#but the crackers are small enough so it's like 'oh!' and somehow that's easier

[brionnnne]

hey, i also want to add to this and say that stuff like saltine or ritz crackers can be easy in a pinch—i run through bread, especially because i'm not the only one eating it.

beyond that, it also expires faster, and sometimes i just forget to buy any. crackers have a longer shelf life, and i personally don't eat them a lot—usually with soup or tuna or something—so i can just sort of forget until i need them. i had to do this trick this morning, and the crackers i bought [last month] expire november this year.

as for tea, i use one bag of ginger lemon tea blend [i never have fresh citrus on hand, personally] and about four sugar cubes (i also typically put a bag of black tea alongside that—no caffeine—but this is just preference based) which i then steep in a glass of warm milk.

i used this first for someone else after remembering the benefits of ginger and warm milk on the stomach—i didn't actually realize that lemon helped nausea at the time, however; i was just working with what i had.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - We’re Coming Back Home

A Drifting Stars AU one-shot, the last one I plan to do, in collaboration with @clownwry.

1st, 2nd, 3rd.

~~~~~~~~~~

Somehow, miraculously, through all of Ford’s traveling, through countless dimensions, his Quantum Destabilizer remained on his back and fully intact.

Okay, well, mostly intact. Partially intact. 

When he was finally ready to attack Bill and put an end to his reign of terror, his plans had been put on hold when a crack in space-time opened. He didn’t dare hope that it was a way home, but maybe if he aimed correctly, the shot would not only kill Bill, but fly him home. But no, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young girl fly out of the hole, and with reflexes he developed over thirty years of staying alive in the worst circumstances, he hooked his Quantum Destabilizer onto his back, caught the girl, and swam through the gravity-less air for safety, hiding behind an asteroid, putting a hand over the girl’s mouth and hissing for her silence, swearing she would be okay, and they barely made it out as Bill’s words echoed through the Nightmare Realm.

��Sixer’s caught a Shooting Star, boys!”

Ford had no idea what that was supposed to mean at the time, but now a month later, he thinks he finally understood. His niece, Shermie’s granddaughter, Mabel, loved stars, and was very much like one herself. Always shining. Always so bright and full of hope. Many times in history, and even today in other dimensions, runaway slaves used the stars as maps to guide them to a better place. Ford often wondered if Mabel was his star, maybe not guiding him physically to a safe haven, but guiding him to a happier mindset. Guiding him to a life that isn’t completely isolated. Guiding him to a life that included love.

The last few weeks have been challenging, sure, but not that much more challenging than traveling alone; Mabel was a fast learner, and while she refused to use a knife or gun (“Cuz those hurt, Grunkle Ford!”), she was perfectly comfortable with pop-rocks and making foes lose their footing and fall down so they couldn’t attack. And she was very good at hunting for food and water and other reliable resources. 

In fact, Ford would easily say the last few weeks have been the happiest of his life. Maybe only tying with when Fiddleford joined him in Gravity Falls, before work on the portal became dangerous, but after he realized that maybe the woods had been too quiet the last six years.

After just a day and a half, Ford was fully-aware of his attachment to his niece and how much it would ruin him if he lost her. Mabel was everything a good person strives to be: kind, sweet, a pleasure to be around, but not a pushover, either; Mabel Pines knew how to stand her ground.

And so the last month was littered with so many happy memories. Ford was a little hurt when she “borrowed” two broken fishing poles and fixed them up so they could fish, but he very quickly enjoyed sitting on a log by a river and fishing with Mabel. Ford found it brought her much comfort to brush her hair, and he also discovered he enjoyed a calm brush himself. Ford found he didn’t mind the extra weight of his niece on his shoulders; quite the contrary, he found it comforting, and he was always swallowed with peace when she was so relaxed with him that she fell asleep, using his fluffy gray hair as a pillow.

No longer was Ford met with suspicious looks when he walked down the street of a market alone, face hidden. Quite the opposite. He was always met with smiles and warm greetings, and sometimes a little extra food was thrown into a purchase for free. Be it because people saw him as a parent with an adorable child, or because of Mabel’s charm. Or both.

The dimensions they came across were random and different, just like it was when Ford traveled alone. Some dimensions were like an alien sci-fi movie, completely different with no humans. Some dimensions were scaringly like home, with a small difference here and there. Ironically, the alien-like dimensions were typically safer, because they were used to travelers and weird-looking creatures. 

But Ford guessed it would be okay if he and Mabel stepped into a normal grocery store to buy some food.

They had come across a “normal” dimension, and while Ford’s first thought was to retreat for the woods, he heard Mabel’s stomach growl, and he decided her health was more important. So they stepped in and kept to themselves.

Ford and Mabel were picking up crackers when the little girl grinned at rows of cereals behind them. “Grunkle Ford, can I please pick a cereal?” She asked politely.

The old scientist thought about it for a moment. Cereal would definitely cover a few meals and be light and easy to carry, and it wouldn’t get hold too quickly, and he had wanted to get her at least one nice thing while in the store, so he nodded and said, “Yes, dear, you may pick one box. Any flavor you want.”

“Thank you!” And Mabel took the time to hug him before skipping over to the cereals to look.

Ford chuckled and picked some crackers, then decided to browse the fruit snacks, debating if it would be wise. Probably not, because if they get stuck in another desert climate the gummies could melt and make a mess, but they could make a good snack for Mabel. He held his chin, debating the idea, while a couple was also looking over the cereals.

“Which do you think Dad would want?” The yellow-haired woman asked.

“Honey, who cares what Rick wants? Just get a cereal you’ll like.” The husband said with an eye roll.

Ford froze at that name. No no, that was most definitely a different Rick. It was a common enough name, and there were billions of dimensions. There was no way Ford and Mabel somehow managed to stumble into C-137. He ultimately decided against gummies and he then looked at the trail mixes and granola bars. Both were always a good option.

“I know, but I want him to feel welcome, you know?” The wife said as she picked a box. “He’s been travelling in space alone for years…”

Oh no. No, no, no. Ford quickly chose some packets of trail mix and several granola bars and hurried back to his niece. He was not going to do this today. Nope.

Mabel grinned at him, a box of cereal in hand, and she held it out to him. “Look, Grunkle Ford, do you like this flavor? I can pick a different one if you want.”

“Oh, thank you, my dear, but I like the one you picked.” Ford did a decent job masking his uneasiness and he took her hand and smiled. “Why don’t we pick up some fruit for today, and then we’ll go fishing for dinner?”

“Yay! Sounds great!”

Ford didn’t miss the yellow-haired woman smiling at them as they left the aisle. If that was who he thought it was… She really didn’t look anything like him. She might have just favored her mother. Who else would have spent years traveling space? Bastard.

Ford may have hated him for many reasons, but choosing to abandon his girls was at the top of the list.

At the checkout line, Ford nervously watched the total of their purchase go up with each beep. He recounted their cash and made a small list of items in his mind for them to go down if they couldn’t afford everything. A few granola bars can go. And, maybe they could find band-aids elsewhere and “borrow” them.

The worker rang up the last item and Ford smiled when he saw the total was 29.89. He had thirty. But then the worker pressed the total button and taxes were added. Shit, right. That made their total 35.45. Ford winced. Mabel looked up at him worriedly, but she smiled and stood on her tippy-toes to see the worker better.

“Hi, I’m Mabel! Can you please put the cereal back? We don’t really need it.”

Ford looked down at her, surprised and also a little disheartened. He had really wanted to get her at least one nice thing, but truth be told the cereal was the most expensive item, so it made sense to get rid of it first. Still, it sucked.

“Total’s now 32.14.”

Ford bit his lip. “Very well, may we please put the band-aids back, too?”

The worker nodded, seeming tired and annoyed, but they didn’t say a word. Blissfully, the total went down to 29.99.

With hands full of bags, Mabel and Ford paused at the beginning of the parking lot to move their groceries into their backpacks. While they worked, the old scientist said, “I’m sorry I could afford your cereal, Mabel.”

“Oh, it’s okay!” The girl said instantly. “I’ve got something even sweeter.” And she grinned at her grunkle and gave him a warm smile.

Ford smiled back at her tiredly. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes you do.” Mabel insisted and hugged him around the neck, nuzzling her face into his shoulder and determined to sink as much comfort as she could into his skin. “I love you Grunkle Ford. Please don’t beat yourself up, m’k?”

Ford hugged her back and petted her short brown hair. It was certainly easier to feel better with a ball of sunshine in his arms.

They both heard rustling behind them as a buggy rolled from the door to the parking lot. They both looked behind Mabel and saw a bag with the cereal and the band-aids in it. They looked around and saw no one, except for the yellow-haired woman and her husband going to their car.

Mabel grinned and hollered to them, “Thank you!”

They didn’t respond, but the woman did smile and wave before putting groceries into her car. As appreciated as Ford was for her kindness, he wanted to get as far away from her as possible. No offense to her. She seemed like a very lovely lady.

But then it hit Ford like a pile of rocks. What was it he had said before he had pulled out his gun and left Ford to travel alone? “And hey, if you ever wanna travel without customs or waiting for wormholes to open, don’t come looking for me.” And then he winked and fell backwards into a pool of green, leaving Ford to curse his name.

If this was like before, when Ford was alone, he wouldn’t dare. But if he could help get Mabel home…

Ford took Mabel’s hand and muttered, “Come with me.” And she followed without question.

Beth felt good helping the old man and the little girl, and she didn’t expect anything more. Really, it was only five dollars worth of stuff. But she was happy when they started to walk towards her, so she trusted Jerry to finish loading up the car and she smiled at them.

“Excuse me, miss, I just want to thank you for what you did.” The old man said.

“Oh, you’re welcome, it was no trouble at all.”

“I… I hope I’m not being too invasive, but… but I believe you know someone I know.”

Beth smiled. Small world! “Really? That’s great! Oh, are you a relative of Dave’s? Or, you know, I do know a lot of people indirectly from the horse-track.”

“Er, no.” The old man gave her a more serious look, and then asked quietly, “Do you know Rick Sanchez?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Beth was so excited to give Stanford Pines and his niece, Mabel, a ride, and to invite them to dinner, not only because she thought seeing an old friend might make her dad smile, but maybe she’ll learn more about what he’s been up to all these years. The man was very polite and the girl was as sweet as can be, both of whom looked rough and in need of a cozy bed and maybe a soothing bath. Jerry was a little unsure, not wanting “more Ricks” into his house, but after a huf from the girl and a cheerful greeting, Jerry couldn’t help but tell the girl she was more than welcome, so now he was roped in.

Mabel noticed that her uncle looked distracted. He was looking out his window, but his eyes were elsewhere. He was thinking. So she decided to try to help him with his thoughts. “Grunkle Ford, who’s Rick Sanchez?” She asked quietly.

Ford looked at her, sighed quietly, and muttered, “He’s an intergalactic scientist. He’s ridiculously intelligent and clever, and… a bit…” Ford pursed his lips. All the words that came to mind he didn’t want Mabel hearing, so he settled on. “... mad.”

“Oh. Is he like a real mad-scientist?” Mabel asked, eyes sparkling with interest.

“Yes, but with less laughter, more slurs and sluggish demeanor, and even less consideration of other living things.”

Mabel noticed his cold tone and grew concerned. “You don’t like him, do you?”

Ford bit his lip. No, he didn’t. But there was a more important reason why he didn’t want to see Rick today. 

Mabel leaned in closer and whispered, “Is he mean?”

Trust Mabel to sum it up perfectly for her uncle. “Yes.” Ford said just as quietly. “And I don’t want him meeting you.”

“Why?”

Ford hesitated. But being blunt and honest seemed to be working, and it was best for Mabel to prepare herself for the lion’s den they were walking into. “I don’t want him to hurt your feelings.” a bit elementary, but it was the best way to explain it to a child without scaring her too much.

Mabel, however, grinned. “Grunkle Ford, no one can resist the Power of Mabel.”

Ford smiled and ruffled her hair softly. “We’ll see…”

“So, if you don’t like Mr. Sanchez, then why are we going to go see him?”

“He’s an expert on interdimensional-travel.” Ford informed her. “He might know how to get us home.”

Mabel’s eyes widened and she “oh”ed as she realized what was going on. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The garage door was open to let in good lighting and fresh air. But that wasn’t an invitation to come in whenever people feel like it; Rick will have to work on a security system to keep nosy neighbors away. He was opening a box and getting organized when he heard his daughter’s car roll into the driveway. He didn’t bother to look up, instead waited for the sounds of car doors opening to say something.

“Hey sweetie, welcome back.”

“Dad,” Beth said, sounding giddy. Rick hated giddy. But he had only been here for a week and he didn’t feel like making his daughter hate him just yet, so he settled for rolling his eyes and continuing what he was doing. “I have a surprise for you!”

“Wow! You have a nice house! Cool garage, too!” A young voice said.

Rick was halted. He turned in his chair and raised an eyebrow to find a young girl with short brown hair and braces holding hands with an old nerd with fluffy charcoal hair, glasses, and six fingers.

“Oh my God!” Rick laughed. “Holy-...” A dark look from the old traveler made Rick stop; he can piss him off later. First he needs to figure out why the hell he is here and what the hell he wants. “Jeez, you look terrible, Fordsie.” The mad scientist snorted as he leaned against his desk with his hands in his pockets.

Ford rolled his eyes and said, “And you still look like a soft breeze will blow you away, Sanchez.”

Mabel bit her lip and quietly, “Oooooh”ed, like she was listening to a rap battle.

“So,” Beth stretched, clearly hoping for more information or a more satisfying reunion, but she wasn’t getting it naturally, so she decided to push a little. “How do you two know each other?”

“The Multiverse is a pretty big place, sweetie.” Rick answered. “Don’t worry, I’ll have this nerd gone before you finish unloading the car. Don’t want to risk another mass genocide.” He sneered.

Ford’s face turned red and he yelled, “I didn’t know it was a planet! It looked too similar to a sandwich for it to be a planet!”

Rick laughed and looked at the little girl. She looked maybe a little younger than Morty. “Who’s that you got with you?”

Ford closed his eyes, debating if he should tell Rick it wasn’t any of his business, or get the introduction over with. But before he could make a decision, Mabel beat him to the punch.

She let go of Rick’s hand, hopped to him, and looked up at his bean-pole stature and smiled and waved. “Hi! I’m Mabel! You’re a scientist, too? Cool! I like your hair! How old are you? Have you ever met a dinosaur? What’s your favorite food?” 

Rick blinked like a startled lizard at the girl, glanced up at Ford, and then looked back down at Mabel. Rick smiled and sat in his chair to be closer to her level, and held out a hand to shake, which she happily accepted and shook a little rough. “Hey there, I’m Rick. Yes, I’m a scientist. Thank you, I like your hair, too. Yes, I’ve met a dinosaur, several in different dimensions. And, pancakes.”

Mabel’s eyes sparkled. “I love pancakes, too! Maybe we can make some together!”

“Maybe, but I’ve got the feeling that’s not why you’re here.” Rick suggested kindly. And no, Ford wasn��t at all suspicious that he was being kind to Mabel.

“Oh! Yeah! Grunkle Ford thinks you can help us get home.”

“Huh. You’re great-uncle, huh? Sure, okay, let’s get started.” Rick rolled over to a cabinet and took out an odd machine. It came with a tiny needle and was attached to the machine by a small black wire, and the boxed machine had a screen of some sort on the side. “Mind if I prick your finger?”

“Sure!” Mabel held out her finger to him and Rick carefully held her wrist and pricked her finger, so small she hardly noticed it. “What for?”

“I need a blood sample to find your home dimension. Gotta send you to the right dimension.” Rick explained. “Fordsie, lemme get yours, too. How’d you two find each other, anyways?”

“I was in the Nightmare Realm when some idiot opened a portal and this little starshine fell into my arms.” Ford explained, stepping forward and giving Rick his finger.

“Okay, got it.” Rick said. “Well, there’s a possibility that you two come from different dimensions. Nothing too different about your homes, but there’s millions of dimensions. The probability that you two came from the same timeline and reality… there we go. It’s a match. That makes things easier.”

The small heart attack Ford was having went away. The idea of his starshine not being his was a nightmare. His life was complicated enough; he didn’t need his girl to not actually be his.

“Dimension 41’\. Huh, okay, gimme two seconds…” Rick pulled out his trusty portal gun and plugged it into the machine. A long list of dimensions popped up, and Ford prayed 41’\ would be on the list. “You two are lucky. I can go as far as 42’\, but the other 40s are out of range. Huh, i’ll have to work on that.”

“So,” Mabel grinned. “You can get us home?”

Rick smiled smugly and shrugged as he stood. “Yeah, sure.”

“Grunkle Ford!” Mabel cheered and hurled herself into his arms. “I can’t believe it! I’m gonna see Dipper again! I can’t wait for you to meet him!”

Ford smiled softly. He couldn’t believe it. It was all happening so fast and effortlessly. He was going to get Mabel home. They were both going home. Suddenly the idea of seeing Stanley again, meeting his grandnephew and all of Mabel’s friends and her pet pig sounded… a lot. He didn’t realize it, but he was becoming anxious and spacing out. But Mabel noticed, and she kissed his stubbly cheek and brought him back to reality.

Rick shot at the wall with his gun and an oozing green portal appeared. “There we go, 41’\. Wait, sh-oot, gimme a location.”

“618 Gopher Road.” Ford stated as he let go of Mabel. “Gravity Falls, Oregon. USA.”

“Got it.” Rick made the last portal disappear and shot a new one. “There. Now get-... Go on home.”

Mabel stepped up to Rick and said sincerely, “Mr. Sanchez, thank you for helping us.” And she hugged him around his tall skinny legs.

Rick pursed his lips awkwardly, unsure of how to respond to such positive energy and kindness. The old scientists looked at each other, Ford giving Rick a warning look, but something hidden in his face or eyes told the drunk that the nomad was actually grateful for his illegal device.

“Uh…” Rick settled on patting Mabel’s head and said, “Y-Y-You’re welcome.”

Mabel let go of Rick and held out a hand to Ford. “Ready?”

“Nope.” Ford took her hand and squeezed it. “Let’s do this.”

And without another word, the Pines walked through the green portal.

[paperpocalypse]

crackers and jam.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 41. Overhearing they have feelings for you.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,703 words

Warnings: Swearing

Some time back, not long after he got stranded in the post-apocalyptic world and perhaps a year and a half before running into you, Five’s only companion was Delores.

It had been a meeting of chance (as everything is) in the middle of a destroyed department store. She had been looking at him. And maybe that’s why he was so drawn in – that stare; it was a lifeless stare, yeah, but it was not by any means a dead stare like the ones he had met too many times before. No life had been lost to create that stare. She was smiling, too.

Five had lifted her carefully out of the chunks of concrete, greeting her because there was no one else. For the first few weeks, he just placed her at the corner of her store and visited every once in a while, then took to occasionally toting her around the City when he needed to talk. He liked to pretend that she answered back – sometimes. After a few months, he named her Delores.

Then he met you.

Unlike Delores, you were human. Breathing. Alive, somehow. And you had thoughts and feelings that weren’t always connected to his and – and it was weird. It was home.

You didn’t question his friendship with Delores. Five had seen the half-burned stuffed frog in your wagon, so you wouldn’t have had anything to hold over him anyway. He knew that you knew that he still went to the department store in the middle of the night. And, shit, deep down Five also knew that Delores was, in the end, just a hunk of plastic with eyes. But after a year and a half of having nobody else, she had become something of a comfort. And a confidant. Burdening you with his issues was not an option, so when things became a little shittier than usual, he would slip out from underneath his blanket, make sure you weren’t having a nightmare, and head downtown to voice his thoughts aloud.

Over time, though, he learned that you were willing to listen. You listened, and you were always kind about it even if you didn’t always understand. His nightly visits decreased. And it was okay for a while.

But then Five began to struggle with a new issue – one that was a little different than the usual mess of stress and anxiety – and one night, he finds himself looking down at Delores again because talking to you about it is definitely off the table.

Unfortunately, Delores’s kindness is different from yours.

Well, here we are. Again.

“I’m just here to think,” he snaps, combing a grubby hand through his tangled mess of hair. The lantern beside him glows weakly as he plops down onto a slab of concrete. “Mind your business.”

Your business is everyone’s business here, Five. And to put my own two cents in, I think that you’re scared of your own feelings.

Blood travels to Five’s cheeks, unwarranted, as he narrows his eyes at Delores. “For the last time, that’s not what this is about. It’s – Jesus Christ, I’m gonna get over it. This isn’t a life-or-death issue.”

Then why have you been ranting about it like it is?

“I’m not.”

Ha! Rich.

He grits his teeth. She stares back at him, unperturbed. Bastard.

You know, maybe you’ll feel better if you say it out loud. Air it out. Test to see if it’s real.

“I’m not doing that.”

Do it.

No.

Say it.

No.

For god’s sake, Number Five, take a goddamn look at yourself –

“Fine!” Five hisses, though it feels more like an explosion. He throws his hands up. “I like [Y/n], alright? We’re the last people on this goddamn planet and I like them, and I shouldn’t care this much but I do. Happy?”

Delores pauses. Five looks away.

Very.

Ugh.

Did it feel real?

He clicks his tongue, crossing his arms, and doesn’t answer. The smile on Delores’s face seems a little smug, and it makes him want to hurl. He shouldn’t have said it out loud. Relieve some of the pressure and everything starts to boil over …

Breathing in deeply, Five forces his shoulders to relax. He bids a soft goodbye to Delores, then heads back to camp.

—

A week later, Five’s visit comes back to bite him in the worst way possible.

You’ve been having a hard time starting the fire for tonight, so he finishes splitting the evening rations to help you out with the bow drill. As he does so, you watch in silence, both of you waiting patiently for the smoke and dust.

“Do you think we have enough wood?” you eventually ask.  

“It’s enough,” he murmurs, only half paying attention. After a while, a few chalky wisps of smoke begin to rise from the charring wood. He leans in to blow the ember carefully once it forms, then puts it into the tinder and coaxes out a flame. “Get the kindling?”

You oblige, and within a few minutes, a healthy fire starts to dance atop the wood, scorching his face and fingers with heat. Five stares intently at the oranges and yellows for a moment, lips pressed together, intrigued in a tired sort of way. Warmth. Then he backs off and grabs a portion of crumbled up crackers, handing it to you.

You spread the cloth over your knees. “Now all we need is some jam.”

“What kind?”

