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mechformers · 2 years ago

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Ma Miles - Ch. 10

5.1k words

Bold letters are spoken in English by the Reader to Quaritch.

The comments I've received have energized my writing so much that I've finished in "record" time! So please, have all my thanks and the next chapter of Ma Miles XD

(If you want to be tagged with the updated chapters, please leave your @ myusername in the comments! I'm having trouble with the tags actually tagging though, so if you have an Ao3, I update there at the same time as I post to Tumblr!)

Previous chapter | Masterpost | Chapter 11

There’s a nose breathing you in, tucked firmly against your neck as you’re held against a solid chest, a large arm beneath your head. The big body spooning behind you is warm and solid as you’re held while you sleep. Smiling, you rub your thumb over the back of the hand that rests across your chest, your smile widening as a deep rumble erupts behind you, vibrating through your back. The nose that had been breathing you in lowers as your mate pulls you closer, ending up against the crook of your neck as his lips mouth at your sleep-warm skin. Chuckling, you grin widely, your heart soaring at how affectionate he is with you.

“Good morning, yawne,” You mumble, unwilling to open your eyes to the bright light pouring in through the see-through metal wall.

“Mornin’, m’ love,” The sleep-raspy sound of your mate’s voice hums immediately, his smile spreading across your shoulder as he pulls you even closer.

“Ugh… you’re both disgusting,” Spider’s voice scoffs as the bed dips before the sound of his feet hitting the ground and a door opening and closing harshly.

Reality crashes into you the exact moment the man behind you freezes. The sound of the TV plays in the background but all you can really hear right now is the sound of your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. It’s not the first time that you’ve woken up in Quaritch’s arms, but it’s the first time you’ve awoken in an intimate embrace like this. The both of you are unable to move, completely frozen in the same position as Spider left you in. Quaritch’s heart beats loudly behind you, his breathing labored and deep as he just holds you. His face is so close to yours, the heat of his body almost suffocating. It’s not before Spider emerges from the bathroom that any of you move.

“Seriously?” Your son exclaims, a thinly veiled annoyance trying to hide his obvious embarrassment over the situation.

Quaritch’s arms lift from around your body at the same time that he pulls his head back from your shoulder. He waits patiently for you to move away from the arm beneath your head, only then does he step out of the nest.

“Pardon me, Ma’am,” He mumbles before his heavy footsteps pad over the ground.

“Can you let me out? Lyle promised to play the videogame with me,” Spider asks, his voice hopeful, then happy as his father walks up to the door and puts his hand on the box before stepping into the bathroom. “Thanks!”

Left alone in the room, you’re allowed to breathe freely, taking deep breaths of much-needed air as your eyes begin to water. What was going on? How could you just let your guard down like this for a second time? And to think of him, the very demon from the skies, as your mate! Closing your stinging eyes, you clench your teeth as your chest tightens. You were being unfair, acting out on old prejudice because of who he once used to be. With the exception of how he brutishly took your son from you, he had done nothing to warrant this hatred from you. Out of all of them, Quaritch had been the first one to fully embrace the Na’vi ways, taking to your way of life with great curiosity and interest. No, you could not fault him for who he once was before being reborn.

Opening your eyes, you look out at the bright day with watery eyes. Why your heart, your very soul, had decided that he was the one you would call mate, you would never know. But you could not deny it any longer. The swelling of your chest, the fluttering in your stomach, and the heat spreading across your face could no longer be excused as mere coincidences. The Great Mother had accepted him as her child, had allowed him to enter your dreams as you rest peacefully, had allowed him to act as your mate while you slept soundly, both in and out of his arms.

“Why are you crying, princess?” His worried voice drifts over to you a moment before the nest dips under his weight and warm hands cup your face, thumbs gently wiping your falling tears away.

Shaking your head, you close your eyes, unable to look into the worried warm ones affectionately staring right back at you. Immediately, you’re gathered up into his lap, his wide chest rumbling deeply as he shushes you, a hand rubbing your back while the other cups your head, holding you close to his heart.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Quaritch continues, his voice sounding almost lost and small.

It was obvious that he didn’t know what to do, that he wasn’t used to comforting someone in distress. His clumsy hands patted your back more than rubbing soothingly, his shushing almost sounding as if he was afraid you would be head. Still, the man continued to try, powering through this unknown territory for your sake. Opening your eyes, you looked out of the see-through metal walls, looking longingly at the forest just beyond the kill zone. As if sensing this, Quaritch lifts his head to look in the same direction.

“What do you say we take the banshees out tonight, get a little wind under our wings?” He asks, his voice immediately more confident than it had been just moments ago.

“I will like that,” You agree, looking forward to taking Hawnu out so soon again.

“Alright,” Quaritch hums behind you, “Alright, sweetheart,”

He doesn’t let go of you, however. You sit in his lap, staring out of the see-through metal wall together, the silence comfortable as he holds you close. As the day slowly passes you find yourself sitting between his legs as you lean back on his chest. His big hands are resting on your bare stomach, your fingers tracing the four knuckles on the back of his hands. His stomach suddenly rumbles loudly, making him groan. It pulls a chuckle from your lips.

“Hungry?” You ask, bending your head back to look up at him.

“Unfortunately,” Quaritch hums, looking down at you. “I don’t particularly want to move, however.”

“You are then not hungry?” The confusion on your face, in your voice, makes him chuckle softly, the upward stretching of his lips making him almost adorable when he closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“Not what I meant, princess,” He grins before moving his hands to your hips, effortlessly lifting you off of him and placing you onto the ground below the nest. “C’mon, let’s get some grub,”

“What is this grub?” You can’t help but ask, especially not when the corners of his lip lift in one of those gentle smiles again.

“It’s food, sweetheart,” Quaritch grins, a hand at your back gently leading you to approach the door.

He lets you exit first, slowly following as you step into the hallway. Four sets of eyes meet yours when you look into the room with the videogame TV. Slowly, grins spread across three of the faces as Quarith steps up behind you, placing a gentle hand on your hip. It seems to set off the three recoms behind the sitting bench

“Sooooo… Colonel,” Lyle starts, his face all but split in two as he grins while leaning an arm over the back of the sitting bench. “The walk of shame?”

The other two snicker to themselves, bumping their fists together like teenagers. Behind you, Quaritch growls dangerously, the gentle hand on your hip tightening as he reacts to what was said. You don’t understand how walking would be shameful, but you did know that you would never feel shame while doing so.

“I do not walk in shame,” You announce proudly, only for the room to fall deadly silent before full-blown laughter erupts. Even Quaritch chuckles behind you, his hand easing up the pressure on your hip. It does not sound malicious, however.

“She-” Lyle starts, but laughter forces a halt to his rambling.

“They think we’ve slept together, sweetcheeks,” Quaritch helpfully explains, trying to fill in the blanks you’re drawing.

“Did we not sleep together?” You ask, confusion clouding your voice.

“That’s not the kind of sleep I’m talking about. It can also mean…” He looks over to the others, his face darkening slightly when he turns back, before bending down, whispering the meaning of having ‘slept together’ in your ear.

Immediately, your face heats, your ears slicking back against your skull as you lean back to stare up at him. The warm hand on your hip disappears and uncertainty crosses Quaritch’s face before it too disappears, replaced by the stony indifference he usually wears around the General Ardmore. Turning back, you see that the grins haven’t left the three recoms now hanging off of the back of the sitting bench.

“But you did sleep together the entire night,” Spider pops up between the recoms, his face one of deep confusion as he stares at you. “He was holding you while you slept,”

“Gee, thanks, kid,” Quaritch drawls, his hands resting on his hips as he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth again.

Laughter unlike before explodes around the room, the recoms all but crumbling with it, and in the middle, a very confused Spider chuckles as he tries not to get squished between the seemingly adult men. Shaking his head, Quaritch walks over to the sitting bench before lifting Spider out of the pile of long limbs, gently setting him down on the ground.

“Have they given you anything to eat?” He asks and immediately, your son grins up at him.

“Yeah, Mansk made me something called a lumbersjakebreakfast. It was really good,” Spider explains animatedly while Mansk chuckles an unsteady ‘lumber jack’ as he gets up from the ground.

“9000 calories, Mansk. You tryna kill the kid?” Quaritch chuckles, directing the question at Mansk.

“What? Kid looked at a book and pointed. Wasn’t about to say no to the Colonel’s kid, you know,” Mansk shrugs, a playful grin on his face.

“Figured we were all going out for some real food later on today. Wasn’t expecting you to actually sleep in though… Sir,” Ja added gently, earning a fond kind of annoyed huff from Quaritch.

“Well, you figured right,” Quaritch starts, resting his hands on his hips before sucking his bottom lip between his teeth once more, an obvious habit of his. “Gonna have to get some real food in this kitchen. Luckily, the three of you volunteered, ain’t that right guys?”

A collective of groans sounds before the three sit back down on the bench, mumbling while their ears twitch. You didn’t understand why they were complaining. If they didn’t go out to gather food, how would they have anything to eat? You didn’t know where the sky people food came from or how it got there, but then again, there were a lot of things about the sky people you didn’t understand.

“Get off of the couch already,” Quaritch barks, but you notice that there’s no heat behind it. “And Lyle?”

“Yeah, Colonel?” Lyle turns to Quaritch while turning off the videogame TV.

“Take spider with you,” Quaritch grins when both Spider and Lyle groan.

Looking up at him, you notice how his smug grin shifts into another fond smile, and it’s like there’s a whole new person standing before you. Staring up at him, you let your mind wander for a little bit before turning to walk over to your son. Spider and Ja are bent over a small screen, Ja’s long fingers pointing as the two whispers to each other. As you come to a stop behind them, you can see that there’s a drawing of the forest on the small screen and when Ja pinches the surface with two fingers, the drawing gets smaller. Or bigger? You’re not really sure. The drawing is showing the clearing where you’ve taught them the Na’vi way, the area where there’s an abundance of food available for them to take back here.

“My dearest boy,” You call for Spider, watching as your son turns to smile at you. “Be careful and listen to Eywa’s signs. Use your senses,”

“Mom, it’s gonna be fine. I grew up here, you know,” His smile turns into a cheeky grin and you can’t help the sinking feeling that drops in your chest. Your boy was becoming a man before your eyes and there was nothing you could do about it.

“But you haven’t grown up in this area. Watch out for them. They are still like small children,” You open your arms as Spider steps closer, leaning his forehead against your stomach.

Wrapping your arms around his head, you gently press it against your stomach in a tight hug. You understood that he was a young man now, understood that he wouldn’t cling to you like he used to do. The blessed extra time you had gotten while imprisoned here, was one you would treasure for as long as you lived. To have that extra time with him before he left your nest entirely…

“Don’t worry, mom,” Spider gently pulls back, looking up at you, “I love you,”

And of course, he saw right through you. For as long as you had been together, he would always be able to read your emotions. As a child, he had been both hot and cold, always on the move until he wasn’t, then he would stick to your back or chest in a sling, snoring softly as he slept oh-so-soundly, cuddled close to your skin. Being of the sky people, he developed a little slower than Na’vi children, which led to more time spent with you while the other children moved more freely with their long, strong limbs. It didn’t take long after Spider’s sixth birth bead was added to his songcord, however. He was off like an Ikran after that, giving the Sully kids trouble to keep up with him. In the end, only Lo’ak had been able to keep up, their energy level just about maxing out together.

“I love you so much, my son,” You whisper back, leaning down to kiss the crown of his head before pushing him away to follow the recoms as they left.

Standing in the middle of the room, you watch as they walk out of the common room. Mansk stands by the door, looking over at Quaritch. The two of them are having a silent conversation, much the same way you’ve seen Quaritch and Lyle communicate. Mansk eventually nods and then, he too is out of the door, leaving you alone with Quaritch once more. A big, warm hand rubs your shoulder and when you turn your head, Quaritch stands there smiling down at you.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about him, sweetheart, the boys will keep him safe,” Quaritch squeezes your shoulder gently before walking over to the videogame TV, putting away the stuff that they had been playing with.

Turning to him, you watch as he bends at the waist, letting out soft grunts as he reaches for the pillows on the ground, before putting them on the couch. You don’t understand why there were many pillows on the couch and only one in the nest, but you were certain that sky people had their reasons for that too, however strange it may be.

“I reckon you want some real food, sweetie?” Quaritch hums as he folds a blanket before hanging it off of the couch end.

“You are hungry too,” You offer, hoping he too wants the food Pandora has to offer instead of the awful stuff he had fed you all those months ago.

“I am, sweetcheeks, but I’m not particularly picky. Now, for a sweet angel like you, a simple “pb-n’-j” on toast won’t do, will it?” You chuckle at the weird way he speaks, not really getting what he’s talking about. “Come,”

Holding his hand out for you to take, Quaritch gently wraps his fingers around your hand before gently leading you through that very same door your son and the other recoms had left through. Walking down the corridors, he doesn’t let go of your hand. What he does do is walk slower, as if the destination he’s taking you to is one he doesn’t want to go to. However, when he opens a huge door and leads you outside, you’re confused as to why he didn’t want to go outside.

“Call for Haw-nu,” He mumbles, but that couldn’t be it, could it?

“Hawnu,” You repeat back at him, noticing how he still hasn’t let go of your hand. It makes your stomach flutter wildly as your ears perk toward him.

“Haw-nu. That’s what I said, wasn’t it?” Quaritch turns to you, his sharp eyes looking into yours as he silently tastes Hawnu’s name on his lips.

“Not Haw-nu, but Hawnu,” You try again, an amused smile unable to stay hidden on your face.

“Hawn-u,” Quaritch tries again, and try as you might, you’re unable to hold back the gentle chuckle that bubbles up within you.

“No, Quaritch. Hawnu,” You repeat again, grinning up at him.

“Hawnu,” Quaritch repeats perfectly, a fond smile sliding into place across his face as he looks down at you. “I like that very much,”

“Like what?”

“The sound of my name on your lips, darling,” Quaritch cups your face with his free hand, his thumb caressing your cheek as you stare at each other.

You hadn’t noticed that you had called him Quaritch. You don’t know when you had stopped thinking about him as the sky demon and when you had started referring to him as Quaritch. Worse than that, you were starting to think of him as Spider’s father. You don’t know what to do, or what to think at that moment. Quaritch was looking down at you in a way he had no business to - except… he had every right to. He had initiated a courtship and you had accepted it, foolishly thinking that he didn’t know better, and now, months down the path, you realized that you had developed feelings for this man.

Before you could pull away though, before you could step back, Hawnu and Cupcake landed before you, the two having heard or seen you long before you got the chance to call for them. Walking with you over to Hawnu, Quaritch greets your Ikran with a firm rub down his long forehead before gently helping you up on his back. Only then does he let go of your hand before walking over to Cupcake, greeting her in the same manner before making tsaheylu with her in such a smooth way only a natural-born Na’vi, that had made the connection through years of friendship, could. You’re left to clumsily make tsaheylu with Hawnu, your Ikran pushing worrying feelings your way before he gently takes off and you’re in the air once more.

Feeling the fresh Pandora air against your face calms your nerves to a degree where you’re able to think straight again. Turning your head, you look over at Quaritch, finding his eyes already looking at you. He smiles gently, holding your gaze for a while longer before turning his head back. His profile is beautiful against the setting sun, his long neck, his broad shoulders… his slim waist. You don’t think you’ve ever seen such a thin waist on a warrior this mighty. The thought of running your hands up and down his sides, of holding onto that solid waist in either a hug or…

Swallowing hard, you turn back to the sight before you. Distantly, you can feel Hawnu pushing his feelings of approval. He thinks you’ve made a good decision in your choice of mate and maybe he’s right. Quaritch has been attentive after you accepted his courtship, has paid more attention to you and your needs, on top of the attention he was already giving your son. He has proved to be a man worthy of love, worthy of a family, and the deep bond it creates. Calming your nerves, you breathe deeply, trying your best to settle the worried lump that has grown in your stomach. What a fool you had been to have believed him ignorant when it came to courting rituals, the only side of learning the Na’vi way you never thought him interred in, and therefore never even mentioned. You want to believe in Quaritch so much, want this change in him to be true because he willed it and not because it would gain him something. But trusting him fully, could you even do that? You realized that it was a choice you would have to make before soon.

