. “Dial the gate, Chuck,” he snarls up to the control room, yanking the sling that Keller had fitted him with temporarily from around his neck and he has to bite back a strangled cry at the way it jostles his arm. He somehow manages to keep up that stoic façade, despite the pain, despite the worry gnawing away at his stomach. “Disregard that command, Chuck,” another voice rings out and John turns, glaring daggers at Colonel Carter. “I said dial the gate!” Sam takes the steps down into the Gate room two at a time, closing the distance between them, her own jaw set. “I let you convince me to allow you to remain out here until they get back, John, but I’m not letting you do this. You’re in no condition—” “They’re my people!” He bellows, “and if you think for one second that I’m going to—” The gate sounds, loud and echoing in the Gate Room and Carter steps back, pulling John with her. “I’m reading Teyla’s IDC!” Chuck calls down and John whirls on him angrily. “Lower the damn shield!” The moment it’s down, the trio comes running through the event horizon, followed closely by the marines Carter had sent in as reinforcements. Once everyone is through, the shield reactivates a split second before the gate dies and John realizes he’s been holding his breath. It comes out in a whoosh as he pushes through the small crowd, good arm gripping Rodney’s shoulder and it hits him in this moment that he could have lost Rodney and he thinks his knees are maybe about to give out when the scientist turns to him, blue eyes wide as he pulls John in for a bone crushing hug. “Oh thank God! I thought you died!” And John can’t stifle the cry that tears from his mouth this time as his shoulder explodes with pain. When he goes to his knees, Rodney follows him, careful to ease him down as Keller weaves her way through the group, medical team right behind her with a gurney meant for John. “I—I shouldn’t have left you,” John rasps as hands grab at him, but he pushes them away, eyes never leaving Rodney’s. “You went down so fast and, and, and there was blood and—” It’s Rodney’s hand this time on either side of John’s face. “I thought you died,” he says again and it’s too much in this moment, with the way Rodney’s looking at him and John can’t breathe and--. “Colonel,” Keller says urgently. “This can’t wait any longer. We need to get that shoulder--.” He doesn’t hear anything else though because he leans forward, shoulder be damned, and crushes his lips against Rodney’s. He savors it for about a half a second before he feels a prick in his arm and everything starts to go sideways. “Sheppard—” Rodney says as Keller’s team manhandles him onto the gurney and John can only watch through hazy vision as Teyla and Ronon help Rodney to his feet, Ronon’s hand clamped firmly on Rodney’s shoulder as if to keep him from chasing after him. I’m gonna beat the shit out of him later for that, John thinks, but it’s the last thought he has before darkness claims him. --- He wakes up in the infirmary and unsurprisingly, he’s not alone. Ronon’s sitting in the chair next to his bed, legs propped up on the edge while Teyla is at his feet, hands rubbing his ankle through the blanket. Rodney’s up somewhere near his head and John can feel the weight of his hand on his good shoulder. “’Thought you were gonna sleep forever,” Ronon says, dropping his feet and letting his chair tip back on to all four legs. “You should not have delayed your surgery, John,” Teyla admonishes gently and he wishes that they would at least wait until he’s fully awake before the

lectures start. “Yeah, but if he hadn’t, the whole Gate Room wouldn’t have gotten that show.” John blinks at Ronon maybe a little dumbly as Rodney’s cheeks pinken slightly. “Wha’—” John clears his throat. “What show?” “Oh, you know, the one where you tried to make out with McKay in front of everyone.” “Ronon,” Teyla chastises, but he grins at John. “Clearly, it was some sort of mixed reaction to the adrenaline decrease and, and, and probably blood loss,” Rodney explains and John can read it all over his face, even slightly high, that he thinks there has to be some reasonable explanation other than the fact that John just wanted to kiss him. Plain and simple. That he’s wanted to for the longest damn time, maybe since the first time Rodney showed him the Puddle Jumpers. The problem was never Rodney, it was always John, too emotionally stunted and stupid to act on what he wanted until he thought he might never get it again. “We don’t need to keep harping on it and embarrassing the Colonel,” Rodney huffs but he slouches down in his chair a little miserably. “No regrets, McKay,” John says, and he would shrug like it was no big deal if he thought he could move his shoulder without puking all over his team. But it has its desired effect because Rodney sits up so quickly that he very nearly drops his tablet. “I—what?” “Well,” John amends, feeling his eyelids growing heavier by the moment, “maybe just one.” His head lulls to the side and he gives Rodney a lopsided smile. “Probably shoulda done that sooner.” And Ronon laughs out loud, clapping his hands together like this is the best thing he’s ever heard. “Told you!” He crows. “I told you! You owe me a beer!” Teyla rolls her eyes but she does so with a smile as she rises, swatting Ronon’s legs. “We should leave you to rest, John. I am very glad that you are alright.” Ronon is still grinning broadly, even as Teyla ushers him away, but not before he claps Rodney on his shoulder roughly. “Did you… do you mean that?” Rodney asks, oddly quiet and John doesn’t know when his eyes closed, but he has to open them again to squint up at Rodney. “S’it alright with you if I do?” “Oh, yes. Of course, I just, uh. It’s just that… which is to say um, you’re youand I’m me and I just uhh… can we perhaps try again? Sometime soon? For scientific reasons, of course.” “Rodney,” John murmurs. “Hmm?” “Shut up.” “Right. Yes. Shutting up now.” It lasts for all of two seconds. “Really though? Are you sure? You literally just outed yourself in front of the entire expedition and, and, and—” “I know,” John says and he’s so close to falling back asleep. “Still. No regrets.” “Huh,” is the last thing John hears before the darkness claims him once more.

[talas-starlight]

Close to you - Azula x fem!reader

SUMMARY: When you visit Azula to help her wind down for the evening, she begins to wonder why you’re so affectionate towards her

WORD COUNT: 1.2K

WARNINGS: a lot of non-sexual touching? Kissing but like its not a lot tbh. Soft azula? Mentions of a lonely childhood? Also I didn’t proof read this HAHAHA

A/N: look imma be real honest,, the reader makes azula soft as fuck and if you want 100% on brand azula- this probably aint it for you oopS but looK I couldn’t help it!! She deserves the sweet lovin  

Warm, orange tones of the steady fire lamps illuminate Azula’s face, and in this moment, she looks nothing short of peaceful. The sun has long set, and as she prepares to finally conclude her day, you can’t help but admire how beautiful she looks from your place at the doorway of her unnecessarily spacious room. She knows you’re there, of course; she knows you better than anyone, and you made it no secret as she heard the door softly click shut.

Your feet softly pad on the chilled floor, making your way to your love. She looks down at her lap, trying to look casual as she stalls her routine, which she could have easily had the servants rush through by now. Yet then again she wouldn’t have it any other way since she’s been ordering them to leave as soon as they finish washing her for the past four months. It’s the smallest of movements, but you can’t resist but smile fondly as she scoots forward on her oversized vanity stool for you to take your place behind her.

Adjusting your legs so that they’re on either side of her waist, you wrap them around her slightly so that she is closer to you, but not so close that its awkward or in the way. Making eye contact through the mirror before the both of you, you place a kiss to the side of her head before nodding softly. This prompts her to hand you the brush you’ve become quite accustomed to holding, soon beginning to through her long hair. To Azula, nothing feels more perfect than this. The warmth radiating from your body behind hers feels more like home than any other form of fire she’s ever experienced.

This isolated moment in her day is oh so precious as you slowly bring the brush from the top of her scalp down to its perfectly trimmed ends. It relaxes her unlike anything else. All of the pressure and subtle nudges to push her further than any other normal person alive simply washes away. To any unknowing onlooker, the current scene depicts everything but a usually pretentious princess and her love. The scene is nothing more than domestic bliss.

Finishing up the last section of her hair, you pass the brush back to her to be placed back on the vanity. Weaving your arms securely around her waist, you pull her back closer towards you. The closer proximity allowing you to place a kiss on her left shoulder before resting your chin upon it.  Finding yourself comfortable, you move your gaze towards her bare face. Despite being as beautiful as ever, you know something has squeezed its way into her mind as her eyebrows come together in thought.

“What’s on your mind, love?”

Clearing her throat, she shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”

You sigh, “hmm... I’m sure it’s anything but nothing.”

Taking your left hand, you move the hair that’s made its way in front of her face to behind her ear before caressing her cheek. Briefly closing her eyes, she casts her gaze towards her lap.

“W- why are you so affectionate towards me?”

Eyebrows raising in surprise you’re unsure if you should be completely honest straight away or ease her into it. “Hmm… well, I suppose it’s because I’ve always been affectionate. I’ve always thought my love language might be physical touch.”

Unamused by your efforts to dim the truthfulness of your answer, she gives you a pointed look. “In all my years of knowing you y/n, not once have you been remotely as affectionate towards others as you have been towards me. So, you can either tell me the truth or I think it’s best we sleep separately tonight.”

Lips briefly coming together in a tight line, you nod, understanding that it’s best to tell her. She deserves honesty.

“The short answer is, I love you.”

Mouth hanging open ever so slightly at your confession, you continue, not allowing her to question it. “Growing up, I always seemed to be quite observant since I never had much courage to go out and interact with everyone like you did. Even after we became acquainted at the Academy, I never came out of my shell unless I was alone with someone. Clearly, you still remember. Anyway… what I’m getting at is, Zula, every day you walked into that Academy I noticed how different everyone treated you. Sure, it was understandable since you were the Princess, and they were terrified of hurting you in any way. But it broke my heart watching you arrive every single day and not get a hug or a kiss goodbye from anyone. Not even a sincere goodbye or letting you know they’ll miss you.”

Pausing for a moment, you take in how she’s processing all of this information. You’re unsure of how she feels about this. Her face is relaxed and neutral, yet you can’t help but feel slightly afraid that she thinks everything you’re saying is ridiculous. As a moment goes by and she still hasn’t said a word, you continue, unable to handle the tension that is starting to encompass the room.

“I- I… just couldn’t understand how anyone could possibly deserve to be treated like that Zula!” Breath hitching, you try to hold back a small sob. Reliving how heartbreaking it felt watching her have to go through that every single day tore you up inside.

“No one deserves that, so I promised myself. I promised that if you’d let me, I’d make up for everything and always be close to you. I’d hold you, even if it was just my pinkie locked with yours. I’d tell you how much I appreciate you. How I’ll miss you, even if you leave for just a day. I’d do all of it… Although, while I tend to do it more so out of love for you now, I still don’t want you to ever experience those things again.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you release your arms from around her waist to wipe away a few tears that are now making their way down your face. Yet before you’re able to do so, you feel her long, slender, fingers grasp around your wrists. Snapping your eyes open in surprise, Azula’s heart swells as she takes in your tear-filled eyes.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “I love you.”

Overcome with emotion, despite being for different reasons, more silent tears fall. Leaning forward, Azula gently presses her lips to your fallen tears. “Don’t cry, my love.”

Leaning back, she takes the initiative to be physically closer to you, caressing your face in both of her hands. “I appreciate everything you do for me, more than anything.”

Breaking out a smile, you wrap your arms around her waist once again before pressing your lips softly against hers. Azula freezes for a moment, surprised, despite your tender approach. Both of your thoughts and worries dissipate as she allows herself to completely fall into the mind-reeling kiss. Melting into each other’s warmth, your bodies to rest against one another even further than they already were.

Soon, after a few moments, you pull away gently for some air, but only just enough to still rest your forehead against hers. With her cheeks flushed, Azula can’t help but smile. Her heart pounding in her chest, overjoyed in this moment with you. It felt like everything was right in the world. “With you y/n, I’ll never feel lonely again.”

a/n: thank you so much for reading!! i hope you liked it hehe - this was my first time writing azula so was kinda nervous tbh so hopefully it wasn’t crap lmaO - anywho! feel free to lmk what you think! hehe

tags:  @kaylove12​ @simpinforsukka​ @lozzybowe​ @firelordazulaaaa​

my masterlist:  here!

[cosmicbash]

One the angsty prompt ideas I’ve been thinking about is Kells practicing how to cook for weeks so he can surprise Em by cooking him dinner, maybe for an anniversary or something, and on the day Kells has planned to surprise him, Em is hours late, leaving Kells alone for the evening. If you’re interested maybe you could write something like this? 🥰

3 years together. One thousand and ninety five fucking days between him and this old dorky man.

It's insane. Downright impossible to believe but Colson knows it's as real and true as the 2 year sobriety chip he's got hung around his neck on the gold chain Marshall gifted him with it this morning.

Both their relationship and his sobriety are as intertwined as their lives are now. Marshall's like the glue that holds all of his pieces together. Picking Colson back up, time and time again whenever he shattered in the beginning and filling in the gaps with his own loose pieces until it was Colson's turn to do the same. Which, by then, it only made sense to combine their puzzles and broaden the picture.

Now Marshall swoops in for Casie's PTA meetings he can’t make during tour. Holding the phone and helping him FaceTime for soccer games and school conferences when flight delays or bad luck keeps him late.

Colson tags along to Whitney's first few dates out in LA, weaving through the public spaces Marshall never could without drawing attention just to make sure she's safe and respected.

They tag team any situation involving the girls, even though Alaina and Hailey both still snicker at him from time to time, and Casie rolls her eyes at Marshall's rules. They're more than just dating now.

They're family.

And even just thinking about that brings tears to Colson's eyes.

Or maybe it's the onions. Baze said chewing gum helped mitigate this fucking problem but goddammit does it burn-

"Fuck!"

He has no idea how he got it in his mind that he could actually cook a meal, let alone a full anniversary dinner for Marshall but here he is. A pot and pan already cooking on the stove and his fingers knicked a dozen times in his rush to cut up more veggies for the sauce. 

It's insane.

But Colson's following through with it anyway, because he fucking loves Marshall and that bastard cooks dinner for them every single holiday or occasion so it's about time he stepped up to the plate and did it himself. 

Plus he's been secretly practicing for weeks with Baze over both FaceTime and a few in person lessons. Perfecting his simmering styles and meat seasoning to make the tastiest meal he can manage all on his own.

So far the last three times he's made the dish his bassist had given stellar reviews so there's little chance he'll somehow fuck it up tonight knowing it's for Marshall…..at least, he hopes.

The minor setbacks his butchered fingers have brought aside though, so far everything was coming along perfectly. His noodles are boiling (never over the rim, thank you wooden spoon trick), his meats marinating, and as soon as he tosses these sliced onions in his sauce will be cooking down beautifully.

All in all the night is starting to look like it just might be perfect.

Until 6 o'clock passes by and Colson's ears never pick up the click of the front door knob, or the hum of Marshall's escalade pulling up front outside.

The food's still simmering, minutes away from being actually done so he doesn't worry too much. Sure he was hoping to have a sweet moment where his boyfriend comes home and catches him cooking at the stove like a traditional housewife, but seeing his face when the food's done and plated promises to be just as cute.

Besides, Marshall has always fit the housewife role so much better than him anyway. Even the apron Colson's wearing is one of the older rapper's, stolen from his small collection in the pantry to protect his designer sweater.

Colson doesn't start to worry at 6. Traffic can be a bitch.

7 though? And then 7:30 when his texts go unread and his calls ring all the way through to voice-mail? That's when the blonde starts to fret. 

He's luckily put off plating because some brief flash on uncertainty had run through him after the food finished so it's stayed warm and simmering on the stove. But even that had to come to an end before 7:30 because his sauce would singe or his noodles might squish, so now Colson's trying to keep busy by perfecting the presentation. Shaky fingers swiping around the edges of Marshall's plate to clean up a splatter of sauce. Every Chopped Judge rambling off feedback in his head until he has it looking like something he's certain even Gordon fucking Ramsey would ask for a bite of.

By 8 the dinner table is set. His plate, Marshall's, the bucket of low alcoholic wine they both love chilling as a centerpiece. Colson even lights a few candles and adds some flowers from this mornings gift exchanges to keep himself from screaming.

There's a pit in his stomach that's steadily been growing though. Every passing minute and glance to his phone where he finds no change only carving it deeper. 

Marshall should be home. He never runs this late at the studio without a call, let alone without a message. He's treated his work like any other 9-5 job since before they ever even got together, always strict about his routine and careful to make up for over run hours by leaving earlier the next day. Usually Colson likes to bust his balls and insist he live a little more spontaneously but tonight isn't the one to pull that.

Especially not if it means Marshall's going to completely forget to check his fucking phone and leave him trying not to think the worst.

Colson only males it another 5 minutes before he caves and texts Paul. Fingers tapping fast across his screen to draft multiple desperate sounding messages before he finally settles on a "Em bust his phone again?" That feels just casual enough to not embarrass him in the off chance Marshall decides to burst through the front door seconds after it sends.

The door stays closed though and Paul doesn't open the message at all. 

Now Colson can't even start passive aggressively eating dinner on his own if he wanted too. The pit in his stomach has torn itself open wide into a nauseous chasm. Every scary possibility he wanted to avoid thinking about spilling forth from the dark trench like ghouls.

He's dead. Some crazy fan broke into the studio and shot the whole place up. No one's gotten around to tell him yet, that's all. They're too busy dealing with the fallout.

No, Em's security is beyond top tier, and with how close Colson and his current bodyguard are he knows the guy would call him immediately. Marshall's fine.

Unless… what if he was in a car accident? Or some road rage incident gone fatal? Colson's seen Marshall's short temper flare up while driving. They've made dozens of jokes about it in the past, so is it really that unreasonable to believe?

Colson's pacing in the front haul when he calls Porter. Phone tucked between his ear and shoulder while he fights his shoe laces, heart racing in his chest. Prepping to fly out of the house the second Denaun tells him what fucking hospital Marshall's staying in, praying it's at the ICU section and not some fucking morgue.

"Kelly?" The older man sounds confused when he finally answers. Voice high and tone light like he's expecting this to be a butt dial. "What's up man?"

The lack of rush or worry in Denaun's voice almost soothes Colson's panic right on the spot. Surely he wouldn't sound so casual if something had happened. 

It's enough to keep Colson from immediately pleading for Marshall's safety at the least. "H-hey, uh nothing really-" Maybe Marshall is even with him right now, realizing how fucking late its gotten and how shit of a boyfriend he's been and that's why Denaun sounds awkward too. "Just uh, waiting for Marsh to get his slow ass home ya know? Sorry, aheh, I'm probably sounding like a fucking needy girlfriend right now, calling his friends and shit-" the longer Colson rambles the more embarrassed he actually feels in the moment.

God he must sound pathetic right now. Panicking over Marshall being a few hours late.

"Waiting? Didn't Marshall head out like 2 hours ago?"

"W-what?"

Colson's blood feels like actual ice in his veins.

"He isn't home? I mean, I know he was gonna stop at- fuck is it already half past 8? Marshall seriously isn't home?" Denaun's sudden panic only heightens Colson's own, but he can't get any more words to come out. Not with how a rock feels like it's jumped up his throat. "Shit, Ryan are you getting through to him? Try Paul-"

Ryan's there too? 

"What? Paul's gotta fucking answer-"

They can't get ahold of Paul either?

"Kelly have you-"

Marshall's missing. Colson's been standing around making dinner for hours, worrying over the portion sizes and appearance of his plates and Marshall's been fucking missing. What kind of partner is he? What will he even tell Hailey? Alaina? And fuck Casie is supposed to be coming up this weekend so they can all go vacation together before his next tour-

The front door bumping into his shoe startles Colson out of his frozen panic. Denaun's angry shouting dropping from his ear, as he twists and meets a pair of sheepish blue eyes peeking around the hardwood.

"Hey." 

Marshall's…..

"Is that my apron?"

So fucking dead.

"Is this your--" Colson's fingers are curling around the edge of the door so fast he doesn't even care that it makes his phone fly to the floor. "That's what you want to fucking say to me!?" His anger is boiling fast, replacing the cold in his veins with lava. "You fucking piece of-"

Marshall stumbling inside with the yanked door is expected, but the flash of bandages and a sling douse Colson's flames like a bucket of water. "Ow, fuck just give me a second to explain-"

He's hurt.

Now with all of Marshall visible Colson's hyperaware of dry blood splattered on his white graphic tee and scratches partially hidden within the rapper's beard along his cheek. "I got in an accident out on the M-8, it was minor but-"

Colson really can't handle all these rapid mood switches Marshall is putting him through today.

“You fucking idiot-“ Tears are bubbling up in his eyes and it’s like his hands can’t reach his partner fast enough. Pulling Marshall into his arms for a tight hug despite the pained noises his actions inspire. “Stupid, old asshole-“ Marshall’s hurt, the cars probably wrecked, but he’s home and that’s enough of a relief to finally smother that pit weighing down his stomach. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

A moment passes before he’s hugged back, shock more than likely freezing his partner up but when Marshall does loop his good arm around Colson he pulls him close. So close Colson is the one who’s bones feel like they might ache. “Can’t make any promises about that,” The older rapper’s palm feels warm when it climbs to cup his neck, Marshall’s face turning to press a kiss into Colson’s throat. 

That brush of lips is the final crack to release the flood gates.

"I love you."

"I know."

"I really really fucking love you."

"I know baby."

"I don't care how old your ass is, you better hold out and fucking die after me like a proper goddamn boyfriend, you hear me Marshall?" He's getting snot all over the older rapper's shirt. Full on smearing it across his own cheek and the fabric with every pointless rub of his face. "I love you so fucking much. Can't do this without you."

"Told you I'm not dying after you unless you kill me first, and I'm chasing you into the afterlife once you do go too. Fuck all the marriage shit, death ain't parting us either you brat." Marshall's tone is light and his palm is doing wonders to comfort him by rubbing circles into his back. It's enough to slow his hiccupped breathing down a few notches. "I dunno if you noticed but, I'm a little obsessed with you."