A soft hum escapes your throat. You contemplate unhurriedly, dabbing up some stray crumbs with a finger. “Blackberry,” you reply after a few moments. “Or strawberry. The kind that’s sort of chunky.”

It’s been a long time since he’s tasted either of those things. The simple thought of whole crackers spread with fresh jam, sweet and dark and sticky, is a luxury in and of itself. Five tries not to think about it too much, munching on his third fragment of stale cracker. It makes his mouth dry. “Hm,” he says, picking up the canteen for a few drops of water.

The fire pops. A few sparks fly out into the air and die just as quickly. You finish your supper and wipe your mouth, stretching your legs out in front of you as you sigh.

Five tilts his head at you. “What?”

“What?” you parrot back, though he sees the way your fingers fidget.

“You have something to say.”

Your facial expression shifts just the smallest bit. “How can you tell?”

(Simple – because he knows you. He knows your ticks; knows how you tick. He knows your smiles and all the subtle ways that your voice rises and falls. He’s memorized you because he fears forgetting, and it’s a problem.)

“Kind of hard not to,” Five replies.

“Oh.” You chew the inside of your cheek, still seeming unsure. “Well, um … I just wanted to talk to you about something. And please don’t be mad.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Um. A couple nights ago, I had a bad dream.”

“I know.”

“Not the one you woke me up from. A different one,” you mutter. “The night after we found the pillows.”

“Oh,” Five says.

“Yeah.” You look down at your hands. They’re dusty and rough, littered with small scars from climbing and falling and holding. “I … um, that night, I woke up and you weren’t there. And I sort of panicked, and went looking –”

The blood drains from Five’s face.

“I went looking for you, and I found you. Talking to her.” You glance at him for a split second. “About me.”

Oh, fuck.

Five stares at you as you fiddle with the scrap of cloth on your lap. You know. You weren’t supposed to know. You weren’t supposed to ever know, and now you do.

“Five?” Your voice is curious and small.

His voice is raspy. “How much did you hear?”

“Almost everything.” You grab the cuff of his coat sleeve as he attempts to stand up. “I’m sorry for eavesdropping. I really didn’t mean to, but –”

“It’s not your fault. Look, I don’t want to talk about it,” he replies tersely. “We need more firewood, anyway.”

“We have enough,” you say, though you relinquish your hold when he tugs a little harder away from you. You sound hurt. “Five, it’s okay to feel like that.”

“It’s not. It makes things more complicated.”

“How?” Standing up, your brow furrows. “I like you too, Five. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

His chest tightens. “That just makes it worse.”

“I like you,” you repeat. Your hand moves down to take his gently. “A lot. And it’s okay.”

(Did it feel real?)

Five meets your gaze solidly despite not quite wishing to, a familiar sense of guilt washing over him when you squeeze his hand.

Sometimes, he wishes he hadn’t met you. Then he would’ve gotten what he deserved for his recklessness – nothing – with nothing to concern himself with other than equations and survival and time. That, he’s fairly sure, would have been easier to manage. He hadn’t been taught to care for someone else. Not like this, at least.

But you. You. Five swallows the lump in his throat.

“I might have to leave you behind,” he murmurs, more hoarsely than he’d like to admit. The words burn like ice on the roof of his mouth. “One day.”

You don’t reply for a few seconds.

Then, for some inexplicable reason, you step a little closer. “But not tonight," you say. "Right?”

For shit’s sake, you’re so optimistic. Five chuckles dryly, hand still engulfed in yours, blinking away the vague stinging in his eyes. “Of course not.”

“Then I forgive you. If you feel like you need it.” With a mild exhale, you smile at him. Your eyes are glossy. “So can we sit back down? I like doing that.”

He quietly agrees.

So you bring him back down to sit before the fire, closer to him than before. No more words are left to be said. A heavy silence settles in their place, neither good nor bad, and almost comfortable. For the first time in a long time, Five tries not to think.

You lean against his shoulder. He welcomes it.

[hunterclaringtonjoy]

Hunter’s Choice

Who: Hunter Clarington & Frannie Fabray When: August 12, 2021 Where: Frannie’s Apartment What: Hunter considers what’s next for him now he’s graduated and has a proposition for Frannie.

Hunter’s Choice

Hunter had been lucky to be able to keep his apartment after graduation but the contract was coming to an end in just over a week and then he’d be forced to go home. Despite his father’s wishes, Hunter hadn’t signed up to join the army yet so it appeared as though going back to Canada would be his only option.

The wishes of Clarington Senior were more accurately demands in the form of daily phone calls or emails from Mr C’s “friends” in the US armed forces less than gently trying to persuade Hunter to join whatever training program they could pluck out of thin air for the son of a respected officer. Of course, none of this communication came directly from Mr C though as that would require him to give up his time to be part of his children’s lives, he could simply direct their paths from afar and continue to be hands on as little as possible. 

Between spending time with Frannie, Ollie and Benji whenever the latter wasn’t with his new boyfriend, and working with the Eagle Scouts program mentoring the young men aiming to achieve the highest award of the Boy Scouts, the summer had flown by in a blur of joy and excitement with his family which was barely keeping his fears for the coming fall at bay. 

Every time those fears threatened to overwhelm Hunter he’d go to the gym and swim lap after lap never stopping long enough to brake his concentration from his sights set on the spot on the wall at the other end of the pool and he’d only leave the water when he was in pain from either burning lungs or burning muscles from the effort he’d exerted. 

The 20th was fast approaching and Hunter needed to have a plan in place for the next step in his life, he couldn’t put this off any longer. He’d actually slept in his own bed in his own apartment the night before so thankfully he wasn’t disturbing Frannie and Ollie with his pacing, which he’d been doing for at least two hours now as he twisted the box in his hand between his fingers deftly as one might do with a pen. This was Hunters’ chance to change his trajectory and make his life his own and not live in his father’s shadow. 

Taking a deep breath Hunter walked up to Frannie’s apartment and by-passed knocking on the door and simply walking in. thinking on it hunter couldn’t even remember the last time he had knocked and waited for Frannie’s response. That apartment was more like grand central station these days what with Hunter coming and going as he pleased to spend time with Ollie, Sam and Nikko popping up whenever they wanted, and then Benji and Mason appearing out of thin air at all hours of the day or night. Hunter of a year ago would have laughed if someone had said this was going to be his life, and yet he wouldn’t change it for the world. 

“Hey babe,” Hunter called closing the door behind himself, feeling relaxed as soon as he was on the other side. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” He tugged nervously at his button up, smoothing down the bottom hem over top of his dark wash jeans, hoping Ollie wasn’t currently a sticky mess and ruin the white shirt. Hunt scolded himself momentarily for bothering to wear white in the vicinity of their son but he wanted to look good today. 

“You know it’s been embarrassingly obvious that I’ve had no idea what to do after graduation after you managed to talk me out of being my father’s carbon copy and I need to thank you for that somehow because I found something perfect for me, at least the next year. The swim team is looking for a coach for the next academic year. Ours is taking off and moving to New Zealand to coach an Olympic hopeful and I couldn’t pass up what seemed like a perfect opportunity. Yesterday I found out I got the job. So I’m staying here. I’ll be able to rent a home over at the on campus staff housing association so if you want, you and Ollie could live there with me?” 

Hunter had never spoken a sentence so quickly in all his life. He wasn’t the type of person to anxiously jabber on about nothing, he was brought up to be clear and concise but it was a big ask to propose such a thing to Frannie, to someone he felt so many things he’d never felt before. Frannie’s answer would be truly life changing for them all and he was about five seconds from starting to recall every single one of the Jewish Hebrew prayers Ben had taught him for luck.

Frannie's Response 

Frannie had been pulling all her classic moves to avoid talking about what was actually bothering her. Well, what had be bothering her for ages... but only now was back to the front of her mind since talking to Benji. It was ironic, really, that one of the people she was most concerned about in this whole situation was Benji, and now he was encouraging her to talk to Hunter about whatever was "weird." 

And despite what Sam kept thinking, the weirdness was not from some kind of unrequited love between herself and Hunter... but Sam had gotten into her head about what living with Hunter could mean. For a while, the thought had been circling her brain to tell Hunter that he should just move in with herself and Ollie when the lease was up now that he was no longer a student. She'd just figured that would be easier for everyone, right? And she had a spare room. Nothing had to really change, right? 

But with Benji living with her as of recent until the leases opened up for him to get his own place, the idea fell to the back of her brain. It would be weird to have him here and Hunter trying to move in too, or at least that's what she told herself. 

The door opened and she didn't even look over, just started talking. "I got more juice boxes. Also, string cheese, animal crackers, and some more p.b. and j for sandwiches, s-" She stopped speaking when she realized it was Hunter and turned her head quickly. "Oh shit, sorry. I thought you were Benji. Hey," she smiled before turning her attention back to the laundry she was folding, honestly unsure of what articles of clothing belonged to who. "What's up?" 

She nodded as she listened to him speak, glancing over every few seconds so he would know she was paying attention. She shook her head a little, her cheeks feeling a bit warmer, when he credited her with changing his mind- which seemed very unbelievable to her. But she stopped folding and turned to look at him with wide eyes when she heard his job opportunity. "Hunt! That's amazing, what the hell! You're going to be am- wait, what did you say?" She blinked, dropping the still unfolded shirt back into the basket and running her hand over her hair. "You want us to live with you? I-" She stammered a bit, letting out a small laugh. "That's- I mean, you... I was going to ask you that…"

Hunter’s Proposition 

“Good to know my brother is still actually showing up here, I swear he’s at the Smythe’s more than anyone else.” Hunter laughed, “Not that I blame him after Chris…” He huffed, grabbing down the bottle of bourbon he had hidden at the back of the highest cupboard in Frannie’s kitchen and pouring a couple of ounces into a glass to calm his nerves. Hunter still felt ill-will towards Chris after he found out Ben had needed to break up with his childhood crush, making Hunter more on edge than ever about Ben entering a new relationship because clearly people felt like they could treat the youngest Clarington like garbage and Hunter wasn’t going to stand by and let that happen again. 

Watching Frannie stumble a little as he continued to talk always amused Hunter. He was the type of person that had no qualms continuing to talk without letting people respond, so seeing Frannie go from joy about his job announcement to what appeared to be nerves or surprise in reaction to his invite made him chuckle but only because he found it adorable and endearing. 

However, the most interesting part of Frannie’s response was she took had been getting ready to ask him the same question. “Ask me to live here? As convenient as that sounds I’m ready to stop sharing a bedroom with my son, and little brother when he feels like spending the night with his ‘Mom’.” He grinned, in the back of his mind thinking about how this could be an opportunity to get into her bed… But the little voice of restraint in his mind, which oddly enough had the voice of the Smythe’s sister, told him to take it slow. 

“We can get a three bedroom over in the staff complex, they have some renovated town houses that would be perfect for the three of us so if you have exams or cases to study for I can keep Ollie occupied in a different part of the house.” Hunter explained, wandering over and picking up the discarded shirt and smiling, it was one of his that he’d often pull on first thing after waking up to bathe or change Ollie before he showered and got ready for the day himself. 

“So what do you say? Think you can live that far from Jolly Green and little Prescott?” Hunter give his best sensual persuasive smile, practically batting his eyelashes. 

[timextoxhajima]

Grounded: Level 0

Level 1

Member: Minho (Lee Know)

Genre: idol minho x idol trainee reader, angst cause is it a dana fic if there is no angst

Taglist: @valeriee-h​

A/N: Thank you for 400 followers. You all have been nothing but exceptional. 

[F E B R U A R Y 2 0 1 6]

The metallic taste seeping into your mouth was starting to annoy you, and on top of that, the tears that were running down your cheeks and between your lips were stinging the wounds you managed to inflict on yourself with your teeth.

You can hear the laughter and the sound of the bass against the flooring from where you were, though you were a good distance away from the practicing hall. The room smelled like dust and must due to the hose reel box being unused for such a long time, you wouldn't know. Your hands were probably messed up from all the accidental touching of the walls and the floor -- and great, now you've gone ahead and wiped away your tears with your hands.

Your teeth are gritted so hard against each other that you can feel your temples tightening, and all you want to do was to pack up and go home and call it quits--

"I know you're in there."

Silence. Then a shadow comes to block the bars of light coming through the slits of the door.

Choosing to keep quiet, you don't know why you thought he'd go away. He was the vice-captain of the dance crew and he obviously wasn't going to let you go without getting you out of the hose reel storeroom.

"I'm not going to force you out. But I need to know just one thing."

A pause.

"Do you still like dancing?"

Out of shame, you look down to your knees, now curled up into your chest. The tears continue to fall because you both know your answer. It’s just the physical pain and lack of resistance that’s keeping you from going further.

You can hear him sigh when he leans against the door, the wood creaking just the slightest with his weight against it. It was almost completely dark, now that he’s covered most of the slits in the door. The sweat trailing down the sides of your forehead and down your cheek gets mistaken for tears, urging you to wipe them away with the back of your hand. 

“I know you’re tired, but if you stop here, then there’s no way you can improve.”

You gulp, your throat feeling dry from the continuous days of air-conditioned practice hall and then the crying did nothing but further aggravate it. 

“...What makes you think I can still improve? What if this is the furthest I can go?”

“I thought like that once,” A small thud. He probably leaned his head backwards. “But I signed up for this because I like it. And frankly, I don’t know what else I’d do if I don’t do this for myself. So, now my question is: who are you doing this for, and if you’re willing to continue doing it for yourself?”

Your head is empty. There’s nothing but the want to start moving again, it’s the reflection in the mirror you’re afraid to see. 

The music from the practise hall starts again. By now, the song is more than annoying, but the adrenaline always manages to push you through anyway. The door creaks and more light floods in when he shifts away. 

“Come talk to me if you need to after practise. But for now, just come back and finish for today, okay? I’ll see you inside.”

He stays still for a few moments, before the sound of his shoes shuffle away from the storage room. Leaning your head back against the wall, you let the humidity coat your face like a layer of warmth. 

Why’d he have to give me that stupid pep-talk?

Shutting your eyes tightly, you recall the amount of effort you took to audition for this. A stage where BTS would perform on, and they were looking for a small group of girls in the back-up dancers’ team. The chances were ten to... hundreds. 

You shuffle to your feet, eyelids heavy from the physical activity but heart still full of hope. Your fingers wrap around the cold handle of the door and push it open, greeting the bright lights that illuminate the corridor down to the practice hall.

“Where is-- Oh! There you are!” The choreographer nearly yells into the mic when you rush through the door, some of your other dance crew mates jokingly yells at you for taking your own sweet time. 

“Sorry, bathroom.”

“Okay, okay. GIve us a head up if you’re going to do a number 2 next time, would you?”

Some of the dancers chuckle at the choreographer’s teasing, nudging you or ruffling your hair before they return to their positions. And as you do, you cannot help but to lock eyes with the vice-captain in the front row. He had the tiniest smile you’ve ever seen, the kind that if you didn’t stare hard enough... or if you didn’t pay enough attention... you’d miss it. 

A small nods finds you, eyes of encouragement welling up in his brown orbs under the lighting, and then the choreographer asks for the music. It thrums through you like an Earthquake, but instead of conjuring magma and ash and gas, it sucks the passion out of you and motivates you to move your feet again. 

The practise session ends fast, only because you realised you had been enjoying it. So when the choreographer thanks the dance crew and jumps off to speak to the captain, you take your time to grab a drink for yourself and let some other crew members chat you up. 

That is, until you noticed the vice-captain strutting out of the practise hall quietly. Excusing yourself, you grab your belongings and rush out behind him, just missing the lift that he was in. 

He’s about twenty metres ahead when you run out of the stairs lobby, the cool end-of-winter wind kissing your sweaty skin.

“Minho!” 

The boy stops in his tracks, taking awhile to look up from his phone as he slowly turns his head around. He watches with intent eyes as you catch up to him, gently huffing from the hurrying after he quietly left the practice hall.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t disappoint me,” Minho looks back down at his phone before locking it. “I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t come back.” 

Once you’ve aligned your footing with him, he shoves his phone into his pocket and waits for you to calm your breathing. The sky was dark now, but the streets were still bustling from all the night market activities - fried seafood, crackers, cotton candy. 

Minho turns his head back to the streets where waves of people were walking past, taking a first step to tell you he’s going to start walking. 

“I just wanted to thank you for that little pep-talk.”

“Pep-talk?” Minho chuckles under his breath. “Oh, you don’t know what a pep-talk sounds like.”

The crowd washes the both of you in some direction, the scent of food wafting in the air coupled with the overlapping conversations and loud music from some stands made you feel like you’ve just entered some amusement park. Smoke was prancing in the air against the night sky and people chewing loudly on food brought you some strange sense of nostalgia -- though you’ve walked this exact road for some months now. It just so happened that the night market only came round every Lunar New Year. 

“I just... I hope you know how much that means to me. It’s the first time I’ve done something of this scale so... it seems easier for me to lose faith.”

Minho stops at a particular store selling some honey-glazed apples and orders two. It’s like he didn’t hear you. 

Standing awkwardly next to him, the store owner carelessly hands Minho the two sticks with the stabbed apple on the top, and he doesn’t hesitate to hand her a five dollar bill. Just enough.

“Thank you,” He turns around, the store owner barely acknowledging his business. “People lose faith all the time. You just need to know when to force yourself to have it again.” 

Handing you one stick, Minho doesn’t wait for you to process the offer and his words simultaneously before he’s off again. By the time you’ve walked the length of the night market and reach the main streets of the city, Minho has cleared every drop of honey and apple on the stick, and you were just busy finishing up the last one-eighth of it, the bite nearly touching your fingers. 

At the bus stop, Minho drops himself on the bench, scrolling through his phone as you are occupied with licking the honey off your fingers while you find the nearest trashcan. Ironically, out here along the main road, there were fewer people. More traffic on the road, definitely. But it’s like everybody was so busy living their lives, you’ve forgotten to live yours. 

You’ve spent more than half your time in the last three months coming to this same practise hall, dancing the same steps over and over and over again until every cell in your blood and body knows it by heart. 

But what worth is it? For a performance that you wouldn’t even be seen?

You sigh, eyes darting downwards naturally to see what he’s been staring at on his phone-- then you see it. 

NEW EMAIL: CUBE AUDITION RESULTS

Your eyes widen, lips somehow still stuck together despite the overwhelming excitement in your lungs. Sucking your lips in between your teeth, you watch in anticipation as he clicks the notification and it directs him to his email. Poor boy doesn’t know you’re watching, but it’s a good thing, because the first two sentences were enough to tell you what his reaction could be. 

Dear Lee Minho, we’ve received your audition tape and reviewed it carefully. Unfortunately, we are unable to accept you as a trainee. We wish you the best in all your future endeavors. 

Regards,

Cube Audition Management

Biting down on your bottom lip, your eyes quickly flit away when he closes the app and keeps his phone. Standing next to him, it’s a wonder how he’s managed to hold himself together. If it had been you who was rejected, you’d be on the floor bawling by now. But Minho’s strength is subtly concrete when he only watches his bus arrive, standing up and only turning around to ask, “Are you taking the same bus?”

“Um, yeah but my dad’s coming to get me, so I’m waiting here.”

Minho nods, the bus stopping right at the foot of the bus stop. Other passengers waiting for the bus start to crowd, but Minho doesn’t bust an inch just yet. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

You hum in response. They’ve started boarding, so Minho’s taking small steps towards the vehicle. 

“If you don’t come, believe me when I say I’ll whoop your ass.”

You can’t help the small scoff that bursts through your lips when he says it, that tiny smile of his emerging shyly on his face for a split second. Reducing the amount of time you get to admire that strength in him, he turns and gets on the bus. 

[D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 6]

At this point, half the dance crew was probably crying their hearts out back stage. BTS’ Fire and Not Today performance at the KBS Song Festival was the last official time you would be performing as one unit with this dance crew. Any Fire or Not Today performances in the future would call for a renewed or changed dance crew line-up, which meant you’ll never see the same group of people on stage again. 

Heck, even your captain was sobbing his eyes out, mercilessly pulling everybody he could find into a hug and muttering some incoherent words of gratitude in their ears. You were laughing and wiping away the droplets on your face, unsure if they were tears or sweat, when he came to you and pulled you into a bear hug. 

Everybody hears the heavy backstage door close and BTS shows up just steps from you, and the group of idols know very well that this was the last performance with the current line-up of crew members. 

“Dul, set, Bang! Tan!” More people are crying now, and Namjoon just looks prouder than he was sad. “Annyeong haseyo, Bangtansonyeondan ibnida.”

The captain literally starts wining, not hesitating to go up and hug Hoseok tightly. The members embrace him in the hug, offering him words of praise and compliment as Namjoon urges them to keep their volume down. The leader thanks the crew for the enduring hardwork for the past year - from when the track was first released, to the first choreography reviewing and then the constant performances on all kinds of stages. 

Blinking away your tears, you manage to catch Minho standing at the far end of the first row, and if you weren’t mistaken, you could catch Jimin showing him two thumbs up. 

“I hope to see all of you around, and once again, BTS thanks you for your hardwork for the last year. Take care everybody!” 

Everybody erupts into loud yells of ‘thanks’ and ‘bye’s, but before you can the other crew members in shaking their hands as they return to their dressing room, one of BTS’ assistant managers approach you.

“Hi, can I check if you’re y/n?”

“Uh--” Minho catches your frantic glancing behind the assistant manager. “Yes.”

“Great, so...” The assistant manager fumbles in his back pocket, your eyes darting down to notice him pulling out a name card. Your peripheral vision presents you with Minho looking at you from behind the assistant manager, eyes and ears peeled. “We’ve been monitoring the dance unit and... we think you might have potential.”

He hands you the name card, and your hands are trembling when you process the carbon printing on it.

BIGHIT CASTING

Anxious, you look back up at the assistant manager. Yet, he offers you a mere smile before walking away, leaving you and Minho behind as the rest of the crew pushes themselves nearer to the back of the staff area. 

The restaurant had been booked for the sole purpose of the dance unit celebrating your final performance there, and while the card was being bent in all sorts of different ways in your back pocket, all you cared about was being in a moment.

BigHit casting? Why would you even subject yourself to that kind of torment? A solid 7 to 8 years of no privacy, probably no dating, and if you were caught outside with someone of the opposite gender, you’d be royally screwed over.

“You’re going to get drunk.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re not even legal to drink, and it sucks, honestly.”