Hawnu dips down, descending to the ground below, and you suddenly notice how your mind has drifted away from you. Looking to the side, you can see Quaritch staring at you with a worried look on his face. You try your best to give him a reassuring smile, but you should have known that it wouldn’t fool the man. Instead, he points down to a clearing on a cliff and it’s only that you recognize where you are. You’ve been here before with the unit, training with their Ikrans as they learned how to make tsaheylu while free-falling. Nodding, you ask Hawnu to land, holding on tightly as he comes up on the clearing fast. Sliding down from Hawnu’s back, you gently break tsaheylu before moving in front of him, leaning your forehead to his as you silently apologize for your absent mind.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Quaritch asks just behind you, his voice careful as he stands awkwardly behind you.

“Yes,” You smile up at him, “Come, we should eat,”

“Right,” He doesn’t sound like he wants to gather food, but still, he follows you as you move toward the treeline.

The sun is quickly setting behind you as you enter the forest, the Great Mother bathing Pandora in a bioluminescent hue. Grateful that food is never far from places like these, you take your fill until you’re almost uncomfortably full, sighing happily at the sweet tastes the fruit offers you. Quaritch eats messily, juices dripping down his chin as he digs into the various fruits, eating with a healthy appetite. Distantly, you wonder if he feels grateful for having tasted Eywa’s creations, but when he looks up from his half-eaten yovo fruit, you can’t help the happy grin that spreads across your face.

“What?” Quaritch asks, his mouth full, seeds sticking to his chin.

“You eat like child,” You offer as you step up to him and gently wipe the sticky mess from his face. Bending down, Quaritch closes his eyes as he lets you clean his face, your own hands now slick with the fruit’s juices.

“Well, I was hungry, darling,” He grins down at you when you step back, making a display of digging into the rest of his fruit, a grin of his own on his face as he gets messy once more. You can’t help the laughter this time and with it, Mile’s eyes glitter in the bioluminescent light.

Showing Quaritch the nightlife in the forest, you study him as he touches every plant he can lay his hands upon, an almost childish, open smile on his face at every different reaction the plant gives. The wonders of the Great Mother shine so clearly in his eyes as he follows you, his ears twisting back and forth as you walk through the forest. Eventually, you lead him back to the clearing, noting how his face falls a little when he realizes. The child-like wonder shifts into soft contentment as his eyes meet yours, a gentle smile crossing his lips once more. For a moment you can feel your breath catch in your throat while your stomach flutters. He’s a beautiful man and when he smiles, when he directs it at you, and you alone, it feels like you’re caught in an invisible net.

He sits down close to the edge of the cliff, leaning back on his long arms as he lets his head fall. Looking at you upside down, he huffs a chuckle before lifting his head to look out over the beautiful Pandora landscape ahead of him. Following his line of sight, you know exactly what he sees. The forest is bathed in glittering lights of every color, the plants below glowing beautifully as they share their lights with everything Eywa has touched. Sitting down on the ground beside Quaritch, you fall into a comfortable silence, your eyes turned to the Great Mother’s creations.

As the silence stretches on, Quaritch’s heat draws you closer until your shoulders eventually bump into each other. His bare skin radiates so much warmth, the sensation almost like getting wrapped up in soft blankets on a cold, rainy day where the wind howled through the cracks in the maruis. You don’t notice how you gravitate closer and closer until you’re plastered to his side, your head leaning against his shoulder. The silence is comfortable and his warmth even more so. Looking up at him, you notice how he’s only staring at you, a gentle look on his face. Smiling back up at him, you close your eyes as his right hand comes up to slowly push away a strand of your hair. The hand ends up cupping your face before his thumb caresses your cheek as you open your eyes to stare up at him again. You watch as he slowly leans down towards you, his eyes hooded as he nears, clearly intending for your lips to meet in a kiss. His descent is slow, his forehead resting on yours, giving you time to pull away if this is not what you wanted. His eyes meet yours, asking for permission before he turns his head slightly to the side to kiss you. Panic strikes you and before you know it, you pull away. You’re not ready for this. It’s too soon. You quickly get to your feet, stepping away from him.

“It is late. I need to be with my son,” It’s the sorriest of excuses, the rejection so poorly veiled that it almost pains you. Still, Quaritch does not rage, does not raise his voice or take. Instead, he looks up at you with something aching to sadness before he nods, pulling his long legs beneath himself as he gets up. And that somehow makes you feel worse.

“I understand,” He says, not meeting your eyes.

You’re just left standing there as he calls for your Ikrans, watching as they land before you. He holds your hand as he helps you up on Hawnu’s back, but no matter how much you search for them, his eyes never lift up to meet yours. There are no lingering touches, no gentle smiles, or commentary. Instead, he lets go of your hand as soon as you’re sat across Hawnu’s back, turning his back on the both of you as he walks over to Cupcake, rubbing her forehead and whispering something to her when she screeches loudly after he makes tsaheylu. The flight back is uncomfortably silent. And when you arrive at the base, your parting is even more silent as he walks to your door, putting his hand on the box before opening it for you. But before you’ve even entered, he’s turned for his own door, opening and closing it, without a goodbye, without even looking back.

Stepping into your room, the wrongness of the situation fills you. The door closes behind you, its metal latches clicking into place as it seals you off from the outside world. Stepping into the room, you smile gently at Spider snoring loudly in your nest. He’s twisted into his blankets, a half-eaten spartan fruit sitting beside his head. Picking up the fruit, you put it down on the table before stepping into the nest. Curling around Spider, you wrap your arms around him, smiling at the way he sighs happily. There’s a pain in your chest, however. A pain that doesn’t go away as night gives way to dawn. Staring out of the see-through metal wall, you go through what happened time after time, after time again.

Why had you pulled away? Had you not wanted this from him too? Huffing a humorless chuckle to yourself, you almost chastise yourself for even thinking about it. He was the sky demon, the destroyer of Pandora, the very person who destroyed your hometree. He was incapable of loving anything but himself and yet… Eywa eventually blesses you with rest, your mind numb and your soul empty as you drift off to sleep.

When the door to your room opens, the day is bright and Spider has watched his TV for a while. Ja enters your room carefully, eyes searching for yours as he takes you in. Understanding seems to hit him and he clears his throat before stepping further into the room when Spider excitedly greets him. You watch as the two bump their fists together, Spider grinning wildly as he asks about what the plans for the day were.

“Bet you’re hungry?” Ja grins down at Spider before looking up at you, “Ma’am?”

“Mom, you didn’t get to see all the stuff we gathered yesterday. Mansk said we’ll be rolling down the hallway by the time we’ve eaten it all,” Spider’s excitement brings a smile to your face, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You thank the Great Mother that your son doesn’t realize it.

“He made some really great dishes for us, Ma’am,” Ja smiles gently before walking out of your room.

Following Ja into the common room, you’re surprised to see a long table in the middle of the room. The unit is gathered there, eating and chatting animatedly with each other as they laugh. Quaritch sits at the end, moving a piece of ovumshroom around on his plate. He doesn’t meet your eyes as you sit down to eat with them, doesn’t greet you or acknowledge you at all. In fact, Quaritch doesn’t meet your eyes the entire day, avoiding contact as much as possible and giving silly excuses each time you try to talk to him.

It pained you to see him like this. Pained you to know that your hesitant rejection had caused this. He had been nothing but kind toward you and your son, had worked harder than anyone and yet when it came down to it, you hadn’t been ready to accept him just yet. Maybe he thought you didn’t accept him at all? But that couldn’t be, you had accepted his courting after all. Your heart twisted painfully at the thought, your ears flattening against your skull as your tail whipped anxiously against your nest. Sighing deeply, you decided that you would corner him come morning. All of this just had to be a poor misunderstanding, right?

Chapter 9 | Masterpost | Chapter 11

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princesscolumbia · 5 months ago

Text

And on today's episode of "I was today years old when I found out that not everyone does it that way..."

I have been writing with varying degrees of productivity and mostly been really trial-and-error with what makes me a good writer. Sometime last November (more like late-October, but I only really noticed in November), some bit flipped and now I can just sit down and write, every day, whenever I want, for hours at a stretch sometimes.

I have, in fact, gotten to the point where I need to consciously NOT choose to write on days when I'm low on spoons or I'll burn myself out...again.

I kinda knew it was a bit exceptional when I had wrapped up what, in my mind, was the starting section, the first establishing story arc, of a novel...or at least it's one novel in my head. I threw the whole blob of text for the establishment of my setting, what makes this variant universe of the setting in which my fanfic is based unique, and I popped in an author's note saying, "Okay, setup's done."

My first comment was the following, single-line reply:

This was all SETUP?

And that made me realize that most novels usually don't take 45k words for the setup.

It also made me realize that I'd powered through an entire novel's worth of writing in around a month...right on the heels of another 110k+ word novel that I'd written in the course of about 2 months, right after I'd body-slammed the NaNoWriMo word-count in November and blew right past it with four short stories and an update to a WIP.

I currently have a word-count daily goal of 1,400 words...and I often rocket right past that without noticing. I have to intentionally take days off for my mental health and physical well-being or I will write.

I don't know what caused this, I don't know why I do it, I am very aware there are many authors out there that are insanely jealous of my ability and I've been asked for the secret sauce a dozen times, and I just haven't really known what to tell people...until reading this post and realizing that this is just the stuff that I do and I thought every author did it.

So without further ado, minor supplemental commentary of my take on the prev author's advice, with the assurance that everything they said is 100% correct and at this point I'm just gilding the lily:

1. Writing nonlinearly

Seriously, if you have ADHD and are pushing yourself to write linearly, stop. For 3 of the last five completed projects I did I had something like an epilogue or novel climax already written before I'd finished writing chapter 3. Yes, you may have an idea how you want a fic to go and you'll be conscious about making sure your writing gets there, but nothing helps an ADHD brain like a target to hyperfixate on.

1.a - Jump around! Jump around! Jump up, jump up and get down!

Now that I've shown my age; if you have ADHD (and maybe if you don't, not like I've never not been ADHD so I wouldn't know), your brain doesn't work linearly at all and you're only fighting yourself if you try not to follow the dopamine.

On my current WIP, I jammed through chapters 14 through 19 all in a row...then suddenly had a yen to do some text for the tentatively numbered chapter 25. I hammered out a daily-goal's worth of scene chewing (currently available as a sneak peak to all tiers, even free, on my Patreon /shameless_plug). I then bounced back to do ch. 20 before my brain locked in on exactly how I wanted to write the climax of the entire book and that took me all the way to the end (but before the epilogia). I'm not back to chapter 21 and practically pouring the words out from the full pitcher that is my brain because I allowed it to fill with content at the pace it works best at.

2. Rereading my own work

Of course I re-read my own stuff! I'm the only one who knows exactly what I want to read! 😋 Quite seriously, I have gone back to reading stuff I wrote, like, 10 or even 20 years ago because my brain is saying that's where it wants to be...and it turns out that was just what was causing me to not be able to write. Whether I just needed to take a break, needed to revisit a headspace, or I wrote something that reminded me of something else and I wanted to write it again, I've learned to let my brain lead me in the direction it needs to go.

3. Marinating in the headspace of the story

OP is probably right that this isn't a necessary thing for your writing. Heaven knows I've got a day job and can't just stew in my headspace for my fics all the time. But one thing that cannot be denied is sometimes it's hard to get back into the right headspace, and for me the solution turned out to be; playlists.

This is the playlist for my current WIP. Obviously, at a 2+ hour runtime, what you see above isn't the entire list. That list constitutes, however, all the music that I have, in whatever fashion, mentally associated with the headspace for Code of Ethics. I've done this for every WIP I have for nearly 20 years, and even if I decided to go back to one of those early, early fics that I haven't touched since before Trump was elected, all I need to do is dig up the playlist for it (even if that means re-launching iTunes for the first time in over a year) and hitting "play" and I'm back in that headspace.

Going to tag on one more thing that works for me 99% of the time:

4. Read OTHER PEOPLE'S work!

I write because I was inspired to write. There's other ways to tell the stories I want to tell and be creative and be good at it. I chose writing because other people wrote stuff that 'spoke' to me. Fission came about because I had some ideas that I knew could work because @burgerbecky had already done similar stuff with her writing. I knew Deviation was a thing that could be successful because I'd read plenty of Omegaverse fics. Double Isekai was going to be written by someone and so I figured I might as well get in there first because I'd already read DOZENS of isekai fics. And Code of Ethics came out of, "Okay, but what about...?" while I was reading QuietValerie's Troubleverse. Whatever inspired you to write, sometimes you just gotta go back in and read it again, read the sequel, read more of whatever it was that got you into writing so you remember, "...oh yeah, that's why I write!"

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

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rvmmm21 · 3 years ago

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[ V V S her diamonds ] – ch 05.

[10:10 a.m] Joohyun turns over, rustling the sheets like autumn leaves. She sleepily buries her face into the warmth of a sky-blue Chrome Hearts hoodie.

. . . . .

Seungwan looks up from the sink and over to the living room. Her head still pounds a little but the Ibuprofen seems to be kicking in. A soft smile traces her lips as she sees who’s asleep on the sofa. It really sucks that they’re both such hardworking students who’d rather be an hour late to a class than miss it, because it’s surely a crime to disturb someone so at peace they’re almost glowing in the sun’s morning rays.

And if the rumours are true, It’s also probably a crime to have her here at all. Seungwan thinks of all the ways she could get arrested for harbouring gangster daughters of mob leaders but ends up losing herself in the composition of Joohyun’s sleeping face.

Even her friends believed that whole dumb ‘secret gangster life’, but Seungwan doesn’t recall gangsters tossing and turning with such fluffy bed hair, looking so cute and tiny in her favourite oversized hoodie.

Joohyun rouses to the sound of gentle clinking and running water.

The faint scent of alcohol and detergent seeps into her nose and she yawns, trying to engulf herself in the toasty heat radiating across her body from– not her hoodie. Glancing down, she realises she doesn’t own the waffle beige pajama pants currently hugging her legs either.

Oh?

Suddenly feeling embarrassed, the older girl shifts off the sofa and grabs her own denim shorts from the floor beside her.

Minutes later, socked feet pad over to the girl in the kitchen, elbow-deep in sudsy water. Seungwan acts surprised when Joohyun hops onto the counter next to the sink.

“Morning, unnie,” she chirps, “did you sleep well?”

Joohyun hums an affirmative and nothing more, but the other girl already senses the multitude of questions running through her head.

“It’s okay, unnie,” she laughs sheepishly, causing an eyebrow to perk up. She gestures to the hoodie swallowing Joohyun’s petite frame. “I didn’t see anything, I swear. I even let you choose which of my pants you wanted.”

“Oh,” comes the reply. “What happened? Kinda hard to remember.”

Seungwan just smiles down. “I wouldn’t be surprised, unnie. You really went ham last night. I didn’t think you had it in you. It was fun to watch.”

Joohyun scoffs, running delicate fingers through disheveled waves. She pauses to watch the younger rinsing out the empty Hite Jinro bottles and stacking them upside down on the dish rack. “Why did you let me sleep? I could– I should’ve gone home.”

The girl shoots a quick glance in her direction, eyes widening at the way Joohyun’s bare thighs press together in her line of sight. She gulps and flutters a few blinks, shifting her attention back to the glass and sponge. “It– it wasn’t safe so late, even for a cab. It’s fine though,” she quickly adds, “Seul’s bus only arrives this evening, and Yerimie texted this morning saying she ate through Saeron’s fridge so she’s coming home tonight. So it wasn’t like you were intruding or anything.”

Joohyun suppresses a slight grin at the girl’s rosy ears. She plucks a freshly rinsed glass from Seungwan’s slippery grip.

“How do you get these so sparkly, Wan?” She inspects it like an artefact, completely changing the pace and throwing the junior off guard. “You could sell this to a museum, I bet.”

“I’m a barista, remember? It’s kinda the other third of my job.” Seungwan chuckles at the thought of her scratched up Ikea glasses in glass displays of their own, with fanatics fawning and taking pictures.

She racks the last glass and dries her hands. “Come on, unnie. We’re running a bit late. I know you can’t function without your caffeine so it’ll have to be campus coffee today.”