That drags out a wet snort. "Y-yeah?" When Colson pulls back to meet Marshall's eyes he swears he can see a wet shimmer starting to glaze over his partner’s as well. "Prove it then."

There's a flicker of something in blue eyes, so fast that Colson almost thinks he hallucinates the emotion altogether. But then Marshall's wrapped up arm wiggles between their bodies. The dark blue of the sling catching and sliding so his scratched up fist can shimmy its way partially out. "Planned on it-" There's something clutched tight there, black peeking out from between Marshall's finger and thumb. It's got Colson's heart dropping down into his stomach all over again. "What do you think I was driving so late on the M-8 for?"

"Marshall-" It can't be.

"Colson." But his shithead of an accident victim boyfriend is pulling back, both his good arm and slung arm awkwardly flailing in the air for a moment as he drops down on one knee. The visible wince not hidden as well as Colson imagines the man wants it to be. But Marshall's eyes are softening, and the blonde feels completely cemented in place. The only part of him moving being the uncontrollable shaky quiver of his bottom lip. "I had a whole moment planned, there were flowers, balloons, and those stupidly expensive alcoholic chocolates you love, but they all got absolutely trashed in the crash. Like, half of Detroit is probably going to think the Macies Thanksgiving parade started early. Paul called to have it all replaced, and honestly some intern is probably going to come banging on the door in about 20 minutes but I don't want to wait-" There's a flash of genuine worry that's furrowing the skin between Marshall's brows as he continues. "So I'm sorry this isn't gonna be that fancy perfect proposal you've always dreamed of-"

"Shut up." Colson's voice can't go above a whisper. His tone quick and clipped from how anxious he is to hear the man finally finish. "Just- shut up, ask me. Ask me Marsh, please-"

"Fine, always need to rush me."The rapper's lip quirks at the corners. Hands transferring the small box between eachother with a bit of fumbling. "Will you, Colson Baker-" Until Marshall can finally get it open with an audible clunk. "Legally commit to being with my annoying old ass forever?" 

[a-dorin]

ardor | darth maul

word count: 3.135k

warnings: age gap, cursing, professor/student relationship, sexual tension, mentions of sex, sexual innuendos

a/n: hello everyone! so this is the surprise i listed on my upcoming works list! i was just so excited to post this that i have been working on it constantly! this is a modern au involving professor!maul, set in coruscant. the reader is 21 in this fic. let me know if you want this to become a series or be added to the tag list! i hope you all enjoy :))

summary: as a junior enrolled at university of coruscant, you are striving to complete a minor in psychology. however, one class in particular intrigues you. will you be able to focus or let lust consume you? 

pushing open the massive wooden doors, you grimaced at the vast amount of students already crammed in the seats. glancing at your phone, the time read 9:46 a.m. letting out a quiet sigh, you were fourteen minutes early and the lecture hall was almost to capacity. all of the seats on the edges were filled, and you grumbled under your breath. those damn freshman. always so early. 

scanning the space, your eyes fell on an empty seat, near the front of the hall. strolling down the steps, you mumbled apologies as you shimmied into the empty seat, almost collapsing into the chair. rummaging in your bag, you fish out your laptop, powering it on. 

once it’s whirred to life, you pull up your notes application, ensuring that you’re ready to take notes for the first lecture. the moment you were all set up, you ran a hand through your hair, noticing the togruta sitting to the right, as well as a mirialan to your left. 

“w-was this seat reserved for someone?” you stammered, a blush spreading through your cheeks. 

the togruta shook her head, “not at all! you see, that mirialan, she’s my best friend. we can’t sit by one another in class because we don’t pay attention. the seat is empty, we just wanted some space between each other.”

“oh okay,” you mumbled, relief rippling through you, “i wasn’t aware that everyone was going to be so early.”

“that’s freshman for ya,” the mirialan nudged you, giggling, “we just got here and the hall was practically full!” 

“don’t scare our new friend off!” the togruta huffed, her bright blue eyes shining with amusement, “i’m ahsoka tano.”

ahsoka tano was a gorgeous creature, a descendant of the togruta species. her complexion was an orange hue, her head tails striped navy and white, with two montrals poking out. her face was wise, as if she had matured at a young age. the white markings on her forehead were breathtaking, trailing down onto her cheeks. ahsoka’s eyes were a bright, crystalline blue, shining with warmth and kindness. 

you enjoyed that aspect about her already, as she was so friendly. she wore a plain navy blue tank top, which complemented her head tails, while donning a pair of grey joggers. her knee bounced, a fresh white pair of nike air maxes on her feet. you noticed the university logo stitched below a pocket, the curiosity within you rising by the second. 

“do you play any sports?” you arched a brow, “i couldn’t help but notice the logo on your joggers.”

ahsoka’s eyes drifted towards the pocket, “oh yeah! i’m on the saber team.”

“you wield lightsabers?” a gasped tumbled from your lips, “that’s awesome!”

a blush spread through ahsoka’s cheeks, dusting them a light pink, “thank you, it took many years of practice and dedication. i was offered a full ride to come here, so i transferred here from theed university second semester my freshman year.”

“rumor has it that ahsoka’s undefeated,” the mirialan chirped, “good morning, i’m barriss offee.”

barriss was almost the opposite of ashoka, clad in a floral sundress, the pattern burstings with greens, yellows, and purples. it suited her light green complexion, along with her rich blue eyes. her eyes were darker than ahsoka’s, glimmering with intrigue as she gazed you. black diamonds stretched across the bridge of her nose, her lips coated with a black lipstick. tights covered her legs, a chunky pair of doc martens on her feet. a hijab wrapped around her head, the material an inky black silk. barriss was gorgeous, her aura radiating  nothing but intelligence and compassion. 

“well i’m (y/n) (y/l/n),” you couldn’t help but smile, “i’m a junior.”

you couldn’t help but feel an attraction towards the two girls, as if you were meant to find to them, to be their friends. already, the three of you were off to a great start. you were looking forward to spending the rest of class with them for the semester, even if you just met. 

“what’s your major?” ahsoka inquired, “i’m a sophomore, looking to pursue an education major. i’m not quite sure what aspect of education, but i love kids.”

“that’s really cool!” you gushed, “how about you, barriss?”

“i’m a sophomore as well,” her tone was smooth, “i am looking to major somewhere in political science.” 

“i’m going to major in health sciences,” you remarked, “but i plan on minoring in psych. i needed this class for a prerequisite for next semester. which is weird considering the course title, but i feel like it’ll be an interesting class.”

“i agree-” ahsoka began, but was cut off the sound of the door slamming. 

the murmur of your fellow classmates fell as the professor entered the room, an aura of concentration settling over the lecture hall in a thick haze. you clicked on the mousepad of your laptop, ensuring that you were prepared for any note taking. absentmindedly, you typed in the date, as well as a title for the note section: first day of class. 

“good morning class,” the professor rumbled, his voice clear as it rang through the space, “i am aware that this is a three hundred level course and we have a limited number of weeks to get through course material, but today there will be no lesson.”

“so much for opening my laptop,” you grumbled, earning a hushed giggle from ahsoka and barriss.

“today will be an overview of the syllabus, as well as some icebreakers,” the professor continued, a unanimous groan erupting from the class. the professor chuckled, “i know, we all hate standing up and stating five fun facts about ourselves. but, it helps me remember names. after all, there are about one hundred and fifty of you.”

your eyes drifted up from your laptop screen as you shut it, widening with shock as they fell on him. 

your professor was a descent of the zabraki species, his ivory horns protruding from his skull. his face was absolutely gorgeous, jet black tattoos weaving an intricate pattern over his crimson skin. his jawline was strong, his incisors flashing as a wide smile enveloped his features. he was similar to barriss, an aura of wisdom and intelligence shrouding over him. if you had to guess, he was somewhat young, in his mid thirties or so. nonetheless, he had you in a daze, eagerly eating up every word that fell from his mouth. 

the zabrak was clad in a black turtleneck, paired with a tweed jacket. the jacket was a beige hue, dark, chocolate brown slacks as his choice of pants. a thin silver chain hung around his neck, lying on his chest as he spoke. in the light, you caught a glimpse of a silver stud, pierced on the upper cartilage of his ear. 

“gods, he’s hot,” you muttered, almost speechless.

“you can’t say that about our professor,” ahsoka teased under her breath, “he’s probably older than we think.”

“but he’s so attractive,” you breathed. 

“we need to pay attention,” barriss hissed. 

“shall i start with a brief introduction of myself, or should i begin with some review of the syllabus?” your professor placed his hands on hips, awaiting the class’ response.

“icebreakers!”

“i hate syllabus days!”

“the more time we take away from class, the better!”

the zabrak placed his hands out, chuckling, “all right, all right. the class has spoken. well, to start, i am professor maul. you can refer to me as professor or maul. my home resides in the psychology department, and i do find myself dabbling in philosophy or theology from time to time. i have two brothers. savage, the eldest is a geology professor here at university of coruscant, while feral, the youngest is a pastry chef deep in the city. perhaps if you guys are good, i can bring in his pastries sometime. if you have any questions for me, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

ahsoka’s hand shot up instantly, and professor maul nodded towards her, “yes, the togruta in the front.”

“how old are you sir?” her voice surged with confidence.

professor maul’s eyes narrowed playfully, “is that any question to ask a professor? since you were so bold, i will answer. i am thirty-one, nearing thirty-two by the second.”

“you’re old!” a voice called out.

“perhaps,” another chuckled tumbled from the professor’s lips, “i won’t hesitate to kick your ass in saber duel, though.”

“you were a saber wielder?” a classmate to below you, a twi’lek, blurted out. 

“i was,” he responded curtly, “although i teach here, i am not an alumni. i attended mustafar central on a lightsaber scholarship many years ago. however, i didn’t go pro, i took the graduate school path. enough about me, let’s me hear about you guys. i would like your name, your intended major or career path, along with a brief fun fact about yourself. don’t think about it too hard, we don’t have too much time.”

with every word professor maul spoke, you found yourself hanging onto every single word. there was something about him, the way he spoke so eloquently, or the way his amber eyes glowed with authority, that sent butterflies flurrying in your stomach. he stood proud, his arms folded across his chest as your classmates introduced themselves. you swallowed thickly as you realized you were staring a little too long, a blush spreading through your cheeks as his eyes fell on you. 

“it appears as if it’s your turn to introduce yourself,” his voice was so smooth, like honey, “how about you tell the class a little bit about yourself?”

you rose to your feet, anxiety swelling within you. clearing your throat, you began your spiel, “u-um, hello everyone. i am (y/n) (y/l/n). my major is health sciences, and i am unsure of the career path i want to take after i graduate. i guess a fun fact about myself is that i will be wrapping up my psychology major by the end of this year.”

intrigue flashed in the zabrak’s eyes momentarily, “ah, well, it is a pleasure to meet you, (y/n). never hesitate to reach out to me this year if you have any questions. who’s next?”

ahsoka stood from her chair beginning to speak. however, you couldn’t but notice his eyes on you, his lips pursed, a wistful daze painted across his face. you swallowed thickly, biting your lip, desperate to avoid his gaze. your cheeks burned, hot to the touch. gods, it was only the first day and you were already crushing your professor. a professor who was a decade older than you, nonetheless. 

the class was an hour and twenty minutes long, the time eleven o’clock by the time everyone introduced each other. once the last person finished, professor maul strolled up to the rows of seating, a thick stack of papers in his grasp, “please, pass this around, and ensure that everyone gets a copy. this packet is your life for the next fifteen weeks! do not lose it!”

as the packets were passed around, the sound of paper rustling echoed through the lecture hall. drawing in a sigh, you mumbled a thank you to barriss as she handed you the syllabus. once it was in your hands, you scanned over the text, glancing over it hastily. 

psych 315: monsters in modern society. the title of the course jumped out at you, a feeling of dread washing over you, threatening to steer your attention away from the syllabus. 

how were you supposed to pay attention to lectures in class when you could barely keep your eyes off the professor? 

****

“how was your first day of classes?” a familiar voice called into the den of your apartment. 

“rex!” you gushed, sprinting into the den.

the blonde couldn’t help but grin as you wrapped your arms around him, “good evening to you too.”

“classes were boring,” you groaned, burying your head into his chest, “they’re not the same without my best friend.”

“my classes were just about the same,” rex chuckled softly, “what’d you make me for dinner?”

“there’s some spaghetti in the fridge,” you responded, still latched onto the blonde, “the garlic bread is in the oven, keeping warm.”

“perfect,” he placed a tender kiss on your forehead, “practice was horrible.”

you detached yourself from rex, arching a brow, “yeah?”

“i’ll tell you about it later,” he exhaled, “i need to cool off for a bit, shower, and eat.”

“if you say so,” you shrugged, “hey, i’m going to go to the gym for a while. i should be back by the time you’re working on homework.”

rex rolled his eyes, “if film counts as homework, sure.”

“just text me if you need anything,” you slung your gym bag over your shoulder. 

“will do!” rex shouted as you opened the door, closing it. 

rex was your best friend, a kind and pure soul. the two of you met your freshman year, during the first week orientation for all incoming newbies. since you were far from home, you were anxious, unsure if you were going to meet any new friends or establish connections. one night, while you ate alone in the dining hall, a platinum blonde approached you, asking if you had any company. from there, the rest was history.

the two of you were almost inseparable. since you had known rex for a couple years, it only made sense that the two of you shared an apartment your junior year. besides, your schedules didn’t clash too much, as rex was on an athletic scholarship with the university’s rugby team. meanwhile, you were involved with a few clubs here and there, preparing for an internship with the hospital on campus. 

although you were in the pursuit of a health sciences major, you were unsure of which area you wanted to concentrate on. there were a variety options: dietitians, nutrition, nursing, radiology, athletic training, physical therapy, and so many more. however, you were set on graduating with a minor in psychology. which, you were on the right track. after your junior year, you would have that minor. 

the internship with the hospital was to dip your feet into uncharted waters, where you would experience a little bit of everything. you would be a receptionist for a variety of departments, switching offices every month. the internship began within the week, and the excitement within you was growing by the day. 

pushing open the doors to the recreational center, you chirped a greeting to the student employee at the desk, requesting a bottle of water. strolling towards the elevator, you pushed the button, aching to relieve the pent up stress. 

it wasn’t like your first day of classes were horrible, you just knew you had a tumultuous year ahead of you. with eighteen credit hours, along with the internship, you were unsure how you were going to tackle it all. yet, you knew that you could manage it. you just had to trust yourself and go with the flow. everything happens for a reason was the mantra for the year. 

as the doors slid open, you strolled towards the weight room, where all of the racks and machinery were located. since it was about nine o’clock, the rec center was shying closer to close, students making their way towards the elevator. you noticed ahsoka in the fieldhouse, practicing combat techniques with her team, the hum of lightsabers echoing off the walls. 

however, as your hands rested on the handle of the door, your breath hitched in your throat. through the glass, you noticed a familiar face at the punching bags. 

there stood professor maul, clobbering the bag with jabs and punches, his breathing ragged, coming out in light pants. curses rolled off his tongue, in a language you couldn’t quite decipher. 

carefully, you slipped into the weight room, careful to avoid making any sort of interaction with the zabrak. after all, this was a facility meant for the students, faculty, and employees. it was for anyone’s use, but the fact that he was there, in the same space with you, had your heart thudding against your rib-cage, your mind buzzing. 

sweat trickled down his skull, his back glittering in the light. with every single jab, his muscles rippled. scars plastered his shoulders and back, some deep, some faint. hesitantly, you clambered onto an elliptical, every fiber in your being screaming at you to look away. to stop staring. to stop admiring. 

the zabrak paused, scooping his water bottle off the floor. as he chugged the water, you nearly choked as water dripped from his lips onto his neck, down his tattooed chest. not only was his face tattooed, but the ink was all over his beautiful body, weaving geometric patterns. 

your cheeks reddened as you noticed the pair of black joggers hanging loosely on his hips, exposing his v-line. filthy, nasty, thoughts filled your mind, and you desperately shook them away. he was your professor. you weren’t supposed to see him like this.  

“fancy seeing you here,” his voice was low, raspy, “isn’t it almost closing time?”

“i still have about an hour,” you mumbled, your cheeks burning, “i wasn’t aware that professors actually used this facility.”

“you’ve got some fire in you,” he chuckled, slipping on a plain black v-neck, “your name is (y/n), isn’t it? you’re in my level three hundred class.” 

the sound of your name rolling off his tongue sent a shiver down your spine, “u-uh, yes. and you’re professor-”

“you can call me maul,” a smirk crept onto his lips, “no need for the formalities here.”

“okay,” you mumbled, flustered by his banter, “i didn’t know you were a boxer.”

his eyes flickered over you, maul licking his lips as you sat on the machine, your thighs full, “i am. it keeps me in shape. as much as i would love to stay and chat, my brother is finished with his work for the night. i have to go meet up with him.”

“you two carpool?” you felt a giggle bubble up. 

“unfortunately,” maul scoffed, rolling his eyes, “i have been having some car issues lately. hopefully i’ll be able to drive myself soon.”

“well goodnight,” you beamed, “i hope that your night isn’t too horrid.”

“if i have to hear one more word about geology, i just might throw myself out the car,” maul chuckled, his eyes shining, “goodnight (y/n).”

“goodnight maul,” your voice was low, the words almost a whisper.

the zabrak strolled towards the door, pulling it open. however, he paused, turning to face you, amusement glittering in his amber depths, a playful grin stretched across his features. 

“by the way (y/n), you could be a little more subtle about your wandering eyes.”

***********************

tagged: @sapphicstars , @maulieber , @starflyer-104 , @alwayshappysith​ , @doobiwankenooku​

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: seungcheol x reader. ⚬ word count: 4865. ⚬ warnings: drinking / smoking. ⚬ genre: mostly angst, fluff, some suggestive/borderline nsfw scenes. a casual life!au? (meaning he isn’t an idol) 

✧✎ synopsis: seungcheol knows you’re no longer together, that he should’t be thinking about you as often as he does, and yet, you keep appearing. his heart doesn’t know how many times it can afford to split.  

✧✎ a/n: i really wanted to write smth as i work toward finishing that other massive fic. so HERE. bc i miss seungcheol ;-; and idk i just like angst lol. 

i.

Seungcheol doesn’t know if it’s right for him to be looking at you like this. It doesn’t necessarily feel wrong, but there’s a distinct craving in his gaze that spots him with doubt. You’re not together any more. The chapter where your lives were once romantically intertwined was coldly shut months ago, leaving little room for reconciliation or even the most surface-level of acquaintances. Yet, Seungcheol is struck with a sudden pining as his eyes inspect you from top to bottom across the room, finding it pure luck you were both at the same new year’s party.

There’s a doorway from the living room that leads into the kitchen. Seungcheol is sitting on the sofa with a jade-tinted bottle in his hand, though the amount of alcohol he’s consumed since first arriving has greatly subsided. He’s too distracted by you to even raise the bottle to his lips, nor does he adequately listen when Joshua attempts a conversation. You’re talking to some people he doesn’t recognize, your eyes rather milky and a shiny can in your hand. He stares at the side of your neck and thinks it would be nice if he were giving you a hickey right now.

“Hey.” Joshua bumps Seungcheol’s shoulder and the boy finally turns his head.

He sees Wonwoo and Hansol as well, who give Seungcheol a warm glance. He notes that Hansol is carrying his signature black lunchbox.

Joshua then leans toward Seungcheol’s ear in order to whisper over the music: “We’re going outside to smoke, you coming or not?”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “Pass,” he says, “I don’t really feel like it.”

He pays attention to the beer in his hand, titling his head back as he gulps down a significant amount of the tangy, bubbly flavour. It doesn’t taste that good, and the bottle’s not even cold at this point, but Seungcheol figures he should just finish it anyways. Joshua sees you in the kitchen, leaning generously against the sink while you attempt to smile at the strangers who converse with you. It was worth a try to get Seungcheol off the couch and away from lamenting at your lost relationship, but he’s unimaginably stubborn when he wants to be.

“Okay,” Joshua replies, patting his shoulder, “don’t get too hung up or anything.”

Seungcheol watches the small crowd weave their way through the congregation to reach the patio door, the last he glimpses of Joshua being his bright blue hat before he slips into the chilly night. Quickly, Seungcheol polishes off the remaining alcohol inside the jade bottle, heavily swallowing the deep burn that melts down his throat while deserting the glass on the arm of the couch. He senses a distant thrumming in his cranium, knows he’ll regret every sip by morning, but for now he cares so very little.

As he leans back in his seat, Seungcheol comes to focus on the body that’s suddenly standing right in front of him. It’s weird, who would do that? However, the breath instantly whisks from the boys’ lungs when he realizes that it’s not just some intoxicated, fucked up stranger who isn’t even cognisant of what room they’re in. It’s you. You’re standing in front of him, to which Seungcheol poorly hides the stupor that colours his face. Before he can stumble out a single word, you’re straddling his lap and settling your hands against his firm shoulders.

Evidently, Seungcheol doesn’t know what the hell is happening. Neither of you are in a sober headspace. Furthermore, he hasn’t touched you (let alone been this close to you) in almost three months. Out of habituality, he grabs the familiar warmth of your waist, the simple contact with your skin igniting an emotion that was once wholly repressed. Staring into your eyes, he sees how foggy they are. He knows his can’t look much different.

“W-What are you doing?” Seungcheol stutters, his cheeks hot and sunset pink.

At first, you don’t speak, only crack a small smile while wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing your faces in close proximity until you’re practically breathing the same air.

You blink at him heavily. “Kiss me.” You whisper against his mouth.