“Pfft,” Rolling your eyes, you collect the shot of Soju from one of the older crew members. “I’ll take like five shots. I’ll be fine.”

Minho glares at his captain, thoughtlessly pushing the shot across the smooth surface of the table to you. 

“You know she’s like, 16 right?”

“I know, but it wouldn’t hurt to let her try some. Besides, we all did a great job this past year. I think we all deserve a little break.”

Minho huffs, the air pushing his fringe upwards for a split second. He watches you down the shot, the burning alcohol forcing a look of slight disgust on your face. 

“Told you you wouldn’t like it.”

“Ugh,” Sticking your tongue out, you reach for your glass of water and take a huge gulp. “I’ll get used to it.”

Nah.

“My God, why are you so heavy?” Minho grunts, struggling to keep your arm over his shoulders. He looks behind him, busking in some slight satisfaction when he had managed to get the captain completely wasted by playing some stupid game with him, the kind that he would never win. The other vice-captain and another crew member were channeling all that effort into keeping the big-sized boy on his feet. You remember hearing Minho’s hearty (or evil) laughter when the captain plops to the floor, completely blacking out. 

“Okay, he’s your responsibility now!” He yells at the top of his lungs, dragging you towards the nearest bus stop in his knowledge.

“Go fuck yourself, Minho! Have some mercy next time, would you?!” HIs co-vice captain shouts back.

“I’ll think about it!” Minho laughs, trying really hard not to drop you as he waves back. 

“Bye, see you soon!”

Minho returns his attention to you, half your body already leaning a good ninety degrees towards the floor. 

“Free bows for the floor, huh?” He grunts as he gives up on holding just one of your arms. Afraid that he was going to dislocate something, he pulls you onto his back. Your head is pressed into his shoulder when he turns round the corner, eyes looking up to gauge the distance to the bus stop. “Oi.”

“Hmm?” Your head of messy hair perks up from his shoulder, your eyelids feeling too heavy to keep open. 

“Are you going for it? The audition I mean.”

You groan, throwing your head back into his shoulder. Tightening your arms around his collar, you grit your teeth and swallow the burning sensation of alcohol in your throat. 

“I don’t think I want to think about that now. I have school to worry about.”

“You’ll just be put into SOPA.”

“What about university?”

“That’s like 3 years away for you. And studying can wait if you’re chasing your dream,” A pause as he sets you down at the bus stop, grabbing your bag and searching for your wallet to take out your bus card. “Of course, only if you want it.”

Your head hangs low, the Soju zipping through your blood like hamsters do in their tunnels. Minho turns, spotting the bus nearing.

“Do me a favour and swallow your vomit if you need to, don’t make a mess in the bus.”

[O C T O B E R 2 0 1 7]

Do you know the feeling of your lungs collapsing in on themselves when you can’t breathe? When your heart is palpitating so fast, it feels like it’s stopped? 

“I don’t know why you guys are treating it like it’s a huge thing-- I might not even make it.”

“Shut the fuck up, would you? You signed up for it, shouldn’t you put your 100% and go as far as you can?”

The words can’t find their way out of your mouth. Minho was sitting in his sofa, petting Soon-ie, with a huge duffel bag at his feet. You were sitting in Minho’s living room, with Doongie curled up in your lap and the dance captain from BTS’ Fire and Not Today performance dance unit about to swing a fist in Minho’s face. 

An awkward silence fell upon the three of you, knowing that this could be the start of a friendship with a changed dynamic. You were one foot into BigHit because you’ve passed the first audition, Minho was going on JYP’s Stray Kids survival show and your dance-captain was being scouted into Yuehua’s waters.

The morning sun gushes down onto your faces when Minho’s father rushes to get the car ready, leaving the three of you at the entrance of the carpark. Your dance captain had an audition appointment with Yuehua soon, so he pulls Minho into a tight hug and provides him a harsh pat on the back.

“Make us proud.”

Minho doesn’t respond, only nodding subtly before sending him off. 

But you? You are reluctant to even look at him. If he wins that show, he’d be gone for more days and months than you can count. No longer would he spend his Christmases and New Years with you, but with his group members. His cats wouldn’t be meowing for his attention, because he’s not at home anymore.

What’s worse, if you get through BigHit’s third audition, you’ll be thrown into a girl group. 

And Godforsake a girl group member being seen with a boy group member, right?

“You could be a little more enthusiastic, y’know.”

“How can I be enthusiastic when I’m watching you strut your ass off into unchartered territory?”

Minho smiles, his bunny teeth unafraid to expose themselves. You can see his father’s car coming out, the ache in your heart getting harder and harder to ignore. 

“I’ll come back to find you, or maybe BigHit, I don’t know,” Minho gently pulls you into a hug, careful to keep his hands on your upper back and shoulders. “But I will always come back to you.”

[hazbincalifornia]

Soiled Tea

Chapter 23: Blitzo gets home and contemplates things.

Warnings: As always, mpreg, and brief mentions of underage drinking. Generally shitty thoughts about babies.

Likes, replies, and reblogs are all appreciated, both here and on ao3!

Ao3 link

“Blitz.” There was a pounding on his door, and it took a few seconds to process that it was Loona. “You’ve been in there for like three hours. The fuck happened?”

“Piss off!” Blitzo called back, scrolling mindlessly down Voxtagram with only a pause to scrub at his sore eyes. The phone buzzed with another text from Stolas, and he swiped it up without looking like the last twelve. A growl rumbled from behind at the door, and the scratch of Loona’s claws dragged down the wood.

“Fine, don’t tell me! It’s not like I care either way, I just want to know if you’re going to start bitching at me over whatever it is!” Loona’s weight creaked the floorboards as she padded away from the door, mere moments before Blitzo’s stomach growled.

Oh. Right. He hadn’t eaten properly in days, and the little fucker was going to be feeling that.

...It’d be easier to starve the bastard if it wouldn’t hurt him too. He only realized that his fingers had dug into his stomach when the red glow fluttered in and out, and his teeth gritted as he pushed himself off the bed, the creak reminding him how badly he needed a new mattress and frame. Stolas sleeping on it the other day couldn’t have helped, and it was going to collapse under him one of these days. There was probably some kind of metaphor in there he didn’t feel like puzzling through at the moment.

Moping later. Food now. He was pretty sure they’d stocked up a few days ago, so unless Loona had eaten everything since he’d been out, he could make some cup noodles and curl back up on the bed in peace. Loona was draped over the couch with screams and gorey splatters echoing from the TV when he exited his room, and she raised an eyebrow at seeing him mere moments after he’d told her to piss off. Blitzo sighed.

“Look, I just want to bury my sorrow in some cheap-ass junk right now, got it?”

She pointed to the freezer. “Try the strawberry scoop.”

“Thanks, dear.” First he needed to get the noodles, though. Blitzo opened the cabinet, reaching for the cups before brushing against a small bag. Why did he have a bag in the…?

His fingers froze, touching the edge of the packet- it was Stolas’s tea from their café meeting, tied with a pretty little bow. He’d mostly been over the nausea hump by the time he’d gotten it so it had been stuffed in the back of the cabinet, and right now, it was leaned against a partially-opened hot chocolate packet that must have been years old. It made the wood smell both moldy and chocolatey-fresh. Over the last few weeks, the powder had seeped into the mix of the tea- and probably ruined it too. There was an ant curled up in front of the fancy little bag which was almost certainly dead, flat on its back with legs curled heavenward.

The thing was moving again, but when he smacked the side of his stomach, it turned over a little with a shudder and stopped. Progress.

His hands were shaking by the time he pulled the noodles out from next to the tea (and next to the hot chocolate, and some expired crackers, and the little baggie of rat poison he’d borrowed from Millie and Moxxie’s closet) and began boiling the water to prepare them the same way he’d done hundreds of times before. No thinking required. The TV droned on in the living room, but the volume was low and he could still hear the water dripping from the leak over the fridge and his own heartbeat.

Casually, he leaned back against the countertop as he waited for the water to soak in, then realized that angle made the bump stick out even more, and also that he’d never actually taken off Stolas’s shirt. The knot in the back was thick and hard on his back, and it pressed on his protruding vertebrae against the granite. He tapped the end of his tail next to a stray protein bar wrapper on the countertop before sweeping it towards the trash. It missed, fluttering down to the dirty floor like a dying moth. Blitzo scooped up the cup, stabbing the top with a fork before bringing it back to his room and turning on a video of some idiot screaming at video games to drown out whatever thoughts couldn't be suppressed otherwise.

Loona didn’t bother him for the rest of the night, but he could hear her slam the fridge’s door shut and pop open a can of something around ten. He peeled off the shirt and went to bed.

__________________

An hour after going to bed, he realized that the sex-sweat stuck to his skin was itchy, sticky, and smelled like shit. He managed to last approximately fifteen more minutes before dragging himself off the bed and crawling into the shower, flipping on the water and twisting it to scalding. He didn’t bother to scrub anything down, simply letting the pounding water pelt into his body until the caked sweat slid off like a bug shedding its skin.

Loona was still in the living room, playing some kind of racing game. They made eye contact for a few seconds and she sighed, chucking him a chocolate bar that she’d fished out of the cushions at some point during the night when he’d been in his room.

Sure, she couldn’t actually eat it herself anyway, but the gesture was nice, even though his teeth felt kind of fuzzy when he flopped back on the bed again after pulling on a worn-out band tee that had become a crop top at some point even before the pregnancy. 

__________________

The kid was moving. Of course they were. It wasn’t like he could ask for sleep or for them to allow him to pretend they didn’t exist for a few hours, could he? They were just a lump of stupid meat, they didn't know any better than being an annoying pest that their daddy couldn't stand. He screamed into the pillow again. It didn’t help.

__________________

Maybe he could join the circus again. He had new, better jokes now. Like his life. (That one would have gotten a laugh, or at least it would have with a crowd that wasn’t drunk off its ass- or maybe that would have been the exact audience for it. Kids were never drunk enough, and the ones whose parents shoved bottles at them to get them to shut up just puked everywhere. Their taste buds weren't developed enough yet, it just tasted like piss half the time before you got used to it. He still remembered the smell of the cheesy chips incident.)

__________________

Had Stolas planned this all along? He’d sure as fuck seemed to think that Blitzo had already known what the deal was, and maybe he’d wondered a little, but come on, the guy had been so excited, anybody would have figured that he wanted to be the one to raise it. Babies were (literally) shitty little leeches on the lives of whoever was unlucky enough to pop them out, but Stolas had been so pumped for another kid, obviously he’d wanted to raise it. This was entirely his fault. This was entirely his fault. Blitzo was a smart guy, he'd find some way to get out of this. He'd made it this far, hadn't he?

__________________

Could he get out of this? He tried to remember exactly how the deal had been phrased, but then realized that Stolas would probably yank the book back if he did manage to find some way to kill the thing without offing himself. Well, shit. That’d suck, and he’d probably lose Moxxie and Millie in the bargain, and then him and Loona would get chucked out on the concrete and have to forage for scraps until they managed to mug some particularly wealthy sinner. Could you pass on syphilis through bites? Loonie’d probably know. It was something to keep in mind as a potential threat.

__________________

Did orphanages do speed dial? No, Stolas would find it somehow. He probably had some kind of magic tracking device for occasions like this.

__________________

God damn he needed a better mattress. He could still feel the indent where Stolas had been if he rolled over just right, and he smacked at it until it felt like the rest of the bed.

It didn’t actually help that much, but at least when one spot got hot, he could roll over a little to the cooler half without sinking in.

__________________

What would it even look like? Would it be kind of cute or some mutant monstrosity? Both its dads were hot, so it would have to have something going for it if it wasn’t just some horrible moaning mess of feathers and patchy skin.

He hadn’t really minded the thought of being, like, an uncle or some shit. There for the fun parts, popping in like twice a month to jingle keys above its face and teach it to play paintball. If Barbie had squeezed something out after fucking around when they were still a duo act he could have dealt with that as long as they didn’t have to sleep in the same room- he didn’t really mind kids that much in small doses. They could be fun little chaotic monsters, even though they were judgmental as shit and smelled fear.

With this, though, he couldn’t just hand it back when he got bored, and he always, always got bored or scared or- fuck, not thinking about that.

He would try scrolling Voxtagram again, but he came across an ad for maternity wear before trying to go to sleep the first time and nearly chucked the phone. 

__________________

The only thing that kept him from rolling off the bed and grabbing a hard drink to knock him out, baby be damned, was the fact that he’d found a spot that almost was comfortable in the sheets now soaked with sweat again. Unfortunately, the clock said it was 5:13 AM.

__________________

The alarm blared directly in Blitzo’s ear and he whapped it with a pillow, slamming it off the bedside table and into the floor. It was definitely broken now from the horrid cracking noise, and he groaned, scrubbing at his eyes. "Fuuuuuuuuuuuck."

“Morning, sleeping ugly,” Loona said as she gargled mouthwash in the sink. She had the bags under her eyes that probably matched his and said she’d been drinking more than usual last night. Smart kid. He’d picked one that he could be a parent to without changing diapers for a reason- so he could be supportive to an actual person and not just a screaming little meat-lump that couldn’t even drink or smoke yet. Maybe Stolas could make it magically grow up so he wouldn't have to deal with that shit? “You gonna finally tell me what the fuck happened? You look like you watched the apartment blow up and you smell even worse.”

“Come on, honey, I showered-” Blitzo cleared his throat. To be fair, sex-stink didn't come off that easily when you were going at it for days, and Loona had always had a real sensitive nose. “Daddy’s maaaaaybe got a little tiny problem,” he muttered, and she raised an eyebrow.

“And that problem is? Usually, you’ll be upfront about why you’re being a whiny-“

“Apparently,” he started, and his tone made Loona’s mouth snap shut, “Stolas thought I was going to be the one actually raising the little bastard.”

“What the fuck? You two didn’t clear this up months ago?” Her claws dug into the counter as one eye twitched, and a bit of mouthwash foam dripped off her chin.

“I didn’t think we’d have to! He wanted the thing, he’d take it, that made sense!” He dragged a hand down his face, and Loona leaned back against the sink, crossing her arms. The foam hit her top, soaking in next to the left tit.

“So get rid of it.”

“I can’t, he enchanted my guts.” Blitzo snatched a butter knife smeared with long-dried jam off the table and aimed it at his stomach- moments before it touched the skin, red flashed. His hand shot to the side, preventing anymore more than a slight scratch. “I don’t even want to know what’d happen if I tried to take a pill or something and puked it up. Explode, probably.”

Loona sighed. “Well, this is fuckin’ peachy.” She crossed the kitchen, grabbing some toast that popped up, pressing more down and dropping the plain bread with a pad of butter on the side on a plate in front of him. “Toss it at an orphanage.”

“It’s gonna be a freak, it’d probably just get mauled. Imp kids are vicious, especially orphans, they’ve all gotta fight for table scraps.”

“Why would you care?” Loona shifted a little on her seat. “You get rid of it either way.”

“Stolas’d kill me.”

“He likes your dick too much, he wouldn’t. I’m not changing diapers. Why can’t he take it again?”

“He thought his wife would shank the fucker. Considering she tried to stab me, it’s probably not that far off. I’ll find some way to-” he yawned. “To pawn it off or something. Maybe we find somebody that likes exotic pets.” His head swam with visions of a shiny, gilded cage containing a little feathered imp that wore sequins and hissed at anything that got too close. He stabbed at the butter. “I don’t want this either, alright?”

“But you went along with having it anyway, and with me, you wanted-” She cut herself off and drummed her fingers against her bicep. “This is your fuck-up, I’m just saying don’t drag me into it.”

“Very reassuring, thank you,” Blitzo muttered, sarcasm thick enough to gore like it was a pig. "We have any coffee?"

"I finished it the other night. We can go to that place on Sixth before work." Loona snatched her own toast as it popped up too quickly to actually have toasted any and stuffed it in her mouth plain, tearing off a bite and chewing in a way that was reminiscent of thoughtful. “I don’t think he’d be nice enough to let you die when it pops out, and you screw up all the time and haven’t completely ruined your life yet. You can figure shit out from there. Maybe we can sell them on the black market and move out of this fucking dump, or you can flutter your eyelashes and get him to change his mind. Worst comes to worst, it's sharing your room.”

“Thanks, Loonie,” Blitzo mumbled around a mouthful of bread. “Always know how to cheer me up.”

The phone buzzed, and he was about to ignore it again until he saw that it was from Millie.

“Still at Stolas’s or coming in to work today Blitz? Moxx and I miss you :)’

Blitzo wiped crumbs on his pants and groaned before typing back.

‘yeh im coimin back’

He added extra jam to the bread before shoving the rest in his mouth, and the kid kicked his bladder hard enough that he almost pissed himself right at the table.

Today was gonna be fuckin’ peachy.

[glockmonkey]

Right-Hand Cat

A jmart fic! Cross-posted to ao3 here.

Jon finds a cat behind the safehouse: or, rather, a cat finds him.

Spoilers for everything up to ep.192!

Content warnings:

Cats, worry over nutrition/weight (of a cat), apocalypse (plus general eyepocalypse stuff), mild body horror, brief depiction of paranoia/being triggered (not sure what it counts as), following/stalking (by cats), brief worry over parasites (staged), swearing, food, worry over disease (unresolved)

----

Jon was trying to make use of the wild blackberries behind the safehouse, but this damned cat wasn’t letting him. 

He’d nearly dropped the pail several times at this point, but the cat wouldn’t stop nagging him. Twisting in and out of his ankles, laying on the ground where he should have been kneeling. On one occasion, it had tried to get into his pail.

Jon had shooed him away hurriedly. He wasn’t sure if cats could eat blackberries.

It had been over an hour, and still the cat stayed. Jon nudged it gently with his foot so he could reach an obscured clump. 

“Made a new friend?” Martin called from the back door. Jon blinked at the light from the open door.

“Ha, ha,” said Jon sarcastically. 

“You should probably come inside. It’s getting pretty dark.” 

“You’re probably right,” said Jon, standing up. The cat stood with him. “Copycat,” Jon muttered, and dusted himself off. 

The bucket was heavier than he’d thought: he hoped the plastic didn’t crack under the weight of its contents.

Martin hummed upon seeing this. “Maybe we have too many.”

“Eh. Could always make a pie, or something.”

“Settling into that cottage lifestyle, are you?” said Martin. “Your friend seems to be, too.”

“What?” asked Jon, and then spared a look at his feet, where the cat had reappeared, squeezing its way into the door. “Oh, no you don’t.” He slid the door shut.

“Why not? It’s just a cat.” Martin looked at the cat, its sullen face pressed against the glass between them.

Jon shut the blinds, blocking the cat’s gaze completely. “Could have rabies, or something.”

“Yeah,” said Martin, his face falling. “I guess.”

----

The cat came back the next day. And the day after that.

Every time Jon stepped outside, there it was. In all its tuxedo glory.

Jon shut the door every time, but he couldn’t help but notice how scrawny it looked.

He couldn’t stop himself. He put two cans of fish into their trolley at the store one night. Then he put in some more.

“Tuna?” asked Martin, browsing the store’s limited amount of soups.

“Why not? We have crackers.”

Martin smirked, and Jon pretended that he hadn’t.

The walk back to the safehouse from the store was peaceful enough, as it were. The cool October air was still, for once, but the air was thick with humidity. Jon began to wish he had brought an umbrella.

Suddenly, he heard hurried footsteps behind him. He jumped, swiveling in his place, swinging his bag of groceries in defense.

Behind him was not some eldritch monster. It was a woman: middle-aged, crouched on the ground in front of a large black-and-white cat. He felt Martin’s hand on his arm, steadying him. He sighed in relief.

“Oh!” said the woman, as if realizing the panic she’d caused. “I’m sorry, I just-” she gestured towards the cat aimlessly. “I haven’t seen this kitty in a few weeks. She was following you, and I figured-” she stood up suddenly. “I’m Lindsey.”

Martin shook her proffered hand politely. “Martin. This is Jon.”

Jon tried for a friendly smile. The shock hadn’t quite worn off, so he figured it looked more like a grimace.

If Lindsey was offended, she didn’t show it. “Nice to meet you, Jon. Do you know this cat?”

“Oh, um.” Jon looked down at the cat, who was circling around his legs again. “Sort of? Is she yours?”

“No, not really,” Linsey said. “She used to belong to one of the teachers here, but after he passed, she’s just been wandering. We’ve tried to rehome her, but she never really seemed to take to anywhere.”

“Poor thing,” whispered Martin.

“She’s friendly, if you want to pet her,” said Linsey.

Martin kneeled on the ground. In an instant, the cat was there, purring and rubbing her face on his hand. Martin cooed.

“Traitor,” muttered Jon, and Linsey laughed. Jon couldn’t help but be reminded of Rosie, all the way back in London, and then he banished the thought.

“Does she have a name?” asked Martin.

“Depends who you ask,” said Lindsey. “I always call her ‘Sasha,’ though. That was her original name, anyhow.”

“Sasha,” murmured Jon, and sat down beside Martin on the sidewalk.

“Oh, dear,” said Lindsey suddenly. “I just felt a drop.”

A second bead of water fell on Cat-Sasha’s head, and she dove under Martin’s legs. He swiftly picked her up and zipped her into his jacket.

“Fleas,” muttered Jon halfheartedly.

“You two need a ride home?”

“No, thank you,” said Jon.

Cat-Sasha meowed in agreement.

“Alright, nice meeting you!” said Lindsey, and then she was gone.

“So, we’re keeping her, right?” asked Martin.

“I guess,” said Jon, a little too quickly. Martin smiled.

----

Since Jon had given in to Sasha, another cat had graced their presence. A tabby, this time, wandering their small garden.

Jon refused to do anything but leave food out for her, but Sasha mewed pitifully in her direction anytime the tabby appeared. Jon took to shutting the blinds at most hours, making the safehouse rather dreary.

“We can’t take in every stray cat we find,” he muttered, more to himself than to Martin.

“But they’re friends,” said Martin mournfully.

“They can still do cat things outside,” said Jon. “No reason we have to adopt her. She’s probably lived outside for a while.”

He still felt guilty when it rained, though.

----

Jon and Martin had taken to walking, in the past month. In the afternoons, mostly, when the sun was still out and Jon didn’t have to wear much more than a jumper. He still wore gloves, though, partly because he seemed to be permanently cold, and partly because Martin had made them.

It was nice, really. The hills rolling in the distance. His hand in Martin’s. The highland cows.