Joohyun’s eyes double in size and she claps. “Really? Wow I love that–”

Seungwan whips around to narrow her eyes.

“–you’re willing to lower your standards for me.”

“Thought so.”

. . . . .

[1:00 p.m] Son Seungwan stares at her strawberry-cream sandwich as her brain flicks through memories of last night.

. . . . .

“Yah,” Yerim fakes a punch right at Seungwan’s face, immediately flinging the girl from her spiraling thoughts. “Hell-o? Son Seung-wan re-port to base im-me-di-ate-ly,” she announces robotically, mimicking speaking into a walkie talkie.

“Huh? Yerimie?”

Yerim rolls her eyes. “ Finally. You good? You’ve been spaced out since lit this morning.”

She doesn’t get to ask why she saw her and Joohyun stumbling in through the fire exit twenty minutes late before three people– including the very person in question– are making their way over to the table.

Two trays set down on either side of Seungwan and one beside Yerim. They try not to drool at the sight of the fancy dishes; grilled beef simmered in sukiyaki broth, steaming chicken curry rice, golden-brown battered tempura udon accompanied by side snacks like cubed fruit and matcha ice cream. And don’t even start on the cream-topped, sprinkled drinks.

Because of the sheer number of study sessions they’ve organised, both parties quickly became more comfortable around each other.

“Hello,” Jennie greets while finding the perfect angle to Instagram her lunch. “You were gone a while Yerim-ah. Did you miss us?”

“Pshh, as if.” The girl tries to sound nonchalant but the excitement in her eyes is impossible to mask.

“Sure, kid,” Jennie smirks, and Yerim immediately breaks the fluster building inside her with that stupid bus joke Seungwan’s heard a thousand times.

Still, it gets the laughter pouring in.

Seungwan is internally awe-stricken. Yerimie is a freaking natural.

The table dissolves into mundane chatter, everyone eager to catch up with what each other’s done over the long weekend. Movies are discussed, restaurants are rated and stories are exchanged.

The voices fade into background noise that eventually falls right back as Seungwan starts to wonder things. Silly things.

From across her, she follows Joohyun’s steady hand, deftly gripping the springy udon between chopsticks and masterfully twirling them into the spoon for the perfect mouthful. She remembers that fist punching Lucas in the nose, remembers the lipstick bruises staining sharp knuckles, and then she wonders if that’s the first time something’s ever made her physically violent.

Then her gaze discreetly travels to Joohyun’s lips as she chews. Seungwan wonders the worst thing that has ever come from a mouth as pretty as hers. She wonders if she knows that she tightens the clamp around her bruised heart every time she calls her ‘Wan’, wants to know what it’d feel like to–

“Um, Seungwan?”

The poor kid is only just now realising her daydream is sitting right across her, talking to her roommate and best friend. “You’re right. She’s really spaced out today, huh.” She aims a coy smile at a hapless Seungwan, watching as rouge scribbles across those milky cheeks. “Is something wrong, Seungwan?”

“No, no! I’m fine!” she laughs, nibbling on the corner of her sandwich. “I’m just a little tired I guess.”

“Duh,” Sooyoung casually blurts. “Who knows what time you guys ended up sleeping last night.”

Jennie flinches to interject with some random statement to shut her the hell up but the cat’s already out of the bag.

“I’m sorry, what?!” Yerim cocks her head so hard she looks like a right-angle ruler. Jennie sighs at their idiot friend. Joohyun stays silent but her eyes twinkle mischievously, chin poised on an open palm.

Seungwan can’t breathe, she can’t look away, and she can’t move to help Yerim pick her jaw off the ground.

She can’t process any of it.

Not when Joohyun looks that pretty just… being.

. . . . .

[7:00 p.m] Seulgi barges in and immediately starts handing out little freebies and trinkets she’d acquired from her weekend dance trip. Her roommates are smitten with studio keychains, logo-embroidered plush face towels and a singular roll of toe-wrap tape.

. . . . .

“Wan-ah, what the heck? She spent the night?” Seulgi frantically points at the now cluttered sofa. “On that?”

Yerim nods solemnly, putting on her best betrayed expression. “And I heard it from Sooyoung unnie. The betrayal is real right now.”

The dancer perks up slightly. “Sooyoungie? How is she?”

The youngest laughs. “Right, how could I forget you guys are practically dating right now. ”

Seungwan reassures her with a pat on the back and a sly wink. “She’s fine, Seul. Miss her much?”

The girl hastily splutters a denial but the dust of pink settled in her cheeks tells quite a different story.

Yerim gets them back on track, waving a towel between her two friends’ faces. “Hello, Joohyun unnie plus Seungwan unnie? In the same room? Unattended?”

Seungwan gives up with tantrum legs kicking into the air to relieve the embarrassing heat in her face. “Ahh, it was nothing!!!”

“Wan, there are four Hite bottles in the dishrack and it was nothing??” Seulgi asks suspiciously. “Does she know that?”

#red velvet #wenrene #wendy #irene #sorry it took so long #idek who's here even

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thetomorrowshow · 4 years ago

Text

Slower Than Words Ch. 1

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9�� 10 11 12

A/N: Welcome to my latest fic! I’m projecting about 10 chapters for this. If you’d like to be tagged, just leave a comment or shoot me an ask or send a request by falcon or w/e, I’m not picky!

Just to preface, I'd like to warn that there will be cult content in this work. I am in no way endorsing cults, nor am I criticizing anyone's religion. The intent of this work is to entertain, so please enjoy!

CW: Food, inflicted blindness, imprisonment

Virgil wasn’t expecting a roommate.

He’d only been here for a month or so, but he’d been alone for a while. He’d been quarantined for the past twenty days, and experimented on before that—Virgil didn’t want to think about that.

He hadn't known he had a roommate until someone brushed up against him as he curled up on the cold floor. He couldn't find the bed, otherwise that was where he'd lie. But something touched him and he reared back, ready to attack.

Whatever it was didn't touch him again, and Virgil slowly let himself relax. The sudden movement had sent a migraine to pound at the walls of his head. He groaned and let his head rest on the cold floor beneath him, before hearing some rustling. He jerked right back up, flinching again when something heavy fell on him. A blanket.

“Hello?” he ventured. No answer. For a moment, Virgil was certain he was making it all up, that he had gotten the blanket himself but had forgotten. Then another noise—a scuffle, the sound of someone sitting nearby. A hand touched his shoulder, and Virgil did everything in his power to not draw back.

“Who's there?” he asked, his voice quivering. “I can't—I can't see. I can't see you.”

Even after they'd taken the bandages off his eyes, Virgil had been unable to see anything. The first week, his eyes had burned and itched. He'd restrained himself from scratching, but now he wasn't sure if it would have made a difference. He had lost his sight, and with it his whole world.

The hand didn't leave his shoulder, and Virgil reached out cautiously. His hands met something solid—a person? Yes, a person, and Virgil's hands clutched desperately at their shirt. He hadn't had safe human contact in so long. . . . The person seemed to understand that, and gently placed his arms around Virgil. Virgil let himself be wrapped in the hug, arms awkwardly against his chest. The person smelled like soap and dust and immediately warmed him. Virgil relished the fiery contact, pushing his head up into the person's shoulder and sighing. For the first time in weeks, he felt safe.

The person pulled back and Virgil floundered, reaching again into the empty air. A hand caught his and held it still. Virgil frowned, confused. What was happening? Were they not supposed to know about each other? Was the person about to lead him back into that room, the bright one where they leaned over him and—

Virgil wrenched his brain away from that train of thought. He needed to focus on the here and now, not the terrifying past. Starting with who the other person in the room was. Said other person suddenly let go off his hand and pulled him close again. Virgil decided to not worry about who they were or why they were both here, and melted into the person's chest.

When Virgil woke up, he blinked blearily before remembering that he couldn't see. Someone—the person from the previous day—was still holding him, but his slow breathing indicated that he was asleep. At some point, they'd moved to a bed. It was nice, all things considered. He wasn't alone, he was in a soft bed with a soft person, and he had no need to go anywhere anytime soon.

A loud clang! interrupted his drowsy thoughts and he jerked up, feeling the person beside him stir in their sleep.

“Hello?” Virgil said, his voice shaking. No answer. His roommate sat up beside him and placed a gentle hand on his back, calm and reassuring. Then the person slid out of bed and seemingly vanished—Virgil could no longer reach them, no matter how far he stretched out his arms. He whimpered unwillingly, then covered his mouth. No use seeming weak. A little voice in his head reminded him that he'd certainly done worse than whimper when they'd taken his sight.

A terrifying moment later, a hand was on his arm and guiding him into a standing position. Virgil stumbled a bit, but allowed himself to be led across the room until the person eased him to the ground.

As it turned out, there was food there, laid out on a tray. Virgil felt his way around the tray before lifting what he was certain was a spoon, letting the other person place a bowl on his lap. It was full of instant mashed potatoes, Virgil soon discovered. He hadn't really been focusing on his stomach, but he realized some sustenance would be nice. While he ate, the other person traced seemingly random patterns on his wrist.

The bowl with mashed potatoes was pulled away from him, then returned but filled with canned beans. Virgil grimaced: he'd never been one for beans, but at least they were warm. It struck him as he ate that he had no idea what time it was. Was this an odd breakfast, or a poor dinner? It reminded him of something his dorm mate might have made—and just like that, tears were forming and his nose was burning.

Why did they take him? Out of every twenty-something person they could've kidnapped to fulfill their sick desires of blinding someone, why him? Virgil missed home, he missed school, he missed his obnoxious dorm mate, he missed his terrible paying job making terrible pizzas—

The bowl was gently pulled from him and Virgil willingly fell into the person's arms. He sobbed into their shoulder, lost and sad and homesick. How many times had he cried alone in the past month? How many times had he longed for human contact only to wrap his arms around himself? Now he cuddled closer into the warm weight of another human being, gripping as tight as he could.

The other person lightly placed a kiss into Virgil's hair and Virgil felt safe, and warm, and still so so awful but also okay.

Virgil pulled back and fumbled around for the bowl again, still sniffling as he took another bite. The person continued to trace the patterns into his wrist, slow and soft. Over and over. Familiar, like they had no meaning yet every meaning simultaneously. Over and over and over. . . .

That was—repetition? Did the pattern start over? Virgil set down the bowl and placed his hand on the other person's, who immediately stilled.

“Come on, do it again,” Virgil croaked. He gestured at his wrist, trying to get his meaning across. “I wanna feel it.”

Slowly, the patterns started up again, and Virgil traced along with them.

a . . . b . . . c . . . d. . . .

The alphabet. The person hadn't spoken at all thus far, and Virgil felt unbelievably ecstatic about this form of communication. He pushed his hand into the other person's, food forgotten in the giddy anticipation of someone talking to him. Old Virgil would have scoffed, unimpressed at his thirst for human contact. Old Virgil wanted to be alone. Old Virgil hadn't spent weeks alone in darkness.

Virgil could pick out some of the letters the person traced, but the rest felt like random scribbling. He definitely felt an 'a', and an 'o', and then an 'n', but the rest was unclear. He shrugged, then put his hand over theirs again.

This time he could feel the letters more clearly, as the other person carefully guided his hand.

P-a-t-t-o-n.

V-i-r-g-i-l, Virgil spelled. V-i-r-g-i-l.

V . . . i . . . n . . . y . . . l . . . l.

“No, Virgil, not vinyl,” Virgil groaned. V-i-r-g-i-l.

V . . . i . . . r . . . g . . . i . . . l.

“Yes, yes yes!” Virgil impulsively hugged the man whose arm he'd been spelling on a second earlier. His name was Patton, and through much trial and error, Virgil had discovered that Patton was about his age and could see. Why he wasn't talking was a mystery that he hadn't decoded yet.

Virgil and Patton had been curled up on the bed for hours, tracing into each others' arms. It was mostly the alphabet, over and over again as they tried to instinctually recognize the letters. It was slow going, but Virgil felt they'd gotten far enough for his name—and they had. It exhausted both of them, he was sure, so he wasn't surprised when Patton fell asleep, him following shortly.

The past few days had been too short, it seemed, after the unbelievable length of the month he'd spent alone. Hours of tracing and sleeping and eating and just touching helped the days fly by. Every day Patton held Virgil steady as the walked the perimeter of the room, one hand on the smooth wall, the other clenched into Patton's shirt. He was slowly beginning to envision their cell in his mind's eye. He knew how many steps it was from the door to the beds—because there were two of them, apparently, though Virgil spent most of his time on the same bed as Patton. When it was night, he couldn't bear to let Patton go, afraid he'd wake up alone again, not able to find anyone. On nights when the fear was particularly bad, Patton held him to his chest and wiped the tears away.

They were almost constantly touching, in some way. When they were both mentally worn from the struggle of communicating, they often lay on the floor, hands entwined. In those moments, Virgil let his mind explore beyond the room, sometimes imagining himself to be a great wizard or adventurer. He went on grand quests to retrieve lost treasures, journeyed into caverns that dripped with shadows. Most of the time, though, he imagined he was going about his normal life. He pictured his dorm mate, the paths he'd take to school. He thought about the tree that grew outside his window, the aloe vera on his desk that was somehow managing to survive. Those bittersweet thoughts always led to a wave of homesickness, and Virgil would find himself curling into Patton's arms to cry.

Now, though, Virgil woke up slowly, automatically squeezing his grip to make sure he was still holding Patton's hand. The man squeezed back, then spelled something onto his arm.

V-i-r-g-i-l.

Virgil smiled sleepily and spelled back: P-a-t-t-o-n. Who was he to break morning routine?

F-o-o-d-s-h-e-r-e, Patton spelled out slowly, making a slicing motion on his arm to indicate a space between words. Virgil nodded, forestalling the man as he began to spell it again.

“I heard, I heard.”

Over breakfast, Patton continued the alphabet lightly. Virgil tried to keep his arm free, but he needed one hand to hold the bowl and the other to eat the oatmeal, so it wasn't going too well. Soon enough, the tray was taken from them (by the morning food-bringer, Virgil was beginning to be able to tell their footsteps apart) and Patton squeezed him in a brief hug before taking Virgil's hand and placing it over his own, tracing more letters onto Virgil's skin.

I-a-m-d-e-a-f.

That couldn't be right. Virgil wracked his brain, trying to think of which letter he misinterpreted. Before he could pick it out, though, Patton was tracing again.

I-a-m-d-e-a-f.

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added/removed!): @enragedbees @gotta-love-alejandra @bunny222

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zutaraangtastic · 4 years ago

Note

I have a prompt idea! This idea fits into more of an Aged up Zukataang headcanon. Drunk!Katara preferably interacting with both Zuko and Aang. On the Fluffy side. I think it would be amusing and cute.

hi! if you're still doing prompts, may I offer "little spoon zuko" ?

Combined these two prompts, accidentally went overboard and wrote more like a whole fic than a drabble! (Can be read without context, but for the best experience, read as a missing scene from ch. 10 of Heartlines by kuchi/Mod K.) - Mod J

There’s always been casual touch between them and Zuko: Katara’s instinctive hand holding, borne of navigating her village with her family during fierce white-out blizzards; Aang’s penchant for hugging him like a panda on a tree, which became all the more comically ridiculous when he outgrew Zuko.

But it had taken Zuko time to adjust to those habits, even when they meant only friendship. Katara knows to expect some hesitation, now that they’re adding another layer of love to their actions. They’ve agreed to take this slow, ease into the newness of being able to show their full affection.

It’s a good thing, too, because he seems almost overwhelmed just by this, sitting with them in the near-dark as they take turns playing with his hair, leaning into his shoulder, kissing him.

When Katara breaks their latest, lingering kiss and looks up at Zuko, his pupils are wide, shaken, though she’s already lost track of how many times she’s done this. How many times Aang has. They’ve been in too good a mood for any lingering nerves to interfere. With Zuko’s enthusiastic—if stumbling—assent, it’s hard not to kiss him, and hard not to do more.

Talk has dwindled, but they’ve been here for hours and said all they possibly could. About their feelings, about their future, about everything. It’s a relief to finally let loose after the whirlwind the past few months have been.