Seungcheol doesn’t believe he’s capable of ever denying you.

The next few hours seem to seamlessly blend together. Seungcheol remembers the intense make-out that ensued on the couch and the little regard he carried for the environment around him. Once he tastes the sharp liquor from your lips, he completely submits to that catastrophic buzz you give him. Feeling your weight push down against his lap, how your fingertips slip through his soft, onyx hair, the way it feels morally wrong to welcome your tongue into his mouth, but so physically right that Seungcheol can only pull your hips closer.

He remembers the warm, open-mouthed kisses he nipped to your sensitive neck, murmuring in a slurred, gritty tone: “let me take you upstairs, baby.”

Joshua might throw the remainder of Hansol’s stale bong water over his head if he discovered what you and Seungcheol did. Somehow, there’s an empty bedroom available at the end of the dim corridor. After falling onto the sheets, you hastily pull the white top over your head and fling it toward a dusky corner, reaching for Seungcheol as he climbs over top your body. While pressing more heated kisses against your throat, already bruising and marked with indents from his teeth, Seungcheol’s hand rubs a sweet friction between your thighs, right over your jeans.

He hears you release a small cry of his name, your nails dragging down his back.

Nothing has ever made his heart shake more.

ii.

Seungcheol is confused as to what time is it. There’s no alarm clock on the bedside table, and his phone is buried within the pocket of his navy green jacket slumped at the end of the bed. He can’t hear much from the level beneath him. Looking toward the blinds, he can only gauge slits of the night sky. All of a sudden, there’s a sickly coughing noise from behind the shut bathroom door, to which he views a small sliver of yellow light underneath. Seungcheol notes the empty space beside him. He hears another cough, followed by a pained and irritated groan.

Damn – you have to be hungover.

Stumbling drearily out from the bed, Seungcheol brushes away the black strands of hair that flop before his eyes. He almost topples over trying to get his boxers back on. The pounding in his head isn’t unbearable, and he figures he’ll be fine after getting some water in his system and dozing off to a few painkillers. Seungcheol taps his knuckles against the bathroom door.

“Hey,” he calls out, his voice still thick with sleep, “how bad is it?”

There’s a moment of silence. Seungcheol assumes it must feel bizarre to have your ex consoling you through a hangover, especially considering the history of last night.

“I don’t know…” comes your weak response, “I think I’m dying.”

Seungcheol leans his head against the wood and laughs. “You’re not dying, honey. Can I come in?”

The door swings open, and Seungcheol sees you half-dressed in your white t-shirt and underwear, a watery film in your eyes and a look of pure exhaustion draining your countenance. Then, you’re immediately collapsing back to the cold tiling, leaning your head against the side of the bathtub while the toilet sits across from you. This doesn’t feel like an unfamiliar scene. Seungcheol used to always nurture you through your intoxication, and at least this time you possess enough strength to stand without your legs trembling.

“You want me to get you anything?” Seungcheol asks. “Water? A wet cloth? Some pills?”

He doesn’t know where he’ll get the pills. It’s probably three in the morning, but he figures the convenience store in town might still be open.

You swallow tightly and wrap your arms around your knees, the fluorescent lights gleaming against your balmy, flushed skin. It seems as though you won’t look him in the eyes. Seungcheol understands. This isn’t supposed to be happening. Neither of you should be in this bedroom.

A poignant sigh escapes your chest. “What’s wrong with me?” You ask, the water glimmering bright in your eyes. “Why did we do this?”

Seungcheol stiffens. When he catches a glimpse of his body in the mirror, he can read the hazy extent of your night together. The bruises are tinted like cherry and violets, smudged against his chest, his collarbone and neck. Even now, as he really concentrates, Seungcheol can feel the cool air sting dully against his back, which he can only hypothesize is decorated in long, deep scratches that will possibly burn like hell in the shower. His body hasn’t looked like this in months. There’s a clandestine part of him that wishes the marks will never lose their vibrancy.

He doesn’t know how to soothe your conflict.

Instead, Seungcheol takes a seat on the edge of the bathtub and stares down at you tenderly.

“I don’t know,” he replies, “we don’t always make the right decisions.”

You tilt your head back and meet his eyes. Seungcheol’s chest flutters.

For a moment, you look like you want to say something; however, an immediate grimace wrinkles your face and a tight hand is curling around your stomach. You scoot close to the toilet, holding onto its rim while a heavy cough burns acrid against your throat and suddenly, you’re upchucking the potent, venomous liquor from last night. Seungcheol collects your hair in his hand, pulling it back from your face. Once the surges calm for a few minutes, you’re too energy-depleted to do much apart from hang over the toilet, Seungcheol rubbing your back.

It’s three in the morning, but he feels like he would do anything for you.

iii.

Seungcheol opens his wallet and forks out the bills necessary to cover his lunch. He slides out from the booth first, accompanied by Seokmin and Jeonghan who suggested they go out to eat after their basketball game. Seungcheol trails behind them on his phone as they walk down a slim corridor toward the front of the restaurant. He’s texting Joshua about what their fridge looks like, and if it’s necessary to ask Jeonghan about making a stop at the supermarket. The afternoon light is dull as they enter the front house, and Seungcheol sees it’s raining outside.

“Wait—,” Jeonghan stops them before they can leave. “Let me try the gumball machine. Does anyone have ten cents?”

“The gumball machine?” Seokmin laughs. “Are you a child?”

“Shut up.” Jeonghan tuts in response. “I want a pink one. Now do you have ten cents or not?”

“Sheesh, give me a second, I’m checking.”

Seungcheol has developed the skill of tuning out their innocuous banter. He looks through the windows and into the downpour, which ripples unforgivingly against the glass and slicks the pavement. For their sake, he’s glad Jeonghan was able to find a parking spot across the street. As the boy gets down on his knee and crams the small coin into the slot, cranking the handle, something manages to catch in Seungcheol’s peripheral vision. His heart skips a beat. You’re looking out the window while nibbling worrisomely upon your bottom lip.

“Are you freaking kidding? Orange? That’s the worst.”

“Why does it matter?” Seokmin quips. “They all taste the same.”

Jeonghan huffs petulantly. “But I wanted pink! Do you have another ten cents?”

Seungcheol hasn’t seen you since your wicked hangover at the New Year’s party. Though it’s a moment of the past, he remembers the situation so vividly, even more so how restless he felt afterward. He was unable to remove you from his mind, and he thought about you so often that he felt the ache with his whole chest. You haven’t noticed him yet. Seungcheol wants to approach you, though he’s not sure how kindly you’ll react or if you’ll brush him off.

“Awe, yes! Pink!”

Jeonghan stands triumphantly from the gumball machine. He holds the pink candy between his fingers and gets ready to pop it straight in his mouth, and yet, the slippery thing flings from his grasp at the last second. The gumball hits the floor, rolling outside into the rain just as someone runs indoors with their umbrella. Seokmin starts cackling, and Jeonghan just looks like he wants to go home. But Seungcheol can’t leave right now. He decides he has to talk to you.

“Meet you guys in the car,” he says, “I have to do something first.”

Seungcheol taps you on the shoulder. You jump slightly, and he feels bad about scaring you, but he’s relieved to see that your expression is cordial rather than aggravated. It blatantly feels strange. You don’t resemble a stranger, yet you’re not extremely clear to him either.

“Seungcheol? Did you eat here?”

The boy nods. “Yeah, I came here after basketball with some friends”

“O-Oh,” you stutter, looking off to the side, “I’m just waiting.”

You then gesture out the window, toward the grey, heavy rain. Seungcheol spots Seokmin and Jeonghan walking across the street, sporting their jackets pulled over their heads, looking somewhat like imbeciles who he has a soft spot for. At one point you were close with both of them, but now Seungcheol doesn’t even know if you still keep in touch. When you broke up, your worlds started floating apart, and that included contact with each other’s friends.

“Right,” Seungcheol snaps his fingers, “you’re still doing the tutoring thing at the library, huh?”

A timid smile pulls on your lips. “I’m tutoring someone today, but it’s so rainy out. I don’t think it’s gonna pass very soon.”

Seungcheol finds that he doesn’t even process what comes out from his mouth. There’s a sudden rush of giddiness in his veins, and he feels like his nervous, sophomore-self that once crushed on you before your relationship even started. At the same time, it’s an offer he used to make without thought when you were dating, and it warps into a conflicting, emotional mess.

“Do you want my windbreaker?” He asks, plucking at the black and white fabric. “It’s waterproof and stuff.”

Your mouth hangs open for a little bit.

“Uhm… I just—I don’t know, you don’t have to—,”

“It doesn’t matter, seriously.” Seungcheol replies, staring into your wide eyes with a soft expression. “Just give it back whenever we see each other again, okay?”

You lick your lips, swallowing tautly before nodding your head. Seungcheol removes his jacket and helps you slip into the material. It’s a little bit big on you, and the hood droops down far over your face, but, god, seeing you in his clothes engenders Seungcheol’s heart to beat so unbelievably fast. He experiences a concoction of different emotions, different memories. He remembers how it felt seeing you wear his t-shirt after the first time you slept together, how he felt when you’d set up a long distance skype call and you’d be dressed in his old hoodie.

Everything comes rushing back. He doesn’t want to walk away from you, but he knows it’s wrong to linger. You don’t belong to each other anymore.

But at least he’ll get to see you again.

iv.

Seungcheol bounces the basketball a few times against the lacquered floor, feeling the leather texture brush beneath his palm. Then, he takes a deep shot, watching the ball suction perfectly into the hoop just before it echoes against the ground. He was the sole person occupying the gym after a late-night practice. Seokmin was with him about ten minutes ago, but he ended up packing his things and heading off to shower stalls, wishing Seungcheol a goodnight. Even though Seungcheol said he would be leaving shortly, he didn’t know why he was still here.

He picked the ball up and tossed it again, hearing the satisfying swish of the net.

The gym doors suddenly squeak, loud and metallic, to which Seungcheol takes out an earbud assuming that maybe Seokmin forgot something. However, the face that smiles at him doesn’t belong to Seokmin at all, and Seungcheol feels his heart soar. You’re holding the windbreaker that the boy let you borrow during the downpour last week, and he hears a relieved sigh.

“I figured I might catch you here.”

Seungcheol smiles and sets his earbud back in. It astonishes him that you can recall the days he has basketball practice, though Seungcheol supposes it makes great sense considering you used to attend all his warm-ups and games. He grows oddly fond seeing you from the court again.

“Just put in next to that black bag on the bench.”

“I never got to thank you for letting me use it,” you explain while returning the windbreaker to the rest of his belongings, “it was really pouring out, but I was definitely less wet than if I had nothing. I wasn’t too sure if you would still be here. Of course, I knew when I saw Seokmin.”

“It must’ve been weird for him to see you coming back here.” He replies. You would never come to the court unless Seungcheol was there.

“He said hi to me,” you admit, scratching your arm, “he looked kinda nervous though.”

Seungcheol can’t help but note that you seem a little saddened by the interaction. The break-up between you two was all but civilized and pretty. There was shouting, tears, bitter and cold words shanked through the thick air with infinitesimal regard for the other’s feelings. Seungcheol remembers you pushing a picture frame of you two together off the shelf, how the glass cracked, different shards scattering far across the floor. He remembers storming into his bedroom and throwing all your clothes into one heaping pile, demanding that you leave, swearing that he hopes to never see you again. Now, everything feels so pointless and stupid.

The falling out crumbled an entire web of ties between you. Seungcheol understands why Seokmin would be nervous to see you, but he hates to know how it’s upset you.

“Hey,” Seungcheol calls out, attempting to lift the depressive mood, “Wanna shoot?” He bounces the basketball.

You immediately tense. “Uh – no. I haven’t touched a basketball since we were dati—I mean, well – you know. I haven’t played at all.”

Seungcheol smiles, rolling his eyes. “Just come here.” He beckons. “I’ll remind you.”

“I-I don’t know, my friend is in the car. I shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

“It’ll take two minutes.” He reasons. “I promise.”

The boy is delighted to see you comply, even if you are hesitant and approach him with bleeding apprehensiveness. While he shows you how to hold the ball as well as the correct motion to make with your wrist, there’s a smile blooming from one corner of your mouth to the other. Sometimes the past feels exactly like it should: the past. At this moment, a warmth ignites between you two, a spark that feels passionate and ever-lasting. Once he gives a few examples, the ball is suddenly in your hands, and he watches brightly as you sink a basket.

Seungcheol collects the ball, smirking. “You wanna play?” He then asks, checking the ball straight into your chest.

“No,” you respond, sending it back harder, “you know I just said I have someone waiting.”

“It hasn’t been two minutes yet.”

“There’s probably thirty seconds left. We have no time.”

“Fine,” Seungcheol shakes his head, “be a loser.” He doesn’t wait for you, and flicks the ball through the hoop.

It hits the glossy wood, bounces a couple times, and proceeds to roll slowly across the ground. You look at Seungcheol, and Seungcheol looks at you. There’s a small moment of silence.

Until you’re both racing across the floor with arms extended, practically throwing yourselves toward the basketball. It just ghosts under your fingertips, and somehow you manage to secure it against your chest, though you’re unable to even rise from the floor as Seungcheol straddles your waist and attempts to whack the ball out of your grip. The chime of your laughter echoes loudly through the entire gymnasium. You’re too slippery and end up weaseling away, scrambling haphazardly to your feet and using your last breath to sail the ball toward the net.

Seungcheol is too late. He reaches for you, but the ball has already gone through.

As the boy wraps his arms around your waist and hugs your back against his firm, hard chest, you cry out triumphantly, pumping your fists in the air. To anyone who observed from the outside, you wouldn’t exactly paint the image of a broken relationship. You were laughing, celebrating, making harmless mockery pertaining to the other with stupid grins on your faces.

“You’re such a cheater.” Seungcheol says.

Wriggling to face him in the comfort of his grasp, you slide your arms around Seungcheol’s neck and scrunch your nose.

“How did I cheat? That was fair!”

Seungcheol grabs your hips tight, pulling you in close against his body until he can almost count the individual sparkles in your eyes and smell the sweetness of your hair.

“Uh? You said you weren’t gonna play.”

“I wasn’t!” You giggle. “Until you called me a l—,”

The metal doors squeak again. At the speed of light, you and Seungcheol detach from each other, the playful mood disintegrating as the girl who’d been waiting in the car comes looking for you. Seungcheol sees the light drain from your eyes. He watches your shoulders slump, and the deep lump you forcefully swallow upon being interrupted. Seungcheol is utterly disappointed too. His heart doesn’t quite beat the same when you bid him the tiniest, quietest goodbye before running over to your friend, apologizing to her for the unexpected wait. The doors rattle once more, and then the gym is completely empty. It stings worse than anything.

Seungcheol doesn’t understand why he can’t just have you back.

v.

It’s sometime after ten-thirty when Seungcheol finally leaves Hansol and Wonwoo’s house. It’s not a long walk back to his miniscule apartment complex crammed in the middle of town, and he loves to soaks in the calm beauty belonging to the clear, star-speckled sky. He only went over to smoke after a tiresome day at his job, but he ended up staying much longer after Wonwoo revealed his game console. They took turns playing Portal and Grand Theft Auto. It was fun, a perfect way to unwind, and now Seungcheol is ready to wash up and go to bed.

He’s wearing his earphones while walking through town, listening to old songs that remind him of you, a playlist actually, one he started making before you were even together. No matter what happens – Seungcheol is always thinking about you these days. He misses you in a way that aches deeply, like his heart has been split in two by a sharp and jagged stone. In fact, while standing at an intersection, waiting for the light to glow in a walking man symbol, Seungcheol almost mistakes someone sitting at the bus bench across the street for you.

A moment passes, and he squints through the meagre lighting. Wait—that is you.

Your gaze keeps flitting nervously from the lurid phone in your hand to the dimly lit area that surrounds you. Your knee is quickly bouncing, and Seungcheol can sense at a distance how nervous you’re feeling. He doesn’t know why you’re sitting alone in the dark, but he can’t just leave you there. Instead of walking his usual route back to the apartment complex, Seungcheol approaches you, calls out your name softly as to not make you afraid. At first you respond to him with a moonfaced expression, but then you recognize his face and your heart quiets.

“Everything okay?” Seungcheol asks, taking out his earphones.

You gulp thickly and reflect a jittery smile. “Um, kinda. My boss made me stay late for closing. I tried texting my friend to pick me up, but she’s not responding.” A frozen breeze rifles through the air and you shiver. “I-I just, I don’t want to walk home alone.”

Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate to extend his hand.

“C’mon, I’ll take you.”

A grateful smile warms your face. Standing up from the cold bench, you grab Seungcheol’s hand and interlock fingers. Your address is still fresh in his mind, to which he easily navigates the streets with you beside him. At one point, a loud dog starts barking from a few blocks over and you nearly jump out from your own skin, though Seungcheol just slides his arm around your waist, gently pulling you further into his solace. He feels you instantly relax against him. An indescribable light fills his chest. To be able to make you feel safe, like he used to, it’s aweing.

“This is it, right?” Seungcheol asks upon approaching the house porch. He knows it’s right, but he waits for you to confirm it.

“You’re right.” You tell him in a tiny voice.

His hand grazes the small of your back as you walk up the steps together, stopping before the door and its weathered, white paint. A bitterness stings against Seungcheol’s throat, a truly horrible bitterness. He doesn’t want to say goodbye – he wants to stay. He wants to take you inside and wait on your bed as you get ready for the night. He wants to experience that beautiful fluttering in his stomach when you crawl into his arms and shut off the light, his hand stroking your spine as you fall asleep, your soft, slow breaths fanning against his neck.

Why does it have to hurt like this? Seungcheol hates that he’s so in love with you, but he’d never want it any other way. Even if he has to endure this pain, it’s better than never getting to know you, touch you or love you. He swallows the hot salt and gets ready to bid his goodbye.

“Sleep well, okay? Maybe I’ll see you agai—,”

Suddenly, you’re hugging Seungcheol. Your arms wrap securely around his waist and you bury your face in his neck. He takes a slight step backward, caught off guard by the blitz of affection. He hears you suck in a trembling breath, and then he feels wet, cold droplets slide against his skin. Instantly, he holds you, one hand dearly cradling the back of your head while the other passes up and down your back. You shake in his arms and he doesn’t know why. Seungcheol just hugs you tighter. If he has to, he’ll hold you for the entire night.

“S-Seungcheol,” you release his name in a sob, lifting your head from his neck. His heart beats wildly as he looks directly into your teary eyes. “I’m s-sorry.” You cry to him. “I-I’m so sorry…”

“What?” He cups your face, collecting a few thick tears with his thumb. “For what, honey?”

“E-Everything,” you hiccup, grabbing his waist tighter, “for the st-stupid fights, the p-picture, all those h-horrible things I yelled at you – I hate my-myself because of it.”

Seungcheol shakes his head and brings your face in closer to his, brown eyes glistering. “I don’t care about that. I don’t. I said horrible things too, sweetheart. I yelled at you, I told you to leave, I made you so upset, and I know exactly how you feel.” He rubs his thumb tenderly below your damp eye, and you ease into his touch. “But that was a different time. No matter what, I’m still in love with you. What happened months ago doesn’t change that. I promise.”

You sniffle back the new pearls that nearly stain your face.

“Really? Y-You still love me?”

Seungcheol leans in. He presses his forehead against yours, his fingers delicately framing your wet, warm cheek. And then he’s kissing you softly, pouring every ounce of his heart into the contact. Your hand curls around the back of his neck. You respond passionately, keeping him as near as possible, nipping gently at his bottom lip while stealing each other’s breath. Seungcheol peers directly into your gaze. It’s glassy from the tears, but also sincere and welcoming.

“I never stopped.” He says earnestly.

He feels your fingertips thread through the black silk of his hair. You kiss him again, and his grip finds the familiarity of your hips, leading you backward until you press against the door.

“I love you too.” You admit to him between every peck.

In the rising heat, you whisper against the boy’s pretty mouth, “I want you back,” to which the words engender Seungcheol’s heart to positively melt. Seungcheol knows you already have him. It doesn’t take long before you’re unlocking the door with the key beneath an ancient flowerpot. You hop into his arms, and Seungcheol catches you like it’s nothing, sitting you on top of the corridor dresser while his kisses wander further down your neck. Every whimper he hears turns him fonder. You admit again that you love him and he smiles against your skin.

Seungcheol will always need you. He hopes he always has you.

[huntresswarlock]

Belated on the ask meme but do them all or all the ones you haven’t done give me content BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

i haven't done any of them so... a-all of them it is ;;v;; puttin under a readmore because long

1: Summarize your WIP in 10 words or less.

The price, responsibilities, and benefits of second chances.

2: Post a line from your WIP with no context.

Make it stop, he strung the words together in his head as they burned away on his dried-out tongue, please, I will do anything, I don’t want to die, not here, not like this, this wasn’t supposed to happen, please, please, please...

3: Does your WIP have a title? If so, explain its significance. If not, what are you calling it for now?

and if you fall, the sun will catch you

It was a suggestion by @z-nogyrop when I was kicking around the initial idea for the main character. Given that said main character's name is Icarus, and another major character is the god of fire... I think the significance is pretty obvious lmao.

4: Describe the setting of your WIP.

Small faux-friendly village with a dark cult underbelly.

5: Search for the word “knife” in your WIP. If you find it, paste the line and explain the context.

"Somehow the sight of those pathetic little things twisted a sharp knife in his gut harder than if his wings had been completely bare."

Icarus tried to use fire to burn away his past, and it got out of hand and ended up nearly killing him. His life was saved, but his wings were not salvageable, and are now only bare flesh, like a plucked chicken.