Plus, it meant they weren’t seeing the same safehouse and garden all the time.

Ahead of them, a man waved. Jon waved back, hesitantly.

“Have you met many of the neighbours yet?” asked Martin.

“Not really,” said Jon. “Except Lindsey. Have you?”

“No,” Martin sighed. “Haven’t had much inclination since, you know.” The Lonely, he didn’t say.

“Ah,” said Jon. He squeezed Martin’s hand tighter. It had been weeks since Martin had last Faded, but there was always a chance. Martin squeezed back.

“The streak in your hair still hasn’t faded,” Martin whispered sadly. Jon knew he still felt badly about what happened in the Lonely. He wished he didn’t. He wished he could - well. Know the guilt away, somehow.

“Neither has yours,” Jon said instead. “We match.”

“We match,” said Martin, smiling slightly.

“Not like it makes much difference on me, though,” said Jon, adjusting a pin in his grey-streaked hair.

“I suppose not.”

Jon caught sight of something in the distance. Something brown, and bulky. “Cows,” he said to Martin.

“Cats.”

“What?”

“Cats,” repeated Martin, smirking. “Behind you.”

“I’m not looking,” he said.

“You should.”

“If I don’t look, they’re not there.”

A furry, tabby form butted his ankle with its head.

Jon groaned, and looked.

Behind him stretched a small army of cats, gathered behind them both.

“Like a fucking Ghibli character, I am,” he whispered incredulously.

Martin gaped.

“A goddamn line. Like ducklings,” Jon went on.

“And a General to lead them,” said Martin, scratching Cat-Sasha’s tabby friend behind the ears.

“You did not just name the kitty stalker.”

“She’s made her point. I think this is a cat resume.”

“To be adopted?”

Martin grinned. The General meowed expectantly.

Jon scooped the cat into his arms reluctantly, where she promptly scampered to perch on his shoulder. “No more cats after this.”

“Yes, sir.”

----

Jon hadn’t seen many of the garden’s cats since the Change. Those that remained were wrong, and Jon was glad when they finally disappeared.

----

“Are you sure this is it?” Martin asked nervously.

“Yes, Martin,” said Georgie. “I think I know where to find cat hell. It’s not hard to miss.”

“Just checking. This place feels, I dunno.” Martin pulled his jacket tighter around himself. “Human hell-ish. Lots of screaming.”

“Lots of people are scared of cats,” said Melanie. “They’re very murderous.”

“That sure gives me hope for our field trip,” said Martin glumly. “Lead the way, Mrs. Frizzle.”

“I’ve got the earrings for it, so I’ll consider that a compliment,” said Georgie. “Be warned, though. The cats aren’t… quite right.”

“We know,” said Jon. “The safehouse had a few, before everything really got into place.”

“I’m sorry,” said Georgie.

“It’s okay.”

Jon heard a shriek from up ahead.

Melanie winced. “Doesn’t get much easier, does it?” she whispered to Georgie.

“No,” said Georgie. “It doesn’t.”

“Are they all that tall?” asked Martin, peering over the ridge they were cresting.

“What, you’re afraid of dinosaur cats?” asked Melanie playfully.

“I’ll have you know that dinosaur cats are bloody terrifying and oh my god why didn’t you warn us-”

“I did!” protested Georgie.

“The safehouse cats were like bad putty creations, not forty feet tall!”

Jon squinted into the distance. He could see, faintly, a tabby and a tuxedo cat - likely torturing some poor human.

“General?” he called. “Sasha?”

A booming mrrp? sounded across the clearing.

“Admiral?” yelled Melanie, and a furry form came bounding towards them, quickly followed by two others.

“Jesus,” Martin breathed.

“Cats!” exclaimed Georgie delightedly, amidst the chaos.

The cats came to a skidding halt in front of the ridge. Melanie put her hand out expectantly, and The Admiral butted it with his gargantuan head. Georgie followed suit, scratching behind his behemoth ears.

Before Jon and Martin, their two cats sat expectantly. Martin reached out tentatively with his hand to pat Cat-Sasha’s head. Jon worried her purring would cause an avalanche of some sort, but he wasn’t sure those happened anymore, without reason.

He had only just ruffled The General’s fur when he felt a familiar sensation. The Eye.

“I’m sorry, I…” he started, gesturing vaguely.

“It’s okay, Jon,” said Martin. “Go make your statement.”

Jon nodded, and walked away.

[baileys-aurora]

Under the Surface

Ateez x Reader (fem), Mermaid/ Pirate au

Part 5/?

Previous Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Sorry it took a bit to update, school decided to attack me.

Finding Wooyoung was easier than you thought it would be, his silhouette was sitting at the front of the boat with his feet dangling. As you got closer the moonlight was reflecting off of his hair as he was lost in thought staring at the water. “Thank you” you interrupted his thoughts as you lowered yourself next to him, holding the railing the entire time, as squatting was on a whole different level then walking. which was easier this time with your legs, thanks to the boy now looking at you. “are you ok?” he watched as you got comfortable next to him, “I am thanks to you” you looked over and smiled at him which he returned before looking ahead and pointing out into the darkness, “there is an island there, if it wasn’t so dark I would show you through a telescope.” you just stared at him while he was talking not even looking where his finger was pointing as you knew nothing could be seen anyway. Once he noticed your stare, he looked back at you, his eyes held pain and something else you couldn’t recognize.

Breaking the eye contact because it was becoming too intense to hold you looked back to the darkness ahead, “I’m confused” you sighed out, his brows furrowed, “what’s confusing” “everything. you” you looked back at him, “I thought you repulsed my kind so why did you help me? No one else knew what to do so, you could have gotten rid of me.” his face softened at your statement, “I never smoked,” he was silently looking for the right words before continuing, “I was in love once, before I came here. She was different like you” you began to realize how he understood what you needed, “she lived near the docks of my hometown, and she was the purest heart I’ve met. Too much beauty to be contained on the inside so it spilled to her outside features as well. I spent most of my time like I do here, feet dangled over the dock talking to her, falling in love with her. She soon became curious of my would as I did hers.” you noticed his eyes glazing over as his voice became a bit shaky, “too curious for her own good, she had withdraws like you did the first couple times she came into my world. eventually she could belong in both worlds without issue, we were so happy, I was so happy. But eventually she wanted more, I-I tried to stop her from leaving me and I told her it was dangerous. So, she began to use her voice to keep me by her side without complaints, I’m not sure if there was love from her side at all now that I look back on our conversations or manipulation but at the time I didn’t care. She became all I needed.” a tear rolled down his cheek as he tried to catch it before it fell, “she soon became curious about other people too, other me-men and I somehow couldn’t do anything about it but stand at her side. She ruined me slowly and it was out of my control. But I was still there helping her curios nature. She didn’t leave me like I begged her not to but now I wish she had. When I could eventually get away it was too late, I was already broken.” More tears rolled down his face, not even attempting to wipe them away anymore. He silently cried until he was calm enough to speak again.

“Then Hongjoong found me, he helped fix me to his best ability and from that little bit of relief I was immensely grateful. I wanted to follow, to help someone as worthy as he was and still is, helping, not destroying innocent souls.” You reached for his shaking hand, he allowed you take it, lacing his freezing fingers with your warm ones. “that’s why I helped you, you were not like her you had an innocent soul, if I let you die, I would have been doing the very thing I despised. Not helping a good person in need.” He laid his head on your shoulder as he finished his story, your heart was broken for him, a tear of your own finally rolling down your cheek, it was hotter than you had imagined them to feel like.

“I’m so sorry something like that happened to you, you are worth every piece of the happiness you will gain back. This time though it won’t leave you.” you felt him nod his head as you sat in silence, after all the words that were spoken what else could be said. His hands calming down as he found comfort in you. “Can I ask you something” he finally lifted his head to look up at you, nodding your head he continued, “Why haven’t you told anyone your name yet?” was he asking around for your name? “no one has asked me” you simply responded. “then I will be the first,” he began eyes still red from his previous tears, “Hi, I’m Wooyoung and you are?” he had a small smile. “y/n” you reciprocated his smile, “y/n” he repeated while laying his head back on your shoulder, “I think that’s my new favorite name. y/n” he complimented you causing a blush to creep up your face.

“do you know where the girl went?” Yeosang questioned everyone he ran into, receiving a “no” or “I don’t know” every time. Eventually just looking himself, he found you on the front of the boat with Wooyoung, “there you guys are I was getting worried, no one knew where you were.” he waited a couple seconds but received no answer not even being acknowledged. Rude, he thought to himself as he walked to the side of Wooyoung, head still on your shoulder as yours was leaned against his. “Oh, great they fell asleep” Yeosang began to talk to himself, “and here I thought they were just ignoring me.” He squatted next to Wooyoung noticing that you were holding hands before lightly shaking him awake. He woke up pretty easy and moved his head causing yours to start falling which was caught with Yeosang’s hand. Wooyoung looked up at him before realizing he was still outside, trying to rub his eyes, your hand unattached from his leaving his palm cold, he again didn’t realize he was still holding your hand. He began to stand and look back at Yeosang who was still supporting your head, Wooyoung smiled down at you before bending down and picking you up for the second time tonight. “I will take her to the captain’s cabin, tell her whatever your came to say tomorrow morning” Yeosang nodded, “I figured” he said before walking away.

 Laying you down on the mattress he noticed you were no longer wearing his clothes but Hongjoong’s, wondering his captain had enjoyed being able to breath underwater as much as he once did. Watching you curl up from the lack of warmth he was tempted to just join you for the night as you have already slept most of the night together outside. He eventually talked himself out of it and decided to just bring you more blankets then the thin one he already covered you with. Returning with a thicker one he spread it out over you and placed a soft kiss on your forehead, “thank you. For listening to me, comforting me, and trusting me, even just enough to tell me your name.” smiling while he walked back to the door, “Sweet dreams, y/n” he whispered from the door before leaving and shutting it behind him.

 San watched Wooyoung leave with a smile, why was he smiling? he thought to himself as he finished climbing down the last bit of steps, his shift in the crow’s nest ending. San began to walk towards the cabin but spun around when he decided against it and walked towards the below deck entrance. Stopping halfway down he debated going back up and checking on you, what if Wooyoung did something to you? He wouldn't, he was one of San’s closest friends he knew him better than that. Continuing his steps, he walked to his bunk and spotted Wooyoung shifting back and forth trying to get comfortable. As San looked closer, he was shivering, one of his blankets are missing. Sighing he grabbed one of the extras off his bed and covered Wooyoung to which he eventually stopped shivering. Going to bed himself he was fine without his other blanket, why didn’t he just ask to borrow one.

 Waking up from a soft knock at the door you became confused on how you ended up in a bed. Making your way to the door was easier than expected maybe these legs would be easier than you expected. Opening the door, a beautiful boy was standing on the other side, he could be a part of royalty from what has been described to you before. When he saw you, his face broke out into a smile, opening the door wider you walked back you the bed so you didn’t push your legs to much today. He followed you in sitting on the captain’s desk, people seemed to sit their more than the chair itself. “I don’t know if you remember much from last night, but I am Yeosang.” “I remember you” you smiled at him, “I’m y/n” “that is a beautiful name” he nodded his head and making a facial expression like he had just tasted the best food in the world. Making you laugh you decided to play along, “not as beautiful as you though” you put a hand to your heart, which caused him to laugh, “I just came to officially meet you, and say sorry for not doing more last night to help you” “you couldn’t have known, no one could have” You reassured him, “I shouldn’t have told Seonghwa I was fine when I wasn’t” you looked down at your legs, “now that I know the symptoms I will be more careful.” silence fell over the two of you as there was nothing else to be said.

“Are you hungry?” Yeosang spoke up, nodding your head he watched you stand up making sure he didn’t have to help you before following behind you out and towards the kitchen.

“what would you like” he asked rolling up his sleeves as you sat down at the table, “chef Yeosang is at your service” he joked again. “Hmm” you thought about it for a second, “the same thing you’re eating” he smiled before opening a cabinet and pulling out a box of crackers. “not much here but we will restock when we reach land later today.” He slid them across the table to you and sat across from you. Both enjoying the bland food because of the company of each other. Yeosang felt better.

Wooyoung woke up sweating, why was sans warmest blanket on him, sitting up he removed it and threw it back onto San’s sleeping body. “How do you not cook alive?” he spoke more to himself than San, changing out of his sweaty clothes he ran a hand through his hair before climbing to the main deck at looking at the captain’s cabin before starting his day getting everything ready for the delivery later today.

Now it was San’s turn to wake up, starting his day like any other. However, he made a quick stop to where he figured you would still be. Cracking the door, he was met with Hongjoong’s questioning face, “what’s up?” he asked setting down the paper in his hand. “I was just checking on the girl but I guess she already woke up.” he said before closing the door. “y/n” he heard Wooyoung’s voice from behind him. San turned around with a confused face. “The girl, her name is y/n” he repeated as he approached San, “really? she has pretty name.” I thought the same thing “Wooyoung said as he passed San heading towards the kitchen, stopping before entering, “wanna join me?” “yeah, why not.” San smiled before walking towards the kitchen as well.

Entering the Kitchen, they heard laughing as they watched a half of a cracker being thrown at Yeosang as he tried to catch it with his mouth. He did, chewing it happily as you both looked at San and Wooyoung, “want one?” you asked looking at Wooyoung to which he nodded and bent his knees ready to catch one. You threw it not making it far enough as it hit his chin, which he was able to catch with his hands before it hit the floor. Next you looked at San who almost looked hurt you asked Wooyoung first, “your turn” you said to him getting another cracker ready. This time tossing it with the right force to reach high enough for his mouth. He caught it with his teeth before turning to Wooyoung and raising his brows at him which resulted in everyone laughing at him. You felt accepted from them, happy you were here. Not sure if home was as high a priority anymore.

“We need to reach them before they reach land” one hissed out, “I was almost able to reach her” another hissed as they glided through the water. “She smelled fresh” the last one wickedly smiled as they increased their speed following the ship. “The human too, he seemed tasty as well” they snickered to themselves.

Not noticing the figures following behind them with royal weapons of the sea. They were planning, waiting for the opportunity to attack these three fallen sea spirits. The importance of you was way more than their simple minds could comprehend. Much more than themselves as well.

Next Part

Tag List: @fatheadthemango​

[whumphoarder]

¿Cómo se dice ‘I’m in Deep Sh*t’?

Summary: Due to unforeseen circumstances (and a bit of procrastination), Peter runs out of time to prepare for his Spanish presentation and ends up faking sick to buy himself some more.

He just wasn’t really counting on Tony being the one to pick him up from school.

Word count: 2,997

Genre: humor, fluff, whump

Link to read on Ao3

A/N: Based on a prompt from @coconutknightshade! 

Apparently it takes a village to write a story lol—thanks to @xxx-cat-xxx, @sallyidss, @fandomsficsandfeels, & @seek-rest for beta-reading and ideas, and @lunannex for Spanish help!

“What if I just like… fake my death?” Peter suggests as he hands his mentor a different sized wrench. “They can’t mark me down for not doing it if I’m dead, right?”

Tony, who is currently bent over their latest project (replacing the timing belt in May’s car), snorts. “As someone who’s been officially presumed dead more than once, can’t say I recommend it. Way too much paperwork.”

Peter sighs. “Can we stage a kidnapping then?” he says hopefully. “Or an alien abduction?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s a four-minute speech, not the end of the world—though I have some experience with that too.” He holds out a hand. “Half inch ratchet.”

“A four-minute speech in Spanish,” Peter emphasizes, passing him the requested tool. “Which is a language I don’t speak.”

“Hence why you’re in Spanish class,” Tony counters. “With all the other kids who can’t speak Spanish.”

“But it’s also like ten percent of my grade,” Peter goes on as his mentor loosens the timing belt and removes it from the engine before handing it to Peter to set aside. “And I have to talk about what I do in a typical week, and it’s not like I can say I go patrolling or come over to the compound, so I’m gonna have to make stuff up—”

Tony interrupts, “Yo veo mucha televisión,” he says sagely.

“—and then what if I get up there and forget everything and just sound stupid?” Peter continues his rant. He groans and passes Tony the replacement belt. “Maybe I should just conveniently get the flu on Wednesday.”

Looking up from the engine, Tony raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you really this stressed about it? Because if you need to focus on school, I could just finish this up myself.”

Peter sighs again and runs a hand through his hair—he hadn’t meant to complain this much, he’d just kind of gotten on a roll after Tony asked him how school was going. “No, no… I wanted to come over—really. And I’ve got three more days to work on it, it’s just like… ugh. I should have taken German instead.”

Tony huffs out a short laugh. “Pretty sure they have to speak in German class too.”

“Yeah but MJ’s not in German…” Peter mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” Tony asks, elbow deep in the engine block.

Peter expels a breath. “Nothing, it’s fine,” he says a bit more audibly, trying to convince himself as much as his mentor. So what if the most observant and shrewd person in his year also happens to be in his Spanish class?

(And so what if he might have a bit of a crush on her?)

Tony chuckles. “You’ll do great, kid,” he assures. “Just make sure you practice.”

Peter forces a smile. “Right, yeah, of course.”

X

Practicing, however, turns out to be easier said than done.

With finals fast approaching, it’s crunch time for all of Peter’s classes. Whatever spare moments he has over the weekend are spent finishing up his Animal Farm essay for the English summative and cramming for his geometry test Monday morning. The upcoming Spanish presentation hangs over his head, but it’s more annoying than anything else. He figures it should be fairly simple to actually bullshit something and translate it if he just sits down and does it (which, ironically, somehow makes it easier to push off).

He’s intending to work on it Monday evening, but a winter storm hits that afternoon, dumping eight inches of snow and ice on the city. Peter spends most of his patrol assisting with minor traffic accidents and helping stranded motorists scrape ice from their vehicles or shovel cars out of parking spaces. By the time he gets home late that night, he’s too exhausted to do much more than sit on the couch with May and drink cocoa while she watches Grey’s Anatomy reruns.

Oh well. He’s still got time.

Peter tries to make good use of his study hall on Tuesday, but the period ends up being kind of a wash. He spends half the time attempting to come up with something to say that is both interesting enough to make him seem not totally lame while still believable enough to fool MJ, and the other half messing around on his phone and trying to recall the name of the annoying song stuck in his head.

(It was ‘Goodbye’ by The Spice Girls.)

He’s intending to finish the presentation Tuesday evening after he gets home, but then Ned throws an unexpected monkey wrench into his plans just before the final bell rings.

“So I gotta be there early for warm ups, but my mom will pick you up around six, okay?” he tells Peter as they pack up their book bags.

Peter frowns, confused. “...Pick me up?”

Ned tilts his head. “Unless May can give you a ride after all? But I thought you said she was working tonight, right?”

All of a sudden it clicks—tonight is Ned’s first band concert. He’d taken up percussion a few months back in an effort to beef up his extracurriculars for his college applications. Peter agreed to go to the performance weeks ago.

“Oh right right right,” Peter quickly covers. “Six is great. I’ll see her then!”

Ned beams. “Awesome! My sister and her boyfriend are coming too, so we might go out to celebrate afterwards!”

“Yeah, awesome!” Peter agrees, forcing a grin. “That should be really fun.”

(Oh yeah, he’s screwed.)

X

The concert was cool. Ned hit that triangle with all the required enthusiasm whenever his parts came up, and Peter flashed him loads of encouraging thumbs-ups from the audience. When it was over, they all went out to Denny’s for some mediocre late-night pancakes and the usual Leeds family banter. All in all, a pretty fun night.

When Peter gets home a little after ten, he opens his Spanish doc in one tab and promptly falls into a YouTube hole in another while looking for background music. He’s still grinning when he closes out of his fifth vine compilation video in a row until he checks the time a second later and the grin dissolves. It’s 12:03 a.m.

Oops.

Study hall Wednesday morning will be his saving grace, he’s sure.

X

So, of course, a fight has to break out right outside of the library.

It’s not too bad—the two instigating students are hauled away by security with a couple bloody noses and black eyes, and a few other kids are taken down to the office for questioning. Peter was far enough removed from the action that he doesn’t have to come along, but the whole debacle eats up all but the last ten minutes of the period so when the bell finally rings, he’s got precisely five words written down:

Hola, me llamo Peter Parker.

(Suddenly all those jokes about faking his own death are starting to sound a lot more appealing.)

Or if not my death, he thinks as he trudges down the hall in the direction of his Spanish classroom, cold dread pooling in his gut, then at least…

He stops walking, glancing sideways into the brightly lit office just off the hall. The elderly nurse is sitting at her desk, glasses half-way down her nose as she reads a paperback novel with the picture of a Christmasy log cabin on the cover.

No. He can’t. He doesn’t lie.

...Unless…

No. May’s at work. She’d have to leave early to come and pick him up.

Okay, but it’s not like you do this often, his brain counters. Hell, you came to school with a concussion and two cracked ribs last month and didn’t say a word about it. May can take one for the team just this once.

Peter slips into the bathroom across the hall and waits there until the bell rings to signal the end of passing period, and then an additional five minutes on top of that to add some credibility to his act. He splashes a bit of cold water on his forehead and around his neck, and then works himself up with some heavy breathing before exiting the bathroom.

Folding his arms over his stomach, Peter moves shakily across the hall back toward the nurse’s office, making an effort to look as unwell as possible. A passing student eyes him suspiciously and gives him a wide berth, so he figures he must be doing something right.

Steeling himself with a shuddery breath, he steps into the office.

“Hall pass?” the nurse asks without looking up from her book.

“Um, no, I don’t have one, uh…” Peter’s heart is fluttering in his chest. “I just… I’m not feeling good.”

Eyes still on the page, the nurse silently taps a finger to a sign on the wall just behind her desk which reads: PASSES REQUIRED FOR ALL STUDENTS.

Peter swallows hard. C’mon, Parker—commit. “Right, but, uh, I came from the bathroom.” He hugs himself a little tighter and looks down. “My stomach really hurts. I was throwing up and, uh… stuff,” he concludes, deciding that in this case, less is more.

The nurse’s expression softens. She lowers her novel and gets to her feet with a small sigh. “Well, there is a bug going around,” she concedes, gesturing for him to sit down on the cot in the back of her office.

Peter keeps his responses vague when she requests more specific information on his symptoms, mostly offering shrugs or short, mumbled answers. She checks his temperature and seems slightly suspicious at his lack of fever, but he makes up for it by getting up suddenly and darting into the nurse’s bathroom.