The sweet palm wine helps, leaving Katara pleasantly fuzzy-headed. She’s come to suspect Aang doesn’t mind the secondhand taste of it on her tongue, or Zuko’s, nearly as much as he pretends. And she doesn’t mind watching them, feeling the bloom of nervous warmth in her gut, almost like the old eagerness of first-time teenage exploration with Aang.

The lantern’s firelight blurs a fraction when she tilts her head, gaining sharpness only in the twin reflections between Zuko’s and Aang’s eyes, which flicker open as Aang pulls back to let Zuko catch his breath. Katara notices the subtle tell of Zuko about to flip the script, the stubborn squint a moment before he takes the back of Aang’s neck and yanks him in, harder this time. Aang makes a muffled, surprised sound. The warmth in Katara’s stomach drops into a tense thrill, like when Appa plummets suddenly during flight.

Aang is the one left breathless this time, and it’s more than a little impressive, considering he’s an airbender. After a moment, the fierceness in Zuko’s posture eases, and the delightful tension fades. His voice is raspy when he murmurs, glancing to Katara, “Stay. It’s gotten late.”

It wasn’t initially part of their plan, but Katara nods, smiling over the rim of her glass. She’s game if they are, trusts that they can all handle themselves—it’s wonderful that Zuko thinks so too. They’ve shared beds as pairs before, though that was without this passion simmering so openly between them.

“Is that your way of saying you’re ready to take us to bed?” Aang asks, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows. Katara might have to think twice about it, in that case, because he’s the only one who hasn’t been drinking, and poor Zuko’s gone strawberry-red.

“Not like that, I’m not – I mean, no pressure, only if you want—”

Nothing will come of it yet, rationally speaking; Aang’s a flirt, but when she thinks back on it, he said things like that to Zuko even before confessing his undying love for him, so Zuko must know better than to take him seriously.

Then again, nothing feels serious right now, everything perfectly light and crystalline and dreamy, all the weight of secrecy lifted from her heart. She can’t help but laugh. It infects Zuko, too, his embarrassed glower slipping and lips twitching into a smile as he shakes his head at Katara.

“So much for waiting for our honeymoon at the palace,” she says, leaning across him to poke Aang accusingly in the chest.

“Okay, okay,” Aang says, glancing at Katara as he nuzzles into the crook of Zuko’s neck with playful smugness. In return, Katara sticks her tongue out at him as she wraps herself around Zuko’s arm. “Maybe His Royal Hotness just doesn’t want to admit he’s getting sleepy.”

Zuko rolls his eyes, but he makes no move to escape them. “I changed my mind. I’m kicking you both out.”

“Too late!” With a huff of air, Aang sends himself flying backwards and lands sprawled on the nearby mattress, making himself at home.

Katara’s laughter keeps bubbling up like a running stream, trickling off only when she curves her arm around Zuko’s head and pulls him into another kiss of her own. When she stands, she’s only a little unsteady on her feet, and takes hold of both of Zuko’s hands to pull him with her. He goes to snuff out the lantern, while Katara sits on the edge of the bed and starts to let down her hair for the night.

Aang helps without being asked, taking extra care to disentangle the ties painlessly. Katara closes her eyes with a pleased hum, enjoying his familiar hands massaging her scalp.

Yawning, she cracks her eyes open again to find Zuko still crouched by the lantern, watching her and Aang with something inscrutable in his expression, something both fragile and ardent. The low-burning light casts half his face in a mellow orange glow, until he shakes himself from his reverie and puts out the candle’s flame.

“Come on, I promise I won’t let my husband jump you,” she says, patting the space beside her.

“Hey, I’m not planning to do anything indecent!” Aang protests. Katara glances over her shoulder to find him pouting and giving Zuko his best innocent Appa eyes. “I am staying in the middle, though. Unless you want to?”

Zuko shakes his head, drifting closer but still hesitating. “No, it’s just – three’s a crowd, right? I can take the sofa, and you two can have the bed, if it’s easier.”

There’s a point to that—this bed is probably meant to comfortably accommodate two at most, and Aang might as well be a person and a half, all lanky arms and legs everywhere, but Katara’s not about to let that stop them. “Zuko,” she says, with the specific kind of misplaced authority she gets only around the time that tiredness overtakes tipsiness for her. “After everything we’ve said, you really think we’d even think of stealing your bed without you?”

Zuko opens his mouth, closes it again, and eventually says, smiling, “That barely makes sense.”

“C’mere,” Aang says, and finally, Zuko does.

He’s still awkward when he sits next to Katara, still stiff and uncertain when Aang wraps his arms around them both. She doesn’t know whether to call it silly or sad, that Zuko has such trouble letting his guard down, letting himself accept their love, even after admitting he’s wanted this for a long time. That he never thought he would have it. Maybe that he never thought he deserved it?

She’s reached the point where she wants to cry a little bit, but she doesn’t, just presses her forehead together against his and Aang’s and lingers in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Everything she wants is right here in this room.

Eventually, Aang reaches for Zuko’s casual evening robes, with a gentle “Can I?” As he helps Zuko out of his clothes, Katara unwinds the ribbon securing Zuko’s topknot and adds it to the pile of her hair bands on the bedside table. She smooths out his hair before shrugging out of her own outer layers, down to sarashi. Normally, she likes the freedom of sleeping without the wrappings, but she figures they’re trying to maintain some propriety for Zuko’s sake, both he and Aang keeping their loose pants on.

Katara runs her hands lightly over Zuko’s bare shoulders, presses a kiss to his collarbone and then his cheek. “I’m glad we’re here with you,” she says sincerely, raising her hands to cup his face. “Earlier, I thought, we could be ruining our friendship, that we’d be forcing our feelings on you. And if you ever don’t feel what we feel, we can always stop, or—”

“Katara, please,” he whispers, and it’s a genuine entreaty, his lips ghosting against the side of her thumb. “It’s not – it’s just me, I’m not…good. At any of this. But it’s not that you’re forcing anything, I promise.”

“Hey, you are good,” Aang says, taking both of Zuko’s hands in his. “You’re amazing, in fact. You’ve changed our lives in so many ways.”

Zuko exhales a shaky breath, a hint of a self-deprecating laugh. “Not always for the better.” He pauses, looking everywhere except for them. Katara and Aang exchange a stricken look; it’s always heart-wrenching, to hear the way he mistrusts himself. “I just worry I’ll…what if I mess it up? Everything you have, it’s already perfect, and I don’t want you to have to sacrifice that for me. What if it’s not worth it, what if I’m…not?”

Wordlessly, Aang pulls him into a tighter hug. Zuko makes a slightly distressed sound, but holds on when Aang starts to let go in confusion and worry. With his nails digging into Aang’s arm, Katara can’t help but think he looks almost like a scared animal, utterly incongruous with the Fire Lord she knows, the image of confident power he projects. In a way, she’s always known it to be a projection, at least in part—that beneath the surface, there’s still the old volatility, like a riptide beneath a calm stretch in the waves.

He’s grown so much, but there’s still something lost about him, something hunted. As if he still doesn’t think he’s earned his peace, and makes himself restless with doubt in recompense.

Katara’s throat closes up, and she blinks through the wateriness in her eyes as she twines her fingers with Zuko’s. He squeezes her hand so tightly it trembles.

“Listen,” she says with difficulty, “I’d gladly sacrifice plenty of things for you, I know we both would. But it is so much more than that, it’s – it’s hoping, and it’s knowing you better every day, and knowing Aang better through you, and seeing you both in everything I do for the rest of my life. You’re not taking anything away from us.”

“You’re giving us so much,” Aang finishes the thought for her, perfectly on the same wavelength. “We’re figuring this out together, all three of us. Maybe it won’t always be the easiest thing, but it is the most freeing. It already makes me so happy, just being able to be close to you. And if this makes you happy, too, then it’s so worth it. You’ve just gotta let yourself trust in it. Do you trust us?”

Zuko nods slowly, but unhesitatingly, and the nervous hunch of his shoulders starts to relax. He loosens his grip on Aang and Katara with an apologetic glance. Noticing her tears, he reaches up to brush them away, and when he meets Aang’s eyes, Katara can tell Zuko’s really seeing him again. He kisses Aang’s knuckles, then hers, softly.

“We all have to leave in the morning, don’t we?” he says. “It’s probably time to sleep.”

Katara sighs and sinks back into the mattress, and Aang follows, pulling Zuko with him. “I wish we had more time,” she murmurs, resting her forehead against Aang’s back.

“Someday we’ll have all the time in the world,” Aang says, and he sounds so assured that Katara almost finds it easy to believe the same.

“Maybe when we’re retired,” Zuko says with a small snort.

“Hey, lucky you, you get to retire! ‘Avatar’ is a lifelong job title, Mr. Fire Lord.”

Zuko musters a chuckle, and Katara props herself up with one arm beneath her head, so she can look at him over Aang’s shoulder. He’s lying on his side, facing her and Aang, bathed in the moonlight pooling in through the window.

It’s not the first time she’s noticed their matching lightning scars, the wounds she healed for each of them. These days Zuko is only shirtless during sparring matches with Aang, though, and those are always a blur of acrobatics and heat—not that she ever complains, when she gets the chance to watch. But it’s rare to observe them both so still together. Katara can trace around the familiar, messy red sprawl midway down Aang’s spine that interrupts the line of his tattoo, and almost be able to reach out and touch Zuko’s, sharper and neater on the edges, maybe from his partial redirection back then.

She resists the urge, not wanting to dwell more on the turmoil of the past when they’ve worked so hard to focus tonight on the shining bright future ahead of them. For now, she can content herself with knowing that they’re both safe, here with her.

Aang’s breathing is deepening into near-sleep, one hand extended and tangled with Zuko’s. Katara stretches her arm to join the hand pile, though Aang’s is inconveniently longer and in the way. Zuko scoots closer to accommodate, offering up his other hand to her. His long lashes sweep in a slow blink, but he’s still awake. For the first time, she notices those are mismatched in the same way as his eyebrow, never regrown on the burned side.

“You know, you have to actually close your eyes to sleep,” she says softly.

Zuko gives her a faint smile. “Yeah. I just don’t want to open them again, and find out I’ve been dreaming.”

“Aww, you’d—” Aang interrupts himself with a wide yawn “—you’d dream about us?”

“Hah, you have no idea.”

Aang laughs, and Katara raises an eyebrow with interest. But again, they’ll have to leave that for another time.

“It might help if you get comfortable,” she says, before Aang can tease Zuko further. “Turn over.” After a moment, Zuko complies, but just stays there, facing away. “Not like – I meant, turn over, and come closer, too.”

“Like spoons,” Aang adds helpfully, as Zuko shuffles into cuddling range, his back close to Aang’s chest.

Katara curls her arm across them both. “There. Now, relax. We’ve got you.”

It takes several minutes of hesitant shuffling, tiny adjustments, tensed muscles beneath her palm. While Aang’s hand rests automatically around Zuko’s middle, Katara moves hers up, reaching for his hair to thread her fingers through it, trying to soothe him. Surprisingly, it seems to help. Zuko leans his head into her touch, eases back against Aang, and breathes out a sigh that sounds…relieved.

“Love you,” Aang mumbles, almost asleep for real now. Katara knows he doesn’t intend it just for her, but she kisses his forehead, making him hum pleasantly and tangle one ankle with hers as he secures his gentle hold on Zuko.

As she’s drifting off, she hears Zuko murmur, “I –” and hesitate, his quiet swallow audible in the stillness of the night. “I’ll be better at this next time,” he says eventually. “I promise.”

Katara lays her hand over his heart. It’s still beating too fast for him to be totally at rest, but slowing, little by little. “I love you too, Zuko.”

#zutaraang #zutara #zukaang #kataang #atla #zutaraangdrabblechallenge #mod j #Anonymous

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shadowshamrock · 3 years ago

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Before You Go

Title: Before You Go Ch. 7

Summary: Chuck is serious this time about the world ending thanks to his hissy fit with the Winchesters. The Winchesters are not as alone as they thought in their war against god. There’s always been secrets from the Men of Letters that could always be revealed. Someone from Dean’s past always had a connection and they come back to remind him.

Chapters:01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14| 15 | 16 | 17 | 18

Words: 1544

Dean walked into the kitchen and jumped as he saw Isabel bent over the counter eating cereal. He scowled, wondering if she was eating the last of it. He picked up and bowl and poured out the contents into his and put it down. Isabel took a bite watching him carefully. She hates the wariness about people, let alone from Dean. She preferred Castiel’s reserve and Sam was calm and curious. Dean on the other hand was never one emotion nor calm which made him unpredictable for her which threw off her normal reaction to people.

Dean could feel her studying him and raised an eyebrow at her. “Couldn’t sleep either huh?” He asked.

Isabel stopped wondering about figuring out Dean and finished chewing. “The world is loud again. And trust me having you boys’ thoughts drift into my dreams is not always pleasant.” She took another bite as she finished her sentence.

The world was loud since coming home from the Empty. She didn’t know if it was Castiel or something else allowing her powers to come back. She missed being normal, but she was learning once more she never was really normal. Dean smirked at her and moved to sit at the table. Isabel’s gaze followed; his presence calm compared to his normal energy. She noticed the buzz of anxiety still and she was starting to believe that would never go away for him. She sat down across from him, taking another bite of cereal.

Dean chewed his cereal and studied her. He knew that look from her even though it had been so long ago. She was always reading the room, people at the bar and their drink orders before they even knew what to drink themselves. It was amusing and kind of annoying for him. Now that he knew she was a part of something bigger, it made him wonder what else had been hidden.

“You know I don’t understand why you stayed away for so long.” He put his spoon down. “I mean, I’m glad you’re here now, we can use all the help we can get. I just… really could have used a friend like you through it all. I mean, Bobby kept my head straight for a while, but he was always like a dad. You, when I met you, I finally had a friend.” As Dean told her this, she stopped eating.

“I’m a terrible friend Dean.” She answered it quickly and knew he’d hate that instantly.

Dean let out a deep sigh. “Yeah, well, so am I.” He smiled softly. He took another bite of cereal and tried to say he was sorry for pushing her away, but even he knew she understood. He swallowed his cereal and looked at her carefully. She looked sad overlooking her weariness. “Sam and I are headed to Alaska, with the way our luck has been, we’re following Garth’s lead. You can come if you’d like. I know it’s been weird with you and him since coming back, and Eileen, but everything’s going to work out.” Dean explained.

Isabel could feel her cheeks burn and she smirked. “Thanks for the offer, but a week stuck in a car with the two of you is a hard pass, I’ve done that before with Lucan it’s not fun.” She added laughing.

Dean smiled softly realizing it was the first time she had mentioned Lucan since being back together. “You two were really close.” He added.

Isabel smiled softly, nothing slowly as she pushed her bowl back. “We were married.” She admitted.

Dean stopped eating. “Excuse me?” He gasped. He put the memories together and things made more sense now. The way Lucan protected her and was defensive when he tried to flirt with her.

Isabel smirked giving a short nod. “It’s why we left the Extracvian. All the rules, you know two kids thinking they’ll make it. We did for a couple years; money was running out but with our last five grand I negotiated the bar owner to sell it to us. He wanted nothing to do with, something about attracting unwanted people.” She laughed at this statement, considering what the bar ended up being when they took it over.

Dean smirked, knowing she still had her powers then at this point. “You Jedi mind tricked the bar?” He laughed.

Isabel giggled, her hand on her chin. “Lucan mind tricked, not me. I could only read.” She let out a long sigh. “So yes, we were close. But that’s what happens with this job right?” She looked down staring at the milk in the bowl.

Dean’s smile faded and her stared at her carefully putting the pieces together still. “Where’d you go after?” He asked.

Isabel frowned a little. “Everywhere and no where. After Lucan died, I tried to help Annabel, but she wouldn’t leave the Extracvian and well, I wasn’t welcomed. My grandmother made sure of that. I just happened to keep them off me until my powers were gone, I figured theirs were too and I could finally live.” She explained.

Dean listened intently, his spoon in his bowl now. He knew that’s what she had always wanted, and he felt for that more than he’d like to admit. His elbows moved to the table, wondering what made her look for them. “What made you look for me?” He actually said it aloud this time, still wanting the answer, even though he guessed it probably wasn’t something he wanted to hear.