6: Search for the word “dream” in your WIP. If you find it, paste the line and explain the context.

"His nights offered nothing but dreams of a vast field covered in flames beneath an orange sky."

In exchange for saving his life, the god of fire charges Icarus with preventing other people from using fire irresponsibly like he had, as well as helping those who have been hurt by fire. To give more specific orders, the god manifests in Icarus' dreams as described above.

7: What are you most proud of?

I'm really proud of my beginning, which opens with Icarus nearly burning to death and explores the immediate aftermath before closing on a slightly more hopeful note. I think it sets a tense tone and communicates a lot about Icarus, as the first thing readers see of him is his close brush with death.

8: What is your biggest challenge?

Pacing! Also weaving character thoughts into the narrative. But mostly pacing. I am on a wickedly self-indulgent chapter right now, and it's hard not to just linger here.

9: How would you describe your writing style?

According to you, it's Ray Bradbury-esque. ;;w;; I use a lot of imagery and metaphor, and short-to-medium length sentences.

10: How would you describe your WIP’s narrative style? (1st person, 3rd person, multiple POVs, single POV, alternating chapters, etc.)

3rd person limited

11: Which character do you have the most in common with?

That's a hard one, because there just aren't that many characters in this story. I suppose Apollo, the tiefling love interest to Icarus?

12: Which character do you have the least in common with?

Icarus himself, I think.

13: Your characters are stranded on a deserted island. What happens?

Icarus would be very miserable and go back and forth on whether he can overcome his fear of fire to light a rescue beacon. He'd also probably hate the idea of having to forage for his own food and water.

14: Have you chosen birthdays for any of your characters? If so, when are they?

Icarus was born on a winter solstice, but I haven't nailed down anything further than that.

15: Do you know your characters’ MBTI personalities?

Nope!

16: What would your characters be for Halloween?

Icarus - something subtle, since he's never participated before and doesn't want to get it wrong; some kind of animal, probably, since he can just put on/take off ears and a tail

Apollo - a chef!

17: Does your WIP have any themes or motifs?

Birds/flight and fire.

18: What’s easier, dialogue or description?

They're both hard DX writing is really hard... if I had to pick, I'd say dialogue is easier.

19: Post a picture or gif that describes your WIP.

I... I have this moodboard I made for Icarus... does that count...

20: Post a brief excerpt.

To him, it resembled nothing less than an animate pile of dry kindling. Hardly a threat, even if it had startled him when it began moving. The voice had told him only to collect information about it, that he wasn’t ready to face it... but the voice had also said it couldn’t tell exactly what it was, either. It was entirely possible that Icarus could kill or destroy it, especially since it didn’t seem to have noticed him. If he did so, then surely he could prove that he wasn’t taking his second chance for granted, and the voice would be happier with him.

He had to try. The voice had mentioned that he was equipped with further magic, now, and he could feel it thrumming in time with the heat in his chest. How much, he couldn’t precisely tell, but it was more than likely enough to handle a pile of moving sticks. Icarus held his breath, one hand curled around his locket, the other clenched into a fist. If he shifted his focus just right, dim light began to seep from his closed fingers, but he held back from fully channeling his magic until the entity was just about to round the edge of the doorway.

When he whirled out from behind the barn wall and flung his hand away from him in a way that felt right, a bolt of sunlight arced from his outstretched palm and straight into the creature’s spindly shoulder. Not exactly where he’d wanted to hit it, but the explosion of dry wood as the limb fell away and it stumbled put an updraft beneath his spirit. Icarus shouted and pulled on his magic again, drawing more sunlight to his palm. One more good hit like that, properly aimed, and–

The dismembered arm thrashed against the ground and swung into his calves and that soaring energy vanished, replaced with a free falling sensation, almost literally as he staggered and tried to regain his bearings before it swung again. A desperate kick only gave it an opening to twist, ropelike, over his ankle, digging searing hot splinters into his skin as it clawed into the ground to keep him from moving.

The searing wood hurt, but he couldn’t afford to keep his attention on it, not while the rest of the entity hissed and twined its remaining arm into a whip that lashed a burning wound straight through his shirt. He fought down the rising panic in his throat and hurled another spear of sunlight at it as it advanced on him. It barely noticed or paused as it continued to drive him back, further into the barn, forcing him to drag the detached limb with him. He pulled on his magic again, willed a third well of light to his palm.

But no sunlight rose to his fingertips. Whatever had been fueling his magic, it was now entirely spent, and its absence felt unnaturally cold in his chest. He had never been much of a fighter, had never been one to do more than avoid attention by sticking to the sidelines. His one great act of recklessness, trying to burn away the parts of himself he hated, had gone horribly for him. And now he had done it again, and there was no stern but careful voice to save him. How could he have been so stupid, to not listen to it?

He had to run, had to make a break for the barn door and the field beyond. Maybe he could run back to town, get help, get the guards, something, anything to avoid dying here. Another kick at the wood wrapped around his leg managed to crack it enough that it lost its grip on him for long enough that he could get away, skirting around the creature and towards his escape. It stopped moving and tracked him with sunken, eyeless sockets, turning its head on a swivel almost all the way around with a sickening crackling.

Dense, dry underbrush sprouted beneath his feet, catching him by surprise and sending him tumbling to the ground. It grasped at him and slowed him down as he tried to keep crawling forwards. He kept pulling himself hand over hand, inching ever closer to the door – until burning hot tendrils of wood wrapped around his neck and ripped him from the entangling plants, holding him high above the ground. It did not move for a long moment, letting Icarus struggle to draw breath and watch, helpless, as its detached arm reconnected to its ruined shoulder, the fractured wood smoothing over until it looked as if it had never been broken. A jagged seam split its head with something that was almost a smile as it brought him closer, reaching with its free hand towards his chest.

Towards his heart? No–

His locket.

Icarus clawed and kicked at the wood around his neck hard enough to give himself splinters, to no avail. It hissed at him, like dry grass rubbing against itself, begging for a spark. A spark like the one contained in the golden pendant, because surely that would be more than enough to set it ablaze, if it wanted to burn. But he couldn’t let that happen, he couldn’t let himself and this barn and field and town go up in flames–

The only warning he had before the entity dropped him was a brief flaring of the heat in his chest. No, no it hadn’t dropped him – its grasp had passed right through his neck as his body... dissolved, burst not into flames but smoke, his limbs going from solid to vague impressions. The creature’s hissing cut off with a choking noise, and though he could no longer see anything, he could sense the dull heat of it scrambling away from him.

He gasped – or tried to, at least, even as his thoughts and body swirled in chaotic air currents left in the creature’s wake. It was leaving, getting further away with every moment he spent huddled on the barn floor, and he knew he ought to follow it to figure out where it went to recover, but he could not will himself to move. Even the slightest twitch seemed liable to separate his limbs from his body, and he wasn’t sure he could ever get them back if he lost them while he was like this.

Calm, calm, he had to stay calm, there had to be a way to reverse this, if he just thought hard enough and didn’t let himself panic. Icarus forced himself to pretend he still had lungs and go through the motions of breathing, the insubstantial matter of his chest rising and falling. He didn’t have eyes to squeeze shut but he tried anyway, pressing his face to the ground and blocking out the flickering warmth of distant animal bodies. With every fake breath, the smoke that his body had burst into coalesced more, until he had lungs and eyes again, until he could curl his fingers into the dirt and feel it wedge beneath his nails. Until he was, for better or for worse, back in his usual, solid form.

[glacecakes]

Alchemy Lullaby (1/?)

Of all the changes that came with living in the castle, becoming a father was not one he anticipated. When Eugene encounters a small child suffering like he did, he gives them the opportunity to grow up the way he never did... helping them both heal. (AU where Varian is 4 and gets adopted by Eugene)

I've been thinkin about this for a lil bit, and then I met Saad who encouraged my dadgene desires and well, here we are. Also shoutout to @finnoky for an ADORABLE baby Varian design that I'm imagining in this scenario lol. Be warned there's brief child abuse, only like 2 sentences of it though. And while there will be angst in this fic that's likely gonna be the only outright abuse.

I'll be honest I have an idea for an overarching plot but this may just end up being a bunch of baby Varian dad Eugene oneshots. Whatever I'm feeling. We'll see.

Eugene grumbled, muttering to himself as he walked through the streets of Corona. That’s not to say that he didn’t enjoy it here, quiiiiite the opposite. Life with Rapunzel in the castle was a dream. In the past six months Eugene hasn’t needed nor wanted anything but only Rapunzel’s happiness. If she was happy, so was he. Unfortunately, that was something he had in common with Cassandra. It was the only thing they seemed to have in common, because he refused to relate himself to that ice queen any further. 

The reason why he was muttering was because he had misplaced his favorite brush (though he suspected Cassandra stole it to mess with him), and hey, Eugene, since you’re going into town, can you run a few errands for me? Don’t worry it won’t take you long, just a few dozen shops to visit while me and Rapunzel have a nice relaxing day. 

Cassandra totally stole it just to get him to do her chores. Total jerk move. 

He’d managed to get most of the things on her list, the only thing left was food for the animals. Apples for Max, mostly. The horse was like a chainsaw, ripping through apples like an axe through wood. It was terrifying and intriguing at the same time. 

Thankfully, Cassandra supplied him with the funds and a cart in order to buy all of this stuff. 

“Two crates of apples, please.” Eugene mumbled, not looking directly at the seller, as he was deep in thought, mostly cursing Cassandra. The woman, short with wild red hair, easily hauled the apples into his cart without a word. He paid her, eyes trained on the cart, when he saw it. 

The crate rumbled, apples moving ever so slightly. He was a seasoned thief, he knew what that meant. 

In any other situation, Eugene probably wouldn’t have cared. It was likely only a few apples. But he was cranky, and he didn’t want to be here, and also had he really gotten that sloppy? He used to be Flynn Rider, now thieves were stealing from right under his nose! It was a matter of pride, more than anything else.

“Oi!” He called. He couldn’t see the thief, but he heard the telltale squeak of a guilty ruffian, and the pattering of footsteps. 

“Watch my stuff?” He asked, and before he could get an answer, he bolted after the thief. His boots thundered against the pavement, following the sound of the footsteps. They were faint, whoever this thief was must be light on their feet and damn good at going unnoticed. He weaved through the crowd, unable to catch a proper glimpse. All Eugene could see was that the figure was small, or maybe they were crouching? And they were damn fast. Eugene nearly tripped over himself on multiple occasions trying to follow them. He was getting rusty. If Cassandra was here she’d laugh her ass off. 

They turned into a narrow alleyway, and Eugene followed shortly after. 

The walls were tall and imposing, casting a shadow on the otherwise sunny day. This part of the capital was on the poorer side, with rundown houses and boarded windows. He hasn’t been in here in a while, now that he lived in the castle. But he’d used this general area as a hideout in his youth. He knew this road was a deadend. 

“Got you,” he muttered, stalking down the road. “And just who do you think you are, stealing from… me?” 

His voice trailed off, and he stared at the scene in shock.

Standing before him was a child. An incredibly tiny, incredibly scared child. 

The small boy backed up in fear, practically huddled in the corner. His gangly limbs trembled like a leaf in the wind. His wide blue eyes were misting with crocodile tears, a few dripping onto his tattered clothes. He reached up to brush his hair out of his face, revealing a single shock of blue hair amongst the jet black. 

Eugene took a step forward, and the boy took a step back. He whimpered. The ex-convict held up his arms in surrender. “It’s ok,” He breathed, slowly kneeling down. The child regarded him with terror and a hint of intrigue. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” He picked up the apple, brushing the dirt off. It’s red sheen caught the kid’s attention. With how small the child was, he must be malnourished. Eugene’s hand opened, and the fruit slowly rolled back over to the boy. He eyed it before snatching it up and holding it close. He looked over at Eugene, an unspoken question glinting in his eyes. Eugene nodded, and the boy dug into the apple like a feral racoon. Juice spilled onto the dusty ground as he ate.

“Woah!” Eugene chuckled. “Slow down before you choke!” The little boy giggled. 

That seemed to do the trick, as the fear slowly trickled from his eyes, being replaced with a childish joy. Eugene offered him a small smile, and he got a buck-toothed grin back. 

“What’s your name, kid?”

The small child wiped his mouth with a tattered sleeve. “I’m Varian,” He said. 

“Nice to meet you, Varian. How old are you?”

“I’m four and a half!”

Eugene raised an eyebrow, his smile dropping down to a concerned frown. Four and a half!? That was way too young to be by himself in the streets. He and Lance didn’t leave the orphanage until they were 12! Even that was too young! And before they left, they were definitely fed more than this. The boy was a stick! Why was he out here, left to the streets to survive or die? What pushed this child to steal to survive? 

He cleared his throat. If he hadn’t, he probably would have started to cry. “It’s nice to meet you, Varian. Where... where’s your parents?”

Varian shrugged, digging his bare feet into the dirt. He was completely oblivious to Eugene’s mounting concern. “Dunno. Momma told me to wait here.”

Oh thank god, he just got separated from his mom. “When was that?” If it wasn’t too long ago, maybe his mom was among the crowd?

Varian hummed, deep in thought. “Uhh... the big lantern party.”

Never mind. 

Eugene blinked, trying to comprehend. “The… the lantern festival. The one that was 6 months ago. That one?” Varian nodded. Eugene fell silent, completely shell-shocked by that revelation. Taking the silence as an invitation, Varian toddled over to Eugene. 

“Sorry for taking an apple, I was just really hungry…” His r’s were slightly slurred, sounding more like a w. It was painfully cute. What kind of monster would ever abandon such a cute child? Big blue eyes gazed up at Eugene. “Are you mad?” he asked.

“Mad? Why would I be mad?” 

Varian frowned, fear refilling his eyes. “Momma didn’t like it when I took the apples... I was just so hungry, and she had a buncha em in a big box, but she yelled at me.” His lips wobbled, lost in the memory.

Eugene grabbed his shoulders gently. “Hey hey,” he coaxed. “You shouldn’t take without asking, but if you’re hungry, all you gotta do is ask, ok?” He bit his lip. A small part of him really wanted to believe that he’d just gotten separated from his mom, that whoever he was, he was looking for Varian, but realistically… This poor kid was in the same boat as him. Thrown out into the world and told to get used to being alone. 

What should he do? He can’t exactly take Varian back to the castle, can he? 

...Can he? 

No, he was still new to living in the castle. Maybe if he and Rapunzel were engaged, he could have gotten away with it. But Rapunzel wasn’t ready for marriage, so there was no doubt she wasn’t ready for this, either. Even if every atom in his body screamed to not let another child fall through the cracks like he did.

He sighed. “Varian,” the little boy looked up at him. “I….” how was he supposed to tell Varian? “Can I take you somewhere safe?” 

Varian cocked his head, confused. 

“You… you can’t stay here on the street, you need to be cared for, fed properly.” He added the last part to entice the kid. It did the trick, as Varian nodded. 

“Will you be there?” He asked. 

“N… no, but I can visit?” That soothed the screaming in his mind. He held out a hand for Varian to take.

Varian pondered his offer. “Do you promise?” 

“Sure kid, I promise.”

A tiny hand slipped into his. Eugene couldn’t help but marvel at the size difference. 

The two entered back into the crowded streets of Corona, and it was like a switch had flipped. Instead of only speaking a few words when asked, Varian babbled happily about anything and everything he could, from why he thought the sky was blue to a raccoon he saw the other day. He was a little chatterbox, even with his cheeks stuffed with the rest of the apple. Eugene wiped up the spare juice that fell from his lips, earning him a giggle. Even the people around them cooed at how adorable he was. How adorable they were together, as a family. It pained Eugene how nice that sounded. 

At some point Eugene had lifted Varian onto his shoulders, letting him see everything Corona had to offer. The excited kicks to the face were worth it. 

“I was listenin’ in on one of the schools, through the window,” Varian babbled. “Did you know the clouds are made of water? They’re made of puddles! After it rains, the puddles disappear back into the sky and then come back down again!”

“Oh really?”

“Yea! The mol...molecools…” The word was stuck on his tongue. The fact that he even knew the word was impressive, what else did the kid pick up? Orphanages don’t have the best education, he knew that first hand, all that intelligence would die there…

No, stop it Eugene. You cannot take him to the castle. Even if he is adorable, and smart, and just like him…

Suddenly, he felt violent smacks to the top of his head. Varian was bouncing up and down, practically screaming in excitement. 

“Momma!” He yelled, squirming off of Eugene’s shoulders before he had the ability to process what just happened. 

Eugene chased after him, bumping through the shoulders of passersby, until he finally spotted Varian tugging at the pant legs of the apple seller. Varian mentioned his mom had a lot of apples… oh no. 

He raced up to the stand. His cart had, thankfully, been left untouched.

“Momma, Momma, Momma, I missed you!” Varian sang. “I waited for a while, but you never came back, and I had to take food, but I know you don’t like that, I just was suuupeer hungry…” He continued his excited babbling, completely unaware of the mounting dread Eugene felt. 

The woman looked down on Varian, eyes narrowing. She seemed agitated, almost furious and even… disgusted. Eugene’s heart fractured and fell deep into the pits of his stomach. 

Oh no. Please, no. 

Those fractures lit on fire when she saw the woman kick Varian away. The small child slid into the street with a cry, and the woman turned back up to staring into the crowd as if nothing had happened. 

As if she hadn’t just kicked her son. 

Eugene moved to intervene, when little Varian, undeterred, waddled back up to his mother’s side. “I’m sorry, momma,” he mumbled. For what, Eugene had no idea. The man paid the child no mind. He didn’t even blink. 

“Momma?” Varian tried again. “Momma, I’m sorry I made daddy go bye bye. Can we go home?” 

Eugene’s fire was extinguished almost instantly, frost curling inside of him, up his throat. He was speechless. 

So was Varian’s mother. She continued to ignore her son. Varian’s lip wobbled, and a single tear fell onto the dusty path. That was followed by more, and soon Varian was letting out hiccupping sobs. 

That snapped Eugene into action. He walked up to the stand, acting completely nonchalant. He didn’t thank the woman for watching his cart, he’d never forgive a mother who abandoned her son. Wordlessly, he pushed the cart forward, scooping Varian up as he moved. Varian made no effort to fight back or protest, he simply curled into the man’s arms and cried. 

“I’m so sorry,” Eugene whispered, leaning down and placing a kiss into inky black hair. Varian gripped onto Eugene ever so tighter. 

To hell with what Rapunzel or Cassandra, or anyone else said. He would not let the same fate that befell him repeat. 

Varian had a home, starting today. 

[marvella15]

Astaire & Rogers Rewatch Part 7: Shall We Dance

• Something I didn’t consciously realize about this film until reading Hannah Hyam’s book is that Astaire and Rogers don’t dance together until nearly an hour in. That hasn’t happened since Gay Divorcee. What was anyone thinking??

• Shall We Dance suffers from a lot of extra crap that it didn’t need, such as extraneous characters, far too many interruptions in the Astaire and Rogers relationship, and a bunch of weirdness like life-sized dolls, life-like masks, and backbending ballerinas. The film also has a lot of wasted potential, including a great score and songs by George and Ira Gershwin. 

The Gershwins were already well acquainted with Astaire and Rogers. The duo had first met when she was starring in the brothers’ show, Girl Crazy, and Astaire was brought in to help with choreography. Rogers was close friends with George and even dated him. Astaire had known the brothers prior, having starred in a few of their shows with his sister, Adele. 

• Our characters/actors: Peter “Petrov” Peters (Fred Astaire), Linda Keene (Ginger Rogers), Jeffrey Baird (Edward Everett Horton), Arthur Miller (Jerome Cowan)

• Around the time I was first really into classic Hollywood films, including these ones, my family and I adopted a new dog. I annoyed my parents to no end by suggesting we name him Peter P. Peters. Don’t know why I latched onto that name but I did. 

• Even in the massive portrait of Petrov, you can see Astaire has his fingers curled in rather than fully extended.

• Astaire’s ballet attire lets us once again see just how skinny he is. 

• Always loved how Peter does a little tap at the rhythmic sound of his name and birthplace: Pete Peters, Philadelphia PA.

• Rogers’ cardigan with all of its baubles is truly awful looking. It will only be out done by a terrible floral dress she wears later. 

• I do however like that she shoves her handsy stage partner into a fountain. Why are men constantly the worst?

• “And why must there always be a kiss at the second-act curtain?” is YET ANOTHER example of these films trolling us. Not once up until this point has any act of an Astaire/Rogers outing included a kiss between them. 

• Linda’s disinterest in even meeting Petrov is based on the assumption that he’s a “simpering toe dancer.” While that’s incorrect, she’s not wrong that he is indeed another man who has seen a picture of her and wants to tell her he can’t live without her. So she gets partial credit. 

• If Peter wasn’t totally smitten before, Linda’s jab, “It’s just a game little American boys play” gets him. 

• As a mixed race number, “Slap That Bass” is incredibly unusual for the era. Astaire was a great admirer of African-American dancers and was strongly influenced by Bill Robinson and John W. Bubbles. I love the blend of all of the voices in this song. 

• The dance portion of “Slap That Bass” gives Astaire a chance to show off more of his innovative mind and choreography. He dances in time with the sounds of the ship’s engine and compels the camera to follow him across and up the vast set. The dance is also special in that we have behind the scenes footage of Astaire rehearsing, thanks to a home video shot by George Gershwin. 

• Peter making Jeffrey believe the boat is rocking may seem a bit unbelievable but having been on a large ship myself, sometimes you don’t realize it’s rocking until you see other passengers weaving or a giant chandelier swaying. 

• I usually skip most if not all of Jeffrey and Arthur’s scenes together. They slow down this film soooo much.