When he emerges—exactly seven minutes and two new levels of Candy Crush later—Peter makes sure to keep his eyes averted from the nurse’s gaze and his movements slow and a little unsteady, one hand hovering over his stomach. She gives him a bottle of Gatorade and a couple of crackers and tells him to lie down until May comes to pick him up.

“I got ahold of her,” the nurse informs, sounding more sympathetic now. She slides a small garbage bin beside the cot. “She says she’s just finishing something up at work and then she’ll be right over.”

“Thank you,” Peter mutters tiredly. He doesn’t even have to act for that part—between the stress of his upcoming finals and his last couple of late nights, he really is exhausted and he has a bit of a headache. It makes him feel just the slightest bit better about pulling May away from her shift that there’s at least something physically wrong with him, even if it isn’t what he’s claiming.

Under the thin fleece blanket the nurse gives him, Peter manages to drift off to sleep.

X

But it turns out, today is just really not his day.

“No fever yet, but sometimes with these kinds of bugs that doesn’t come until later,” Peter overhears the nurse explaining in a low voice. He’s lying curled up on the cot, face toward the wall. “If that happens, just remember that he needs to be fever-free for 24 hours before returning to school.”

“Oh, I have a feeling that won’t be a problem,” a familiar voice that definitely does not belong to Aunt May replies.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter’s eyes snap open fully and he sits up in a hurry.

Tony and the nurse are standing together beside her desk, chatting quietly. Tony turns to look at Peter, face straight but eyebrows raised in amusement. “Oh would you look at that—he lives,” he remarks. “Feeling any better, Pete?”

Immediately, Peter wraps an arm around his stomach and does his best to look ill. “Uh, no, not really... but, um wh-what are you doing here?”

“The hospital is a little short-staffed today and your aunt was having trouble finding someone to cover her shift,” Tony explains, keeping his expression perfectly neutral. “She called to ask if I minded picking you up. You know”—his eyes narrow—“since you’re so sick.”

(Peter gulps. He’s starting to wonder if maybe he’ll be sick after all.)

“So of course, I told her I would,” Tony goes on. “I mean, if you’re feeling this bad, we could hardly just leave you here...”

Peter has to force himself to meet Tony’s gaze. “Right. Um, thank you. That’s super nice of you.”

“Well, you know me, Tony Super-Nice Stark,” his mentor says with a small chuckle as he steps closer to the bed.

“Now, with stomach bugs, the biggest concern is going to be dehydration,” the nurse continues. “So you’re going to want to push fluids, especially if he’s having di—”

“Fluids, got it,” Peter cuts her off, feeling his cheeks heat up. He gets to his feet and starts moving toward the door, but Tony halts him by grabbing his arm.

“Hey, hey, slow down, kid,” Tony tuts at him. “You were just looking like you might pass out a minute ago.” He presses his palm to Peter’s forehead and glances over to the nurse, eyebrows pinched together in the semblance of concern. “He’s kinda flushed, right? Maybe we should check his temperature again.”

“It’s fine,” Peter mutters, barely managing to suppress an eye-roll. “I think I just need to go home and sleep.”

“Sleep is probably the best thing for him,” the nurse agrees, nodding. “But going back to dehydration, if at any point it’s been more than five hours since he’s last urinated—”

“Mr. Stark, c’mon…” Peter whines quietly, nudging the man toward the door.

Tony holds up a finger to shush him—there’s a twinkle in his eyes that’s honestly driving Peter mad. “Hang on, kiddo. This is all very important information. In fact”—he pulls out his phone and opens the notes app—“let me just write this down. So you said if he hasn’t peed in five hours…?”

The nurse goes on to happily share her wealth of knowledge regarding stomach viruses with his mentor. Tony nods along to her advice, looking genuinely interested the entire time, occasionally interrupting to ask pertinent questions. Meanwhile, Peter just stands there, quietly dying a little inside.

Finally, she concludes her little spiel and Tony thanks her politely, then asks, “You wouldn’t happen to have a bin or bag or something we could take with us, would you? I just got the car detailed recently—hate for that to go to waste.”

Peter lets out another low groan. “Mr. Stark…”

“Ah, I have just the thing!” the nurse says. She bustles over behind her desk and produces a plastic sand pail with assorted Paw Patrol characters on it. “I get these from the dollar store,” she informs. “They don’t look like they hold too much but you’d be surprised!”

Tony grins. “That’s perfect. Thank you so much, Alice.” Looking to Peter, he asks, “Need the bathroom before we leave?”

Rolling his eyes at his mentor, Peter takes the bucket from the nurse with a muttered “thanks” and strides directly out the door.

X

Tony doesn’t say anything for the entire walk to the car, but Peter’s mind is happy to fill the silence with dread and anxious thoughts as he imagines all the various ways his mentor might chew him out about this. Stupid Spanish presentation—he should have just winged it after all.

The moment that both he and Tony are seated in the vehicle and the car doors are shut behind them, Peter sets the bucket down on the floor and covers his face with a groan.

“Alright, let’s get it over with,” he mutters into his hands. “Lay it on me.”

“Just to clarify,” Tony begins, sounding a bit more serious. “You’re not actually sick, right? This was just to get out of your presentation?”

“Yeah, I dunno...” Peter admits, feeling defeated. “I was planning to work on it—I swear. Just, well, there was all this stuff due for my other classes, and then the snowstorm, and all these commitments just kept coming up, and I just kinda... ran out of time. Figured if I got sent home I could buy myself an extra day or two.” He sighs deeply, lowering his hands to look up at his mentor. “Are you gonna tell May?”

Tony huffs out a short laugh. “Honestly? I think you’ve suffered enough.”

Peter blinks at him, surprised. “Wait, seriously?”

“You listened to a school nurse describe the BRAT diet for three whole minutes,” Tony says with a snort. “I don’t think any lecture May or I could give would top that.”

“God,” Peter groans, running a hand over his face. “If I hear the word ‘binding’ used one more time…”

“But,” Tony says, holding up a stern finger as he starts the car. “As soon as we get back to your place, we’re finishing up that presentation in time for your miraculous recovery tomorrow, got it?”

“We?” Peter raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you even speak Spanish?”

Tony waves a hand dismissively. “I know French and Italian—close enough. More importantly, I am fluent in the language of bullshit, kid. I once convinced an entire board of investors that not adding a clock feature to the new Starkphone prototype was a philosophical statement about the ‘futility of time as a construct’ rather than an embarrassing oversight caused by deadline crunches, no sleep, and more caffeine flowing through my veins than red blood cells.”

“And how did that go?” Peter asks.

“Sold twelve thousand shares that day. And I got to meet the Dalai Lama.”

Peter just snorts.

“Oh, and there was this other time,” Tony goes on wryly, “when I helped my intern play hooky to get out of a school presentation by convincing the nurse he had the shits.”

Peter leans back against the seat with a heavy sigh. “I’m never doing this again, Mr. Stark,” he mumbles.

X

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[hazelnmae]

Lies Travel Faster: Chapter Ten

Summary: Sophia Murphy’s life seems to be on the upswing when she takes a job with Birmingham’s notorious Shelby Company Ltd. But when she falls for her boss, CEO and ruthless gangster, Tommy Shelby, she finds herself wrapped up in a tangled web of danger and deceit. After all, lies travel faster than the truth.

Tags: Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character; Tommy/Assistant Trope (it’s a hill I’ll die on)

Warnings: angst; smut; violence; language; rape/non-con; death

CHAPTER 10 (read Chapter 9 or start at the beginning with Chapter 1)

Sophie met Robert at the tea rooms.

The irony of this was not lost on her, though why she continually agreed to meet Ada at the tea rooms was still a mystery. In truth, she longed for Ada’s companionship and relished in a few quiet hours out from under the watchful eye of Tommy and his men. Even though it had been three months since they took out Changretta, Tommy still insisted on posting protection around the city for his family. And he still considered Sophie part of that family despite the fact that they hadn’t acted like much more than acquaintances since the night of the fight.

Robert had already been seated in the room when Sophie and Ada were escorted to their table. She’d noticed his gaze, but ignored it for most of the afternoon. As he was leaving, though, he approached the women and, after a few moments of small talk about the weather, he apologized for his forwardness and asked her for a date. It wasn’t until after he left that Sophie realized she hadn’t said a word to him.

She could tell from her friend’s face that she was disappointed. Ada hoped that Sophie and Tommy would somehow put their issues behind them and would find a way to rekindle what she was sure had been stirring between them. Sophie, though, had convinced herself that none of those stirrings had actually occurred. She and Tommy had only ever wanted one thing from each other. She’d needed a job and he’d needed an assistant. Sure, they were both lonely and may have drifted toward one another because of it, but in the end they both seemed to believe it was a mistake and seemed relieved it had ended as quickly as it began.

It had been three months since she moved back to Small Heath. She’d called Robert the next day, although she’d struggled to recall what he looked like. She remembered he was blonde and thought he may be handsome, but she only saw Tommy’s face when she closed her eyes. When they met for dinner that night, she realized she was right--he was quite handsome. Tall, blonde, green eyes, and wide shoulders--he was different from Tommy. She needed different.

Through the conversation she came to learn he was in local politics. Another fundamental difference. He was a man who could give her an honest life, a man who smiled freely, a man who said he wanted to fight for the residents of Birmingham. But a man as bland as the crackers served with her soup.

She courted Robert for the next few months, but she only allowed him to court a ghost of herself, something that didn’t exist and never would--something that was better suited to his life. It had been easy enough and she couldn’t help but think this is how Tommy had been living all those years since the war.

Tommy hadn’t said a word about the relationship, though she was sure he'd known. He hadn’t said much to her at all and even avoided being alone with her, opting to leave the office door open if he did need to conduct business with only Sophie. It was so unlike him that she didn’t know what to make of it. Tommy never seemed to care what others thought and certainly never seemed uncomfortable or less than perfectly self-possessed. But now he acted as if her presence was almost unbearable.

It hurt her more deeply than she let on.

There were days she thought he paraded women past her just to make her jealous but really she knew he was just moving on with his life.

Not wanting to choose between her friend and her brother, Ada attempted to bridge the gap and spent some time with Robert, later giving him her stamp of approval. To the rest of the Shelby family, Robert wasn’t a topic for discussion. Polly secretly hoped it would fizzle as slowly and dully as it’d started.

But it hadn’t.

Then Sophie found the ring in Robert’s nightstand.

She knew he’d ask her soon.

And she knew she’d say "yes" when he did.

____________________

She entered his office as quietly as she’d knocked, careful not to draw too much attention to herself. When Tommy looked up and realized it was her, her dropped his pen on the desk and leaned back in his chair.

“What can I do for you, Sophie?” he asked.

She felt a cold sweat break on her neck. Brandishing a perfectly wrapped box from behind her back, Sophie responded, “I just have a little something for Charlie’s birthday.” And after a pause, “I saw it and couldn’t resist.”

He took the gift from her and thought a moment before clearing his throat. “Why don’t you join us for his party tomorrow?”

“Oh I couldn’t impose.”

“You’re invited, Sophie. You can even bring Robert, if you’d like. I’ve yet to meet him.” Tommy forced a smile.

It startled her to hear Robert’s name on Tommy’s lips. She assumed he knew about them, it wasn’t a secret, but she somehow hoped they could go on forever never discussing it.

“I’m not sure he’d be available,” she stammered, trying to mask the uneasiness in her voice. “But I’d love to see Charlie. It’s been so long.” She responded.

“He misses you too,” Tommy said quietly, looking down at the box in his hands.

____________________

The car pulled up outside her flat at 10:00 am sharp. A young man in a peaked cap was driving and Sophie did her best to make small talk with him during the drive to Arrow House. He answered every question calling her “ma’am.” Sophie just laughed. “I’m hardly old enough to be a ma’am to you,” she said.

“True, ma’am, but Mr. Shelby instructed us to show you the utmost respect,” the young man replied. “He said you were a real classy lady.”

Sophie could only smile. Of course he had.

“Alright, well just between the two of us, then, you can call me Sophie,” she’d told him with a wink. The rest of the drive was pleasant and decidedly more comfortable. So much so that they’d arrived at Arrow House much quicker than either driver or passenger had realized.

Upon entering Arrow House, Sophie was greeted by an exuberant birthday boy who, after a quick but tight embrace, told her she could find the whole family in the back garden.

It was the most relaxed she’d ever seen Tommy--even after all those weeks she’d spent in his home. He was wearing his usual three piece suit, but his hair was a bit tousled and he seemed to actually be enjoying himself. Life was, no doubt, a little easier with Changretta out of the picture. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought that he may be finding a bit of peace finally. He noticed her across the yard and came to greet her.

“You made it,” he said.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she blushed.

“Well, it may be Charlie’s birthday, but I have a surprise to share with you.” And he nodded in the direction of the stables.

________________________

The horse was already saddled up when she entered the stables. He was a deep chestnut with darker coloring on his mane and tail.

“Is this Charlie’s gift?” She asked, smiling wide.

Tommy only hummed in assent as he lit a cigarette. “Well, go on then,” he said, motioning toward the horse.

Sophie looked the horse over and ran her hand down his silky coat. He reacted by leaning into her. Much like the first time she met Belle, Sophie had a sudden urge to ride--to get out in the fresh air and leave her worries behind. She imagined what a brisk ride might do for her anxiety about being back at Arrow House. The anxiety that came with actually talking to Tommy again about more than just ledgers and appointments.

“He likes you,” Tommy said, eliciting a small laugh from Sophie.

“Are you planning to ride him today?” She asked.

“Hmm, yes,” he responded. “I thought we’d both go.” He moved to the back of the stable and retrieved Belle, who was also dressed and saddled.

Sophie couldn’t help the smile spreading across her face. I’d been months since she’d been on a horse and she missed it terribly. Sensing her excitement, Tommy handed her the reigns. She noticed the hint of a smile spreading across his face.

________________________

The rain came suddenly and, of course, just as they had turned the farthest corner of the lower field. Tommy was in front and turned to get her attention before moving his horse into action back toward the house. He’d turned a few times to ensure Sophie was still close behind him as he navigated over the muddy terrain, finally arriving back at the house soaking wet. The party had moved indoors and only remnants remained strewn through the garden.

Standing in the kitchen, she gladly took the towel he offered and worked it through her damp hair. He’d taken the brunt of the rain, having shed his coat and thrown it over her head and shoulders as they made their way across the lawn to the house.

She handed the towel back to him. “I think you need it more than I do,” she said.

Tommy chuckled and brushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear before taking the towel. She only remembered seeing him smile a handful of times, and was reminded just how lovely it was.

Just then, the door to the kitchen flung open and Ada and Polly entered, a concerned look on both their faces.

“What is it?” Tommy asked, his brow furrowed now, the smile having completely drained from his face.

“There you are!” Robert exclaimed as he entered the room. “I’ve been worried sick. Damn foolish of you to go riding in the rain.” He was belligerent as he pushed through the women still standing in the doorway. The dark shade of red that covered his face would have betrayed his anger if his words had not.

“It wasn’t raining when we set off,” Tommy said in his calm, low brum. He’d sensed Sophie’s shock and wanted to spare her the embarrassment. “We haven’t met. I’m Tommy Shelby,” he continued extending his hand and brandishing his best, most disdainful smirk.

Robert looked straight at him but didn’t extend the same pleasantries. Ignoring Tommy’s outstretched hand, he turned to Sophie instead.

“It’s time you head home,” he said.

“But Robert,” she replied with a smile, “the party has really just begun.”

“We still need to open presents and cut the cake,” Ada said, trying now to diffuse the situation.

“You’re welcome to join us,” Tommy added, hoping he’d refuse.

“Sophie really must be going,” Robert continued, sternly. “We both should.”

It was Polly’s turn to interject, watching the hatred grow in her nephew’s demeanor. “We can make sure Sophie gets home safely,” she said.

Sensing he was fighting a losing battle, Robert turned to Sophie. “Can we speak somewhere privately?”

They turned back toward the kitchen door, Robert forcefully grabbing Sophie’s elbow. Tommy’s jaw clenched in reaction, but Polly stepped forward and stopped him before he could make matters worse. Sophie jerked away from Robert, but led him out of the hallway and into Tommy’s office.

“This is ridiculous,” he spewed through gritted teeth. “You have no business spending so much time here alone, and you certainly shouldn't be riding off on horseback with strange men.”

“I'm hardly alone, Robert. And Tommy’s hardly a stranger,” she said as she rolled her eyes. She’d never seen him so worked up and assumed it was simply out of worry for her safety.

“Tommy?” he replied. “That’s a little informal for your boss, isn’t it?”

"He’s a friend. They all are.”

“What they are,” he continued, moving closer to her now, “Is a bunch of Pikey criminals.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d been seeing him for three months and had never once witnessed Robert lose his temper or raise his voice--let alone so openly belittle someone. He was supposed to be a good man. An honest man. And a good and honest man wouldn’t find it so easy to be so hateful.

“Friends,” he scoffed, turning away from her again.

“They’ve been nothing but kind to me.”

“Only because they want something from you.”

“And what is that, Robert? What could I possibly have to give that the Shelbys would want?" She felt herself getting angry now and fought the urge to break into a shouting match.

He swung back around and moved closer again, she could feel his hot breath on her face.

“Just one Shelby. Thomas doesn’t want something from you. He wants you. For himself.”

Sophie couldn’t understand how he’d jumped to that conclusion. She'd hardly spoken of Tommy, or any Shelby, to him. She'd certainly given him no reason to believe Tommy wanted her--or vice versa.

“Or has he already had you?”

Anger bubbled closer to the surface now. He was jealous. Still, Sophie said nothing.

“Oh my god. Have you fucked him?”

Robert didn’t know about her past with Tommy--about how close they’d come to letting the spark ignite. Again, though, she refused to answer him. Her mind was racing too quickly to even muster a response. She was reminded of the first time she'd met Tommy and how at that meeting he'd accused her of sleeping with John. Fucking idiots, she thought. All of them.

“Answer me.”

“No,” she finally said.

“Have you kissed him?”

“Robert--” She tried to move away, but he interrupted her answer and her movement.

“Answer the question, Sophie.”

What was the fucking point, she thought. He already had his mind made up.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

“It was noth--”

“Don’t give me that,” he shouted, pointing a finger in her face. “You’re quitting that job tomorrow.”

Her job was the only thing in her life that provided earnest happiness. It’d been hard since her fallout with Tommy, sure, but feeling useful, getting to see her family daily, growing closer to Ada, all of that was thanks to her job. She couldn’t imagine giving it up. And she couldn't believe he was asking her to do it.

“And why aren’t you wearing your ring?” He asked now, searching her over for the first time since he'd arrived.

“Robert, no one knows about our engagement. You said you wanted to announce it--”

“I'll announce it tomorrow and you’ll resign your job. Then we can put these fucking Shelbys behind us.”

“Robert--”

“I expect Polly to bring you home. I don’t want his dirty hands all over you.”

With that, Robert stormed out of the office, past Polly who was standing in the hallway, and out the front doors. Tommy hadn’t heard their conversation, but he watched Robert leave the drive as Charlie opened his gifts at the dining table.

________________________

Tommy stood in his office, turning over the small wooden horse Sophie had gifted Charlie.  His son had turned eight and while it still hurt to know she wouldn’t watch him grow, he knew Grace would have been proud of the person Charlie was becoming.

They'd given the boy the same thing--each gifting him a horse in their own way. Sophie told him she saw the toy horse in a shop window and couldn’t resist. He wondered how many times a day things reminded her of Charlie. And of him. He wondered if she thought of him as much as he thought of her. And he wondered what she saw in a man like Robert.

“I’m leaving now,” she said, entering the office. “Polly’s giving me a ride.”

“I could take you,” he replied sadly.

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. Besides, Polly has to go that direction anyhow.” She said quickly, before he could object again.

They each stood for a moment, letting the awkward silence fall between them as it had so many times over the last few months. He’d been leaning against his desk, but Tommy now moved toward her slowly. “Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” she responded. “And thank you for the ride. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed that” She said, looking down at her hands.

“You know you can come ride anytime you want. Belle is as much yours as she is mine,” he answered. “And I’m sure Charlie would be happy to share Henry with you.”

Henry. 

He’d named the horse after her brother. 

Tears welled in her eyes. All this time, she thought he was pushing her away because he didn’t care. Maybe he’d been pushing because he cared too much.

Stepping even closer now, so that his hands could reach her shoulders, Tommy asked, “You sure you won’t let me drive you?”

Sophie looked up and met his eyes. She wanted to say yes. Wanted to spend a few more moments with him alone. Maybe she’d even work up the nerve to tell him she was engaged. He could walk her to the door and brush her cheek with his calloused fingers. His breath would blow the delicate hairs around her face as he leaned in for a kiss.

But no. She couldn’t let him drive her. She’d made her commitment, her choice, and she knew getting wrapped up in Tommy again would be a mistake. Despite the horrible side she'd seen of him today, she still wanted to believe Robert was a good man--a good man who could give her a good life.

“I just want to spend more time with you,” Tommy said.

It was the most heartfelt thing he’d ever said to her. He looked away as he said it, as if he knew it, too.

“We both know that’d be a mistake, Tommy,” she responded.

________________________

As she sped down the road, Polly glanced over at Sophie. She was more concerned than ever about Sophie's future and how it may impact her nephew.

“He doesn't know you're getting married,” Polly said.

Sophie thought better than to ask how Polly knew. Polly had her third eye, after all, and may as well have known everything. There was no keeping a secret from her--especially one that impacted the people she loved.

And as much as he infuriated her, Polly loved her nephew. She had also grown to love Sophie.

“Robert wants me to tell him tomorrow,” Sophie said, looking out the window. “Wants me to quit my job.”

“And why is that?” Polly asked now, lighting a cigarette as she balanced the wheel on her knee.

“He's afraid of Tommy.”

Polly scoffed, letting out a puff of smoke as she did. “Yeah, well, he should be. They way he grabbed your arm tonight, I thought Tommy--”

“No. Not like that.” Sophie interrupted. “I mean, he's afraid of me and Tommy.”

Polly just hummed and drove on.

_____________________

Read Chapter 11

Thanks so much for reading! Feedback welcome and appreciated!! XOXO

Here ya go!! @justanothershelby @l0tsofpennies 

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters!