Isabel let out a sigh and shrugged. “Intuition, I followed the rumors. Killed a demon talking about the book of Winchester. No one ruling hell and God being gone. You boys are popular. Then I started having dreams about an end and I don’t know about you Dean, but I’m not ready for an end.” She smiled softly as she told her story. She let out a yawn, and took her bowl, picked up Deans, and went to the sink washing them.

Dean sighed, mentally agreeing with her, not saying a thing. He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering about how lonely it had to have been for her all this time. He was thankful Sam had followed him despite the circumstances. He watched her dry the dishes and stack them. She walked by him, patting his shoulder.

“Good night, Dean. Get some sleep before you head out.” She told him.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, good night” He called after her.

Isabel walked to the stairs and up to her room. She rested her forehead against the door and choked on a sob. Isabel’s heart sank, she hadn’t expected Lucan to affect her after all this time. She never really talked about her story and Dean seemed to have opened the wound she had carefully stitched. She let out a sniff, covering her mouth. She didn’t hear the footsteps, just felt a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, Sam catching her in his arms.

“Sorry, I thought you heard me.” He stopped catching the tears in her eyes. He pressed his lips together, not used to seeing her like this. He pulled her to him hugging her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

It didn’t help that Sam made her feel like she could move on, which also felt unfair at the same time. Isabel hugged him back, grateful for his care. “Maybe another time.” She replied, wiping her eye on the back of her hand.

Sam didn’t like seeing her sad, she was usually open, and her reservation threw him off. He looked down at her again, staring into her eyes, and pushed her hair back. “You know you can tell me anything right?” He added.

Isabel sniffled, slowly nodding, licking her lip. “Right.” She huffed. She pushed off him, turning back to her door and opening it.

Sam stepped forward and took her hand. “Isabel,” He stopped, not sure what he wanted to say. He realized he hadn’t mentioned her, none of his storylines and situations Chuck presented to him included her. He was curious as to why and he didn’t understand fully what was going on with her whenever Cas was around.

Isabel stopped and looked up at him. “What Sam? I’m not doing this with you, okay.” She twisted her hand out of his and walked further in her room.

Sam followed raising his hands in defense. A part of him wanted to hear her explain herself. “Doing what?” He asked.

Isabel stopped moving her clothes off her bed and turned to look at him. She didn’t understand her reaction either. “Have this conversation. Dean said you guys are heading to Alaska, you should get some rest. I’m staying here, Cas could come back and need some help.” She explained, she also knew she needed to look for Jack, coming back from the Empty didn’t seem to go really well.

Sam watched her put her clothes away and didn’t say anything else. He gave her a nod and left the room. Isabel stopped not feeling his presence anymore. She let out a sigh of relief, there was only so much she could handle this evening. She looked at her phone, seeing the time and turned out the light and went back to bed.

#spnfanficpond #supernatural x oc #oc x canon #spnfanfiction

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touchmycoat · 3 years ago

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An hour later, the medicine sat cooked in the bowl and was placed in front of Jiang Xuanjin.

Jiang Xuanjin half-leaned against the headboard, peering first at the medicine, then at her, then looking away.

Huaiyu blinked. Then, she sat down right there on the bed, picked up the bowl, and began to blow on it.

“I got it. Here, I’ll feed you myself!”

Eyebrow jumping, Jiang Xuanjin uttered, “I don’t want it.”

“How can you not take medicine if you’re sick?” She glared at him, and then began to speak as if coaxing a child. “Look here, I’ve been personally stewing this medicine for an hour, and all the ingredients are top quality. Even if you don’t feel sorry for me, you should at least feel sorry for the ingredients.”

Looking down at that auburn liquid, a dark light in Jiang Xuanjin’s eyes glimmered.

“You have a sip first.”

Hm? Huaiyu startled as her smile began to fade.

“You doubt me?”

Coughing twice, Jiang Xuanjin said, “everything that goes in my mouth is tasted first. That’s the rule.”

“As if. You just think I’d poison you.” Scoffing, Huaiyu’s expression cooled as she stared at him. “I cooked and watched over this medicine for an hour. I even burned my hand. But I’ve fed my efforts to a thankless stomach.”

Listening to her, one would think her feelings truly hurt.

Yet Jiang Xuanjin wasn’t having it. He replied tepidly, “you chose to do that.”

Meaning: you reap what you sow, you asked for it, you went looking for trouble.

“If you’re unwilling, you’re still able to leave.”

Hearing this, Li Huaiyu laughed, just once, before tossing the spoon inside the bowl of medicine aside onto a stool. She lifted the bowl and guzzled it all.

That’s right. She didn’t just have a sip, but emptied and upended the entire bowl.

Jiang Xuanjin kept indifferent at first. But after seeing this, something in his eyes finally fluctuated.

“What are you doing?”

Setting down the empty bowl, Huaiyu wiped her mouth clean.

“Don’t you suspect me? Don’t drink this medicine then, let Cheng Xu cook you a new one.”

Then, she got up to leave.

“...” Jiang Xuanjin was rather taken aback. His judgment had been so: this girl was planning on sticking to him, and though he didn’t know her intentions, they probably weren’t any good.

But what was this now? He misspoke once, and she was leaving?

Li Huaiyu didn’t walk fast; she even subtly slowed her steps, looking filled with rage and grief from the back. Her shoulders even hitched and hitched.

Just as her feet were about to cross the threshold, she finally got what she was waiting for—a voice behind her saying, “wait.”

Even with a burst of giddiness, Huaiyu kept up her wronged expression, turning around begrudgingly.

“What?”

Jiang Xuanjin gave a light sigh.

“Thank you.”

He was the type to take persuasion, not coercion; if someone was genuinely good to him, then he ought to thank them—such was his upbringing. Though this girl’s gaze wasn’t so comfortable to take, her actions truly didn’t mean him any harm. To have gulped down all of that medicine she’d spent an hour stewing really must have choked her up.

As such, he looked up at her, lips pressing together and expression going softer.

Precisely the effect she wanted!

Huaiyu’s internal cackling was a wicked thing. Oh, what was that about one step back and two steps forward? What was playing hard to get? Look it here, she’d done it again!

(from Spring Banquet, ch. 10)

#SHE'S SO FUCKING FUNNY #spring banquet #bai lu cheng shuang

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keelywolfe · 4 years ago

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FIC: Colors, ch.23: Gray

(A Spicyhoney ‘The Village’ AU)

The story so far:

8. Whiteout | 9. Sable | 10. Blue on Black | 11. Midnight | 12. Ebony Falling

18. Verdigris | 19. Honey | 20. Scarlet | 21. Alstroemeria | 22. Onyx

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Read ‘Gray’ on AO3

Read More Here!

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Rus woke once again far too early in the morning to discover a pup sitting close by, this time peering curiously around their makeshift curtain. Rus groaned softly. There was a certain ache in his skull, surely a leftover of Britta’s pipe weed, and that coupled with the memory of his shameful antics of the day before made Rus regret his disregard of his brother’s advice about smoking.

Every sin brings its punishment with it was a fond proverb at prayer meetings and whatever doubts Rus possessed about the Elders and their preaching, that one at least certainly held the flavor of truth.

Aching head or no, guests were guests, and Rus started to rise, struggling to force his sleepy thoughts in the direction of preparing breakfast.

Only for Edge’s arms to tighten around him, holding him closely in a tangle of bony limbs as he mumbled out, “Don’t go.”

As though Rus had much choice with Edge clinging to him like a summer vine. Rus subsided and whispered, “Banquo is awake.”

Behind him, Edge stirred, rising up on one elbow and whatever look Edge gave Banquo, the boy shrank back and hastily fled. Of course it was frightfully rude but Rus was forced to stifle a giggle. He rolled onto his back, looking up into his husband’s scowling face. “good morning.”

“Good morning.” Edge’s scowl became tenderness of such sweetness it nearly cramped in Rus’s soul. He ducked his head, kissing Rus with matching care, and Rus sighed softly, tipped his head up into that gentleness, allowing it for far too long before he drew away.

“enough,” Rus scolded teasingly. “we have guests!” But his good hosting intentions trembled on the verge of disappearing as Edge’s mouth found the sensitive joint of jaw, his tongue laving over it with shivery skill.

His breath was tantalizingly warm against damp bone as Edge murmured, “Let them sleep in. They’ll be leaving after morning meal.”

Oh. That deflated some of Rus’s morning cheer, dampening his rising desire. Having the Dogs here was a joy, their kindness and gaiety more than welcome. But of course they couldn’t stay long, they had their own home to attend to, trap lines to walk, and already they’d stayed for a longer and much better visit than any of his neighbors in the village ever offered, even those that lived a mere stroll away.

Some of his dismay must have been obvious, for Edge’s pulled back, gazing down with softened eye lights. He leaned down to kiss Rus again, light, damp touches against his mouth and sprinkling his face. Rus allowed the scattering of affection to chase away his melancholy. Surely they’d return again this winter for another visit and perhaps when they did, Rus could have a gift for Britta from the lovely yarn she’d given him, a thank you for the present and her unending kindness both. A shawl, perhaps, or a headscarf. Something light that she could wear indoors to keep away any wisps of the winter chill and reminder of their friendship.

Yes, that was what he would do. Rus cast a wary glance at the door even as Edge’s warm mouth ventured lower, noting that no furry paws were showing beneath the curtain, nor was a nosy snout poking around the side. They were as alone as they could be and only then did Rus allow Edge to deepen the kiss, his own hands beginning to wander.

Married or not, it was a horrifically shameful indulgence with guests in their home; his brother would be mortified at Rus’s manners. Keeping beneath the covers was a feeble concession, at the very least they wouldn’t be giving Banquo an unintentional anatomy lesson if he proved bold enough to return. By the end, Rus was hiding his blushes and his cries both in his desperate hands, though skeletal hands proved a feeble guard for either.

By the time Rus was on his somewhat wobbly feet, hastily washed and satisfaction still glowing in the depths of his soul, Britta was already in the kitchen. From her sly look, she was guessing quite fairly at what kept him and the cup of slippery elm tea she offered was further proof.

His cheek bones burning with a blush, Rus took the cup and held it up in a sort of rueful toast before downing the cringingly bland contents. Britta only laughed and stirred the bubbling pot on the cooking stone.

Porridge, he saw, though not the same recipe Edge taught him. To his still-amateur gaze, there seemed to be dried fruit bobbling along with the grain in the boiling pot. He took a closer look, curiously, and Britta offered helpfully, “Edge says you prefer the sweet?”

“i do,” Rus admitted. “though your food is always very good.”

“This is good, too!” She ladled out steaming bowlful and poured healthy drizzle of honey overtop before handing it to Rus, urging him to sit on the cushioned mat against the wall.

The porridge was a deep brown color and smelled deliciously nutty and heavenly sweet. He scooped up a spoonful, blowing on it to cool it and tasted it gingerly, then with eager bites. Merely ‘good’ did not suffice as a descriptor, it was delicious, the thick porridge cutting the heavy sweetness of the golden honey perfectly. The taste was so reminiscent of his prayer day breakfasts with Blue that tears rose, refusing to be swallowed back. Rus could only brush them away impatiently with his sleeve while Britta looked on in alarm.

“Are you all right, Rus?” Her sweet, motherly concern only sped the falling tears.

“yes,” Rus said thickly, even as he sniffled. “yes, only foolish. i am missing my brother.”

“Not so foolish,” Britta said gently. She ladled out a bowl of her own with only the lightest touch of honey before sitting next to Rus, offering no words of comfort but instead the warmth of her furry body leaning companionably against him and for that Rus was grateful.

By the time Edge came to the kitchen, his tears were done and dried. Some sign must have lingered, for Edge hesitated before taking the bowl that Britta held out to to him, his concern obvious. Likely he assumed Rus was upset their guests were leaving and Rus did not dissuade him from the notion. Now was not the time to have a conversation about visiting his brother, not with their visitors close to leaving.

But there was going to be one and that right soon.

After everyone ate and the few dishes were washed, it was time. Despite getting his mask yesterday, Rus couldn’t be surprised that he wasn’t offered a chance to see them home as Edge obviously intended to do. Edge would be an intimidating presence whether they came across a winter-hungry bear or something much worse, while Rus would only be someone else who needed protecting.

He did join them in the front room as they dressed in their outer clothes, layers upon layers to protect from the snow and ice. When Banquo handed Rus a stone, Rus stared at in confusion. It was smooth and round, a river stone nearly the size of his palm. The boy held up a matching one encouragingly, and as Rus watched, Banquo focused on it intently, his dark eyes narrowed in concentration. A glow lit quickly within it that was near the same as their cooking stone, and the boy hissed at the heat, hastily dropping the stone into a pocket.

“oh, how clever,” Rus murmured. “like the flatirons blue used to warm for our beds at night.” Another pulse of misery throbbed in his soul. All his thoughts seemed to lead back to his brother this day. Rus shook the thought away, focusing his intent on the stone in his hand. The red glow took longer to fill his and when it did, Rus yelped, tossing the stone hastily from hand to hand as Banquo giggled. The boy plucked it from the air and tucked it into his other pocket, giving it an exaggerated pat.

“don’t burn yourself,” Rus cautioned, only partly teasing.

“Safe,” Banquo told him reassuringly. The others were waiting, their bony masks resting atop their heads and ready to be pulled down.

Rus blinked away another rush of tears as Britta pulled him in for a fierce hug, one that he returned with equal ferocity. She drew away, cupping his cheek bone in a gentle, gloved hand. “We will come back to visit again soon, Rus.”

“Soon!” Banquo barked in happy agreement. Rus reached out to ruffle his ears, stepping away from Britta. For Mathon, Rus offered a shy nod. The tall Dog clasped his hands and bowed over them, smiling warmly. They all turned to the entryway, ready to brave the cold weather.

“I will return,” Edge promised. He started to draw down his mask, only hesitating as Rus gasped aloud, remembering.

“wait!” Rus dashed back to their room, digging for his knitting. He pulled out the long scarf he’d only just finished and ran back, holding it out in front of him like an offering.

“here,” Rus panted. “i made this for you.”

He thrust the scarf unceremoniously at Edge. He took it, running his gloved fingers down the soft length, inspecting it while Rus tried not to cringe. It was not his best work, hardly appropriate as a first gift to his husband. But it was made with his own two hands and watching as Edge carefully wound it around his cervical vertebrae filled him with tremulous warmth. Even if none of those who lived in the woods would see Rus’s mark on it as they did with gloves, at least he would know Edge was marked as his.

Rus reached out to fuss with the scarf, tucking the ends in to keep any nasty chilliness away, and he squeaked in surprise as Edge swooped down and kissed him thoroughly, uncaring of their tittering audience.

A last, lingering kiss, and Edge turned on his heel, leading the Dogs out. Rus crept a few steps out the door, hissing at the cold snow on his bare bony feet as he shaded his eye lights with one hand against the sunshine glittering off the snow, watching them go. All too soon they were out of sight and Rus hastily went back into the safer warmth of the cave.

Rus was hardly past the threshold before he sighed to himself with renewed melancholy, already missing his new friends. It was childish foolishness, really, back in the village he spent most of the winter alone with visitors few and far between and only his brother to keep him company, and there was a thought he should have let alone. Tears were already verging, held back by stubbornness alone as Rus considered what to do with his day.

If past experience taught him anything, it was that Edge would likely be gone until near suppertime, leaving him on his own without a thing to do. He could clean, Rus supposed, that was a never-ending task even when one lived in a cave, or he could start a stew from their stores of dried meat to simmer on the back of the cooking stone until Edge returned to-night.

Or…there were still plenty of books in that crate. Even if there were no others like that outrageous first one, surely there would be something entertaining. That was, if he weren’t too cowardly to seek it out through the darkness.

Rus raised his chin determinedly and called up a flame in his hand, letting it lead the way as he marched towards the back caves.

His courage wavered as the starry field overhead faded. The caves here were so terribly cold and without rugs underfoot, his footsteps echoed hauntingly. Those blank, unknown faces looking out at him from the faded paintings on the walls made him hunch over his small flame, unwilling to investigate them further without Edge comfortingly at his side.