• Like in all of their films, songs are sometimes heard in the background before the actual musical number they appear in. But because this film is scored by the Gershwins, there’s an array of shorter pieces of music that are all their own, such as the whimsical score heard while Rogers and then Rogers with Astaire are walking her dog.

• The dog Peter borrows to give himself an excuse to talk to Linda hits his bark cue perfectly and looks extremely happy about it. 

• I would love to know what exactly Astaire and Rogers are talking about while walking her dog. Maybe they were given lines that were then not recorded or maybe it’s improv. But it seems very natural. 

Rogers did say that Astaire was a wonderful conversationalist and was adept at talking while dancing, something she noted most men couldn’t manage. 

• Wow do I love it when Rogers gets to be extra sassy

Peter: “Isn’t it wonderful being here tonight like this? Still on the same boat together.”

Linda: “Oh, I seldom change boats in mid-ocean.”

• “Beginner’s Luck” is such a charming, fast song that Astaire delivers wonderfully. He hardly seems to take a breath. 

A jazzed up version of “Beginner’s Luck” is the song Peter tried to dance to in Paris but the record kept getting stuck. 

• Something this movie fails at is letting Linda and Peter’s relationship continue to progress before throwing more obstacles in their way. We know from the gossip of the ship’s staff that they have been spending a lot of time together. When we see them, they are having a relaxing evening that’s incredibly domestic: sitting side by side on the deck while she knits and he smokes. Wouldn’t it have been nice to see more of this part of their relationship? 

• Why on earth did Peter think sending Jeffrey to fix the false baby rumors was the right decision? Jeffrey can’t handle a single thing. 

• Infuriated at the rumors that she’s married to Peter and pregnant with their baby, Linda tries to call him. “Operator! Get me Mr. Petrov. What? Don’t you dare congratulate me!”

• The theme of this movie is supposed to be the blend of dancing and music styles. Peter’s ballet and Linda’s jazz styles are one example, George Gershwin’s varied score, which switches from jazz to waltz to foxtrot to classical, etc, is another. But it’s a fairly weak concept that doesn’t quite land and reportedly, neither Astaire or Ira Gershwin was wild about it. 

• I love the new version of “Slap That Bass” that plays as Peter and Jeffrey enter the rooftop club. 

• When Rogers sings “They All Laughed,” she is singing to an off-screen Cary Grant, her friend and sometimes date who was visiting the set at the time. 

She is also wearing a dress with a horrible pattern. It’s supposed to be floral but it always makes me think of amoebas. Maybe it looked better in color?

• Astaire clearly has fun during the part where Peter hams it up a bit with his ballet next to Linda’s tapping. 

• In some ways, “They All Laughed” is reminiscent of “Isn’t it a Lovely Day.” They’re testing each other, trading glancing as they see whether the other can keep up with the increasingly complex steps. Until now, Linda didn’t know Peter could dance this way so her surprise and amusement unfolds slowly as the routine progresses. But he has been grinning since the start because he’s hoping to win her back through this dance.

• This is another duet where it takes a long time before they touch. The first physical contact is just her executing a series of spins with the help of his fingers. And it’s during this part that Rogers finally breaks into a wide smile.  

• When he spins her up onto the piano the first time, she happily waits for him to retrieve her. And when he spins her into a seated position and upright again a few times don’t miss how he looks at her with a wry, slightly mischievous smile. 

• The Linda doll is so creepy and not lifelike. Who was fooled by this?

Also, Arthur is terrible. Jeffrey is terrible too but he’s an idiot so I’m more willing to let it slide. 

• Peter walking out of Linda’s bedroom in the morning in his robe right in front of her fiancé while she is in her negligee is pretty funny. 

• Peter and Linda’s nice day out is just further proof that this movie should’ve spent more time on the two of them together rather than breaking them up every few minutes. 

• “Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off” is a fun song, though Astaire gets most of the good words imo. However, Rogers does do an extra affectation to some of her lyrics and that makes them funnier. 

At one point when she’s singing, he turns to her and for just a moment his face goes soft in that way it does sometimes when he looks at her. 

• Some film historians have labeled this dance as not that great when compared to other Astaire and Rogers numbers. But I’ve always found it very enjoyable and innovative. While Gene Kelly probably takes the gold medal for dancing on skates in It’s Always Fair Weather, Astaire and Rogers did it first, did it well, and deserve some extra credit for a duet on skates rather than a solo. 

Rogers also deserves some extra credit since the idea to dance on skates was supposedly hers. And probably deserves even more credit for doing this dance on skates while also in heels. 

• For some reason I really enjoy that they perform this number in their hats and street clothes. It’s so informal and feels like something you do on a fun date. 

• Throughout this dance, Peter continues to be the playful one, as he’s been in their interactions in the film, and Linda is the more serious one who needs to be coaxed into having fun. Maybe this is why Astaire frequently glances at her and even spends long seconds watching her at different parts as they move into the next series of steps. Rogers is more reserved in her expressions but whenever they are face to face, she appears happiest. 

A few times she looks triumphant, leading me to wonder if they or she had finally nailed a section that was giving them or her trouble. 

• Can’t say for certain but I swear she almost falls when they do the backwards steps. She just baaaarely snags his hand in time. 

They had to film this dance something like 150 times so I imagine there was more than one time where at least one of them did indeed fall. 

• The circular dance they do leading up to the end is based on a dance Astaire and his sister made famous in their time on the stage. 

• Apparently the grassy bank they tumble onto wasn’t padded so those fake grimaces of pain aren’t that fake. Their exchange after the tumble feels very much like married banter to me:

Peter: “Yes, it was my idea.”

Linda: “Have you any more of them?”

Peter, exaggerating: “No.”

• They’re such a good match:

Linda: “Peter, you’ve got to marry me.”

Peter: “Why, Linda, this is so sudden.”

• Oh 1930s Hays Code humor. The cop who overhears their conversation thinks she’s pregnant and pressuring the father of the baby into marrying her. Hurr hurr hurr.

• Heh:

Linda: “I beg your pardon but what are grounds for divorce in this state?”

Clerk: “Marriage.”

• It will never make sense to me that a dance was not planned in this film for “They Can’t Take That Away From Me.” It’s a truly lovely song. I know Astaire and Rogers will dance to it more than ten years later in The Barkleys of Broadway but it’s just not the same. 

It’s also a good reminder in the film that Peter has legitimate feelings for Linda and she does for him but they’re far more conflicted. Though he must sense he’s hooked her in a bit since he becomes very aloof once they return to the hotel in the stupid hope of making her want him more? Idk, men are dumb. 

• “They Can’t Take That Away From Me” carries special poignancy because it became a form of consolation to Ira Gershwin after his brother suddenly died two months after this film was released. 

• Oh Linda’s face when she walks in to see Peter with the loathsome Lady Tarrington is so sad and crestfallen. Ever thought you and your crush were finally on the same page only to find them canoodling with someone else? 

Although, she could’ve knocked first instead of just walking straight into his room…

• The ballet portion of the finale is weird and unappealing in every way. Harriet Hoctor was known for the backbend dance she does in this film. Maybe it was something spectacular in 1937?? but it doesn’t hold up. 

One thing I’ll say about Astaire’s duet with Hoctor, it’s a great chance to see him in a romantic duet with someone other than Rogers and notice how different he acts. No secret smile, no lingering looks, no whispered words, no soft expressions. 

• “Shall We Dance” is another upbeat song that deserves more than being featured in the remaining few minutes of the film. Their dance is far too short but wonderful all the same. Her delight when he finds her always makes me smile. She also executes some impressive full length lunges that I couldn’t do at this moment much less in a dress and heels in the middle of a dance number. 

For a few seconds, his fingers press into the exposed dip of her spine in yet another example of Victorian hotness. 

• And so we finish film number 7. Shall We Dance underperformed at the box office and wasn’t a critical darling. Everyone, the actors included, started to feel the magic was coming to an end. Coming up next is a film I pretty much never rewatch: Carefree. 

[project-ohagi]

Keigo Takami ღ Hawks x Reader 3/4

Buy me a coffee!! <3

Parts 1 / 2 / 4

"I'll take her back with me. We…we lived together anyway." A little white lie couldn’t claim to be quite so harmful - not now.

In order for his beautiful baby bird to flourish once more, she would require round-the-clock attention, provided by someone knowledgeable of her life, someone who would willingly offer her unbridled love and protection…someone who vowed never to force a sense of abandonment upon her. Never again. The doctor neglected to question this, thankfully saving him the embarrassment of being coerced into further conversation with a voice that shivered from heartache.

In that instant, a previously-dormant determination ignited inside his chest. He would rebuild your life together, your sweet romance. If he didn’t even try…well, perhaps that would be the universe's way of plaguing him with evidence of his worthlessness - if he didn’t at least attempt to repair the foundations of your relationship, whether by curing your amnesia or just starting from scratch, then he didn’t deserve you. If he wasn’t prepared to venture to the extremes for you, then he would concede that he wasn’t good enough, that he couldn’t hold a candle to your grandeur. He would cut himself from your life. You didn’t remember him, so you probably wouldn’t mourn. Gods…that thought alone killed him. To think, after one dreadful decision, after a single moment of weakness…he could suddenly mean nothing to you…

I'll set work aside for now. The Commission can say what they want, but I'm not letting her go. Not again. Not so soon.

You giggled, the sound seeming to caress away any stray tears dripping down his face. "We lived together? Are we related or something? Oh, you're not my brother, are you?"

How much did she forget?

"I-I'm your…" The words caught in his throat.

No - he would spare everyone the overly-emotional display, the unsightly waterworks. He was a hero, for gods' sake! He couldn’t act so goddamn vulnerable in public! The only person who ever managed to detrude his masque of confidence was you, and you would often tell him how special it made you feel. So even now, even when you had no memory of him…he would reserve his innermost feelings, solely for you. A small sniffle was all he allowed, because it became impossible to stop. Shortly thereafter, the two of you were dismissed. Hawks was adamant about flying you bridal-style to his house, which, following your inclusion, would morph from a lonely bachelor pad to a home filled with warmth and comfort. He wished to be consumed by excitement, as he should have been...but this was all wrong. The series of events, the manner in which you were to be confined…he would barely even receive any welcome, since his comings-and-goings would be less frequent.

He was resolved to stick by your side, like superglue.

He refused to let you hide from his watchful gaze, until the time was right.

The minute he touched down, a phone was pressed against his ear. It was a little confusing at first, but you could hear a few curt words. He was being reprimanded, but his expression betrayed no concern. At least, not for them.

With a dejected sigh, he settled you on your feet. "Well, dove…I'm taking some time off work to look after you. This is…this is our house. Do you remember it?"

You hated to shatter the ounce of hope bleeding from his voice, but it couldn’t be helped. "Um, no…sorry. It's really big, though. How'd you afford it?"

"…So you don't remember my job, either?...Is there anything you do remember?" He led you inside, careful not to startle you as he closed the door.

"Yep!" You sung, and although Hawks' heart should have swelled with rapture, it instead sunk further into a chasm of despair - he knew that he was no longer your missing puzzle piece, the thing you had been searching for constantly, until you met. "I remember my childhood, and apparently everything up until I turned nineteen."

Did I traumatise her that much, her mind purposefully erased me?

He gulped, anxious to scrabble back into your life. "We met…just after your nineteenth birthday."

"Really?" You sounded happy - happier than he could recall you in a while. "Hey, uh…I'm sorry I don't remember you, but I still don't know your name."

"It's…It's Keigo. Takami Keigo. I'm a…pro hero." Usually, pride would coil around his voice when this information was given, but it was nothing more than embellishment; it couldn’t have reflected his heart any less.

I gotta smile, right? Otherwise…she'll end up miserable. I can’t do that to her. I can't take away that happy look. Not now. I'm such a bastard for ever letting my mission get in-between us.

Throughout this entire interaction, Hawks had remained nigh-silent, any last trace of alacrity dried up. Thus, an extremely sudden shift in character bewildered you beyond words. A smile might have graced your lips, had you not been gifted with such sharp perception. You didn’t believe, not even for a second, that he had overcome that intense sorrow. Yet, you couldn’t risk triggering something. You were directed to a large couch, while one of those gorgeous, crimson feathers floated towards you, carrying what appeared to be a book. For more specificity, it was a photo album. It weighed down his feather, but he wasn’t paying attention. You wanted to laugh, to explain how weird this was, when phones and social media existed, but…that look, that glint of upset intertwined with hope…

...It muted you.

As he flicked through the pictures, often lingering on the most heart-warming scenes - the two of you sitting lip-locked underneath the stars, weaving flower crowns for young hero fans, your utter devastation upon dropping an ice cream...and the next one was Hawks sharing his own - you watched his hands. He had started lovingly stroking the pages, as though yearning to relive those precious moments. You refused to glance up, to get sucked into the kindling fire of his eyes; you knew, somehow, that you wouldn’t escape their dreamy sheen.

If only you had enabled yourself to drown in those golden pools, to explore them for an eternity. Hawks was desperate to lay claim to you again, before someone else lured you away. This prospect terrified him, and his wings rustled as the fear shot around his whole body. Couldn’t you see, couldn’t you understand how much he treasured you? More than fame or money, even the photo album! He needed you - the real you, climbing back into his arms. Forcing his self-restraint, Hawks closed the book. If his tear ducts turned into dams, he wouldn’t be capable of battling the flood. He would succumb to the glacial water, and then who would you run to for shelter? If you fell into the homeless population, or the callous hands of a villain…

I thought we would last forever. That we would still be together, even after we died. We made a promise, didn’t we…? Don't drop me like I never meant anything to you. Please, don't drop me…

The subsequent days brimmed with bliss.

At least…for you.

Hawks was a surprisingly adept cook, but take-out was on the menu every other day. He tended to your needs with a sweeping devotion. He never failed you, not even once. You also had the opportunity to wander the perimeter of his house, but your rebellious streak compelled you further, far past the invisible barriers erected for your own safety.

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask…" You began, while Hawks traced circles on your arms. "These scars…did you - did you do something to me?"

His recovering heart plummeted, and he spent a few minutes just staring, eyes glazed over with shock, hurt and a touch of guilt. When he finally responded, his voice was hoarse. "W-Why would you…think that I…? T-That I…hurt you?"

"Ah, I'm sorry! I was just wondering. I didn’t think you'd done anything, but I had to make sure. Can't exactly stay with an abuser…right?" Although you endeavoured to laugh it off, your words did nothing to console him.

His head drooped, as he whispered and sniffled all at once. "R-Right…"

"Oh yeah!" You giggled, as though the storm had been quelled.

I've always adored her voice, but right now…I can't bear it…

"I met someone today!"

[Word Count: 1393]

[kihaku-gato]

Random Webcomic Reccomendations

This post is dedicated to bringing to the spotlight several webcomics

(some would be considered webmanga but I’m counting them too since they are primarily presented on webcomic websites) which I’ve been enjoying that I hope can get more traction/fandom with this post. Due to my personal tastes I can say many/most have a sci fi or fantasy theming as well as some (definitely not all) have wlw as well.

Since this post will be quite extensive, I’ll first start with a “table of contents” for those who don’t want synopsises or ramblings, but instead just want titles and want to just check them out themselves.

Bybloemen

My Dragon Girlfriend

Sanguine

Straylight Tiger

Cariciphona

Amongst Us

Kiss It Goodbye

Mokepon

Seven Miles Down

UnDivine

Bybloemen

Hosted on its own website under hiveworkscomics

This is a historical semi-fantasy set during the infamous Tulip Mania period of Dutch/European history when people would pay an arm and a leg for even a single potentially valuable tulip bulb.

In this setting we follow two devils Basil and Ludwig and their avian familiars strut into the action, pretending to be foreign investors getting in on the tulip hype, probably to ensnare some desperate souls, all the while keeping man and beast alike from catching sus that they are not as human as they claim to be.

As of writing this the story is just starting up but is already making quite the unique statement. The distinct black and white artstyle is clearly holding homage to the historical “Woodcut” printmaking style in how it’s drawn, lined, and textured, which is a refreshing way to artistically state that the comic is “set in the past” w/o doing just grayscale or sepia tone that one is used to seeing for media set in historical times.

The interactions between the devils as well as the animals they can communicate with so far have been quite amusing.

If you don’t directly use hiveworkscomics for your usual webcomic browsing (so don’t get notified by it) they do have both a tumblr and twitter which frequently announce/link its updates. Bonus following their twitter/tumblr being you get to see occasionally “sketches” (I say that term very loosely) of the characters outside of the webcomic series if you’re into that.

 My Dragon Girlfriend

Available on Webtoons and Twitter

Fantasy alongside modern era setting. It is primarily a wlw webcomic series about a human girl named Christy who is swept off her feet by a dragon girl named Dani, semi-magical/mythical wlw hijinks ensue. It’s hard for me to pin its identity entirely, cause while I wanna say it’s a “Slice of Life” the webcomic is at the point where Dani is fighting a werewolf tooth and nail so it’s hard to pin. It’s clearly romance genre, as even if Dani and Chirsty end up together lickity split (a blink of the eye compared to the slow-burn of most romance stories) there are other wlw subplots going on with secondary primary characters which you’ll be routing for.

It has its steamy moments and implies sex but not so far as to show full-on nudity of the main characters characters. Though there is some nudity of some of the monstergirls such as the fawn girls on the other hand it does not beat around the bush with, but luckily takes the nudity in a natural non-sexual way Correction as of writing this; only the Twitter version shows nudity, they had to censor with bras on Webtoons cause it got flagged.

If you want it hotter/steamier, sign up to the artist’s patreon. It’s definitely a nice softish wlw webomic if you’re craving a lil monstergirl flavour.

 Sanguine

Available on Tapas and Webtoons

Full-on adventure fantasy setting set in a world where magic and mages have been persecuted to the point of going into secrecy.

It stars a cute red-riding-hood-like implied secret-royal (that was too much a mouthful) lady named Red, and a tall gorgeous beefy secretly mage lady named Morgan which Red has dragged into her shenanigans with.

It’s early to call this a wlw gem as of the current updates, but it is tagged as lgbt+ so take that with potential further wisdom.

This webcomic uses colour a fair bit to set its tone/mood, but otherwise has a very comfy/warm feeling about it somehow, like some of those old comics/webcomics/novels you would welcome to read while snuggled under blankets. Also the outfits are REALLY nicely designed, and I could definitely see some peeps having fun cosplaying many of these characters.

As the story slowly progresses I am holding with baited breath to how Red and Morgan’s interactions/relationship may or may not evolve, as I am totally an absolute sucker for “friendly/bubbly naïveish character dragging along the cool/grumpy don’t-get-involved character that has a hidden soft heart” trope.

  Straylight Tiger

Available on Webtoons and Tapas

WARNING- while infrequent this one has some blood/gore that will shake you up, though it puts it where it would be most sensible to. Lucky for you most blood in this series is not the usual human-red blood which tones the edge down.

It may have lots of fantasy elements but this one definitely holds its identity as Sci Fi. Set in a futuristic cyberesque city full of both good and bad superhumans (one group being animal shapeshifters and the other being elemental casters), there is an extremist cult out to wreck havoc in the city, so a company responds by recruiting a handful of individuals from all 3 races to make a secret task force to eliminate the threat.

The main character in this story is a secretly-a-tiger shapeshifter named Angeline.

This is probably the most visually colourful of the webcomics in my list and is really using it to charge up its stylistic sci fi setting. Best way I could compare it to; you know those glow-in-the-dark cyber avatars you occasionally see in VRchat? Straylight Tiger matches that visual energy. Of listed so far this is also the most action-packed webcomic on the list. I could almost call it a Trigger-like comic but luckily unlike Studio Trigger it’s not into going nuts on fanservice.

If you’re craving your superhuman sci fi action, this one should at least be checked out. I want to say there’ll be wlw at some point, but it’s too early to call, and if it does I would not expect it to be a major arc when it has larger fish for plot points to deal with.

If you’re craving wlw of at least mc and her weapons-savvy human friend, I highly recommend you checking out the artist Flying Frappe’s twitter to get some sating for you wlw cravings for the two.

 Caricophona

Available on webtoons as well as its own webcomic site

Tragic fantasy setting starring a supermagical woman named Veloice as she is hunted by an Assassin. I tag it as there is an undertone of death in some of the arcs, which give this colourfully magical world a more sombre tone. Among the webcomics on the list this one may be steepest when it comes to catching to speed of the world’s setting/rules/hierarchies but once you do you’ll hunger for this more.

I can’t entirely make a perfect comparison for it (Full Metal Alchemist is as close as I could compare and they are still as different to each other as apples and oranges) but it really has that rich nostalgic old manga style/world/tone to it, and its most welcome to as well.

The world building is rich, and Veloice is a mental/magical powerhouse even if at times she has a fragility about her. The fact she’s a Caricophona; magical beings which tend to either get persecuted or expire early at age from their own condition, definitely helps with giving her a almost “glass canon” energy about her.

While those points have definitely helped hook me in, the thing that tends to excite me the most in this webcomic is Veloice’s interactions with the assassin who’s been send to kill her, named Blackbird. The tension between them, the fact Blackbird both wants to toy with her, Blackbird’s somewhat flirtatious nature towards Veloice OMFG I EAT IT UP!!!! They have such a enemies to lovers feeling to them (though no, they are not lovers- we can dream though) which just gets you so excited.

I should also mention there are two other “primary characters” in the group. Two rich naïve kids ready to help Veloice however they can. You grow to like them (even if they hit tropes that may strike a nerve if you’re tired to their character type), but the mvp of this webcomic for character and interaction has to be Veloice and Blackbird.