[potrix-the-queerschlaeger]

A super last-minute/replacement gift for @hazelestelle for the @winterironholidayexchange. I will apologise again, and there’s nothing you can do about it. ❤

Demonic Accidents

The bathroom is hot and steamy when Bucky comes back from gathering his supplies, the little window and the mirror above the sink all fogged up. He puts the candles, the matches, and the six-pack of beer down on the closed toilet for now, then goes to check the state of the tub. It’s a little more than half full, the water hot enough to make him hiss.

Perfect.

Bucky shucks his clothes, leaving them on a pile on the floor, then goes to rummage through the cupboard for one of the lavender and valerian bath bombs he saves for days when he needs an extra dose of relaxation. And the whole security department at work celebrating Brock and Jack getting engaged—a mere three months after Bucky got dumped by the former for the latter—definitely warrants an evening of drinking and getting all pruny, he figures.

While the bath bomb fizzes and bubbles away, Bucky lights the candles, arranging them along the edges at the foot end of the tub. Their myrrh and citrus scents go perfectly with the more flowery notes of the bath bomb, and Bucky inhales deeply, already feeling some of the tension starting to seep out of his shoulders.

He cracks open one of the beers, taking a long drink, and slowly, carefully lowers himself into the tub. He sighs happily once he’s submerged up to his chest, tipping his head back as his eyes flutter closed, and fumbles around a little with his toes to turn off the tap.

One of the candles gets shoved to the side a little in the process, but it doesn’t tip over, so Bucky doesn’t bother opening his eyes again. At least, not until there’s a loud crack of thunder, followed by a heavy weight settling on Bucky’s lower legs, sending a small wave of water towards Bucky’s face.

Spluttering and coughing, Bucky heaves himself upright, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “What the fuck?” he demands, blinking furiously.

“Well,” comes an amused voice from the other end of the tub, “isn’t this cosy?”

Bucky screams.

(More after the break!)

And rightfully so, he thinks, gaping at the other man suddenly sitting in his tub.

Although, man might be a little bit of a stretch. He has four thick horns Bucky’s pretty sure are actually growing out of his skull, a tail with a viciously pointy end that’s draped over the edge of the tub, his pupils are cat-like slits, and, Bucky sees when he opens his mouth to talk, his teeth are definitely too long and sharp to be human.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” the probably-not-a-man asks, gaze curiously roaming around the room before coming to settle on Bucky. “Jinxing someone? Tricking your boss into giving you a promotion? Oh, no, I know; growing a new arm, right?”

“What the fuck?” Bucky says again, clutching at his prosthesis, and pulling his legs up against himself. He’s not usually a self-conscious kind of guy, but he is bare ass naked, while the—the creature watching him is wearing what looks like a ridiculously expensive and, somehow, completely dry suit. “What—who are you? What’re you doin’ here?”

The name, supposedly, the creature introduces himself with is nothing Bucky could ever hope to even begin to pronounce. Which the creature must realise, too, laughing a little and offering, “Call me Tony. I’ve been told that rolls a little easier off the tongue for you mortals.”

Bucky keeps staring, heart beating wildly.

“This summoning has been an accident, I take it?” the creature—Tony asks, and doesn’t look too surprised when Bucky nods dumbly. “Ah. Don’t worry about it, it happens more often than you’d think.”

“People—summon you? On accident?” Bucky asks in disbelief. “What, are you some kind of—of demon or somethin’?”

“Demon sums it up pretty nicely, yes,” Tony says.

And doesn’t laugh. Because he’s serious. Demons are a real, existing thing. And Bucky just so happened to summon one with his scented candles from the dollar store.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Bucky groans, and downs the rest of his beer.

When he looks back at Tony, Tony is as naked as Bucky, holding the rest of the six-pack and frowning at it. Bucky can feel himself blush, and says a silent thank you to whoever might be listening that the bath bomb has turned the water a deep, dark purple, and he didn’t end up with an eyeful of demon junk.

“I don’t like this,” Tony proclaims with a grimace, setting the beer back down again. He snaps his fingers, there’s a small cloud of red smoke, and then he’s holding a bottle of champagne and two flutes, looking satisfied. “Much better.”

Tony pops the cork, fills the glasses, and Bucky takes the one he’s offered on autopilot, watching speechlessly as Tony puts the bottle down in a bucket filled with ice that has appeared on the floor next to the tub.

“All right, gorgeous,” Tony says once he’s done, settling in more comfortably. “Talk to me. What has you so messed up that you unintentionally reached across plains to bring me here?”

“Are you flirtin’ with me?” Bucky demands incredulously, then shakes his head, changing tracks. Gesturing at his glass, he wants to know, “No, wait, hold on. Can I even drink this? Will you take my soul or somethin’ like that if I do?”

“That’s the fae you’re thinking of,” Tony dimisses, as if that makes any sense at all. “And my company doesn’t deal in souls anymore, anyway. The stocks have gone down drastically over the last couple of centuries, and, let’s be real here, trading in souls is a total dick move. You can tell mortals they’ll end up in hell without a soul, but they won’t ever really be able to understand what that means. Not really fair, if you ask me.”

Before he can stop himself, Bucky blurts, “What do you deal in, then?”

Tony shrugs, taking a sip of his champagne. “This and that, whatever is currently in demand on our plain. Gold and silver are always popular, jewels, anything with personal value. KFC, ice cream, Swiss cheeses—”

“You’re shittin’ me,” Bucky snorts, but stretches his legs back out again so he can lean in a little closer. “People summon demons an’ try to barter with cheese?”

“Hey,” Tony raises an eyebrow, “have you ever had Gruyère? I’d give my soul for a lifetime supply if I had one. Here.”

Another smoke cloud, this time revealing a bathtub tray filled to bursting with cheeses, crackers, dried meats, an assortment of fruit, and two glasses of red wine. Bucky’s stomach gives a traitorous grumble, making Tony laugh softly.

“Go on, handsome, dig in.”

Bucky doesn’t need to be told twice this time.

It should be weirder, probably, and definitely scarier, to sit in his tub with a demon, sharing food and sipping wine, and arguing good-naturedly about what tastes best and what goes best with what, while the water somehow never goes cold. But Tony’s charming and engaging with a wicked sense of humour, regaling Bucky with stories Bucky’s about 50% sure are exaggerated because Tony’s trying to impress him, like the fact that Tony is a magical creature alone isn’t blowing Bucky’s mind already.

And it definitely helps that Tony’s pretty easy on the eyes, too.

Bucky has no idea how long they’ve been talking when there’s another crack of thunder. He drops his glass, but at least he doesn’t scream. Much.

“Aw, come on,” Tony whines, and pouts up at the woman standing on Bucky’s bath mat in heels that make Bucky’s feet hurt just from looking at them. “Five more minutes? Please, Pep?”

The woman sighs, rubbing at her forehead between the two horns growing there. “You’ve missed two meetings,” she scolds, but Bucky’s pretty sure she’s trying not to smile. “Five minutes, not a second longer, or I’ll be back to personally drag you to back to our plain.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tony says, grinning, saluting her jauntily.

The woman sighs again, nods at Bucky, and vanishes with a pop.

“That’s my cue,” Tony says with an apologetic smile. “She didn’t look like she was kidding, so I better head back. Here, give me your arm.”

Bucky does, and Tony traces his finger along his forearm, leaving behind a series of black, faintly tingling digits. “Call me sometime?” he asks, almost shyly. “I still want to know what had you so upset earlier. Maybe over coffee this weekend?”

“Wait,” Bucky is still looking down at the numbers, wide-eyed, “you have a phone?”

Tony raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s 2019, sweetheart.”

He grins, leans forward to brush a feather-light kiss across Bucky’s cheek, winks, there’s another pop, and then he’s gone.

Bucky stares at the air where Tony used to be for a moment, then glances back down at his arm and the shimmering phone number there. “Well,” he mumbles to himself, “here’s to hopin’ hell has decent service.”

(It does, he finds out the next day, but the charges are kind of, well. Hellish. He stocks up on cheap candles instead.)

[writersrealmbts]

Protect Them- Hybrid AU: Part 5

Description: Safe with Me Sequel! You work two days a week teaching kids the joys of learning and reading, your favorites being the triplets. When the triplet’s adopted older brother is the one that starts picking them up, you’re not sure what life just handed you but you’re pretty sure it’s just another little slice of heaven. Hoseok x Reader.

Warnings: I don’t even know, if you do, let me know and I’ll change the warnings.

Posted: 1/27/2019

Tags: Hybrid!au, hybrid!Hoseok, Safe With Me Sequel

Angst with fluffs: 3,386 words

A/N: Part 5 and this series is increasingly difficult to write.

He set you down on the bed. “It might be an infection, but you don’t smell like you have one. I have to check on the kids quickly. Then I want to take your temperature.” You nodded, too exhausted and emotionally drained to respond further. You were cold again, but if anything more than your feet were covered you started roasting again. Thankfully your nausea had passed for now, but he still had put a small trash can in the bed beside you just in case. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, then you heard his footsteps hastily retreating. You closed your eyes, listening as he darted down the hallway. He called all of their names then went racing past your room and downstairs, you could hear his voice rise in relief, then it was quiet again. You heard him coming back up the stairs after what felt like no time at all and forever. He walked in, muttering about them being trouble, and going to sit on the other half of the bed. “Nari’s figures out how to work the tv and DVD player. They’re watching I Love Lucy.” You smiled. “Good show. Safe for kids. Probably keep them occupied for a while.” “Yeah. They’re just getting so big so fast.” He sighed and the bed shifted slightly as he got comfortable. “I was right about to start a new book…you want me to read to you?” “I thought you wanted to take my temp?” “Oh, right, sorry.” he scrambled off to get the thermometer, coming back quickly. “Open.” You opened your mouth and let him stick the thermometer in. He pet your hair while you both waited, and took the thermometer when it beeped. “99. So you do have a bit of a fever. I know you can’t keep anything down right now, so giving you medicine isn’t an option. If it persists then we’ll take you to the doctor.” You sighed. “Hoseok-hyung? We’re hungry.” A little voice squeaked from the doorway. Hoseok sighed. “Kaemonnie, I just asked all of you if you were hungry.” “We weren’t…” “It’s been three minutes!” Hoseok objected, his voice quieter, probably from turning toward the pup. “We’re hungry now…”

Hoseok sighed in exasperation. “Clear off the couch for y/n. You okay with listening to the TV?” You smiled and nodded. “It’s entertaining enough.” Hoseok picked you up carefully. “I’d let you stay here, but I need to keep an eye on both you and the triplets and it’s much easier said than done. Especially with how…mobile they are.” You laughed softly. “They grow up fast and are always watching.” You let yourself be comfortable in his arms, not wanting to risk hurting yourself or making yourself sick. Again. Maybe if you were relaxed this time you wouldn’t get sick. Though that gentle kiss on your forehead certainly wasn’t doing your heart any favors. He carried you down the stairs, following behind Kaemon from the sound of things. “A little faster, Monnie.” “But I might fall,” Kae whimpered softly. “Kae, I don’t know how long Hoseok-oppa can carry me, could you let him pass you?” “Oh, okay!” He chirped. You felt Hobi move, and then you were both continuing down the stairs. “It’s not carrying you that I’m worried about,” Hoseok murmured. He placed a kiss on your head again. Part of you wanted to scream at him to stop kissing your head, the other part of you wanted to beg for more. The contradiction made you a little nauseous again. This man. “You’ve gone pale again.” His voice was laced with worry. You shuddered at the feeling that his words sent through you. He seemed to move faster, then set you onto the couch. Then he was feeling your forehead and throat. He growled in worry. “Maybe we should go to the doctor after all.” Twin growls were heard to your left. “Don’t you growl at me,” Hoseok scolded. Tiny footsteps rushed over. “What are we growling about?” “He’s trying to take her back to the doctor,” Minsu growled lightly, a pout obvious in his voice. Kaemon immediately started growling, but his had a whine laced through it. “Really?” Hoseok muttered. Nari’s growl got closer. “She can’t go back. We won’t let you take her.” Her little face burrowed into your uninjured leg. “It smelled and they took her away from us. They can’t have her. I won’t let them have her.” She sounded like she was crying. “I-uh-o-okay. Just, calm down,” Hoseok said, pulling her away from them. He sounded conflicted. “Nari, Kaemon, Minsu,” You said softly. “I might need to go to the doctor. They have medicines to help people who are hurt or sick. When they took me away it was to help me. I was very hurt, wasn’t I?” Someone sniffled. “Yes.” “And they helped me, didn’t they?” “Yes, noona,” The boys chorused. “Unnie…” Nari pouted, somehow getting back to your leg. “She’s still not completely well. She can get sick and if she does then she won’t get better,” Hoseok told them, adopting the same gentle tone. “I’m trying to take care of her, but we might need them to help her more. If she started getting sick, I have to take her to the doctor. Because I don’t want her getting worse. Do you?” “No, Hobi,” Three voices answered soberly. “Alright. You three be careful around her, I’ll make you lunch.” He sounded tired. Guilt started gnawing at your stomach again. “Hey, whoa, you okay?” He sounded worried, a hand gently stroking your hair. “Stop. Please stop,” You breathed. His hand left your hair faster than you could imagine. “Did I hurt you? Did Nari?” You squeezed your eyes shut. “No. Sorry. No.” You pressed into the couch. He doesn’t want you, you’re causing him trouble. He’s only taking care of you because of instincts. “Hey, I told you to talk to me if your mind started racing again,” He said softly, hand resting on your shoulder. “Maybe we need to talk to them about different medicine for you.” You couldn’t respond. Nari rubbed her face into your leg gently. “Hobi, kiss and make it better.” She sounded heartbroken. “Uh, oh, Nari. Um, that only works if parents and siblings do it.” “Where’s her mommy? Or her daddy?” Minsu asked, getting closer. “We could get them to come kiss it better.” “Her parent’s are too far away, Min-min and she doesn’t have siblings. We’ll just have to take especially good care of her.” Hoseok’s voice sounded cheerful, but there was a strain to it that you hoped the kids wouldn’t notice. “I’ll get you some crackers to try and eat, maybe some ginger-ale.” You nodded, resting against the couch, tuning into the I Love Lucy episode on the television instead of the pouting kids and the too-kind man. But you heard his heavy sigh, and the deep sniff he took. “It really doesn’t smell like an infection,” He murmured, sounding puzzled, then he went to the kitchen with a limp likely produced by one of the munchkins hanging off of his leg. You wished you could see how cute of a sight that must be. Nari was hugging your good leg, but she seemed to be calmer now. You weren’t sure which of the boys was immersed in the show and which was hanging off of Hoseok, but the one watching was starting to giggle now and then. You forced yourself to relax, knowing you weren’t helping yourself by getting upset. But it was so hard to stay calm around him. Especially with everything you knew about his thoughts and love life and— You groaned softly, shifting to a new position ever so slightly. Nari climbed up and lay on your good leg, hugging it. “Ah, Nari! Be careful,” Hoseok scolded from some distance, around the same area that the commotion that spoke of cooking came from. Running water, clinking utensils, the clicking of a gas stove, and the soft whump as the gas lit. You could hear him open and close the fridge, and the chime of dishes as they met the counter. A squeak of surprise followed by a thump on the floor, and a giggle from Nari. “You wouldn’t fall off if you sit still, Minsu-ah!” Nari’s voice was full of affection for her brother, parroting something her parents or older siblings might say to them. Minsu giggled suddenly and didn’t stop, starting to squeal with laughter. “A little quieter, babies,” Hoseok said gently, his voice closer and soft. Loving. You could imagine him talking to his own kids in a tone like that, maybe with that smile he wore the day you met him when he was greeting the triplets. Brighter than the sun, yet so gently and lovingly. Your heart broke a little when you imagined a little child with his furry ears and tail, curled up in his arms…and a different woman at his side. Because he’d made it clear that it would never be you. ———— Five days. Five agonizing days after throwing up in front of him, you woke up and could hazily make out where the windows were, and the open door to the hallway. You could see where things were lighter. You could see when three small blobs blocked some of the light from the doorway as well as hear their curious whispers. Emma came in and checked on you, carrying breakfast with her. “Hoseok is going to take you to the doctor so they can see how everything is healing up. That okay?” You nodded, biting your cheek. She was quiet for a moment. “He’s not bothering you, is he?” “Not in the way you mean,” You replied softly. She laughed softly. “He’s a sweetheart, isn’t he?” She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Has been since I got him.” You sighed. “He’s too good to me. He barely knows me.” “He heard about you before he met you. The kids adore you and you’ve helped me out so much. Not to mention you helped save my kids. You’re the good kind, hon. It’s surprisingly hard to come by. Trust me, it’s basically my job to look for those kinds of people.” Emma sighed, but there was a bit of a laugh in there. “Which has been put on the sidelines while I take up my old job of organizing my brother’s company so as they tackle about half of the damage to the city. It’s like all the other construction companies turned tail and fled.” “I thought you worked at the Sanctuary?” “I do, I manage the funds at the Sanctuary and organize the staff. I’m technically the owner. Most of the time I just go in to deal with some financial issues. Now I’m directing construction crews to their projects.” She sounded worried. “The town is a mess.” “I’ll see it soon. I can see where it’s lighter today.” “Really? That’s great. That’s so good.” She took your hands and squeezed them gently. “I’m so happy for you.” You nodded. “It’s about time. I was starting to think it would never happen.” She stroked your hair gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” You smiled. “Yes, please.” The two of you maneuvered into the bathroom, your leg secured so that you couldn’t damage it. It was safe for you to do so now. You felt so much better after getting cleaned up and dressed. Jin carried you downstairs after. “Morning, y/n-noona!” Minsu chirped happily. “Good morning, Minsu. Kaemon, Nari.” They chirped around their breakfasts. “Good morning,” Hoseok said, his voice bright and kind and ugh. Ugh. You smiled. “Good morning.” Oh god, were you blushing? You better not be blushing. “Alright, my pups! Time to go. Your eomma has to work, and we’re going to go visit your cousin Timothy and aunt Becca and Namjoon-ssi.” Jin announced, his voice moving around the room after setting you down and collecting his pups from the sound of their giggles. “Hoseok, there’s some chicken in the fridge for dinner. We’re going to eat with Micheal and Becca.” Emma was also moving around. “Eomma, take it easy today,” Hosoek said, concern clear in his voice. “You’re pregnant, you shouldn’t be working too hard.” “I can hardly work at all between you, Jin, and Mike. I’m not doing anything strenuous and I have five or six assistants. You worry about y/n. Let Jin and Mike worry about me today. Remember, her appointment is at ten-thirty.” “I remember,” He answered, sounding a little amused. He was coming toward you. He set something in front of you. “Eggs and bacon.” You smiled. “Thank you.” You felt around the table and found the fork, then found the edge of the plate. From there you managed to sort of feed yourself. You found the strips of bacon easily, but getting the eggs from the plate to your mouth was troublesome. You tried a spoon, but it was still hard. “May I?” Hoseok asked softly, coming over and sitting in the chair next to yours. You nodded. “Otherwise I’ll be here all day.” You hated it, but what else could you do. “This would be a lot harder if you were a hybrid,” He said casually. “A hybrid with injuries like these wouldn’t let me anywhere near them unless they were a kids, or a female fox.” You closed your eyes, feeling a headache coming on from your limited vision. “I can see a bit today.” “Really?!” You could tell he was grinning. “Only where the light is. So, it’s a little harder here because the light seems to be everywhere.” He put an arm around you, pulling you into a sort of half-hug. He rubbed his head against yours gently, one of his fluffy ears brushing across your cheek. “Still, that’s fantastic. And your wounds are healing so well.” “We should get going,” You said. If ever you were to blush, it would be now. He made a sort of squeak sound. “Right, uh, let me go get dressed. You okay here for now?” You nodded. “Anything left on my plate?” “Another strip of bacon.” “I’ll eat that while you go change.” You felt around for your bacon, and then picked it up. He darted away, footsteps taking him upstairs, but they were just as quick to come back and then he was scooping you up. “Let’s go, y/n-ssi!” He spoke with a silly voice that made you smile. The hospital was a mess of noises and smells, and the nurse that was checking your wounds was an absolute jerk. He acted like your ability to see where light was brighter was insignificant, and when Hoseok told him about your nausea and problems with anxiety he just said they’d check for infection. Both of you waited for two hours in a room, only for the nurse to breeze back in and unhook the I.V. they put you on when one of the other nurses said you looked a little dehydrated. “There’s no infection. We’ll see about changing the medication we have her on. Extreme stress could be exacerbating her condition and bringing on the nausea and racing thoughts..” The nurse was talking to Hoseok as if you weren’t even there. “If she continues to have problems like this, it would be best to remove the stress from around her. Or her from the stress. Whichever is easier.” “Thanks,” Hoseok murmured. “Oh, we were wondering if there was some sort of brace we could use as well as her bandages to protect her leg?” “I don’t think any are made in a way that would be safe for her injuries, but I’ll send someone to look through the different models.” The nurse retreated quickly. “Slacking jerk,” Hoseok muttered, then took the two steps over to your side and stroked a hand over your hair. “Feeling better?” You nodded slightly. He was quiet, hand resting on the top of your head, still. “Are you being honest or are you just saying that so we can leave?” “I think it’s a little bit of both right now,” You murmured, closing your eyes. “It smells.” “It does,” He agreed, laughing a little. “And it’s noisy.” “Really noisy,” You agreed, smiling a little. They had given you something along with the I.V. and you felt a little groggy. But you also felt overly sensitive to sound and smell. He chuckled softly. “Hey…are the kids stressing you too much?” “No, they’re fine. They’re so sweet,” You said, but the thought of everything you still had to deal with came to mind. The hospital bills, the expense for a new apartment, where you would work once you recovered, how you would get Hoseok out of your head. “Then what is stressing you? Because I can tell you’re stressed as well as in pain.” His fingers slid through your hair. You shook your head. “Besides everything I’ll have to do once I heal…things I have to do before I heal.” He made a thoughtful sound. “Right, should you talk to your insurance? Or maybe the bank?” “Insurance yes, and my accountant. I haven’t talked to him since just after the incident and it was just to let him know I was alive.” You sighed and shifted so you could lean against him. He shifted and pulled your head to his shoulder. He smelled faintly of peppermint, probably from the tea he had been drinking before claiming it was a sad excuse for tea and setting it aside. He nuzzled your hair. “Do you need to call or go in person?” “Call.” “Numbers in your phone?” “Should be.” “I’ll find them for you when we get back. Taehyung said I should call when I get the chance. I think he’s feeling lonely. He spends most of the day watching Yoongi’s daughter. Yoongi…he’s sort of my cousin but more like my brother. He was adopted by Emma’s brother back before the laws were repealed.” His voice spoke volumes. He obviously regarded Yoongi as a very close brother, not as lightly as he claimed. You pondered it for a couple moments. “He saved you from a bad owner?” He flinched. “That nurse should be back by now.” “Sorry, I shouldn’t have pried.” “It’s not that. It’s just…Yoongi remembers what happened more than I do. I just remember pain. And fear. And I can find and see the scars. Like this one,” He said, guiding your fingers up and through his hair. You could barely feel it, but you could tell it had been surgical. It was too straight and long to be anything else. “Did they…?” “The doctors did that. I’d had repeated concussions, and they had to do surgery when Yoongi brought me to the hospital. I don’t have any real memories from before, just impressions, feelings, and slurred voices that I couldn’t recognize again if I tried. It’s not all bad, it helped me move on faster but it also hindered me from recovering mentally as quickly as someone who could remember why they were terrified.” He slid his hand along yours until his fingers were tangled with yours and he pulled it from his head. “Either way, the past is in the past. I got something much better from all that trouble. I have a family, and freedom. Who knows, maybe it was meant to be this way.” You nodded. “Sometimes the families we create ourselves are better than the ones we’re born into.” He pressed a kiss to your hand. Was he trying to drive you mad? “That’s very true.” “You’re very…physical.” “Uh…” “I mean, with affection. You’re always…” “Oh.” He chuckled, but sounded a little embarrassed. “I am. Sorry. When I care about someone, I just…I tend to let it show.” Right, and he was emotionally invested in your well-being since he witnessed you getting hurt. He couldn’t help it. It was instinctual. Once you were better, he’d be released from the drive to take care of you and everything would be nearly as it was before. You would be find a way to get over him.