It was a relief when the crate came into view. Rus went to it cautiously, mindful of Edge’s admonishment that magic flame still burned. He held the light up far and away from the crate’s contents as he lifted the lid, pawing gingerly with his free hand through the plentiful novels for a new book to read.

There were so many, a staggering wealth of knowledge even if more of them were similar to the scandalous novel he’d first chosen. The titles were worn off the covers of most of them, leaving only a clutter of occasional letters that offered no clue to their contents.

No doubt he could have simply picked a book at random to entertain himself until Edge returned, yet it was difficult not to indulge his curiosity. Rus stacked books on the inner sides of the crate, delving ever deeper and close to the very bottom was something quite different. It was still a book of sorts, but one heavily swollen with documents tucked into the pages until it was near to bursting at its seams.

This was a family journal, Rus realized unpleasantly, from someone in the village. Near every family kept one, save for the unlucky few who weren’t able to save theirs from a house fire or some other catastrophe and even they quickly started afresh. It was often filled with birth announcements, prayer cards, handwritten notes from town meetings or gatherings. Their own, his and Blue’s, sat in a prominent place in their front room and there were letters from their parents concealed in the pages, pictures of them and of dear, sweet Azzy sketched in Blue’s fine hand, along with the announcements of their deaths written in the same hand, asking for prayers towards their souls to guide them into the Angel’s loving embrace.

There was no family name embossed on the cover and Rus reeled back as he abruptly realized he was inspecting it far too closely with a flame-filled hand. He swallowed hard, sourness rising at the back of his mouth. Where could such a thing have come from? No one would carelessly misplace such a treasured thing. Could this have been taken from someone after they were…they were…

No.

No, even if such a thing happened, Edge couldn’t have been the one to commit such a horrendous act, he refused to believe it even as Rus forcefully pushed the memory of Edge fighting with Banquo out of his memory, and that was when he hadn’t been fighting to hurt the boy. Because it was simply impossible and that was that. To even imagine that Edge might…might have harmed a villager and taken these books along with their family journal like a person might claim a handful of prize ribbons at the Midsummer fair was a betrayal of his trust in his husband.

Surely there was a reasonable excuse for Edge to have this journal, even if Rus couldn’t quite think of what it might be. He would simply have to ask Edge when he returned, yes, that was what he would do. He’d listen to Edge’s explanation and laugh at his own silliness, that he could even consider that Edge might…that he might…

Rus set the journal firmly aside and delved into the trunk again. But his curiosity was shriveled, lost, and he only chose a couple random books. He gathered them all close and headed hastily back out into the warmth of the light. The shivering darkness had crawled up his spine enough this day.

He left his trophies in the parlor, puttering about in the kitchen for luncheon and tea to sit with. Then he decided he wanted an extra blanket to keep warm before he settled in to read. He warmed the stone beneath the draped table, tucking his legs beneath it and drew the other blanket around his shoulders.

Cozy warm, his plate of treats sitting invitingly nearby and his tea still wisping steam, Rus was ready to let his imagination take him away on whatever adventure his new book held.

The first novel he’d chosen seemed quite interesting, yet his gaze strayed back to the journal. At the papers tucked between the pages, one poking out to show a sentence Rus could almost read, something about the autumn harvest needing, but it ended there and the rest was concealed within the book.

He should wait for Edge to explore that, who knew what things it contained, he should—

Rus made a helpless sign to preserve one’s soul from sin, and carefully picked up the journal. The cover was badly worn, showing the barest hints of gold leaf, and the corners bent in such a way that spoke of much traveling rather than sitting out reverently in a parlor. Gingerly, Rus turned to the first page.

At first, he could hardly puzzle out a word; the writing was so extravagantly curled and scrolled that any pedagogue at Rus’s schoolhouse would have given a firm rap of a ruler against the knuckles of anyone who dared write in such arrogant flourish.

A bit of squinting and he was able to see it was a marriage announcement, though the family name was not one he knew. It was difficult to read through the fripperies, either Fell or Sell, but neither was a linage that he knew.

The corner of another page peeked out from beneath the announcement and Rus carefully drew it out a scrap of brittle vellum on which there was a fragile sketch of a couple, a young man with a skeletal face, his eye lights penciled to be gazing lovingly at the beauty of the woman next to him, her own skull covered in a light veil, a crown of delicately wrought bridal flowers set atop it.

“What are you doing?”

Rus gasped at suddenness of the sharp words, the sketch falling from his hands to the floor. He picked it back up, tucking it with hasty care back beneath the announcement before turning towards the doorway to find Edge standing there, still in his long crimson cloak and his sockets narrowed as he took in the journal laid out before Rus.

“i was—” Rus began weakly. He caught himself and switched languages, admitting softly, “i found this in the crate. i am sorry, i didn’t—” His meager language skills failed him, faltering away, and Rus was forced to finish in village speak, “i didn’t mean to pry, i was only curious.”

Edge only stared at him, his stony expression as cold as the skull he wore out in the woods. Except for his eye lights, they burned in his sockets like coals, deep and fiery. Forbidden crimson, like the hellfire the Elders spoke of in the prayer meetings.

Not since the first day they’d met had Edge looked so dreadfully unforgiving and a trill of fright ran spidery fingers up Rus’s spine.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #village au

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what-is-your-plan-today · 5 years ago

Text

CSI: Rogers and Barnes- The Serious Cereal Serial Killer Ch 10: Surprise Surprise

Part 2 Co-written with @icanfeelastormbrewing

REMINDER! Episode Warnings: Bad Language words. SMUT… (NSFW) NO UNDER 18s!!!!

Please read Part 1 first!

It felt to Steve like the afternoon lasted a goddamned month, but eventually he started to see everyone filtering out. He popped his head out of the door, thanked everyone for their work and apologised for his outburst earlier. Wanda smiled at him and then asked him if he needed anything else before she left. Steve’s eyes flickered to Katie who wasn’t looking at them, but he saw her shoulders tense a little. He dismissed Wanda and then it was just him, Bucky and Katie left in the room.

“Well…” Bucky smirked, standing up “I’ll leave you to it.” “Hang on, I need you to take my kit bag to yours.” Katie said, standing up

“That’s very presumptuous of you…” Steve looked at her, his eyebrow raising slightly and she shrugged, giving him a grin before she turned back to Bucky.

“I’ll walk down with you.”

Bucky nodded and then smiled to himself as Steve crossed the room, his hands gently dropping to Katie’s hips, as he dropped a soft kiss to her lips.

“What was that for?” she looked at him.

“Do I need an excuse?”

“No, suppose not.” she smiled at him. He gave her a wink in response and then turned and headed back towards his office “Don’t take forever getting ready…” She rolled her eyes in response and grinned at Bucky who smirked as she linked her arm through his and they headed down to the parking lot. Steve moved back into his office, grabbed his own bag and headed into the locker rooms. After a quick change into his outfit, he straightened his hair slightly, his hand running over his now present again, albeit shorter than it had been, beard before he stood back, taking a final look at his appearance. Deciding it was as good as it was going to get he took his bag and headed back upstairs and into his office. With a final check of his emails he glanced at his watch and, deciding that they needed to move sharpish, he closed his laptop down and grabbed his jacket.

He pulled his office door closed behind him, locking the door as always before he walked over to the key-safe and tapped in the code, placing the key on the right hook. Once he’d shut it all and secured it he turned to see Katie walking back into the main room. Not that she didn’t always but she looked especially good in a pair of dark jeans, a pale blue low cut sweater that hung off one shoulder, giving him a flash of baby pink bra strap (to which he could only hope to god she was wearing the matching bottom halves to because Jesus wept that lace did things to him) and a pair of tan-boots with a small heel. Her hair, which was starting to grow out of the short style was now hallway between her chin and her shoulder and she had pulled the longer side round into a braid. Her green eyes shone underneath a pale gold colour on her lids and her lips were slick with a clear gloss.

“You look amazing.” he said as she smiled at him, shyly, picking up her tan leather jacket from her chair.

Taking another look around the office, to double check they were alone he walked over to her and dropped a kiss to her cheek.

“So do you.” she said, stepping back to take in his white T- shirt, black zip up leather jacket, jeans and boots. He smiled, blushing slightly before he dropped a hand to the small of her back as they made their way to the elevator. They exited the station, bidding goodbye to Heimdall who simply nodded at them, it wasn’t uncommon for them to leave together so they weren’t bothered about that in the slightest as they headed to the Subway Station chatting away.

If Steve had been trying to time it any better he doubted he could. Their train pulled in just as they walked onto the platform, it wasn’t crowded meaning they could get seats and for the first time since leaving the station Steve relaxed and tossed his arm around Katie’s shoulder, pulling her in for a kiss. She smiled at him, softly, then spotted the cheeky twinkle in his eye. “What?”

“Just wondering if you wanted to check whether Curtis was driving?”

She rolled her eyes before she smirked back “He’s retired actually. Hurt his arm in an accident, so I heard. Severed it from the elbow down.”

“Ouch.” Steve frowned, suddenly feeling a little bid bad for the guy “That’s…a bit shit!”

“I’ll say.” she shrugged “Anyway, you gonna tell me where we’re going yet?”

“Nope.” he shook his head, grinning. “You’ll see soon enough.”

She looked at him for a moment before she shrugged, changing the subject “How was Momma Rogers?”

“Oh, she’s fine.” Steve said, scratching his neck “I errr, I told her about us. Well, she kinda guessed actually but…” “I bet she took it better than Tony.” Katie smiled and he let out a snort.

“Yeah, you’re not wrong. She’s, well, a little excited shall we say.” he left it at that, deciding not to completely divulge the conversation he’d had with his Mom earlier. Some things just needed to stay between Mother and Son.

Although the ride in took them 30 minutes or so it seemed to flash by and soon they were emerging out of the Subway onto 50th Street. Steve saw Katie shoot a glance over her shoulder at something, and he knew exactly what she was looking at, they were in the theatre district after all. Taking her hand in his he gently gave her a tug and led her down the sidewalk, which was busy as usual, leading her down to their first destination.

“You’re taking me to Joe Allen’s!” she said, giving his hand a squeeze and he glanced down at her, grinning as they turned on to 46th

“I knew you were a Detective for a reason.” he said and she nudged him with her elbow.

“Dick.” she smiled, before she looked at him “You know I love it there.”

He didn’t reply, simply squeezed her hand as they approached and then he let go to get the door for her. Greeting the maître d he gave his name for the reservation and they were led to a table at the far side of the restaurant where they were seated.

“Do you even need to look at the menu?” Steve teased and Katie shook her head, grinning.

“Nope.” she smirked “Mussels to start and the…”

“Turkey burger.” he finished for her and she shook her head.

“You know it is ridiculous how well you know me.” she looked at him and he shrugged.

“Almost 11 years now doll.” he said simply, smiling as someone arrived to take their drinks order. Given than neither of them needed to look at a menu the Waiter took their food orders as well with a smile and left them to it.

Steve leaned back in his chair and eyed his girl for a moment as she took a cursory glance around, Bucky’s words echoing in his head. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to raise this but he wanted to leave her with no doubts as to exactly what he was feeling and thinking. He wanted them to work, wanted this to be the start of something good, which he felt it was, and he was done letting external influences and other people sabotage their relationship. He’d lost her once because of that, and he was damned if he was going to lose her again.

"So, Bucky told me Wanda has been at it again?" Steve asked taking a deep breath.

He saw Katie's mood turn a bit sombre and she rubbed at her temple.

"Please, Stevie…can we not talk about her?" she pleaded more than asked.

"Ok, I don't wanna dwell on it sweetheart, but you do believe me when I tell you I'm not interested, in the slightest, don’t you?" Steve asked looking at her intently.

Katie just nodded but she wasn't looking at him, instead Steve saw her fiddling with the cutlery, making sure it was perfectly lined up on the table.

"Are you that concerned? Coz you have no reason to be." he insisted "Look at me, Doll."

"I know." she sighed and lifted her eyes to look directly into his "I know you'd never do that to me. Not after everything we've gone through, but it just..."

"What?" Steve asked smiling fondly at her, leaning on the table.

"I don't like people touching my stuff." she blurted out, shrugging.

Steve couldn't help but chuckle at her bratty outburst and he leaned back in his chair.

"So, I'm your stuff now." Steve scoffed, with a smirk. He had to admit, it amused him when she behaved that way.

"Yeah.” she pouted, before her face split into a grin as she clocked the look on his own features and she smiled, flirting "You're my hot stuff."

Steve laughed loudly at her words, tilting his head back and grabbing his left pec. "I fucking love you." he said grinning widely.

"Yeah, you do." Katie replied also smiling widely.

"Say it." Steve commanded her "Say it back, doll."

"Nope" she said popping the p.

"Doll..." he insisted tilting his head and raising one eyebrow.

"All right.” she said, shrugging before she cocked her head to one side and gave him a coy smile. “I love you, Stevie." she purred.

******

The food, as ever, hit the spot perfectly. Katie declined desert but Steve asked for 2 spoons with his Key-Lime Pie as he knew full well that she’d end up eating half the fucking thing, and she proved him right. After a slight discussion about who was paying, Katie trying to go halves but Steve telling her over his dead body was she paying for anything on their first date, they headed back up the street, past the subway station they’d emerged from earlier and then Steve brought them to a halt on the sidewalk opposite the Gershwin Theatre.

“What are we do-” Katie began to ask him and then she stopped dead, suddenly realising where they were. Her hand tightened around his and her eyes grew wide. “No, you’re…” she looked up at him, her voice practically a whisper “You got us tickets?”

Licking his lips slightly he nodded “Yeah.”

Her face broke into the biggest smile he could ever remember her sporting and his chest flooded suddenly with warmth as she gave a squeal and threw her arms around him. He laughed and pulled her into a hug.

“I mean, if you don’t wanna go, I can always sell them…” he teased and she hit him on the chest.

“Don’t even joke about that…” she shook her head. “I can’t…I can’t believe you did this. I’ve wanted to go for like forever…”

“You may have mentioned it once or twice.” he said simply “You finished staring at the theatre or do you wanna go inside? I mean it is a pretty interesting theatre…”

She simply rolled her eyes, the grin still plastered on her face as she nodded and they headed over to the crossing, joining the crowds of people walking across the road. Steve led them over to the ticket office, where he picked up the tickets and they walked into the foyer, Katie glancing around as she took everything in, her eyes sparkling.

“D’ya wanna get a drink sweetheart?” he asked, his arm curling around her waist. She nodded and he steered them over to the bar, where they waited to be served, Katie’s eyes still darting all around before she turned to him when he nudged her and asked what she wanted.

“Can I get a prosecco?” she asked, her tone hopeful and he laughed.

“You can have whatever you want.” he said softly, and she grinned, nodding. He placed the order and paid, handing her the glass before they headed over to a spare spot a little to their right by a tall table.

“I can’t believe you did this.” she shook her head looking at him “And kept a secret. You’re like the world’s worst liar…” “Why do you think I asked you not to start digging?” he asked, swallowing a mouthful of his beer. “I wanted it to be a surprise.” “I thought I knew you well enough now that you’d never be able to surprise me.” she smiled softly.

“Well like I said, I’ve had long enough to get to know you so…”

Her reply was cut off as the voice over the PA system announced the show would be starting in 15 minutes, so with a smile he suggested they find their seats. Steve was pleased to find they were actually pretty good. They were in the mezzanine,3rd row back and their seats were at the end of the row which pleased Steve as firstly he could stretch his long legs out properly into the aisle if he needed to and secondly he’d be able to slip out without disturbing too many people if he wanted to get them another drink. He wasn’t bothered about missing the odd bit, it wasn’t really his scene after all but this wasn’t about him after all.

Having said that, 20 minutes or so into the first act he was pleasantly surprised to find he was actually enjoying it. He did love the Wizard of Oz after all, it had always been his favourite film growing up as a kid and Katie’s too for that matter. However, what he was enjoying more than anything was Katie’s reaction. Every so often he’d steal a side glance at his girl to find her mouthing along to the songs, unsurprisingly she knew every word, and he smiled to himself, his hand dropping to her leg, curling around her thigh. She smiled, not taking her eyes off the stage and dropped her hand to lay it on top of his, her fingers gently playing with his hand in the way she always did. When the interval came he disappeared and returned a little while later with more drinks and she took hers from him, turning to him as he sat down, leaning over to catch his mouth in a soft kiss.