 Amongst Us

Available on webtoons and its own website

Say you like Veloice and Blackbird from the previous webcomic, but find the hefty fantasy setting a bit too much, and you’re more for the romance? What if I told you the artist was galaxy brained enough to make a chiller AU? That is what Amongst Us is; a music college-set slice of life with a slow burn romance between Veloice and Blackbird. They’re dorky, their cute, and seeing some of the characters you’re familiar with in Caricophona in a different setting is nice to see.

In some ways Veloice is less proactive in Amongst Us but still feels very in-character of her. The webcomic would end pretty quick if Veloice were to get-to-the-point with Blackbird after all (granted with how we see them in the future together at the start of the webcomic it’s not like they have to be in a hurry anyways).

Seeing a wlw / slice of life set in a college setting rather than a high school setting is extremely welcome. Please, more of this.

 Kiss it Goodbye

Available on Webtoons

Slice of Life high-school beginnings of wlw romance. The artstyle is good, the characters are lovely. We know canonically that they end up together (as the webcomic starts with them in the future where they are a couple, as they begin to weave the story to their curious friends wanting to know how their romance came to be).

It’s not an unwelcome Slice of Life.

 BONUS / HONORABLE MENTIONS

 Mokepon

Available on h0lyhandgrenade’s website

I have honestly not read this one in a while and dropped it like, several years ago, but it was interesting and is still ongoing, so I had to mention it. Set in the Pokemon universe, it stars the main character who has been thrown into the pokemon trainer career while absolutely wanting nothing to do with it. Ends up becoming a rocket grunt which is an interesting change of perspective from many pokemon fancomics. It has old-nuzelocke energy though it is not a Nuzelocke. Be prepared for the brutality as you cry for the pokemon (especially his pikachu). The undying loyalty of his Charmander as he himself struggles with his position as a trainer/grunt is interesting. He is definitely not the usual pokemon trainer protag you’re used to.

 Seven Miles Down

Available on Webtoons

A completed oneshot psychological horror where a girl takes her submarine to the deepest unventured oceanic trench in the world. Tragic end, but horrors can be like that. The psychological nature of the horror is an interesting angle. The rounded cute style may throw you off but it works.

 UnDivine

Availabe on its own website via hiveworkscomics

This comic has since been cancelled from continuation, but is the webcomic to set me off in making this list, so it will still be mentioned in memory/tribute, and is the grand example of why you should interact with the webcomics you read as well as share them; there is a good chance they will not hold on their own without fan interaction and traction. Excuse me as I just use two full-on pages cause I’m wearing out on this list and browsing through tons and tons of pages for highlights wears a peep out.

Modern-set religious fantasy on an island where local their religion may be more than it seems. Stars a boy named Daniel, and Esther the Demon girl. From what can be gleaned the Demongirl knew the “god” of the island’s religion and was double crossed, so has a bone to pick with them and their “angelic” entourage now that she’s free when she got accidentally summoned by Daniel.

This webcomic loves its use of blood, but your grow used to it after a point. The setting is interesting, and its also cool to see how the “angels” are far from the usual “pretty human-like” in their true form and are instead more monstrous than you could say even the Demon Esther is.

A lot of what makes this comic interesting, outside of the “revenge against a god” main plot going on, is how messy the characters can be.

Daniel, Esther, and the one angel named Manual are all pretty interesting in how they interact with their roles that they’ve been put in and how they react to others, and are all very morally grey complex characters.

Daniel is an angst machine who tends to really wear himself out (though how he’s positioned/pressured by the world doesn’t help) and shoot himself in the foot a lot, and that’s even before Esther “turns” him into her lil monstrous pawn, not something you commonly see in main characters from the get-go.

Esther (the tall blondie) while being a Demon ready to get her vengeance on is in many ways naïve/childlike despite her powerful nature, and despite using Daniel as her pawn is shown to grow to have feelings/care for Daniel which is very interesting for “The Contracted Devil” position.

Manual…. We haven’t gotten to see a lot but it’s clear he’s meant to be the angelic hero position but its clear he does not like the position, and he also has a thing for a human woman named Rosamaria but we have not gotten to see why that’s the case.

This webcomic didn’t get the traction it needed to keep going, so was recently cancelled by the artist.

[delimeful]

sheer atrocity (3)

sequel to day 17: roasted & day 26: doll! ao3 link

commissioned by chaebe on kofi! tysm! 

warnings: captivity, mention of abusive parent, fear, death mention 

-

Roman sighed, listening to the bustle of the market without being able to see a single thing. It felt like the giant had been walking around for hours at this point, and despite the liveliness going on all around him, Roman was stuck looking at the inside of a pocket.

Being kidnapped by a possibly-man-eating giant was boring. 

He sighed, shifting to lay flat on the bottom of the jar and kicking his legs up against the glass. No matter how loud he yelled for aid, the glass and the ruckus of the town made it impossible for anyone but the giant to hear him.

The giant ignored his cries too, which he supposed was better than being punished, but still left him with nothing to focus on but his dry throat and rumbling stomach. Was the giant planning on letting him starve to death in this accursed jar?

The swaying rhythm of the giant’s gait slowed to a halt, making the jar bump against its chest. It had stopped at another market stall, no doubt. Roman shifted to sit up, straining his ears for anything that could help him escape, or at least figure out what the giant was doing there. 

“Did you hear?” The gossipy tone caught Roman’s attention immediately, muffled as it was through the jar. “The Smithson child ran off yesterday, hasn’t been heard from since!” 

“I heard the poor thing was lost to the creatures of the woods. I can only imagine how their parents are managing...” A pitying voice replied. Roman winced in sympathy from where he sat, ear pressed against the glass, and wondered if the giant was listening to the tragedy it and other monsters caused. He hoped so.

“According to the eldest, they ran into the woods on purpose, wouldn’t come back out no matter how he called.” A delicate sniff of disapproval. “At least he had the sense not to go in after them- it would have been too much for the Smiths to bear, losing two children at once right before the harvest.” 

“Are they going to at least form a search party?” the second voice asked. 

Before he could catch an answer, his surroundings began to jolt into motion again, and he toppled over with a shout of frustration. The giant was moving again, quickly now. 

After a moment, the light from outside the pocket grew dimmer, and then giant fingers were pulling the jar up by the lid. Roman fixed his face into a glower by the time he was high enough to meet the giant’s eyes. 

“Still alive in there?” It asked, lips twitching up in a slight smirk. 

Roman glanced around at the empty alley they were in and crossed his arms. “No thanks to you. Though, if you’re planning on killing me through dehydration, you’re doing a wonderful job of it so far.” 

A troubled look crossed the giant’s face for a moment, and then vanished as quick as it had come. “Yeah, yeah, complain to me about it later, Princey. For now, quiet down. I’ve got one more stop on my list, and then it’ll just be me and you again.” 

“Joy,” Roman muttered, shifting his feet to keep balance as the jar was lowered back into the giant’s pocket. “Can’t wait to be alone with a giant, scourge of this land and enemy of my people. Hooray.” 

He wasted a few minutes grumbling to himself as the giant strode through the town with a purpose in his step, and then perked up when the hollow ring of a doorway bell announced the giant’s entry into a store. 

“Hello, how can I- oh dear.” A friendly voice went high and nervous. “What are you doing here?”

“Get your father, would you?” The giant’s voice rumbled, close enough to roll through Roman like thunder. “We need to have a chat.” 

Surprisingly, the other person didn’t leave right away. “Vee… don’t do anything rash-” 

“This isn’t rash. It’s carefully calculated.” The giant- Vee?- cut him off. “You know where to meet me if this works.” Roman frowned in consternation. How did this stranger know the giant? Did he even know ‘Vee’ was a giant?

“Trust me,” Vee implored after another long moment of silence, and to Roman’s surprise, he heard the sound of footsteps walking away, presumably into the back of the store. This stranger must not know Vee’s true nature, if he actually trusted the giant. 

In the resulting silence, Roman realized suddenly how quiet it was. The store must have been empty, and the walls insulated it from the clamor of the outdoors. The giant had even reminded him to keep quiet before entering.

In other words, if he called out now, he would finally be heard.

Roman swallowed down the automatic impulse to shout, reminding himself that he probably only had one shot at this. He had to wait for the perfect moment if he wanted to finally be freed.

Outside the pocket, a new, older voice spoke in a harsh tone. “I told you before, the answer is no.” 

The giant took a step forward, the heart behind Roman racing. What was it so worried about?

“I’m not here to play nice anymore,” the giant said, voice dropped low to a growl. “You’ll hand it over or suffer the consequences.” 

There was a scoff, more distinguishable now that the giant was stalking closer. Roman barely paid any mind to the conversation going on above him, his attention riveted on figuring out the perfect moment to make his move. 

“I’ve got my ways.” The giant took another step closer, and Roman steeled himself, taking a deep breath. 

“HEY! SOMEONE HELP!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. 

There was a beat of silence.

“What- what was that?” the older voice asked, nervously. 

Roman wanted to grab the man by the shoulders and berate him for his inaction. He settled for thumping his fists against the glass. “Here, I’m here! Please, help!” 

A dark chuckle vibrated the glass around him, and then he was being lifted into the light of the store, a slight shake of the jar knocking him off his feet. Vee held the jar up to eye level, and a shudder ran through Roman at the sight of two giant faces looking in at him, warped by the glass. 

“This,” the giant said, tapping the jar with his free hand and making Roman flinch, “is what happened to the last person who wronged me. Cursed to live at the size of a doll forever.”

Roman’s breath caught in his throat. Forever? No, this wasn’t permanent! Was it? 

Outside the jar, the elderly man was staring at him with a face as pale as milk. Vee shifted impatiently. 

“Well? Are you going to give it up or not? … If not, I’m sure Princey here could use some company.” 

“Fine, fine!” the man finally answered, voice shaking. He vanished behind the counter for a moment before reappearing with a small, antique chest. It was shoved towards Vee. “Take it and begone, you witch!” 

“Wait, hold on! Come back! You have to help me!” Roman called, but the man retreated into the back without another glance. Roman groaned, sinking back down to his knees. 

“Nice try, pipsqueak,” Vee said, tone amused as he pulled the jar closer to him. Roman scowled at the giant, though he was grateful that at least it didn’t seem he would be punished for his outburst. 

Wait. Now that he thought about it, his shouting had worked rather well in Vee’s favor, hadn’t it? He gaped.

“Wait a second. You tricked me!” 

Vee snorted, unscrewing the lid of the jar. “Took you long enough.” He dropped something large into the jar, making Roman duck and raise his arms for cover. “Here, for all your hard work.” 

Roman peeked out from behind his arms, and blinked in surprise. A chunk of bread and a small wedge of cheese now sat on the floor of the jar next to him. They were small portions to a human, but compared to his current size, they were huge.

Roman fumed. He hadn’t helped the beast steal from some poor shopkeep for food! He had more honor than that! And more importantly… 

“Wait!” he cried before Vee could screw the lid back into place. “Was what you said true? Am I… Am I really stuck like this forever?” 

“What?” Vee said, confused. “No, I was bluffing. You wouldn’t stay small forever unless I kept this enchantment running forever, and trust me, I am not doing that. Now shut it, we’re getting out of this dump.”

Roman made a vague sound of protest, but his jar was resealed and dropped back into the pocket with little fanfare. He sighed in relief, hope for possible escape returning to him. He couldn’t imagine how hard life would be living at this size forever. Above him, Vee gathered the chest in his arms and strode out of the store, weaving through crowds with the hood of his cloak up. 

Roman managed a truly impressive few minutes before caving and tearing into the bread and cheese. He needed to keep his strength up if he was going to escape, after all.

Surprisingly, the food was soft and fresh in his hands. He’d half-expected the giant to feed him stale prison rations. ...He hoped this wasn’t a way of fattening him up like the old tales. He still wasn’t quite sure he believed that Vee wasn’t going to eat him once he outlived his usefulness. 

He was still a giant, after all. 

The light outside had faded to the dimness of twilight, and the sounds of people grew fainter as dirt and brush crunched underfoot. They were back in the woods. 

“What was even in that fancy chest?” Roman asked, growing bored with the silence. 

“None of your business.” 

“I think it rather is my business, since you went and used me as a threat against that man!” Roman huffed. “Honestly, how dare you-“

“Shhh,” Vee suddenly hushed, pressing a palm over the holes in the jar’s lid to quiet him. Roman cut off, curious despite himself about the giant’s sudden silence. 

“Vee?” A familiar voice called out in a low tone, and Vee breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Over here, Pat.” 

Soft, rustling footsteps grew closer, and Roman realized this must be the stranger who had first greeted them in the store. The one who definitely didn’t know ‘Vee’ was a giant. And now was alone in the woods with said giant.

Roman was seized with a sudden fear that the giant was planning to abduct Pat as well, and he shouted with all his might. “RUN AWAY! HE’S A GIANT!” 

There was a beat of silence, and then the sound of a palm against flesh as Vee slapped his palm to his face in resignation. 

“Is that a fairy?” Pat asked, with far too little alarm for Roman’s tastes. 

“If only I was that lucky,” Vee muttered, yanking the jar out of his pocket. “Pat, meet Princey. He’s a very unfortunate giant slayer.” 

“My name is Roman!” Roman scowled, feeling put out that he kept yelling with no results. His throat hurt.

“Aww, he’s so cute at this size!” Pat took the jar carefully, peering at him with huge silver eyes. “Hi there, I’m Patton!” 

“I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but you seem to already know you’re consorting with a monster and I’m still stuck in a jar, so it’s really not,” Roman grumbled.

“Hey, don’t be mean! Virgil isn’t a monster, he’s a very kind giant!” Patton frowned at him in disapproval. Roman stared at him flatly.

“I. Am in. A jar.” 

“Leave the guy alone, Pat, he’s a slayer,” Virgil said, as though that explained everything. “Here, I’ll trade you.” 

He took Roman’s jar out of Patton’s hands and carefully replaced it with the small chest. The man looked down at the chest as though he’d been handed a block of solid gold. For all Roman knew, he had. 

“You… you really managed to get it,” he said, voice soft with awe. He looked up, eyes shiny with unshed tears. “And you’re just… giving it to me?” 

Virgil shifted uncomfortably, averting his eyes. “Of course I am. It’s yours.” 

“Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure I watched you extort it from the guy running that store,” Roman chimed in, feeling lost. “Did you really help this guy steal from his own father?” 

“Shut it,” Virgil growled in warning, looking like he wanted nothing more than to give Roman a good shake. 

“No, it’s okay,” Patton placed a hand on Virgil’s arm, the chest carefully tucked into his other elbow. He turned those eerie eyes to Roman, but there was no malice in them. “I did ask Virgil to help me take this. My father took it from me after I was born, and he used it as leverage against my mother until the day she passed away. I tried to love my father, I really did, but… my mother spent the rest of her life forced to serve him. I don’t want to live that way ever again.” 

Roman looked away, confused and feeling an odd sense of shame. He was starting to suspect that this wasn’t just some expensive heirloom. 

Patton carefully undid the latch on the chest, prying it open and pulling a thick, glimmering fur coat from it. The chest dropped from his grip with a thud as he stared at it, tears finally bubbling over. In one swift movement, he pulled the fur over his shoulders. 

In the next moment, a snow-white stag stood in his place. It- he?- kicked his legs up in joy, and became a wolf, a fox, a rabbit, a bear, a duck, each transformation flowing sinuously into the next. 

Roman’s jaw dropped. “You’re a shapeshifter?”  

“Yes!” Patton cried, returned to his human form. He looked healthier, somehow, his skin less pallid and his eyes brighter. He rushed forwards, wrapping Virgil in a hug with Roman caught in the middle. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

To Roman’s surprise, Virgil returned the hug for a heartbeat, what looked like an almost-smile on his face. After a minute, he gently pushed Patton away. “You should go. Get used to being whole again. I’ll see you around?” 

“Yeah! Yeah.” Patton gave him another grin, and then stepped away, glancing down. “Bye, Roman! Be nice to Virgil!” 

Roman squawked. “I’m the one who has to be nice?”  

Patton’s laugh shifted to birdsong, and Roman watched as a snow white dove fluttered out of sight. The two of them lingered like that for a moment, and then Virgil flicked the lid of the jar, peering in casually as he began to walk again. 

“I’m going to get a drink. Still thirsty, Princey?” 

Roman hesitated, but… if Virgil wanted to play gentle giant, who was he to not take advantage of it? He nodded, lifting a hand to his parched throat. 

“Anything to get out of this jar.”

[calumcest]

you and i were fireworks that went off too soon - chapter seven

[ao3]

did i just pull this entire chapter out of my arse tonight? maybe! not that i don’t write these chapters all in one sitting at like 9pm-1am every single time don’t get it twisted i’m not organised i am a binge-writer

i always do my long ass a/ns on ao3 i dont know why feels more REVEALING to do them here because i know people actually read them and i think probably one person on the whole planet has ever read my ao3 a/ns its a safe haven so i’m just going to say my brief thank yous: thank you to @clumsyclifford for literally everything you do always, thank you to @ashesonthefloor for listening too me bitch about this fic and having the most wonderful thoughts and ideas about it, thank you to @kaleidoscopeminds for motivating me to keep writing this fic w your kind words, thank you to @allsassnoclass for always being so wise and understanding of authors dilemmas and encouraging me w your lovely words, and thank you to my spoiler anon for being so lovely about this fic and holyverse and also for asking about another chapter because i swear to u i would have kept putting it off were it not for u. also big thank you to noel and liam gallagher for writing the SMASH hits i wrote this entire chapter to and for being [redacted] and also to richard madden because i just fancy him and feel like i should thank him for existing and allowing me to perceive him 

It’s a twin room, thank God, because Luke would have rather slept in the hallway than shared a bed with Ashton for four weeks. 

“I’m taking the window bed,” he announces, before Ashton has a chance to say anything, out of pure spite, because he knows Ashton likes sleeping by the window. Or knew, maybe. He’s not sure anymore. 

Ashton opens and then closes his mouth, nods curtly, and puts his carry-on bag on the bed nearest the bathroom. Luke puts Clifford down on the bed first, muttering at him to stop fucking yapping (which Clifford, of course, ignores), and then drops his suitcases next to it with a sigh. 

“So,” Ashton says, and his voice fills the entire room, too loud and too much, a jarring reminder that Ashton’s here, in Luke’s space, and Luke’s got no option but to live with it. “Should we go out?” Luke blinks at him. 

“What?” he says. 

“Well,” Ashton says, with an uncomfortable shrug. “Study doesn’t start ‘til tomorrow, and it’s only nine. Thought we could spend the day exploring?” Luke stares at him. 

“Think I’d rather spend my last day of freedom alone,” he says, a little harshly. Ashton blinks, and Luke doesn’t miss the flash of hurt that crosses his face, but then he nods again. 

“Have you still got my UK number?” he says, and Luke hesitates, and then nods. He’s not sure why it feels like he’s giving something away by admitting that he’d never deleted Ashton’s numbers; he’d been the one to text Ashton about the tattoos first, so clearly Ashton already knows that Luke still had his Australian number, at least. “Well. Text me if you need anything?” 

“Don’t think I’ll need anything,” Luke says, and Ashton sighs, and Luke feels a little small, a little stupid, like Ashton’s a patient parent putting up with a melodramatic teenager. 

“I’m going to head off, then,” Ashton says, a touch awkwardly, and Luke just nods, busying himself with getting Clifford out of his travel cage, thinking he’ll ask at reception for directions to the nearest park and let Clifford stretch his legs. He steadfastly doesn’t look at Ashton as Ashton gathers his things together, patting his coat pocket to make sure he’s got everything, and then slips out of the room, door clicking shut behind him. 

As soon as Ashton’s left, Luke suddenly feels simultaneously relieved and overwhelmed. He feels like he can breathe a little easier, think a little clearer without Ashton in his personal space, making him feel like he has to be alert, on edge, but the hotel room feels strangely empty without him. Luke shakes his head, tries to get the latter thought out of his mind, focusing on Clifford’s insistent yaps to draw him back to reality and distract him. 

“Alright, little man, we’re going,” Luke mutters, fumbling around in his bag for Clifford’s lead. Clifford jumps around at his feet, already panting, and Luke rolls his eyes, clips the lead on, checks he’s got his room key and phone in his pocket and heads out of the room. 

He decides to take the stairs, since he doesn’t think Clifford’s got the patience to wait for the lift, which proves to be the right decision when Clifford’s straining at his lead trying to bound down the stairs, giving Luke reproachful looks whenever he tugs him back. They’re only on the second floor, so it’s not long before Luke’s back in the lobby, and Clifford finally pulls himself together and trots smartly at Luke’s heel, giving other people milling in the area imperious looks as they pass. 

“Hi,” Luke says, and the receptionist smiles politely up at him. “I’d like to walk my dog. Can you tell me where the nearest park is?” She nods. 

“Of course, sir,” she says, and pulls out a brochure. Luke mentally pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s going to look like a massive fucking tourist walking around with one of those. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t get mugged. 

“You just need to turn left out of the hotel, take a right at the end of the road, take the second left after that, take two rights, and you’ll be at the park,” she says, trailing her pen across the streets and ending it with a flourish, circling a rectangle of green on the map and smiling at him again. Luke smiles back, having taken absolutely none of that in, thanks her, pockets the map and decides he’ll probably just walk around the nearby backstreets for a while until Clifford’s worn out to lower his chances of getting lost. 

Clifford, it turns out, is surprisingly tired, having apparently spent all of his energy on pestering Luke to take him out. He only manages about half an hour of walking up and down a few streets around the hotel before he’s flagging, sitting down and staring up at Luke beseechingly when Luke tries to pull him along. A passing couple throw Luke an amused look and titter to themselves, and Luke sighs. 