Masterlist.   Part 4.  Part 6.   Masterpost.

Tagged: @jiminslye

[fehdelivers]

Hey mod feh!!! I ADORE your writing, it all has so much care put into it!! Could I request from the fluff book prompt list: 32. “Don’t be alarmed. I’m going to kiss you.” With Xander please??

So this ended up slightly longer than planned. Hope you’re okay that I went the ‘across enemy lines’ route with this one. I just feel it’s a waste that I haven’t seen more FEH Xander content that go that direction since he’s part of the main story as Veronica’s guard basically.

I’m so happy you like my writing!! I’ve really been trying to get back into the habit with it so that means a lot uwu

—-

The fire filled his vision. It was all he could think about from the moment he woke to find himself among the Order without Veronica to be found.

His arm that had been left near shattered by Surtr was healed. Regardless, it still ached in memory of the defeat. Xander was a man that prided himself on his strength and his loyalty. Both were knocked aside so easily by the hand of the Flame King.

He promised to stay by her side and protect her, but where was he now? Where was she?

He stared into the campfire, seeing only the blaze of Muspell. The smell of a smoke that burned its way down into his lungs filled his nose. It was like he was right there. 

He was right there and he could still do nothing.

“How’s your arm?”

Xander was broken from his thoughts. Kiran was beside him, brows furrowed in a concern that shouldn’t have settled so naturally on an enemy’s face.

Was she truly his enemy? Lately, such lines had become so blurred that even he couldn’t say. He cleared his throat. His fingers brushed his once broken arm tentatively. “It is…healed now. Thank you.”

The blow to his pride, however, still throbbed mercilessly. His heart, too, pounded at the thought of Veronica left in Muspell.

His thoughts turned back to the fire. His eyes followed.

Kiran was silent for a time as she watched Xander just stare into the campfire. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but she had a pretty good guess. With a sigh, she pressed her hand to his shoulder.

“We’ll get her back.”

He looked up, the very picture of a broken man. He was silent but his eyes were filled with all the things he didn’t want to say and didn’t want to acknowledge. What if we’re too late? How can we be sure that we’ll find her?

Why are you helping me?

Kiran frowned and squeezed his shoulder as if somehow she understood just from the sight of him. Perhaps, she did. Xander had seen the woman on the battlefield enough to know she was more than capable of such insight.

Kiran chewed her lip. He just looked so lost and hesitant. She didn’t know all the details of what happened in Muspell but he was broken in more ways than one when Bruno brought his body to their door.

His arm was healed, sure. But it was clear to see he was still in pieces. Kiran sighed.

“I can’t really say I know what you’re thinking but, speaking from what experience I’ve gotten out of all this mess–don’t let yourself lose hope.” The words were gentle, spoken softly as if anything harsher might break him down even more. “Veronica is strong. Believe in that. And when we get there, you’ll be right by her side again–with temporary backup.”

His eyes had been pinned to her as she spoke. He was no expert on offering comfort but her words brought him just that. He relaxed slowly and nodded. Kiran smiled.

“Oh look, that pinch on your face is gone.”

Xander blinked. “Excuse me?” Kiran only chuckled and reached up, rubbing her thumb between his brows. “You’ve had this pinch right here ever since you woke up. I’m surprised you don’t have a headache.”

His face pinked as he pulled away from the familiar touch. His gaze flickered to the fire and jumped quickly away. The sight of it only made him think of darker things. Kiran’s smile fell.

On impulse, she took his hand in hers.

She directed it closer to the fire, her fingers woven with his. He was too distracted by the strange intimacy of the gesture to pull away. Her hands were small and soft. He liked how they fit against his.

“Feel how warm that is?” Her voice was gentle and he peered curiously between her face and their interwoven hands. Kiran grinned. “It’s just a campfire. It can’t hurt you the way you’re hurting yourself.”

He swallowed and let his eyes linger on their hands. Somehow, the sight made the glow of the fire easier to deal with. His heart ached when she pulled her hand away.

“Why don’t we think of some campfire things to ease your mind, huh? Like camp songs or oh! S’mores!”

“S’mores?”

It was Kiran’s turn to feel embarrassed. “Ah yeah, it’s…a treat you make. We have this candy called marshmallows where I’m from that you can toast over the fire. You put it on a graham cracker–which is like a really mild, cinnamon flavored cookie–with a piece of chocolate.”

Xander quirked a brow. “How does it get such a name?” Kiran laughed awkwardly, brushing her hair back. “Well, it’s good so when you eat one, you usually want another one but it’s a gooey mess so when you ask for another one instead of saying something like ‘I want some more,’ you end up saying s’more.”

Kiran paused at how childish that probably sounded. “I mean, that’s how I’ve been told it got its name anyway.”

Despite himself, Xander chuckled. Soon, he was laughing. It was a rich, warm sound that left Kiran beaming with her success.

He looked at her then, a smile curled at his lips. “Such a strange woman to treat her enemy so kindly.”

The fire had lost its hold on him. The soft glow caressed her face like a lover and lit across her skin with a warmth that had always been there. The soft crackle of wood to ash met his ears and he wondered if it had been there this whole time. The smell that touched his nose was the comforting scent of burning wood. The cloying smoke of Muspell was gone.

Xander was struck with how quickly he had grown fond of the little summoner. Only a few weeks had passed and yet she already had a place in his heart that he may one day regret.

Right now, he couldn’t think about that.

Right now, all he could think about was how he wanted to carve out something precious in the firelight with her.

He reached out and touched her cheek. It was Kiran’s turn to hesitate, suddenly reminded that they were enemies despite everything else.

Xander smiled gently. “Don’t be alarmed.” His words were soft and his eyes softer still as he drew closer.

“I’m going to kiss you.”

He leaned in slowly. Kiran had all the time in the world to pull away, but she didn’t. She closed her eyes.

His lips were tender against hers. Kiran kissed him back with a sigh of contentment.

When they parted, her face was flushed and Xander just looked at her. He wanted to burn this memory into his heart. Even if there might be darker and colder days ahead, tonight was full of warmth and light.

From this night forward, the smell of burning wood and the glow of firelight would only ever belong to her in his memory.

[captusmomentum]

@theladypirate @feynites

Okay so! Here’s the Immediate wedding day stuff fic, though I did kinda leave some of it a bit vague so it could get spotlighted more later on if people wanted that for whatever reason and you know, keeping it from being Monstrous in length. 

Finally finished this since I ended up avoiding as much dialogue as I could B) apparently me and dialogue are not friends rn hahahaah weEPS. 

Inanallas’s older sisters, Imshi and Eth’Menala, and Keeper Durgenara are the ones who see to their clothing, styling and dressing them for the wedding. Their sisters are both very good at sewing and had done the bulk of the work to make it themselves, making sure it was just so, making sure that no one would mistake where they came from. Among the clans, Clan Anurlal was unique, having settled the furthest south on the mountains above the dwarves where little magic or comfort was found, and down in the basin the mountains concealed. Their clothing spoke of hard climates and practically, usually involving fur and many layers. Even this, one of the most elaborate things they’d ever seen was simple in structure but richly embroidered with patterns, symbols and pictures of important to the clan and that spoke distinctly to them and their achievements. The short overcoat was almost like a ornamental chainmail— cloth with hundreds of metal medallions sewn into it that combined with the large necklace, silver bracers and headpiece was the most jewelry they had ever worn.

Durgenara braids their hair after their sisters are done manhandling them into their clothing like a child, somehow the old woman manages to get all their fly away ends to stay slick to their head— secret ancient magic they assume, what else could managed that. When she is done and the veil has been placed on their head, covering said braid and rendering all that work pointless, they finally hazard a glance at themselves in a mirror.

It’s an odd sight. The headpiece covers their forehead completely, it’s beaded threads cover the side of their face, masking much of their tattoos and in doing so makes them look much softer, which they suppose is good, they don’t really want to look menacing. The surcoat is long but still short enough to hint at the other skirt and pants underneath and show their leather boots, also embroidered. The overall look…….. Somehow makes them look more mature and like a baby at the same time, though maybe that’s just them. They certainly feel like a child right now, with everyone doing everything for them as they get ready for something someone else is making them do.

The spirit of Dignity who had been so kind as to agree to handle the brunt of this debacle however is very pleased, and thinks they both look very fine and appropriate for the occasion. So there’s that.

The wedding itself is a mix of Elvhenan and Free Elf customs, mainly their own since it is their wedding. But overall there is not too much difference between all parties when it comes to weddings, at least structurally, once you got to everything that surrounded the spells and such things varied intensely. It does help in the planning of it all at least, that they can get the most important parts agreed upon fairly painlessly then stress over all the more decorative elements instead.

They let Dignity take the wheel with increasing frequency as they get closer to the wedding. By the time they’re finally relevant in the whole event itself Dignity is in complete control while Inan only has about a foot inside themself, the rest of them looking for just about anywhere else to focus than what’s going on around their physical body.

They can’t help but peek though, to see who on earth they’re actually marrying. They know they are marrying two people instead of just one, which was even more horrible in their opinion even if it was something clever politically.  They knew the basics about them but had never actually looked into them because it was just too terrifying a prospect. Now, they were filled with a sort of morbid curiosity, like if they looked at them they’d die instantly but hey you know, that’s life.

The first one they see when they turn their gaze back to reality is the red one, drawn in by Dignity’s noting that while armor was not incorrect fashion for such an event it was also not the most mood appropriate choice. It is at least, very fine, ornate armor so that placates the spirit on that front. The person in the armor is not too much taller than Inanallas herself which is oddly comforting for no logical reason. Their face is very striking, very sharp —like a hawk turned into a person, or a knife in disguise— and marked with Andruil’s symbol in intense red. So this is Uthvir then. They don’t see it so much as feel it, like an anxious ball of vibration in their solar plexus that keys them to the fact they’re not the only one who has a spirit inside them, though they get the sense that the hunter’s is more permanent. Fear, they think, or something similar from the feel of it. Not their first choice of a roommate but it’s not any of their business.  

They’re not so bad— ominous, scary looking hunters Inanallas could deal with, old hat really. They’d met tons of people in spiky armor who stabbed things. Even if this time they’d be marrying them and not fighting or arguing with them. It was totally fine, really. That meant by process of elimination the other one was Thenvunin. Dignity seemed infinitely more enamored with him, having already turned its attention there, so Inanallas followed Dignity’s lead and —

Oh.

OH.

OH NO.

Instantly they panic from their little bolthole blessedly tucked dimensionally or some such away from this dark carnival of endless misery.

Thenvunin is just as gorgeous as Uthvir only in a different, more refined way. Tall with perfect flowing blonde hair done perfectly and what looked like a body so close to the ideal it was comical under a stunningly gorgeous gown. It would be a tyrannical slaving empire that would have the resources to make an outfit so impossibly perfect, but the extravagance that would normally rankle them they can forgive when it’s on him. He seems made for opulence, and not in a vain, terrible way like greedy little egotist, but because he was someone who was regal looking and had fine tastes, —or something like that.

He did, sincerely look like the perfect example of a shining prince all dressed in glimmering silver accented by blue and green, like something out of a very high end dream. Almost surreal for how flawless he was.

In other words Inanallas’s worst nightmare.

If she thought she could handle Uthvir without at least looking like a complete fuck up she was already dead in the water with Thenvunin. He was clearly nothing like them and there was definitely nothing in common between them. They hadn’t even actually met yet and Inanallas felt tongue-tied, wrong footed and small comparatively. And they were getting married, so that was for the rest of their life. Doomed to an eternity of being married to someone they could talk about exclusively hunting with if they were lucky and another who made them want to go and live with the Children of the Stone never to return just on sight and also just die here instantly to escape. And that was the best case, that wasn’t even going in to the possible ways they could be terrible, terrible people or how this was all a loveless sham marriage for politics.

They essentially black out then for a while, actively shutting off much of their exposure to their senses as they try to beat down the hysterics now wracking them. When Dignity pulls at them for the vows and binding spells she comes back just enough to make sure it’s Inanallas who’s bound and not poor Dignity before retreating again for a while to marshal themselves again.

Inanallas is officially back and at least sharing the load with Dignity once the revelry and feasting start up. They’re seated between Thenvunin and Uthvir which is harrowing but they’ve moved so far past terror they’re almost fine and just fucking rolling with it, like a burn victim who’s nerves are just completely dead so they can’t feel the pain anymore. The first course that’s served is some of the food the clans eat done up as appetizers, which makes sense to them as they look over the array of fruits —dried and fresh, dried and pickled meats and vegetables, spreads of all kinds, crackers, breads, and whatnot.

Deciding to be a good host— and they suppose numbly, spouse— they move quickly to make up little plates of some of the better choices for the other two to make this easier for them. Uthvir takes their with no complaint and actually eats a bit with vague interest and then the average amount you’d expect for food which, they think is good. Thenvunin looks as dubious as someone can while working to look regal (as if he has to) at first but upon seeing that Uthvir doesn’t die or spit it out he tries it as well and seems to deem it tolerable at least, they’re not sure but regardless it’s Something right?

As the feast goes on and they transition more to food from Elvhenan Thenvunin decides to take it upon himself to guide them through the courses like they had for him for which they’re very grateful, there’s a lot going on with some of these dishes and some of them are so ornate Inanallas isn’t sure they’re even meant to be eaten. However, it’s Uthvir who finally gets them out of the polite small talk realms.

“Inanallas, I haven’t had much of a chance to learn much about your people — my people now as well I suppose, which is a pity I think. Spouses should know at least that much about each other I think.”

Inan chokes a little on their wine. “Well, to start we’re one of the few more stationary clans, we settled in the far south in the mountains —“

“The mountains?!” Thenvunin gasps.

“In them? Or at the base? I imagine that must be difficult with magic so thin.” Uthvir does not miss a beat.

“No, in them. Empire people wouldn’t be bothered by traveling or living around the bottom of them but no one wants to go up them except for the children of the stone and they’re not exactly best friends with your people so even if we run into them it’s unlikely they’d give us away.”

Uthvir smirked. “True. Was that why you chose to settle there?”

Inan shrugs. “Most likely it was a factor. We’d had a campsite there or in the area so we already knew about the conditions and it was where the Keeper took the clan when we escaped an assault, but they died shortly after getting us there. Durgenara was their First so after that she decided we would stay there—it’s defensible, remote and ignored so it was really the best choice.”

“Durgenara seems like a very wise woman.”

Inanallas barks out a short involuntary laugh they stifle quietly with a hand, tinging a little pink. “Terrifyingly so.”

“But surely you could have found a less hostile environment to live in after the clan recuperated? Or continued moving as I’ve heard other clans did.” Thenvunin asked, fingering his glass’s stem nervously.

“True, but that has it’s own risks as well. You can get spotted and attacked while moving from camp to camp. Or have your sites discovered and find an ambush waiting for you. Even the clans who found work arounds to those problems like Malarenan’s clan still has to deal with all kinds of potential environmental disasters, her clan especially, since they’re sea faring. At least in the mountains we have some consistency and a strong position in case of an attack.”

“I suppose that is practical, but it must be so cold—“

They can’t help but smile a little. “It is, but that’s what spells and warm cloths are for.”

Thenvunin pouts a little, brows furrowing. “I suppose.”

She smiles at him, he’s handsome even when disapproving. They slip one of the little fancy cakes onto the pretty painted plate in front of him, one of the fanciest ones with all the decorations the baker could cram onto it.

“You’re very sweet to be so concerned, you know. I do appreciate it.”

Thenvunin flushes very prettily, it makes him a bit less scary. They can see some of the fact that he’s just a man now— a very handsome, very proper, very fancy man but still.

Eventually they all have to dance together for everyone in attendance, it’s some kind of imperial thing and deeply terrifying, if it weren’t for Dignity Inanallas would be locked in place and they’d have to move them around like a board. But as it goes they manage to not embarrass themselves, Uthvir dances with both of them for as short an amount of time as they can manage without looking rude then quickly redirects them into dancing with each other which goes on for much longer. Partially as Inanallas uses it to cover for Uthvir —just in case that’s needed they have nooooo idea— and partially because Thenvunin seems to enjoy dancing and it seems like the spousely thing to do to dance more because your partner likes it.

The whole first day of the celebrations, with all the actually important bits,  feels like it goes on for for-fucking-ever and is mostly just a series of obstacles in the shape of things that’d be fun if there was less of it or less pressure to look like they were enjoying themselves. Eventually Inanallas decides to call it a night, there’s only so much stress and cake they can take in one day and they can feel Uthvir flagging beside them, tiny hints of physical discomfort starting to show, while Thenvunin is tipsy working on drunk— or just drunk, they have no idea how to gauge his drunkness yet. They’re worried about whatever might be wrong with Uthvir and if Thenvunin has anymore fun they’re worried he might not be able to walk out of here under his own power.

So Inanallas begins the extraction process which is much more full of “wedding night” comments then they’d ever wanted to even know of in their life and a lot of very unpleasant, creepy looks from Andruil that crawl over Uthvir and then get turned to them where they get all triumphant and smug, which are excellent for making them even more worried about whatever the fuck is going on there then they already had been. They’re about to act on a plan to all but manhandle their spouses out of there before Andruil gets a chance to keep over and seal the fucking deal on being a creepy fuck when they catch eyes with Féwena who proceeds to sit down in the seat next to the huntress and be her blessedly implacable self.

They’d get her some good booze or knives or something for that.

Mythal has been kind enough to supply Inanallas and Uthvir quarters in her palace for this whole fiasco close to Thenvunin’s own, though there’s an ominous assumption that they’ll all be in Inanallas’s tonight at least.

Yeah. No.

They all make it out of the worst of the crowd fine but Thenvunin begins to have real trouble walking as the alcohol and exhaustion begin to mix full force then they get to the quieter, more sedate living quarter levels, so Inanallas decides to just carry him the rest of the way to be safe. He’s surprised at first and makes a very indignant sound while turning a bright red, Uthvir chuckles beside them.

“How romantic,” They tease. “Very fitting to carry your husband to your wedding bed, I feel a bit left out.”

“Well then climb on. I’ll carry both of you up.”

Uthvir cackles at that. “Now that’d be a sight!”

“No! Don’t!” Thenvunin hisses, clutching on to Inan. “ If you do they’ll topple over! I’m already heavy enough as it is…”

His protest trails off into a murmur as he frowns, looking down at himself unhappily. Inanallas doesn’t like it one bit, Thenvunin is very pretty and shouldn’t feel bad about being made of bones and things that have physical mass. They give him a bit of a squeeze, holding him closer.

“Nonsense, you weigh as much as an armful of roses.”

“No I don’t…”

“Really, I’m carrying right now and I can tell, as light as flowers.”

“Our new spouse is right, I’ve never found you to be challenge to lift.”

“Th-that is because you are a horrible lecherous brute who gains strength from their libido!” Thenvunin sputters, shifting in their grasp and nearly elbowing them in the face. Sweet creators.

Uthvir has to really struggle to keep it together at that one.

“Hm. Possibly, but it could also be because you’re a pleasure to hold.”

“Wh-why you! That’s— I mean of course I am!— but not for you to hold! You savage! I’m sure you love this! Now that you have me trapped in your clutches!”

Uthvir’s resolve shatters and they can’t help but laugh as Thenvunin seems to forget to consider the poor elf keeping him up as he tries to turn to face Uthvir properly in their straining arms. Inanallas gives them a long suffering look that’s lost as their face is crushed into Thenvunin’s side. Uthvir almost feels bad for them. Almost.

“I will admit, it was pleasant to hear that you would be one of my future spouses.”

“So you admit it! You admit your devious schemes to claim me as your own!”

“ I admit I find you very attractive and exceedingly interesting and am not distraught to be wedded to you.”

“Of course you do! I am very handsome and charming and a wonderful husband!”

“Naturally. Perhaps even the most handsome and charming, and certainly the best husband I’d ever had. ”

Thenvunin seems a bit lost on how to make a good comeback to that at the moment and instead harrumphs and settles back into Inanallas’s arms. He’s somehow even redder, every inch of him blushing from Uthvir’s teasing.

“Well… Good.”

Inanallas’s face finally reappears looking highly amused and confused, they give Uthvir a look, ‘is he always like this?’. They return with a smirk and a cocked brow, ‘pretty much’.

They all make it to their rooms and Uthvir helps Inanallas bring Thenvunin into his, which they’re incredibly thankful for once it becomes clear Thenvunin thinks they’re actually going to do some of the things in the “wedding night” comments. Even if he weren’t drunk Inanallas would jump out of her skin at the idea, it’s about a thousand years too soon for that shit.

Uthvir also seems to not really be in the mood and has clearly interacted enough with Thenvunin in situations like this to distract him from trying to seduce them or whatever and keep his feathers from getting ruffled or feelings hurt. While Uthvir keeps Thenvunin on task, Inan sets to finding something for him to sleep in (which is Shockingly difficult, what even counts as what in here???), divesting him of all his jewelry and letting down his hair which greatly helps to keep things from getting awkward as once they start massaging, carding and piecing his hair for braiding Thenvunin gets significantly sleepier and more pliant.