“You ok?” he asked her softly, his fingers brushing the back of her neck.

“More than ok.” she replied, her eyes bright. “This is perfect Stevie, thank you.”

Perfect, fucking perfect. Steve slid down into his chair, a huge shit eating grin plastered across his face as the second act started.

**** “That was amazing!” Katie gushed as they joined the throng of people, heading towards the exit. “The songs, the lighting, the whole production, I just…” she sighed happily as her hand curled around Steve’s and he looked down at her smiling. He was just about to reply when her face split into another grin and she jerked them both sharply to the left.

“Honey, what…”

“Merchandise!” she grinned, “I just want to look.”

Steve allowed her to lead him over to the counter, as she peered down, clearly mulling something over.

“I might get a programme…”she mused, before she wrinkled her nose “Mind you I’ll never look at it again…already got the soundtrack….oohhhhh check that out!”

Steve glanced up and saw her eyes had fallen on a black hoody with the show’s logo adorned on the chest in diamantes.

“I need that.”

He laughed, “At eighty bucks you don’t need it.” “I do.” “No, you want it.” “Nope.” she shook her head “It’s a definite need.” “For you to actually need it, then I’d have to ruin all your shirts” he teased and she glanced at him shaking her head.

“Yeah, you still owe me for that…” she snorted before she turned to lead them both away from the stall. “Oh, can I just nip to the bathroom before we head out?” “Sure, I’ll wait for you by the exit.” he said. She smiled, leaned up to kiss his cheek, before she headed off.

Steve watched her go for a second before he turned back to the Merchandise desk. Pulling out his wallet, he asked the attendant for one of the hoodies in a small, he had ruined her shirt after all which he still hadn’t replaced. With a smile he took the bag and headed towards the exit, doing up his jacket as he went. It wasn’t long before she returned and wordlessly he handed her the bag. She took it from him, frowning before she grinned at the contents and shook her head, laughing.

“You didn’t have to get me this.” she said softly.

“Well, as you reminded me, I still owed you for your shirt.”

“Steve, I wasn’t hinting at that, you didn’t…” “I know.” he cut her off softly “But I wanted to.”

She smiled at him again, “You’re such a dork.” she glanced in the bag again before she looked up at him, her face soft “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome Doll…” he said, wrapping his arm round her “Now, not sure about you but I could do with a drink. Fancy heading to The Rum House?” “Oooh yeah!” she grinned as they started to walk back towards Times Square “Haven’t been in there in…well, I can’t remember the last time actually.” He pulled her in closer, dropping a kiss to the side of her head, relishing the fact that he was simply able to do so, in public, show anyone and everyone who was looking that she was his girl. It hadn’t been easy at work, for either of them, but now Tony knew as well it would mean they could relax once they both left the station and enjoy being with one another away from the office. He knew that dating in semi-secret wasn’t perfect, far from it, and moreover that it couldn’t go on for ever, but Steve was damned sure he was going to make it work for as long as they needed it to.

Hand in hand they weaved through the tourists and locals, all going about their business and it wasn’t long before they reached the bar. Steve, ever the gentleman, nodded to the bouncer who opened the door for them and he waited for Katie to walk in before him, his hand gently on the base of her back as he steered them over to the bar. Both of them removed their jackets and waited until a bar tender was free and made his way over to them. Steve’s hands gently dropped to her waist and he pressed a soft kiss to the side of her neck, making her smile and lean back slightly into him.

Katie was a sucker for gin, but seeing as they were in The Rum House and he was on his first date with her, Steve convinced her they should make it a special night to remember and he ordered one the bar's signature Rum cocktails for them both. A Mojito for him and a Berry Daiquiri for his girlfriend.

His girlfriend, Steve had smiled when he had uttered those words to the bartender.

They stood listening to the background jazz music while they waited for their drinks by the bar before Steve spotted a stool was spare. He offered it to Katie but she shook her head and instead gently nudged him back onto it so he was perched on the edge, one foot on the rung and she moved to stand between his legs, snuggling into his neck when she suddenly tilted her head back to look at him.

"What cologne are you wearing?" she asked.

"Same as always. Gucci Guilty, why?" Steve replied tightening his grip around his girlfriend’s waist.

"Well, I don't know. It's doing things to me tonight." she confessed biting her bottom lip. "Or maybe it's the fact you're being particularly lovey-dovey. Not that I'm complaining."

Steve didn't say a word, he just smiled and reached up, his hand gently gripping the back of her neck and he brought her lips to his.

"Do you know that PDAs make some people uncomfortable?" Katie asked once they broke the kiss.

"I don't give a shit, doll. I’ve waited long enough and we have to hide it everywhere else." Steve shrugged with a grin plastered on his face.

******

Bucky looked up from his phone on which he had been checking his messages while his date was in the restroom and felt his mouth drop open. He couldn't believe his eyes when he spotted Steve and Katie by the bar, easily recognising the punk gently kissing his girlfriend from the other side of the room. Fortunately, they hadn't spotted him. How could they? Steve was all over Katie and she was smiling all gooey eyed at him, blatantly they had no eyes for anyone but each other. And, to be honest, Bucky was happy for them. They deserved to be enjoying themselves, all loved up as Christ knew, the tension at the station was getting harder to handle each day…or should that be Wanda was getting harder to handle each day. Bucky loved seeing his best friend happier than he had ever seen him and he had to admit he had a soft spot for Katie since he had met her a couple of months prior.

His stomach flipped when he realized he was going to be busted as Steve had broken the kiss when the waitress had placed their drinks in front of them and now the punk was scanning the place for a free table. No turning back now. There was no way he could stand up without Steve spotting him almost immediately and hiding under the table was out of the question.

He saw Steve look directly at him and open his mouth to say something but he frowned and closed it immediately. He turned to Katie, spoke to her and Bucky saw her look in his direction, her eyes wide open, an understanding look on her face. Next thing he knew, they had both grabbed their drinks, jackets and Steve was dragging Katie towards his table.

"Buck! Of all the places! What are you doing here? Can we?" Steve asked pointing at the vacant chairs, just moving one for Katie to seat before sitting himself on the one next to her.

"Same as you, I guess." Bucky deadpanned.

"He's on a date. Stevie. Come on, let's leave him alone." Katie said squeezing Steve's arm.

Bucky gave Katie his best smile of gratitude but it was too late.

"Yo, Captain. Katie?"

"Sam? What are you doing here?" Steve asked dumbfounded as Sam sat next to Bucky.

"I'm on a date." he said with a broad smile. "With him." he said pointing at Bucky with his thumb as he saw Steve's puzzled expression.

Bucky shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose as he heard Katie sigh and saw her purse her lips to avoid laughter. He was about to speak, better later than never, he thought but then Sam chipped up again.

"I thought you and Wanda were.." Sam began to ask Steve but stopped and jumped slightly on his seat when Bucky kicked him under the table.

Katie rolled her eyes at him and muttered under her breath “bitch.”

"No." Steve chuckled, and he looked at Katie who shrugged before he turned to Sam "I'm with Katie." he added holding her waist and placing a kiss on her head.

"Oh." Sam said surprised at first but then just nodded with a big smile on his face "Cool." he said before turning to Bucky "Why didn't you tell me? I've been missing a lot, man!"

"Sorry" Bucky said apologetically.

"Sorry? The juiciest gossip of the station for years and you didn't tell me?" Sam insisted.

"It wasn't for me to tell. They want to lay low." Bucky protested

"And just like that we're supposed to be cool?" Sam asked Bucky, faking annoyance.

"Sorry to interrupt your Married with Children scene, but you two are together as well and I had no idea!" Steve scoffed.

"You're clueless, Stevie." Katie chuckled.

"You knew?" he asked looking at her surprised.

"Yup. Not that they ever told me, but you only have to read the signs. Follow the yellow brick road, Captain." she shrugged.

Bucky could see Steve's mind whirring, trying to place the pieces in the correct slots. Signature Captain expression and all.

"So, Alex...?" he asked Bucky.

"Alex was Alexander, and Sam is Samuel, not Samantha as your ma believed." Bucky nodded and looked at his friend trying to read in his eyes an acceptance he was desperate to obtain.

"Hey Sam. Did Buck tell you he learnt what cunnilingus is today?" Katie tried to help Bucky out.

And just like that Steve spat his drink, making everyone laugh.

"That so?" Sam asked raising an eyebrow at Bucky.

"Yeah, it's a right. That's what it is." he said grinning and hi-fived with Katie.

"And now if you excuse me gentlemen, I need to go to the restroom." Katie said standing up after pecking Steve in the lips.

"And I'm buying all of us shots. Be right back." Sam stood as well.

“Hey, Sam…” Steve gently touched his arm as he moved to walk past him “Me and Katie, no one else on the job knows other than you guys and Tony. I’d appreciate it if it stayed that way, at least for the foreseeable.” “My lips are sealed man.” Sam said, patting him on his shoulder as he headed to the bar.

"Listen, pal..." Bucky said to Steve who shook his head.

"You don't have to say anything, Buck." Steve cut him off raising his palm and Bucky sighed relieved as he saw Steve smile at him.

"Gotta admit I was worried about you finding I was bi. I wanted to tell you so many times, Steve." Bucky said with a mixture of emotion and worry. “I just, guess I was scared how you’d take it…”

"You really did take all the stupid with you, didn't you?" Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t give a shit Buck. As long as you’re happy.”

"Till the end of the line?" Bucky asked, holding his fist out.

"Till the end of the line." Steve nodded, bumping his own against Bucky’s.

Katie returned and took the seat next to Steve and his hand dropped to her leg, smiling as Sam returned with a bottle of tequila and 4 shot glasses, plus a load of sliced lemons and the salt shaker.

The 4 of them settled into a comfortable chat, talking about anything and everything BUT the job, and Steve found himself on more than one occasion just listening as Katie laughed and joked with Sam, more often than not at Bucky’s expense, but as he looked at his best friend he could tell he was loving every second of it. He observed a few little moments between Bucky and Sam, gentle touches and it warmed Steve’s heart to see his friend so blatantly happy.

Half an hour or so passed and they’d emptied their second drinks, and half the bottle of Tequila as well. Noticing their empty glasses Sam nodded to them.

"Want another round?" he asked.

Steve hesitated and looked at Katie who leaned over his ear to whisper "While they're here your flat is empty."

And that was enough for Steve to jerk up holding Katie's hand.

"Sorry, we're on a date and we've got, erm, places to be." he said holding Katie's jacket open so that she could put it on.

"See you tomorrow at the station, guys." Katie quipped.

"Bullshit, see you at breakfast." Bucky snarked back as she flipped him off, Sam roaring with laughter.

"Yeah, whatever. Behave." Steve said before dragging Katie out of the bar into the chill streets of Manhattan.

***** “I’ve had…” Katie undid the belt on her jacket as she walked through to Steve’s living room, “the most amazing night, thank you…”

She shrugged off her jacket, tossing it onto the back of the sofa, Steve doing the same with the bag containing her hoody and his jacket before he dropped a kiss to her lips.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it doll…” he said gently, kissing her again, pulling her to him as his hands wrapped around her back. Her arms looped around his neck as he reached down and hooked his hands round the back of her thighs, easily picking her up. She giggled, wrapping her legs round his waist, her nose brushing against his as he carried her down the hall. As they walked he heard 2 dull thuds on the floor, indicating she’d kicked off her boots and he smirked against her lips as he dropped her gently on his bed. He shucked off his own shoes as he reached behind his head and grabbed a fist full of his T-shirt, yanking it over his head before he dropped down on the bed, settling his hips in between her legs in the space she made for him as she ran her hands through his hair. He smiled softly at her before he pressed his lips back to hers, kissing her deeply, his large hands gently sliding up the side of her ribs, pulling off the top she was wearing. His fingers lightly brushed over the soft skin of her belly, stopping as he reached the waistband of her jeans. With an easy movement, his hands popped the button, sliding down the zip and he shimmied down the bed to slide the denim down over her legs, letting out a soft moan as he found out she was, indeed, wearing the matching pair of panties to her bra. He pressed soft kisses to the inside of her leg, working his way up from her knee to her thigh and she let out a sigh, her hand tangling in his hair.

“Glad your beard is pretty much back…” she said and he chuckled as he reached the top of her leg, his lips ghosting across the top of the lace garment, placing a soft kiss just below her navel.

“You have an unhealthy obsession with my facial hair…” he said, as he hooked his fingers into the lace he was currently nuzzling at her through.

“I like the way it feels…”she muttered as he gently slid her underwear down.

“Yeah?” he asked, deliberately brushing his whiskers back along the inside of her thigh.

“Yeah…” she nodded, her hands once more in his hair, running down the back of his neck to his shoulders, and back again. He let out a sigh at her touch as his hands slid up the outside of her legs, before he gently nipped at her skin just below her hip, as she arched her back, letting out a soft cry.

“You know I heard you before…” he teased, his lips continuing their movement across her belly once more.

“What?”

“You, and Natasha…and a certain something being a right…”

He glanced up at her in time to see her open her eyes and grin at him but before she could make any snarky come back he set his mouth on her causing her unuttered words to die in her throat as she let out a low groan and began writhing in pleasure as his tongue and lips worked her over. He felt her hand tangle into his hair, and heard the rustle to the side as her other gripped at the sheets. Her sweet, salty tang on his tongue set every nerve in his body on edge and the more he tasted the more he wanted. He knew he was groaning himself with each lick and suck he gave her but he was aroused, really aroused and the warm feeling across his stomach was getting harder to ignore the more he worked her. He focused his attention back on her little bundle of nerves, licking at it before closing his lips around it and sucking it into his mouth, gently grazing with his teeth and with that he felt her body convulse, her back arched and she let out a strangled cry, his name on her lips and it made him slightly smug to hear. Steve held her down gently, one strong arm over her small waist and as her hand gripped his hair harder, she groaned brokenly once more pushing on his head, too sensitive now in the throes of her orgasm. Taking the hint, he moved his mouth and crawled back up the bed, taking in her flushed appearance as she looked at him, her chest heaving.

“Good?” he asked breathlessly, staring at her, seeking confirmation despite the fact she lay completely and utterly undone beneath him.

“God, yes…” her voice was gruff, as she kissed him, the fact that he could still clearly taste her on his tongue meant that she would be able to too, and the fact that she didn’t care made him shudder.

She began to trail her hand back down his chest reaching for his buckle her fingers gently grazed his stomach, lingering there before moving down to his jeans. He bucked at the touch as she slowly undid his belt, taking her time as she locked her eyes onto his again, lust had turned into softness. He stared right back at her, her eyes reminding him of emeralds, deep green, speckled with dots of brown, the slight ring of amber surrounding her pupil reminded him of the sun. Telling him of the power she exuded over him and the warmth she brought to his life. He was aware that his breathing had quickened and he let out a low growl before he kissed her, harder and his hands slid underneath her. She arched her back slightly allowing him to undo the clasp of her bra and he placed a gentle kiss on each shoulder as he slid the straps down over her arms, removing it completely. He was achingly hard now, and he needed to do something about it so he quickly stood up, shedding the rest of his clothes and in a flash he was on her again, mouth hungrily covering hers as his hands trailed up her legs, to her hips, up the side of her body and then onto her breasts teasing gently. She groaned, rolling her head back on the pillow at the sensation, her hips bucking upwards.

"Fuck." he seethed out at the feeling of her grinding up against his rock hard crotch, and he nuzzled at her neck with his nose again. She dragged her fingers up his spine as he buried his face in the side of her neck working at the pulse spot beneath her ear, the little noises of pleasure she was making were music in his ear. Her hips began to move, pushing up against him again, groans falling from her lips at the sensation as he nipped slightly at her neck and then moved his mouth to her chest, taking her right nipple in. Her groans were growing louder now and Steve couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to be in her, surrounded by her, feel her. But before he could do anything about it, Katie sat up slightly, pushing on his shoulders. It was just a hard enough shove to make him understand she wanted him to lay on his back, and he was more than happy to let her take control. As she straddled him his hands tangled in her hair, pulling her face down to kiss him and as he did so she reached down between them, taking him in her hand. He groaned but didn’t release her mouth as she adjusted position to take him in. Slowly she slid down onto him, a dirty moan flowing from her mouth which he swallowed with his kiss as she stayed pressed against him, and she began to move, rolling her hips forward. She was quick to find a rhythm and her mouth fell open against his lips and she let out a shaky moan before sitting up fully.