“C’mon, little man,” he says, tugging again. Clifford refuses to budge, just stares up at Luke with a look that Luke knows all too well. “Come on, Cliff, you’re embarrassing me. It’s two streets away. You can walk that far.” Clifford stays put, and Luke rolls his eyes, but bends down and scoops Clifford up into his arms. Clifford immediately nuzzles into Luke happily, licking at his neck, and Luke pulls back, wrinkling his nose. “Gross, Cliff, don’t do that.” 

Luke pretty much speedwalks back to the hotel because little though Clifford is, he’s surprisingly heavy after a while, and Luke’s much weaker than he looks. He throws the receptionist a polite smile on his way back up to the room, unclips Clifford from the lead as soon as he’s in there and rummages around in one of his suitcases for the bed Michael had shoved on top of all of Luke’s warmest clothes. Clifford watches him patiently, and hops into the bed as soon as Luke’s unfolded it, curls up and closes his eyes. Luke can’t help but smile fondly down at him, bending down to press a kiss to the top of Clifford’s head and scratching behind his ears. 

“I’m going to go out again, little man,” he tells Clifford. “I’ll be back to give you your dinner, though.” Clifford just sniffs, which Luke takes to mean ‘yeah, sure, now fuck off and let me sleep’, and Luke straightens again, throws Clifford one final fond look and heads back out of the room, shutting the door softly behind him. 

He decides it’s probably fine if he wanders aimlessly, since the brochure in his pocket has the name of the hotel on it and Michael had paid for his phone plan to cover the UK for six weeks so he can look it up when he inevitably gets lost. Having spent half an hour in the streets surrounding the hotel already, he decides to get on the tube and head somewhere new, picking a stop name he recognises - Leicester Square sounds vaguely familiar. 

Leicester Square, it turns out, sounds familiar because it’s a tourist hotspot. Luke’s ducking and weaving between people, mumbling apologies as he slips through gaps that he doesn’t actually fit through and splits up groups (but seriously, he thinks, slightly irritated as he smiles politely, who the fuck walks in a row of five?). There are countless little side alleys and back roads leading off the main street, but even those are difficult to walk through, filled with the native Londoners who know their way through the labyrinth of twisting streets and know better than to be anywhere near Leicester Square in the first place. 

Eventually, half to get out of the crowds and half because he’s actually pretty hungry, Luke ducks into a Costa and buys himself a ham and cheese toastie, balking at the price when the cashier rings it up. Five fucking pounds, what’s that, ten dollars? For one sandwich? Fucking hell. He’s definitely going to be demanding those reimbursements from the university. 

He’s waiting for his sandwich to come out of the toaster, only two baristas serving a queue of at least twenty, when someone taps him on the shoulder a little tentatively, making him jump. He whips around, wondering whether he’s in the way or something, and comes face to face with-

Ashton. 

“Are you serious?” he demands, before he can think about it. Ashton shrugs, and looks a little uncomfortable. “Are you following me?” 

“I was already here,” Ashton says. “I’ve got a table.” He waves his hand in the directions of an empty table in the far corner, and Luke can see Ashton’s coat bunched up on one of the chairs. 

“Oh,” Luke says. Ashton gives him a look, simultaneously sad and calculating, and for a brief moment, Luke thinks fuck, his eyes are pretty. Jesus Christ. Maybe he should have stayed at the hotel and napped. 

“D’you want to sit with me?” Ashton says. Luke hesitates - not particularly , is the first petulant thought to cross his mind, before his rational side kicks in and tells him sleepily that he won’t find a seat anywhere else - and then nods. 

“Ham and cheese toastie?” the barista calls, and Luke steps forwards, takes it from her hand and heads wordlessly in the direction of Ashton’s table, Ashton in tow. 

“Sorry,” Ashton says, when Luke picks up Ashton’s coat off the seat and holds it out for him. He takes it from Luke and his finger brushes against Luke’s, and something like liquid gold rushes through Luke, making him giddy from head to toe. It’s the sleeplessness, he tells himself, averting his gaze and snatching his hand away. God knows he’s felt even more unexplainable things on the same amount of sleep. 

“‘S alright,” Luke says, sitting down to avoid thinking about the warmth of Ashton’s finger brushing against his own and the way his finger is still burning from the contact. “You didn’t know I was going to be here.” Ashton hesitates, and then busies himself with tucking his coat behind him, like he’s looking for something to do that isn’t stare across the table at Luke. Luke’s not going to complain about that, and takes a bite out of the first half of the toastie so he won’t have to say anything else. 

They sit in silence for a moment, Luke eating his toastie, Ashton fiddling with the bracelet on his left hand. The silence is uncomfortable, oppressive, and Luke kind of wishes he’d just sat on the fucking floor or something. Nothing makes him wish that more, though, than when Ashton opens his mouth and says: “I wondered.” 

Luke swallows his last bite of toastie with a frown. 

“You wondered what?” he says. Ashton shrugs, tension and discomfort visible in the movement. 

“I wondered whether we’d bump into each other,” he says. Luke rolls his eyes. 

“Not this again,” he mutters, but it’s more tired than anything. Ashton sighs, and drops his hands onto the table. 

“Look,” he says carefully. “I don’t think us bumping into each other all the time is a coincidence.” 

“Fucking hell,” Luke says, but there’s no heat behind the words. He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes and squeezes them shut. He’s too fucking tired for this.  

“Luke,” Ashton says, like Luke’s being unreasonable. “We’ve lived in the same city for years-” Luke opens his mouth to interrupt, because Ashton was always away half the time when they were together, and he can’t imagine that’s changed much “-okay, on-off, because I’m in LA sometimes - but we’ve not once bumped into each other. Then we get the tattoos, and suddenly I’m seeing you every other week?” 

“What’s your point?” Luke says, a little irritably. “You think this is some grand plan from the universe to make us fall back in love? What, I’m Cathy, you’re Heathcliff?” Ashton bites his lip, and Luke’s mouth twists bitterly in a humourless smile. “This isn’t fucking romantic, Ashton. You leaving me was-” he cuts himself off. He’s not quite ready to tell Ashton that , yet. “Awful,” he says, eventually. “This isn’t part of some, like, big romantic redemption arc for you. You fucked up, and you fucked me over, and we’ve just got to find some way to live with the tattoos. That’s why we’re both here, isn’t it?” Ashton’s silent for a moment, and if Luke’s not mistaken, looks a little paler than he had a minute ago, and then nods. 

“Can we at least be civil?” Ashton says, and then, seeing the look on Luke’s face, adds: “We’re stuck together for four weeks, Luke. I know you don’t like me, and I’m not asking for- for friendship, or anything. I’m just asking for you to be civil with me.” Luke exhales heavily. 

“Fine,” he says tiredly, before he has the chance to think too much about it. “Civil.” 

“Civil,” Ashton agrees. 

(Luke’s pretty sure civil doesn’t involve thinking God, I’d forgotten how long his eyelashes are, and the way you can see a hint of his dimple when he speaks, but he’s also pretty sure that’s entirely to do with the exhaustion, and nothing to do with him.) 

  -------

  Ashton talks Luke into going down to the Houses of Parliament, with a combination of a sincere look on his face, big, serious eyes as he says look, we don’t want to risk another bumping-into-each-other tattoo, and it’ll just be civil, and the fact that Luke just doesn’t have the energy to argue. Plus, he thinks, Ashton seems to know where he’s going, and Luke had forgotten to take his charger with him so he’s kind of fucked if he gets lost. 

The walk down from Costa to the Houses of Parliament is only about twenty minutes, but feels so much fucking longer, both of them all too aware of the awkward silence hanging between them, amplified by the noise of the city surrounding them. They walk through Trafalgar Square, and Ashton tells Luke something about art installations and the fourth plinth and Luke just nods along, trying his best to do this whole civil thing by quelling his instinct to snap I don’t fucking know what a plinth is and you know full fucking well I don’t care about art. Ashton seems to sense it from him anyway, though, because he falters and then says, with an uncomfortable laugh, “You probably don’t care about this anyway.” 

“Not really,” Luke admits, because they’d said civil, not dishonest. Ashton smiles wryly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Sorry,” he says, and Luke just hums, and they fall back into an awkward silence. 

It’s easier, Luke finds, when a man in a suit shoulders into him and keeps walking without so much as a mumbled apology and Ashton turns to him, outraged, and says Londoners really are cunts, if they interact with each other through their surroundings. Talking about people, things, even the fucking weather, adds a sheen of superficiality, a layer of removal that they can both look at and pretend there’s nothing more to it, no years of hurt and pain bubbling beneath the surface. 

“How is it this sunny yet this cold?” Luke grumbles, shielding his eyes and squinting up at Big Ben. 

“You should be here in April,” Ashton says, stabbing the button at the traffic light repeatedly. 

“I’ve got no intentions of being here any longer than I have to be,” Luke mutters. “What are we looking at, again?” 

“It’s parliament, Luke,” Ashton says, like that’s supposed to mean something to Luke. 

“So?” Luke says. “We’ve got a parliament.” 

“And? Have you ever seen it?” Ashton says shrewdly, and Luke scowls, biting back the scathing retort on the tip of his tongue. Civil and Ashton are two concepts that he assumes will take a while to marry in his mind. 

“Whatever,” he says, stepping out into the road as the light turns green. “Just don’t get why I’m supposed to care about some random country’s government, is all.” Ashton doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that, jogging to catch up with Luke, and they walk the rest of the distance to the buildings in silence. 

It’s quite imposing, Luke thinks, up close. The buildings are sort of dirty - or maybe they’re meant to look like that - and incredibly intricate, bordering on fussy. It towers over them, looking more like a palace than a place of governance, Big Ben casting a long shadow across the road. He’s not sure he’d want to be governed from this place.

“I don’t like it,” he says. 

“Really?” Ashton says, squinting up at the buildings. “I think it’s kind of pretty.” You would, Luke thinks darkly. Old, ornate and overcomplicated? That’s exactly the kind of thing Ashton would get excited about and find unwarranted symbolism in. 

“Yeah, well,” Luke says instead, because he’s pretty sure that thought doesn’t count as civil. “Think it’s just a bit too elaborate.” 

“It’s Gothic Revival,” Ashton says, like Luke’s supposed to have a single fucking clue what that means. Actually, Luke thinks bitterly, he’s probably fully aware that Luke doesn’t have any idea what that means, and is hoping Luke will take the bait and ask so Ashton can demonstrate his massive intellect, or whatever. 

“Right,” Luke says, a little shortly. Ashton glances at him, looking a touch taken aback, but then looks back at the buildings. 

“We can go somewhere else,” he says, and it’s an offer. An olive branch. 

“Yeah,” Luke says, because annoyance at not knowing anything about architectural styles aside, looking at an old building is just pretty fucking boring. 

“There’s an aquarium not too far away,” Ashton says. “I remember you-” he stops himself, and Luke swallows. Yeah. He loves aquariums. He loves them so much that Ashton had taken him to the Sydney Aquarium for their third anniversary, a month or two before he’d broken up with Luke. 

(Two months on the dot. Not that Luke has both dates seared into his mind, or anything.) 

“Yeah,” Luke says again, to fill the silence of both of them thinking back to that day. “Let’s go to the aquarium.” Ashton hesitates, and glances at Luke like he wants to say something else, a sort of semi-pained expression on his face, and then he sighs, shakes his head, and throws Luke a tight smile. 

“Let’s go to the aquarium,” he agrees. 

  -------

  The aquarium, it turns out, is a much better choice. 

Despite the odd screaming child, the aquarium has a calming silence to it, an almost pensive quiet that pierces to the depths of Luke’s soul. It settles the air between him and Ashton, means they’re not silent for lack of civil things to say, but rather because they’re both caught up in the muted beauty of the ocean. 

They don’t walk together, because Ashton likes to pore over every single placard and study every creature in minute detail and Luke’s drawn to the pretty, colourful fish. It’s Luke, though, who’s always the last to move on, and Ashton waits for him before they head to the next room. It’s almost nice, Luke thinks, as he heads for the door and sees Ashton slip through it when he sees Luke’s ready to move on, that they don’t have to have awkward conversations about it, that they can just understand and fall into it. 

(He tries not to think about why.) 

They spend hours in the aquarium, dawdling in every room, because they spent so much fucking money on it and they’re both going to be damned if they won’t milk it for all it’s worth. Luke spends an extra long time looking at the clownfish, for some reason, hypnotised by the way they can weave in and out of the anemones. There’s some kind of symbolism to be found there, he thinks, something about toxicity and safety, but he’s too tired to come up with it himself. Ashton would probably correct him if he tried, anyway. 

Ashton’s particularly taken by the sharks, it turns out. He’s already staring at the huge tank in awe when Luke gets into the room, barely even blinking as his eyes follow one shark after the other. The room itself is dark, like the rest of the aquarium, but the tank’s so huge that Ashton’s bathed in light, rippling and shimmering and Luke, for the briefest of moments, feels something sharp stab at his heart, something he remembers feeling the last time he’d stood in an aquarium with Ashton. It makes his stomach clench, twist in on itself, because he knows exactly what he’d identified that feeling as before. 

“They’re fucking beautiful, aren’t they?” Ashton says, interrupting Luke’s train of thought before it can take the leap off the cliff edge of panic, and Luke looks up at the sharks. 

“I guess?” he says, because he doesn’t really see it. 

“You used to like them,” Ashton says, sounding a little surprised. 

“I used to like a lot of things,” Luke says. I used to like you, he adds spitefully in his head, and sort of hopes Ashton’s telepathic. 

“Guess I’ve got to get to know you again,” Ashton says, and it’s a little wistful, a little sad. Luke doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know what would sum up I’m not sure I want you to, I don’t think I’ll give you a chance and Good fucking luck in a civil way. 

They stand there for a while, watching the sharks, and people filter in and out of the room behind them. It feels oddly hypnotic, being stood there with Ashton, the only two static parts of a moving whole. He wonders if the sharks feel the same, swimming aimlessly in their tank, watching the world pass by and powerless to move with it. 

“I’m sorry,” Ashton says quietly, after at least ten minutes have passed. It’s so quiet that Luke thinks he might have misheard it - maybe it was the family behind them, or just the sound of the tank - but he can sense Ashton stiffen next to him, like he’s preparing for backlash of some sort. 

“What?” Luke says, just to make sure he’s heard right. 

“I’m sorry,” Ashton repeats. Luke pauses, waiting for Ashton to elaborate, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t really have to, though, Luke finds, because he knows what Ashton means. 

“I know,” Luke says eventually. Ashton swallows, but says nothing, just carries on gazing at the sharks, but out of the corner of his eye Luke can see that Ashton’s gaze is fixed now, not following the sharks around.

They stand in silence until an announcement blares through the system telling them that the aquarium is closing soon, making them both jump. 

“What time is it?” Luke asks, just for something to say. 

“Uh,” Ashton says, pulling his phone out. “Five.” Fucking hell. It feels much later than that. “Do you want to go back to the hotel?” Ashton adds, like he knows what Luke’s thinking. Luke nods. 

“I’m fucking exhausted,” he admits, as they head back up the steps away from the sharks and towards the exit. 

“Me too,” Ashton says. “I wanted to stay up until at least ten, but…” he trails off, stifling a yawn, and Luke can’t help but snort. Ashton smiles, small but genuine. “Fuck off,” he says, but it’s good-natured. 

“Yeah,” Luke says, as they traipse out into the little shop. “Think I’m just going to crash when we get back.” Ashton nods, pushing open the door to the exit. Luke’s expecting the glare of brilliant sunlight to hit him, squints in preparation for the onslaught of light, but it’s pitch fucking black. 

“What the fuck?” he says, sounding kind of perplexed and kind of outraged. 

“What?” Ashton says. Luke gestures up at the sky with one hand, and uses the other to pull his coat in closer towards himself, because fucking hell, it’s freezing.  

“It’s five o’clock,” he says. Ashton looks up at the sky, and then at him, an amused expression on his face. 

“Wrong hemisphere,” he says, and Luke rolls his eyes. 

“Fucking miserable place,” Luke grumbles, tucking his arms in and huddling in on himself. “No wonder they invaded the rest of the fucking world, Jesus. I wouldn’t want to stay here either.” Ashton says nothing, but when they pass under a streetlight, Luke sees the corners of his lips tilted upwards, and something warm and pleasant spreads from his stomach outwards. 

“D’you actually know where you’re going?” he asks, when Ashton takes a sharp right turn onto a bridge. 

“Of course I know,” Ashton says, in that infuriating, I’m-Ashton-Irwin-and-I’m-an-intellectual manner that Luke had never liked. Luke rolls his eyes, not entirely playfully, and jogs to keep up with him. 

Ashton leads them across the bridge, past the parliament buildings again, up a long road that a lot of people are ambling down, and then cuts into a small alley on the right. 

“You definitely don’t fucking know where you’re going,” Luke says, standing at the mouth of the road, something uneasy in his stomach. “I’m not going down here.” 

“I know where I’m going,” Ashton says. 

“Where are you going?” Luke says sceptically. 

“Charing Cross.” 

“Why is that down an alleyway?” 

“It’s just a shortcut.” Luke stares at him, narrowing his eyes. 

“Why can’t we walk on the main road?” he asks, because it feels right. Something about the alleyway feels wrong. 

“We can,” Ashton says. “But it’ll take longer.” Luke makes no indications of moving, and Ashton sighs, and it’s tinged with sadness. “Come on, Luke, are you serious? You think I’m going to, what, murder you in an alley in London?” Well. Not specifically, but something’s telling Luke not to follow Ashton into that alley. Much more than that, it’s telling him not to let Ashton into that alley, but Luke’s trying to ignore that part of it. 

“I just don’t want to go that way,” Luke says stubbornly. “Let’s just go on the main road.” 

“It’ll take much longer that way,” Ashton says. 

“I don’t care,” Luke says. “We’re not exactly fucking wanting for time, are we?” Ashton takes a step further into the alleyway, almost out of Luke’s line of vision. 

“Come on , Luke,” he says, and takes another step, and Luke’s stomach tightens uncomfortably as he does. 

“Don’t,” Luke says, before he can stop himself. 

“Why?” Ashton says, sounding exasperated. “Look, the longer you stand here arguing, the longer it’ll take us either way.” 

“I’m taking the main road,” Luke says. “Just- let’s fucking walk on the main road.” 

“You don’t even know the way,” Ashton says. “I know the way.” 

“I’m not going that way.” Even in the darkness and despite the distance, Luke can see Ashton roll his eyes. 

“There’s nothing fucking down here, Luke,” Ashton calls, taking another step into the alleyway, and Luke edges forwards without even thinking about it, needing to keep Ashton in sight. It’s not really working, though, because Ashton’s walking further in and Luke’s at an angle to the alleyway, and it’s making him panic a little.

“Don’t fucking go down there,” Luke says, through gritted teeth. “Ashton, seriously. Just fucking come on the main road with me.” 

“What’s your problem?” Ashton says, and even though he sounds genuinely surprised and curious, it makes a flash of anger flare up in Luke. 

“Can you stop being a cunt for, like, two fucking minutes?” he bites out. 

“Luke, I-” Ashton cuts himself off with a shout, and the anger’s gone, replaced with pure fucking fear and panic and protect protect protect running through Luke’s mind, and Luke’s barely even aware of his surroundings as he takes off, sprinting as fast as he can to the alleyway, getting to the entrance to it just as Ashton comes running out, wild-eyed. He doesn’t stop or say anything, just grabs Luke’s hand as he passes and tugs him hard in the opposite direction. They run to the main road, Luke’s heart pounding in a way that definitely isn’t just from the exercise, and then they run up it, and they don’t stop running until they’re outside the station. Luke doesn’t even realise that they’re still holding hands until Ashton drops his hand to lean on his knees, panting, hair completely windswept as it falls into his eyes. 

“What the fuck was that?” Luke spits, fury beginning to set in between the racing heartbeats and gasped breaths. 

“Someone fucking-” Ashton waves a hand, like it’s going to explain what ‘someone’ did. It doesn’t fucking matter, because those two words alone are enough to make Luke’s heart tighten, to make his stomach clench

“I fucking said-”

“I know, but it’s fucking five p.m., and I always go that way-”

“I told you-”

“I know, Luke,” Ashton says, breathing almost back to normal, and he straightens and gives Luke a look that looks almost sad. “Why d’you think that was?” 

“Why do I- are you fucking insane? Because it’s a creepy fucking alleyway? Anyone would fucking know not to go down there!” Luke says, throwing his hands in the air. 

“You were so fucking adamant,” Ashton says. 

“Yeah, and if you’d fucking listened-” 

“Luke,” Ashton interrupts. “I didn’t sense fucking anything.” Luke stops.

“Are you trying to say this is another fucking soulmate experience?” he says. “We don’t have three. Most people don’t even have one. ” 

“No,” Ashton says. “I think it’s the same one. The first one. The protecting one.” 

Oh. 

Oh.  

It’s kind of a blur already, even though it’s only been like, three minutes, but Luke remembers the haze of protect protect protect that clouded every single other one of his thoughts, that stopped anything and everything else - including his own safety - from mattering, that made him move without even thinking, running straight fucking into the alleyway he’d been so uneasy about because nothing mattered more than Ashton. 

“Fuck,” he says, and Ashton nods grimly. 

“Yeah,” he says. Neither of them need to say didn’t realise it went both ways, because it’s both written clearly across their faces. 

“You got this on the fucking phone?” Luke can’t help but ask. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says again. Luke rakes a hand through his hair, trying to organise his thoughts. All he can really focus on is the what the fuck and Jesus Christ and fucking hell swirling around in a mess in his mind. 