Between the two of them they easily maneuver the drowsy elf out of his lovely gown, revealing some equally lovely lingerie in the process (…something to keep in mind for Later, hopefully…), and get him nicely in his sleepwear, then all tucked up in his bed safe as can be. It only take a little more soothing talk before he’s out like a light. Bless.

Inanallas sighs heavily, resting their hands on their hips and turns to look at Uthvir who gives them about the same look back.

“Welp, Good night.”

The hunter nods slightly. “Good night.”

They both head for their own rooms, happy to be done with it all, for today at least. But once inside Inanallas starts to worry, will Thenvunin feel bad waking up alone from his wedding night? They got the sense Uthvir was about as eager as them to get some rest but maybe Thenvunin wanted some kind of magical, romanticy wedding night— they certainly wouldn’t blame him for wanting one or hoping he might still manage one even with all the fuckery of this marriage. It’s the kind of thing marriages are supposed to have. He should want it. Will he feel unwanted if he wakes up and neither of them is even there?

It’s a deeply worrying thought that eats that them as they work at removing the veil and headpiece in front of the mirror. They couldn’t stay dressed like this even if they did stay with him, it would all get ruined and be very uncomfortable. First things first is to change into something comfortable, then decide on what to do.

At first, they resolve to be there when he wakes in the morning with a lovely breakfast in bed just for him. But what if he wakes up in the middle of the night, realizes he’s all alone on his wedding night and stays up crying? What if he’s heartbroken over it for days? Weeks? Years? What if it sets the course for him being miserable for the entirety of their marriage. Inanallas’s heart sinks and explodes in panic at the thought. No. It’s just too horrible, they can’t do that to him. They leave their room and head quietly back into his, dithering just past the threshold of his bedroom, not sure of what to do.

They don’t want to get into —or even on— his bed without his permission.  It just feels awkward and wrong, but they do want to be somewhere where he can see them when he gets up so they can’t sleep out in the sitting room. There’s a settee with a pretty blanket or shawl or scarf or something elegantly draped on it to the side that looks like they could curl up on just fine. Quietly they slip over to it, remove the fancy cloth and cover themself with it as they lay down to sleep.

They wake up to the feel of cold metal claws gently carding through their hair. Blearily they look up to see Uthvir, standing over them carrying a tray of  breakfast looking over at Thenvunin. Feeling Inan stir they look back down at them, smirking a little. Which might be their regular expression, they drowsily muse.

“Did you sleep there the whole night?”

Inanallas sits up, their potentially makeshift blanket—and another actual blanket?— falling down. Huh.

“Yup.”

There’s something in Uthvir’s expression they can’t quite parse. They smirk wider, showing rows of sharp teeth.

“How dutiful a spouse you are, better than a hound I dare say, you didn’t even get mud on the covers.”

Inan sniggers. “I always make sure to clean my paws before I get on fancy things. But really, I worried about how he’d react to waking up alone so…”

They shrug as Uthvir hums knowingly. “I had a similar thought, that’s why I came with this.” They lift the tray slightly.

Inanallas gets up and stretches a little before snagging little chunk of fruit from the spread.

“Truly you are wise and mighty.”

Uthvir grins boardly.

[writingintheocean]

I cannot apologize enough for how late this update is. You all deserved this two months ago. But we’re closing in on the ending! Two chapters to go.

Betcha didn’t know that.

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7216591/chapters/26450991

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Title: Of Adventures

Part 9

Part 10

The boxers dangling off the bedpost seem cheery in the morning light rather than accusatory. There’s been gaps of consciousness, waking up and remembering the night before and falling back into his dream about flying over the ocean. Water in every direction, dark against a bright sky. There had been trips to the beach when he was younger: before his mutation with his mom and nannies there were sticky popsicles and a day away from dressing up in doll-sized suits. After, with his father, it was talkative walks on a private beach below the mansion about anything EXCEPT when his next “treatment” was.

It’s so bright.

He should probably clean up in here. Warren rolls over on his side. Why did Xavier give him such a big wardrobe? Such a big room? He was the same crappy person (no, he had friends he was free, he was better) as when Apocalypse found him. A nice bedroom doesn’t change anyone for the better.

Hours after he first came to, Warren sits up. There’s no fatigue of a hangover but his mouth tastes like rotting graham crackers. He stretches as his feet hit the floor, the tips of his wings brushing against the rafters.

Why didn’t he ask Kurt to stay? He drops his head in his hands. “I’m an idiot.”

He grabs the empty bottle of vodka and drops it in the bathroom trashcan. He doesn’t remember falling asleep. He tried to grab onto Kurt before he left, not for any reason really. He wanted him there, wanted him to stay.

Warren grabs his toothbrush and slathers on the paste.

Now everyone knows he’s a slut at least. Couldn’t hide that forever. Did Kurt hate him now? He seemed pretty religious, maybe that was a piece of it too. Disgust at the disgusting.

He spits.

Or maybe Kurt’s still his same sweet self. Still smiling. God, even with all the fangs his smile looked like light made bone, still felt like a blessing.

Warren gargles and spits again.

If he’d asked, would he have stayed?

There’s a knock from outside. He takes the brush with him and opens the door, raising an eyebrow at Scott. “Whaht?”

“Hey. The Professor’s got a plan.” He nods. “You coming to the meeting?”

Warren spits onto a rogue t-shirt on the floor. “Well that was fast. In his office?”

“Yeah. Meet you there.” Scott jogs off, still in his boxers and t-shirt from last night.

Did he have to sleep in his glasses too? Warren shut the door and spit on the shirt again. He still didn’t feel clean. A few steps towards the closet and he stops and turns to look at the spit-shirt.

Whatever. It wouldn’t help.

He goes to get dressed.

  “This would be a lot easier if we had Mystique here.” Jean’s speaking as Warren shuffles into Xavier’s office. “She and Eric would make this easy.”

Xavier’s face sinks slightly at her mention. “I’m afraid Raven will not be with us for this encounter.”

The corner of Warren’s mouth twitches. Raven wasn’t with them PERIOD. Four months and she still had to even show her face around the Institute. Probably back to rescuing random mutants, the way Kurt told it. His teeth clench to quell the flare of confusion. Of course she chose to take Kurt instead of him. He didn’t care if he never had to see her blue feathery nakedness ever again.

“It would be rather easy if you and I went, Charles. Don’t you think?”

Hank glances at him. “I think that his, uh, position as the most well-known mutant in the world might make that difficult, Erik.”

“Well you said you refused to send any of us,” Jean gestures to Warren, Ororo, and herself, “And the only adults here are you, the Professor, and Erik.”

“And Peter.” Erik offers. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be opposed to a little breaking and entering.”

“Erik, I’m sorry but you and Peter are not going to pretend to be a couple. Ever. It’s a matter of,” Xavier coughs uncomfortably, “Preference.”

Warren does a doubletake and raises his eyebrows. “You were planning to be a couple?”

“It’s our best plan without a straight-up military assault on the place.”

“Call the police?”

“Oh come on, where’s your sense of adventure?” Scott pats him on the shoulder as he comes through the door, Kurt following behind.

Oh god no, Warren can feel his mouth tilting upwards but he physically can’t stop the smile that grows over his face when he makes eye contact with him.

Kurt’s cheeks flare darker and he grins back.

His wings shudder as the smile spreads to his guts.

“All of our options without Mystique are cautionary at best.” Hank pulls a sheet of paper from his notebook and begins rattling off: “Xavier is too recognizable, as is Erik to some extent, I should really stay behind to run the technical aspect of all of this, and Peter’s……well, he’s Peter.” He crumples the paper and tosses it onto a similar pile on the floor. “There’s no best option.”

Scott nicks the top most ball and unfolds it. “What plan is this anyway?”

“Oh, you mean Plan G?” Erik smirks. “It’s simple really, a mutant couple who can’t conceive but wants a mutant child seeks out this organization.”

“Your plan is…….being gay.”

Warren glances at Kurt out of habit and catches his stare before looking away again.

“I know that it’s my plan,” Ororo laughs as she enters, taking the last empty slot in their circle. “But this plan will not work. If we’re going to go, we need to go. Now.”

Hank’s eyes seem to sink into his head even as his face twists with exasperation. "This is a delicate operation that will take time.”

“You certainly didn’t waste time taking down Apocalypse,” she fires back.

“That’s a completely different situation.”

“No, it’s not.” Warren crosses his arms and opens his wings wider. “These kids have probably been going through hell since Mira escaped. Things will only get worse the longer we wait.”

Erik casts an eye on Hank. “My thoughts exactly.”

Hank stutters and looks to Xavier.

The Professor steeples his hands and runs a hand over his, still conspicuously bald, head. “From Mira’s memories, I have to concur. I was hoping we could think of an alternative but it seems we might not have a choice. Besides,” he locks eyes with Jean, “I believe yesterday’s antics have proven that we may not have as much sway as we think we have.”

“I’ll go ready the jet.” Hank stands and breaks the calm in the room, jumpstarting Warren’s heart. “The rest of you should suit up.”

“I’ll stay here and communicate with you through Cerebro,” Xavier promises. “A sort of organic Communicator.”

Scott jostles Jean and laughs. “Yes sir, Commander Kirk.”

“This is no laughing matter, Scott.”

His face sobers quickly into its usual pout.

“You may be X-Men, but you’re still children. That is not,” Xavier holds up a hand to stop his protests, “A slight against your prowess. It is an acknowledgment of your youth. These heroisms are great acts but there is so much more life out there for you. I would never wish to see that opportunity wasted. Especially,” he lifts a hand to his temple, “For you.”

Scott’s hands are curled into fists but there’s a shudder to his lip. He sniffs and nods, turning to head out. “I’ll see you guys in the hangar.”

Kurt follows him out, waving to Warren as they leave. He’s not even sure Kurt spoke the entire time. Maybe during the ride he could talk to him. Say something. Insist he’s not some dumb, desperate 16-year-old anymore. That he’s not just down to fuck. He’s down to….hold hands and shit.

Jean opens the door for Ororo. “Where do we even keep the flight suits? Are they in our rooms?”

“I keep mine there.” She shrugs. “Try checking your closet.”

Jean shakes her head. “This school is a disaster.”

  Warren remembers months ago on the battlefield, how a bunch of random kids showed up in matching black bodysuits and somehow got stronger after originally getting their asses kicked. Putting on a similar outfit now was…..strange.

Not as strange as whoever designed this fucking piece of hellcloth though. Where did his head go? If this side was the front then his whole chest was exposed. Did it have a zipper? Was it held together by science magic?

He pulls on one part. On another. Stretches out the legs because maybe the opening is in his crotch for some dumbass reason. Throws the outfit at the wall because HE IS A MURDERING MACHINE AND THIS IS WHY CLOTHES ARE FUCKING AWFUL.

Warren rests his head against the bedpost and picks up the suit again. It’s heavier than it looks, a large white stripe down the middle of one side and black everywhere else. The circle where he had assumed an arm went unlatches as he fiddles with it. It felt like his brain had been pounding on a particularly tough watermelon and was finally pulling the two halves apart.

He strips down and steps into the garment, sliding the equivalent of scaly leather over his legs and up to his waist. This was the tricky part. And the part that made it look like a stripper outfit. He passes one arm and then the other thought the REAL arm holes (they’re way too small to be considered sleeves) and pulls the side with the white stripe all the way up.

Does he look like an idiot? A miasma of fear and rage takes shape in his stomach and he rushes to the bathroom, hurtling the bed and doing a quick 360 in front of the mirror.

It still looks like a stripper outfit, with the ‘neckpiece’ still dangling in front and another piece of cloth falling past his butt but on the whole he doesn’t look…………like a Horseman.

Warren leans in, running a hand through his hair and tracing where his tattoos used to be. He had barely noticed all the little things happening in the last six months, too busy learning calculus and going through flying rehab and trying to figure out what to do. It’s a silly thought, that his body had never given up on him even as he gave up on himself. Growing his wings no matter how many times he removed them, keeping him free of hangovers despite the drinking, slowly but surely breaking down the apocalyptic scars on his face. A spike of water rushes to his eyes, spilling out onto the sink. Powering through the hiccups does nothing and he finally half-collapses, crying over the drain. He had something, there was something for him here, he wasn’t going to die, he was so happy.

It feels like forever, shaking and sobbing to his reflection. He cried leaving home, he cried after the first few fights, he hasn’t since. His arms ache. His wings shake.

Crying fucking sucks.

Eventually, Warren’s feathers lift from the floor. He finds the final dry spot on his sleeve and ruins it. Two kids giggle at his exposed back as he leaves the confines of his room but he can’t help smiling.

  Hank’s new toy is a gigantic jet. It looks pretty similar to the one commandeered from some underwater military base, so say Scott and Jean, but to Warren it’s brand new. And awful.

“You know I can fly myself there, right? My wingspan’s probably bigger than this thing.”

“The only reason you reached the bridge so quickly was because of Kurt.” Hank flips a few more switches up front and glances back. “Don’t get cocky.”

The soft murmur on his left continues as Kurt prays, his head bowed and hands clasped together. A spike of heat hits Warren in the face as he remembers those hands recently crawling up his back, helping him finish getting into the ‘flight suit’ and clasping the back portion that had been hanging off him to the neckpiece. The good news was he could get in and out of it without having to maneuver his wings around it. The bad part was Ororo smirking the entire time and asking if he wanted help putting all his shirts on at this point.

“…lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” Kurt stops for a moment, takes a breath, and starts again.

Hank calls out, “Three minutes and we’re there! Get ready.”

There’s a flicker of tension in his stomach as Warren stares at Kurt. How could he not realize how stupid they all were? They’d almost died getting Mira to safety. They were mutants— they weren’t invincible.

 The first time he’d stepped into the fighting ring it had been easy to beat the mutant he was against. Didn’t know who they were, didn’t care. When they were on the ground and bloody, it was harder. The crowd was chanting his name and to kill her. He can’t remember asking if he didn’t have to.

He took a step forward and drove a talon into her chest. It wasn’t a decision; it was an action. There were lots of things that were actions, things to do not to decide to do.

Like chopping off a wing.

Like abandoning home.

 Like reaching over to take Kurt’s hand.

He stops his repetition to widen his eyes at Warren, his hand not going limp but not grasping back either.

Warren keeps his eyes focused on their hands. “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come….” He trails off and his cheeks warm. What came—

“Thy kingdom come,” Kurt closes his eyes, the tips of his fangs poking out of his smile. “Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

It comes back to him as Kurt goes on.

“Give us this day our daily bread,

And forgive us our trespasses.

As we forgive those

Who trespass against us,

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

His stomach has never been so upset and looking at Kurt only makes it better and worse. He needs to say something, he needs to tell him….

“One minute!” Hank shouts.

The view outside is mostly trees that are whipping back and forth as the plane comes down. It lands softly, rocking slightly as the wheels adjust.

Warren looks back to Kurt, afraid of something. He squeezes his hand and lets go, undoing his seatbelt like the rest of them. Warren follows suit and they exit the jet out the back, Hank bringing up the rear. Jean’s got one hand to her temple as she scans the horizon.

“The Professor says their base is in this direction.” She points and begins marching. “There are two guards at the main entrance and the rest is underground. It’s….it’s like it’s half of a house and half a lab. It’s….gross.”

“What do we do once we’re inside?” Ororo’s eyes are focused dead ahead, glowing.

“Scott, go with Kurt to the labs. You’re playing bodyguard. There shouldn’t be too many kids on that side so teleport them out. Ororo and I will take on the dorms and get the rest out.”

“And what am I supposed to do? Wait outside?”

“Your wings aren’t going to be much use in a hallway underground.” Jean comes to a halt and holds out a hand for them to do the same. She goes forward slowly, keeping the same hand to her temple. There’s a shout through the trees and rapid gunfire before it’s quiet again. “Stay here and escort whoever comes out back to the jet. Your job is keeping them safe, Warren.”

She’s right. He still clearly sidelined, but she’s right.

The building they come upon is little more than a dark steel trapezoid with a door with two of the soldiers from before lying facedown on the ground. Kurt stops next to their bodies and frowns, corssing himself.

“They’re not dead, I promise. Just unconscious.”

“Then the bullets…?”

“Probably just a misfire when they fell.” Jean kicks the rifles away from their bodies. “I just threw rocks at their heads.”

Warren scoffs. “It sucks to be the good guys.”

Hank bends down, now blue and furry, and grabs a key off one of the bodies. “Everyone ready?”

Warren shakes his head and looks to Kurt to find him staring back.

“Let’s go.”

The door opens. Warren’s surprised that a siren doesn’t go off immediately but they break off into a sprint, bolting into the darkness.

“Stay the fuck safe!” he yells at their backs. Kurt flashes a thumbs up behind him. He’s so goddamn cute.

[baneismydragon]

"You can trust me." - DJNoir (reveal?)

::Cackles in glee:: Yeeeeeessssssss Ninoir! 

“Come on this way,” Nino shouted grabbing the frantic looking boy by the hand and practically dragging him towards a small storage closet across from the library. They ran, both conscious of the high pitched beeps signaling the final minute. 

Nino through open the door to the closet and Chat Noir dove inside, slamming the door behind him just as a flash of brilliant green light burst out from the crack at the bottom of the door. 

Nino slumped to the floor, his back pressed against the closet door and his breathing heavy. That had been close. 

“You ok in their dude?” he asked between gasps. 

“Yeah, thanks,” came the nervous reply from the other side of the door. The voice sounded softer somehow. Probably a result of the lack of transformation. 

“Don’t worry, I promise I won’t try to look or anything,” Nino said, “you can trust me.” 

“I know,” Chat Noir replied. Nino flushed with pleasure at the indisputable certainty in the heroes voice. 

“Can I get you anything? Some water maybe,” he asked, tilting his head towards the door even though there was no way his companion could possibly see him. 

“Get me some cheese,” a different voice whined. 

“Plagg stop being a glutton for two seconds will you?” 

“But I’m hungry!” 

“Who is that?” Nino called curiously through the door. 

“Oh… it’s… well it’s Plagg. He’s my kwami. It’s sort of a long story.” 

“Is he like your superhero sidekick?” Nino asked excitedly. 

“Sidekick?! I am an immortal demi-god I am no one’s sidekick,” the high pitched voice shot back at him, “without me there would be no Chat Noir. If anything the kid is my sidekick.” 

“Oh,” Nino replied soaking up the information. Alya was going to be so jealous. 

“Now bring me some cheese, puny mortal, before I perish from starvation! preferably some well aged Camembert.” 

“Plagg!” the boy who was Chat Noir groaned, clearly embarrassed by the demi-gods demanding attitude. 

Nino couldn’t help but smile. How cool was this guy that he could be so chill towards an immortal being that grants you super powers? 

“It’s too bad my boy Adrien isn’t here,” he laughed as he pulled out his bag and began rummaging through it, “I swear he is obsessed with that stuff.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” the strange creature replied with a sly tone, “I bet your friend wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave all of his delicious camembert locked away in his bookbag instead of carrying it around in his pocket where it belongs.” 

“Plagg I swear to God-” Chat Noir growled, and Nino couldn’t hold back a small choked laugh. 

“Hey,” he cried triumphantly pulling out a small snack bag his mother had once again snuck into his satchel, “it’s not camembert, but I do have some Brie and-” 

Before he could finish the sentence a small black blur shot out through the door and landed on his knee. 

“Hand it over kiddo!” the tiny catlike creature purred, tail twitching in anticipation. 

Wordlessly Nino held out the small container full of grapes, crackers, and of course the coveted cheese. 

“So,” Nino called to Chat Noir as he watched the little god happily nibble on his treat, “does this happen often?” 

“Does what happen often?” he called back. 

“Getting stranded without your powers?” 

“Sadly more often than I would like,” he admitted, “its pretty rare that I am not the first one to use my powers but I can’t exactly just ditch My Lady in the middle of a battle. It’s a bit rough but I’ll take a few close calls if it means I keep the people I care about safe.” 

Nino grinned again. God this guy was cool. 

He wondered if anyone had ever given much thought to this particular dilemma Chat Noir faced. So much attention was given to Ladybug because of her amazing powers. Not that he thought she didn’t deserve the attention, but Nino had always felt that a lot of his friends undervalued how important Chat Noir was to the dynamic duo. Where others saw weakness- namely Chloe and Kim- he saw sacrifice. After all, how disastrous would it be if Ladybug ever fell under the influence of an akuma? Nino spent enough time hero chasing with Alya to know that most of hits Chat took were for the sake of his partner. Perhaps it was his devil may care attitude, or perhaps it was that unspoken knowledge that his powers were actually pretty terrifying, but not a lot of people seemed to give Chat Noir the kind of appreciation he deserved.

“You know,” Nino said careful, “no offence to Ladybug, but you’re my favorite.” 

“Really?” he replied sounding more than a little awed. 

“Yeah. I mean it’s a lot easier to be the hero when you get all the praise and the cool finishing move. It’s a lot harder to be the person who’s job it is to soak up the damage, you know?” 

“Thanks. I… it’s really nice to hear you say that.” 

“How old are you anyways? I mean if I’m allowed to ask.” 

“I just turned 16.” 

“Dude! You’re my age, that’s crazy!” Nino said with a chuckle. “How do you do it? How can you stand going out there every day knowing that any second you could be fighting another monster? Doesn’t it get exhausting?” 

“Sometimes. But it’s worth it. If it means I am protecting people like you, it will always be worth it.” 

Nino felt his cheeks go scarlet. “Wow man… thanks.” 

“I mean it,” Chat Noir said, his voice barely audible through the door, “you help make this fight worth fighting. You are brave and loyal, and don’t need superpowers to be one of the most heroic people I’ve ever met.” 

Nino’s breath caught. “I… jeez… what am I supposed to say to that?” he joked weakly, “Chat Noir is calling me a hero.” 

He heard a small scoffing sound from the little being still perched on his leg gobbling up the last of the cheese. “You’re little blogger friend was right. You two really are one of those obnoxious lovey-dovey couples.”

“What?” 

“Plagg!” 

“How did you- she was talking about-” 

“I swear to God Plagg, you are not getting another bite of camembert for the rest of the month.” 

“ADRIEN???”