“Well,” he says. “Shit.” Ashton huffs out a shaky laugh, raises his eyebrows, and nods, and Luke thinks that about sums it up. 

  -------

  They don’t talk much on the journey back to the hotel. Luke snipes at Ashton when Ashton tries to show him how to use his contactless card on the barriers, because he’d much rather use a paper ticket, thank you very fucking much, and Ashton calls Luke back when he heads down the wrong escalator. Luke asks once what their stop is and nods when Ashton answers him, and then they don’t speak again until they’re in the safety of the brightly-lit hotel lobby. 

Luke’s not entirely sure how to take the silence between them in the lift up to the second floor. It still feels awkward, stilted, uncomfortable, but there’s something grander now, something bigger than the both of them that they can both feel but neither of them want to acknowledge. 

Luke fusses over Clifford when they get back into the hotel room, pulls out the pack of dog food he’d brought with him because he hadn’t been sure what brands the UK would have, and Clifford munches his dinner happily while Luke carefully removes his coat and plugs his phone in to charge, not looking at Ashton. It feels overcrowded, even though the room is made for two people and certainly big enough to accommodate both of them. 

He takes his time washing up Clifford’s bowl, refilling his water, but Clifford seems perfectly content to doze back off to sleep after his meal, leaving Luke with nothing to do but think about how fucking tired he actually is. 

“I think I might sleep,” he says, even though he doesn’t really have to announce it to Ashton. Ashton looks up from where he is on his bed, book in his hand, and nods. 

“I think I might too,” he says. “Do you want the bathroom first?” Luke blinks at him. 

“Oh,” he says. “Uh. Yeah. Thanks.” Ashton nods, and turns back to his book, but when Luke turns his back to get his things out of his still-packed suitcase, he can feel Ashton’s eyes on him. 

He makes quick work of putting his pyjamas on and brushing his teeth, only hesitating with his hand on the bathroom door handle to leave as he throws a quick glance at himself in the mirror, because he looks so fucking disarmed in his pyjamas, so strangely small and vulnerable. Whatever, he thinks, forcing himself to push the door open, because what the fuck else is he going to do, sleep in the bathroom? 

“Bathroom’s free,” he says, because it feels like what he should say, turning his back to Ashton and making a show out of putting his clothes in his suitcase. He should probably just unpack it, he thinks - he is going to be here for four weeks, after all - but not tonight. He’s too fucking tired for that. 

“Thanks,” Ashton says, and Luke hears the sound of a book closing and then feet shuffling as Ashton heads for the bathroom. He waits for the door to click shut behind him before tucking himself into bed, drawing the duvet close to his chin to try and keep the cold out. Why the fuck is it so cold in England, seriously? 

Ashton doesn’t take long, or maybe Luke falls into microsleep, or something, because it feels like it’s about two seconds before he’s coming out of the bathroom, placing his clothes on the chair opposite his bed, and getting into bed. He’s got plaid pyjama bottoms and a casual t-shirt on, and he looks just as disarmed and vulnerable as Luke had in the mirror, which makes Luke feel simultaneously better and worse. 

“Can I turn the light off?” Ashton asks, and Luke nods. Ashton reaches over, clicks the light switch, and they’re plunged into darkness. 

“Night,” Ashton says after a moment, and there’s a shuffling sound from his bed. 

“Night,” Luke says, suddenly wide awake. He rolls onto his side and stares at the wall opposite him, willing the exhaustion that he’s felt all day to return. Even if he hadn’t slept, like, three fucking hours, he should be tired; it’s the middle of the night in Sydney. 

He feels the time passing, times it by Ashton’s shuffling and Clifford’s even breathing and the noises from the street outside, and he’s sure it’s been at least an hour before there’s what sounds like Ashton flopping onto his back and sighing. 

“Are you awake?” he whispers. Luke debates saying nothing, but knows if he evens his breathing out now it’s going to be pretty fucking obvious he wasn’t. 

“Yeah,” he says, a little reluctantly. 

“I can’t sleep,” Ashton says. 

“Me either.” There’s a moment of silence, and then Ashton says- 

“We could push the beds together?” Luke squeezes his eyes shut, and Ashton takes the silence as hesitation. “Just for tonight. We’d sleep much better, and we probably need it for tomorrow.” 

“No,” Luke says. Civil is one thing, but spending an entire night pressed up against Ashton? That’s something else entirely. 

“Luke, I-” 

“Ashton, I said no.” Ashton’s silent for a moment, and then sighs. 

“Okay,” he says, and it sounds a little small. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to, like. Push.” Luke inhales deeply, exhales heavily, and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. 

“It’s fine,” he says. 

Ashton says nothing, but Luke doesn’t hear his breathing even out until Luke himself falls into an uneasy, dreamless sleep, and when he wakes up in the morning, exhausted and grumpy, Ashton’s staring up at the ceiling again (or maybe still).

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[star-doll-universe]

Michelle Goes to Candy Island (Part 1)

A little something I wrote for @one-piece-dumpster-fire in which her self insert gets to meet some of my WCI OCs. I hope you guys enjoy my nonsense and sheesh I was gonna make this all one thing but now there’s gonna be at least two parts ‘cause this shit got loooong *hides*

The sun was just beginning to poke its head above the chocolate covered hills of Biscuit Island as Michelle made her way through the shadowed halls of the Minister’s Manor. The early morning rays cast little more than a pale glow along the floor as they seeped between the heavy velvet curtains. The large home of Charlotte Cracker was eerily still and silent, not a single person seemed to be awake, which is why Michelle had been rather surprised to wake up and find the spot beside her in bed to be noticeably vacant.

She’d quickly gotten up and dressed for the day, deciding sleep would most likely escape her if her fiancé wasn’t lying next to her. It really was very odd for him to be up this early, and Michelle quickly deduced that it had been either Minister of Biscuit duties, Sweet Commander duties or a mixture of both that had dragged him from their bed this early in the morning. Therefore, she decided to pay him a visit since he was probably not in the best of moods if work really had forced him to wake up before even the Homies had begun singing their morning song. This is why Michelle was currently making her way to his office, after stopping in the kitchen to grab some quick breakfast, munching on a biscuit covered in grape jelly as she went.

Despite the darkness of the mansion’s halls, she found her way to Cracker’s office with practiced ease. Michelle scarcely knocked before pushing on the heavy door and slipping inside; her future husband never seemed to mind her dropping in on him like this. She found Charlotte Cracker crouched over his desk with a mountain of paperwork spread out before him and a cup of lukewarm coffee clenched in his fist. His signature broad smile was currently missing and was replaced by a heavy scowl of concentration as he perused what seemed like miles of important documents.

“Good morning.” Michelle stifled a yawn as she made her way over to his desk.

Cracker glanced up at she approached him.

“Sugar Cube, I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, I was up with the sun,” Michelle lied, moving around the side of the desk so she could stand beside her fiancé, scarcely reaching his bicep as she stood on tip toe to glance at his mess of paperwork. “What are you working on?”

Cracker snorted. “What aren’t I working on?!” He exclaimed with a rueful smile as he turned towards Michelle, reaching out after a moment to stroke the side of her face. “Thank you for visiting me, my dear. I appreciate it.” He then used his other hand to down the rest of his coffee before standing up from his desk.

“Where are you going?” Michelle asked as he brushed past her.

“I have some business to attend to on the southern part of the island,” Cracker explained as he threw his cape over his shoulders. “I’ll be a while, I’m afraid.”

“That’s alright.” Michelle forced a smile. “I’ll manage without you.”

Cracker chuckled. “I’m happy you understand, sweetheart.”

“Of course,” Michelle then moved over to where Cracker’s sword Pretzel was leaning against the wall and picked it up.

“Thank you,” Cracker took his blade from her and attached it to his hip. “I’ll try to be back by tonight.”

“Alright,” Michelle then leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Be safe. I’ll see you later.”

Cracker’s face was a little pink as he nodded, finally flashing her one of his signature cocky grins. “Of course, love. I’m always careful.” With this slightly callous response, he turned to go, but paused in the doorway. “By the way, one of my sisters is going to be stopping by today.”

Michelle raised an eyebrow, “Oh? Which one?”

“You haven’t met her yet. Her name is Spice. She’s a Sweet Commander like me.”

“Oh!” Michelle vaguely recalled her being mentioned before. “What’s her reason for visiting?”

“She said something about taking you to a party or something.” Cracker seemed to be struggling to remember the details; he was also probably distracted by his pressing Minister duties. “I’m sure she’ll explain when she gets here. Anyways, keep an eye out for her, and I’ll be back before you can say “souffles make terrible earmuffs”.

Michelle giggled at this silly remark as her fiancé gave one last little wave before sweeping out the door, his long magenta cape billowing behind him as he went. Soon enough, he was gone, and his future wife was forced to find some means of preoccupying herself before Cracker’s aforementioned sister arrived with her mysterious objective.

 ~~~~~~~~

Michelle eventually found herself in the manor’s library, which was always a slightly overwhelming experience. The second she walked into the room, every book Homie on the shelf would start clamoring all at once: “Read me!” “No! Read me!” “Read me first!” She would never understand how the old sofa slept through all of it.

Merely looking for a means of entertainment for the time being, Michelle wasn’t really all that picky on what to read. Eventually, she selected a mauve cookbook entitled “1,001 Uses for Margarine” and settled back against the cushions while the furniture snored loudly.

She had just made it to use #27 when a sharp knock on the door made her jump slightly. Michelle glanced up at the door, which looked as surprised as she was.

“Um…Come in?” Michelle offered, but the door did not open. She quickly set the book aside and was just about to get up and open it herself when, out of nowhere, a face suddenly appeared in the center of the door.

“BOO!” the face exclaimed, and Michelle shrieked, throwing her arms over her head and falling off the sofa, which finally woke up with a snort.

The face giggled rather jovially: a wide mouth and big brown eyes were alight with glee beneath short shaggy orange hair. As Michelle watched, astonished, the face was soon accompanied by a neck and then shoulders and then a torso and finally a pair of legs. Next thing she knew, a whole human was floating in the middle of the library. The figure was a young girl to be precise, around Michelle’s age. She had the brightest, most orange hair Michelle had ever seen; it looked like her face was wreathed in fire. It was also full of little hairclips in the shape of candy corn which matched the earrings, rings and necklaces that dotted all around her white round face accented by rosy cheeks and splash of tanned freckles. Her puffy orange sweater dwarfed most of her form but Michelle could still make out a rather curvy figure with a full chest and short, thick legs, the latter of which were clothed in white and yellow striped socks with thick black Mary Jane shoes on her feet. The girl grinned down at the startled Michelle on the floor, hovering near the ceiling like a chandelier, with a smile almost as wide as Cracker’s

“Hiya Michelle!”

The other woman blinked at the sound of her name, the initial shock slowly starting to fade, and she managed to clamber back to her feet. “H-Hello…Are you Spice, by any chance?”

“Yep!” Spice nodded, swooping down to suddenly alight on the ground right in front of Michelle. “I’m Charlotte Spice! Minister of Carnauba, Sweet Commander and twenty-second daughter of Big Mom, Emperor of the Sea.” She suddenly reached out and clasped Michelle’s hands. “It’s so good to finally make your acquaintance, Michelle. Cracker’s told me a lot about you.”

Michelle was still reeling, but her face went a little red from that last remark. “R-Really?”

“You bet! He doesn’t shut up about you, always gushing about how sweet and lovely you are. It’s honestly going to give me diabetes.” Spice laughed at her own joke before suddenly letting go of Michelle’s hands and jumping back into the air. “Now come on! We gotta get a move on or we’re going to be late.”

“Late?” Michelle stammered before her jaw hit the floor as she watched Spice zip back over to the door and phase THROUGH THE WALL without even slowing down. “W-Wait!” she quickly raced after her, thrusting open the door to see Spice was already halfway down the hall.

“Come on, Michelle! You gotta keep up!”

“I-I can’t, really,” Michelle called back, gripping her bad hip as she spoke. “I can’t run very well.”

“Hmm? Oh fudgsicles! That’s right, your hip is bad. Hold on!” Spice flew back over and then picked Michelle up by the waist before she had a chance to argue.

“Whoa!”

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry!”

“W-Where exactly are you taking me?” Michelle asked, clinging to the other girl rather tightly as they flew through the halls.

“I’m taking you to Candy Island! Perospero’s wife is having a little get together, and you were invited!”

“Me?”

“Of course! She and her sisters wanted to meet you before the wedding. After all, you’re going to be family now, right?”

“Oh yeah. Right.” Michelle was a little flattered at the gesture.

Spice suddenly stopped midair, jolting the other woman more than a little and causing her to grab an even bigger fistful of her giant orange sweater. “By the way, do you have a winter coat?”

Michelle blinked in confusion. “I mean yes, but isn’t Candy Island a Summer Island?”

“I mean yeah but…” Spice paused. “It’s a bit hard to explain, but trust me, you’ll want one. Now where is your room?”

“It’s on the top floor by the-WAIT CAN’T WE WALK?” Michelle shrieked as Spice took off again, dragging her through the air before she’d even finished her sentence.

 ~~~~~~~

Now more than a little frazzled but winter coat firmly in hand, Michelle trooped along after Spice as she skipped and weaved her way through the streets of Biscuit Island, her feet seemingly not touching the ground for more than a few seconds. Michelle had insisted they walk to the harbor, and she was grateful that Spice had agreed to slow down a little and let the other girl get her bearings (and hopefully fix her awfully windblown hair that she was currently combing her fingers through). Despite her annoyance at zipping around the Biscuit Manor like an overly caffeinated hummingbird, Michelle couldn’t help but let her eyes continuously wander to Spice’s feet hovering a good few inches off the ground.

“Hey Spice, can I ask you something?”

“Hmm? Sure. What is it, Michelle?” the other woman glanced back at her, her orange hair looked even brighter in the morning sunlight.

“Your powers are from a Devil Fruit, right?’

At her question, Spice’s large enthusiastic smile quickly returned. “Yep! The Human-Human Fruit, Model: Poltergeist, to be exact.”

“Poltergeist?!” Michelle was a little shocked. She couldn’t help but remember those creepy stories her father used to tell her and her little brother while they huddled together on the bed in his cabin, trembling with frightened delight. “As in a ghost?”

“Of course! One of those creepy apparitions that makes things go bump in the night!” Spice wiggled her fingers teasingly. “I’ll show you my Devil Fruit’s full form sometime if you ever wanna see something really terrifying.”

“I think I’ll pass.” Michelle replied.

By that point, the two young women had reached the docks at the very edge of Biscuit Island.

“And here she is!” Spice announced, flying a little higher into the air as she spread her arms wide. “Isn’t she scrumptious?!”

Michelle looked on at a cute little sailboat that was resting at the end of the dock. It was painted bright orange with pitch black sails and looked almost as though it had been carved out of a squash or, dare she say, a pumpkin. This was further emphasized by the figurehead Homie which was in fact a Jack O’ Lantern that had an almost menacing grin. It cackled at seemingly everything as golden flames bloomed from its eyes and mouth.

“Oh wow!” Michelle was indeed impressed, if a little creeped out.

“She’s called the Peter Midnight, and she’s all mine!” Spice declared proudly.

Michelle was about to tell her that the ship was indeed quite cool, but words escaped her almost immediately when a second Spice suddenly appeared standing on the edge of the ship’s railing, grinning down at her.

“Welcome aboard, Michelle! We’ll be casting off soon!”

Michelle blinked in astonishment, her eyes quickly flipping between the first Spice she’d been talking to already, who was still floating in the air above the boat, and the second spice standing on the dock.

“Captain Spice!” the first Spice called to her double as she landed beside her, proving there were indeed two and they were seemingly identical. “Is the ship in tip top shape?”

“Sure thing, Commander Spice. We’re ready when you are!”

Michelle couldn’t take much more of this. “Excuse me, WHAT?!”

Both Spices looked her way and quickly broke into identical laughter. “Don’t worry, Michelle, it’s just a soul projection.” The first Spice casually explained, waving her hand through the second version of her who quickly faded in and out of focus slightly like a mirage. “It’s another side effect of my Devil Fruit. Pretty cool, huh?”

“That’s one way to put it,” Michelle grumbled from under her breath.

“Ready on your command, Captain Spice!” A third Spice called from the rigging of the sails.

“All set on our end as well, Commander Spice!” called a fourth from the helm.

“I can see gummy dolphins!” yelled a fifth from the crow’s nest. This one was holding a telescope.

The first Spice, the real one Michelle supposed, clapped her hands. “Ok everyone! Enough fooling around! Let’s get a move on!”

With that, all of the soul projection Spices got to work casting off the ship from the docks of Biscuit Port.

After another moment to get her bearings, Michelle was helped aboard by another soul projection while the figurehead continued to cackle gleefully.

“Hard to port, Helmswoman Spice! Let’s set out for Candy Island!” the first Spice called out, pointing in the direction she wanted the ship to go. At her command, the Spice at the helm turned the wheel and the ship cut a neat path through the waves and out into the open sea that surrounded the Tottoland. Archipelago.

Michelle gripped the side of the ship, feeling the familiar sensation of the ocean air washing over her entire body. She closed her eyes, soaking in the nostalgic feeling as the cool breeze whipped through her hair.

“Hey Michelle!” She opened her eyes to see the real Spice hovering towards the bow of the ship, waving to her frantically. “Watch this! It’s really going to knock your socks off.”

“Uh…Ok!” Michelle called back.

Spice grinned at her. “Hold on tight.”

The other woman didn’t need to be told twice, her grip on the edge of the ship tightening almost immediately.

Spice then floated down to land on the Jack O’ Lantern figurehead, placing her hands palms down on the top. Michelle watched, almost transfixed, as she closed her eyes in a moment of concentration. A second later, Spice’s eyes snapped open, and a shiver went down Michelle’s spine as she saw that they were nearly completely blacked out save her irises which were now a brilliant yellow. A kind of shadow seemed to pass around the Peter Midnight and all of the Spice soul projections gained the same creepy eyes as the original. A curious golden light suddenly appeared on Spice’s hands and seeped into the figurehead of her ship. It sent a ripple effect throughout the entire boat like when a person skips a stone on water. In an instant, the ship gave a great lurch and suddenly shot out of the harbor of Biscuit Island at a ridiculously dizzying speed.

Michelle let out a shout of surprise as she clung to the side of the ship which was now bouncing almost on top of the waves, cruising through the melon juice water with the ease of a warm knife through butter. Its speed was impressive to say the least, at this rate, they would reach Candy Island in less than an hour!

“You good?!” Michelle glanced up to see Spice had left the figurehead and was hovering directly above her, shouting over the sound of her boat cutting through the tumultuous sea of the New World.

“Yeah!” Michelle called back. “How did you do that?”

“This boat is powered by my soul,” Spice explained, easily sitting on the edge of the ship beside Michelle as if her boat’s sudden increase in speed hardly affected her. “That’s how it’s able to go so fast!”

“So, the ship is a Homie?!” Michelle asked.

Spice nodded. “In a way, yeah. That’s one of the reasons my mother made me a Sweet Commander. Our powers are remarkably similar to one another.”

Michelle nodded. That made sense. “What’s your bounty by the way?” she called over the wind. She knew all of the Sweet Commanders had high bounties. Cracker was rather proud of how big his was.

“I’m hovering around a billion last time I checked.” Spice replied, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Although I’m not sure. I know that it’s higher than Smoothie’s but not as big as Katakuri’s. It’s been a while since I’ve left Totto Land though.”

Michelle’s eyes were huge. “Your bounty is really that big?!”

Spice shrugged. “Compared to some other people’s, it’s pretty standard.”

“Yeah but-” Michelle paused, thinking of something. “Why is your bounty so high if you say you don’t leave Totto Land much?”

Spice sighed. “I used to leave more often when I was younger, go on raids and the like. My mother trained me personally; she was always impressed with my Devil Fruit powers, so I got very strong, very young.”

Michelle nodded. That would explain why she was a Sweet Commander even though she was noticeably younger than the others.

“But things are different these days. Mama’s cravings happen a lot more frequently than they used to. They’re a lot more…violent, more unpredictable. I have to stay on Whole Cake Island and manage things…as much as I can.”

As Michelle looked on, she saw something like a shadow pass over Spice’s normally bright face, like the ghost of something she’d rather not speak about. The other woman was curious about it but knew better than to ask. Regardless, as soon as those darker thoughts crossed Spice’s mind, they vanished once more, and she was back to her usual cheerful self.

“Anyways! I’m excited for you to meet everyone. Today is going to be so fun!”

Michelle agreed, nodding eagerly. “And I’m grateful to Perospero’s wife for inviting me.”

“Her name is Winter by the way,” Spice added. “And her sisters are Crystal and North.”

Michelle nodded, scrunching her nose as she tried to remember.

Spice laughed at the face she made. “Get used to it. There’s a lot of names you’ll need to keep track of in this family.”

The other woman gave her a slightly overwhelmed smile. “You’ve got that right.”

“I guess I should also mention that they’re members of the Farfallen race, by the way,” Spice added. “I don’t know if you’ve ever encountered those people before.”

Michelle arched an eyebrow. “Really? And I have before, once or twice.”

“One more thing,” Spice’s expression suddenly got serious again, which made Michelle pay attention. “When you meet Winter, just keep in mind. It’s not you. Okay?”

“Um…What exactly do you mean?”

“Just…” Spice grimaced. “It’s difficult to explain. Just keep that mind, alright? It’s not anything you did.”

“Okay…?” Michelle trailed off, her gaze wandering out to the sea that was frantically zipping by them on all sides, no longer certain if she should be worried or not.

To Be Continued...