The sight of her on top, illuminated by soft light streaming in through the slight cap in the curtains was almost enough to tip him right over there and then. He wanted to touch her, so he did, bringing her hands up to run them up her sides until his hands cupped her breasts, thumbs running over her nipples as she let out another moan. As she picked up the pace his hands went to her hips, pulling her down onto him harder, thrusting upwards to meet her for every move she made. She continued to move, quickening, her eyes never leaving his.

“Stevie…”she groaned, as he tilted his hips up harder and he let out a groan himself, increasingly determined to get her there again before he lost it. As he felt himself beginning to tip over the edge, his hand moved from her hip to stroke at that spot between her legs and that did it. He felt her tense up and tighten around him, crying out loudly and unbridled as she shook. The sight of her coming undone on top of him, her cheeks flushed, lips pink, mouth open in a now silent scream, was simply incredible and quite possibly the single most exquisite thing he had ever seen. All of that, coupled with the force of her heat tightening even, more made him lose himself.

“Fuck, Doll…” the curse fell from his lips as he thrust upwards, before he spilled himself inside her again, the wave of pleasure deeper than anything he’d felt before. Katie collapsed forward onto his chest, her tremors subsided, both of them panting. He held her close, his fingers running up and down her spine as she let out a soft “hum” of contentment and he sat up, wanting to see her face to face. Still cradling her close he pushed the hair that had fallen over her face back behind her ears and she reached up, running her hands through his, causing him to close his eyes at the sensation of her nails on his scalp.

When he opened them again and looked at her something flashed in her eyes as the slight gleam of light through the curtains caught her face. She was looking at him, features soft, almost as if she was seeing him for the first time. His breath quickened slightly as he simply looked at her, seeing the adoration in her eyes, no one had come close to ever making him feel like this.

“God, I love you.” he whispered, pulled her closer, his nose rubbing up against hers.

Without missing a single beat, she spoke in return as their noses continued their lazy dance, the words coming easily.

"I love you too.”

It wasn’t the first time they’d said that, but for some reason right there and then it just felt different. Like it meant more, as if they were both understanding there and then in that moment that this was it for them, that this was the start of their forever. The realisation lit a fire in Steve’s chest and he kissed her softly, grinning like a total idiot as she was smiling too, the kisses growing softer and shorter until she pulled away completely, her hand gently on his cheek, fingers tangling in his beard. He could see that her eyelids were heavy, clearly exhausted from the exhilaration of the entire day and night, and with a last kiss to the tip of her nose, he set them both down in the bed and slid a hand under her and pulled her to him, chest pressing into her back. He placed a final soft kiss on the back of her neck before he pulled the covers back up over them and closed his eyes.

Right there Steve knew that there wasn’t possibly any man on the planet that could claim to be happier than he was.

#csi rogers and barnes #csi au #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers #avengers #avengers fanfiction

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zippiestdraws · 4 years ago

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Choking Curiosity Ch 12

ftm reader x michael myers

read on ao3

see the art that inspired me to write by @stabbyhandsmcmike

Light brown hair bounced back into small curls when the mask pulls off of them, just long enough to hang over his forehead.

You feel like you’re seeing too much all at once, yet not enough, unable to process what’s in front of you.

The pink of his lips, slightly chapped, is set in an unreadable line. Your eyes slowly trace the curves and along the straightness of his nose. You can feel the sadness change your face, seeing the long gouging scar through his eyebrow down to the cheekbone. Redness tints the flesh underneath as you pick apart his appearance, staring into the pale blue eye that can’t see you.

Finally, you meet his gaze, peering into you intensely from behind a stormy blue.

He’s beautiful.

Enraptured, you reach out to him still sitting before you. He spooks like a wild animal, standing and shouldering past you, filling you with regret.

“Wait, Michael-”

You try to follow, but you hear his door lock and stop, before sadly returning to your own room.

Closing your eyes on your bed, you try to remember his visage in detail, a warm feeling blooming in your chest.

*** It surprised you to hear his feet on the stairs in the morning as you sat at the table with your breakfast. You assume he’s usually gone by the time you wake up or, at the very least, not interested in leaving his room.

You sign good morning to him with your mouth full and you think you catch a small nod in response. Trying to go back to your food, you see him in your peripheral and hear the fridge open.

The egg carton hits the counter with too much force and you cringe.

“Dude? Are you trying to break them?” You put your spoon down and look up at him.

He points at the carton.

“You want eggs?” you sigh. You guess it’s better to make them yourself than to let him loose in the kitchen and have what happened last time.

He follows close behind as you scrub the char off the pan from yesterday, you can feel his body heat and try not to lean back too much.

When you dry the pan he turns to let you move to the stove.

“What do you want in it?” you don’t have many spices, but it’s better than just plain eggs.

He doesn’t move and you question how many signs about food the two of you know.

“Cheese it is then.”

The gas stove clicks for a couple of seconds before catching and a loaf of bread lands near you in a similar fashion to the eggs. You recall Michael’s attempt on toast and silently untwist the bag and press the slices into the hot pan.

You know he’s watching over your shoulder very closely, but his presence feels calming almost, like the slow morning and sleep still hangs over you both.

You toss everything onto a plate and it’s nearly snatched from you as you attempt to set it on the table, breaking the stupor.

‘guess he’s hungry.

You grab him a glass of water with a small smile when you see him roll his mask up to eat.

Sitting back down and pouring some more cereal in with the portion, you notice more now that he tucked into the chair next to yours.

You're close enough to brush elbows.

He finishes the food very fast, almost inhaling it, before grabbing the water.

“Hey, slow down! You’ll choke-” you doubt he even tasted it fully.

He doesn’t listen, but doesn’t rise immediately when he’s done, instead, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and pulling the mask back down.

You’re going to have to work on better manners with him. Frowning, you feel kind of like you may have signed up to be a babysitter.

“I have work today, but I get off early, do you want anything from the store?”

You can almost hear the cogs turning in his head and immediately almost regret using the word ‘anything’.

Michael signs over the mask's mouth in a way that almost makes you short circuit.

“Ice Cream?” he nods. “Okay, what flavor?” You pick up your plates to put them in the sink.

“Oh wait, we don’t know signs for those. Um…” you wrack your brain for options and turn back to him. “Chocolate? Vanilla? Cookies and cream?”

No answer.

“Butter pecan...cookie dough…strawberry...”

His hand moves to sign yes and you sigh in relief.

“Okay, I’ll write that down. Just don’t do anything-” you were going to say ‘bad’, but you doubt he’ll listen. “Just don’t hurt anyone tonight, please?”

You hope that ice cream is enough of a bargaining chip for someone’s life.

*** The day went well enough, Dwight came back from his vacation and the two of you got to talk about his wedding plans for a nice change of pace.

He asks if you’ve seen Laurie recently, and now that you think about it, you haven’t. You didn’t want to presume, but you did find it odd that she hasn’t called recently, since she’s been checking up on you since the night you told her about Michael.

“Yeah, I was hoping she wouldn’t do it this year, but every October she holes herself up in her house and tries to figure out ‘where the shape will strike this year’.” Dwight grimaces in disappointment. “I tried to talk to her about it, but her room looks like a conspiracy theory detective’s office.”

“The shape?” You already know what he’s talking about, but you try your best to sound inquisitive.

“Michael Myers. Don’t worry, she’ll be alright, she usually calls after halloween.”

You know he must have heard the concern you tried to hide in your voice, but you didn’t even want to admit to yourself that it wasn’t for Laurie. Now that she knows he’s alive, and even more, around your house, she could be dangerous.

The conflicting ideals you’ve been suppressing bubble to the surface. You don’t want either of them to be hurt, but it fully realizes within you now that you’ve been housing your friend’s tormentor.

You check out and excuse yourself from Dwight, blaming a headache.

The sliding doors part and you step out under a dark sky and to get pelted by freezing autumn rain. Hunkering in on yourself, you walk for a few feet before skipping into a quick jog.

It takes you at least 10 minutes to reach home, soaked and shivering around a tub of ice cream.

Moving to unlock the door, you find it open already. Sulking in and dropping your shopping bag on the floor, you begin to shuck off your dripping outer layer. When you jump and nearly fall over while peeling your pants off your legs, you notice a towel hanging from the end of the railing of the stairs.

A bit shocked, but still grateful, you wrap it around your shoulders and try to rub yourself warm. Looking around, you don’t see Michael, so you leave your clothes by the door and shuffle to put the ice cream in the freezer before it melts.

You hurry to put on your most plush pajamas, wrapping a blanket around you like a cape, before searching the house for Michael. You find him downstairs, reclined on the couch in the living room. Standing in the doorway, you wait for a response, but you get none.

Moving closer in the dark, you can hear his soft rhythmic breathing.

This is the first time you’ve ever seen him asleep.

Unsure if you actually want to wake him or not, you try to slide onto the unoccupied portion of the couch.

It dips underneath you, in an instant Michael starts forward with his knife stopping centimeters from your chest, a sharp gasp stinging your throat and staying there.

The willpower it takes to lift your eyes from the knife to his face feels is straining, blood pumping in your ears as he stares you down. It slowly lowers, his breathing betraying his adrenaline.

“..sorry..” you breathe out, not moving from your spot yet.

His form corners you for a little while longer until you hear a small huff behind the mask and he relaxes back to his side.

You allow it to be quiet until your heart rate lowers.

“I brought you your ice cream...”

He looks almost sheepish and doesn’t meet your eyes. His hand signs a small thank you from his chin.

“Thank you for the towel.”

This silence you can feel thickly, but this time Michael is clearly uncomfortable in it.

“Hey...you know you’re my friend, right?”

He startles, startling you, never having seen a reaction like that from him.

The way he looks you in the eyes is almost vulnerable and it makes your heart ache.

“I’m glad you live here with me. I would be really lonely without you.”

You feel the blanket shift and his large hand touches yours, making your world feel like pop rocks for a brief moment.

#michael myers x reader #slasher x reader #trans writers #male reader #michael myers #slashers #choking curiosity #dead by daylight #dbd

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pernatius · 4 years ago

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Lost in Space Part 10: Ch 2

Summary: Significant changes have occurred while she was unconscious. One of them includes the imprisonment of Syco. Part 10 deals with the unnamed Space Explorer’s reconciliation.

Lost in Space on Tumblr

Lost in Space on ao3

My twin fell on her back. She coughs out blood the moment she lands. I hope it’s just a spoonful of blood rather than a cup. I’d prefer her not to lose any more blood. The two of us, Kaishi and I, slid across the bumpy ground before making an abrupt stop. She’s at the edge of the cliff, whereas I’m splashed with the small stream of blood. I choke on some of it as it flows into my mouth; the iron taste overwhelms my senses before I try to lift myself with shaking arms. My arms scraped pretty severely. I manage to flip right side up, but my efforts are rewarded by one of the crowd’s members, the ten-foot-tall hairy alien one, the third one with horns, lifted me by my collar and huffed into my face. I felt my skin be pushed back because of it. There’s no way I should know this beast’s name, but I do. “Syco?”

Saamuki and Mikrovos attempt to help Kaishi up and away from the cliff’s edge, but she pushes their efforts off of her. She helps herself up. S1Y, Skeema, and Khavas remain with the crowd, and apparently, I know too many aliens, mainly Tauvoxes. Ojos is nowhere to be seen, but I hear her voice, though difficult to understand, as Kaishi’s voice pierces through this silent landscape. The fire has died down, and so have the animals from the forest below. This wasteland reeks with death everywhere I dare to glance. My twin hasn’t budged a single inch from her pool of blood. I fear it’s become her resting place. I’m not sure about anything right now but what I am sure of is my feelings. I’m beyond pissed. I’m weaponless, my armor won’t do much to protect me, down a leg, have for some time, and I don’t have enough energy to fight. So, I know I’m in over my head, but as Syco is distracted with the long speech Kaishi gives, which I ignore, I headbutt him.

We clutch our heads as those around turn their attention back to me. My vision is blurring. Everything around me is spinning. I can feel my blood drip down from my forehead. Somehow I sit back upright. With gritted teeth and a growl, Syco takes a step towards me, but he only gets a step closer because Kaishi gets between us. Her back is facing the Tauvox’s current commander, but he is no commander here. The back of her hand is raised towards him. He relaxes, retraces his step, and then stands stiff.

“Still trying to be the hero, love?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Ugh!” It felt like someone was slamming a sledgehammer into my head. Tauvoxes are too durable. Hitting my forehead against Syco’s skull felt like I slammed myself into a cinder block.

“Why?”

A simple question, but it’s one I have trouble answering. I’ve heard the graphic stories of the millions who couldn’t make it out of the cities, and I’ve seen the actions being done to thousands and a handful right before my eyes. In each case, I couldn’t do anything but watch. I was either too young, too weak, or too scared. I’ve had nightmares about my powerlessness. The guilt and regret ate me up as I tossed and turned for two decades, never getting sleep. At one point, I wanted to end my life because I thought it wasn’t ever going to end. They tried to exterminate us all because they needed a new home. Those bastards could’ve easily wiped out all of us all at once, but instead, they wanted to prolong their entertainment in torturing us until our bodies gave out. So, I should say that I continue to be a hero because I want to seek vengeance and make up for all the times I couldn’t do anything. Instead, here I was, finding it difficult to do just that. I merely stared at her until I answered, “I don’t know.”

She reached her hands out towards my sword and dagger. They shook, then flew towards her hands at such a speed that it pulled me towards her and then had me land on my face. When they connected with her palms, it sounded like a bomb went off. It was like magic. She never showed herself to have such power, but Kaishi never showed she could revive herself. Kaishi moved both weapons above her head, towards each other, and when they collided, it was like thunder erupted. Light magically flashed from them, blinding me.

I open my eyes to see both have fused. A sword of two equal, massive blades is gripped in Kaishi’s hands. She shifts the sword so that only one of her hands is holding it, and the other is resting at her side. The blade is balanced and angled on her shoulder. Somehow those intense blades didn’t cut right through her shoulder and tear her in half. At this point, I shouldn’t be questioning how much any of this makes sense. I need to focus on surviving. I can make sense of all of this later if I make it out of this.

“You’re confused and hurt. Love, I can help you with that.” She removed that monstrous sword from her shoulder and placed it on her other bare palm. It didn’t cut her.

“Help me by killing me.” My voice cracked. “Be honest with yourself, love. You’ve been wanting death for years, but you were too scared to do it on your own. I promise I’ll make it quick and painless,” she cooed out. She pouted, and when she noticed my displeasure, she snapped her expression to be one filled with laughter. “Besides, you literally can’t stand. Were you planning on crawling away from someone with two legs?”

“Maybe? Probably. Yes.”

“Adorable, but I am serious about my promise.”

“Shove that sword down your throat and choke on it.”

Again, she laughs at me as she drags the sword across the rocks beneath us. She could’ve just lifted it with both hands rather than let it cut between stone and create an ear-bleeding screech, but she’d instead relish in my squirming, huffing, and gulping. I tried doing what I say I’d do, crawling away. My attention should be towards trying to flee, but instead, I notice my twin’s right leg twitching.

Kaishi is overhead, reverting my eyes’ focus to her smile. She lifts the sword up above her head and has the blade pointed directly between my eyes. I look around, and that’s when it hits me. It’s childish, but when you know you’re about to die, and it’s a way to prolong your life, even if it’s for a few seconds, who cares about what it is. I splash the bloody water into her eyes. Kaishi stumbles back, still gripping the sword, but one of her hands is trying to wipe away my desperation. Behind her, I hear Syco and the crowd members move. Kaishi orders them to remain where they are, but her temporary blindness isn’t the reason why they’ve moved. The reason should be a shock and an impossibility, but I accept it because of everything that’s happened.

My twin hops from Syco’s head and dashes towards me. I cover my face, hoping to protect myself from the impact, one of which I soon understand I won’t feel. Again, a light blinds me, and with it, Kaishi finally wipes off the mess because she screams, “No!”

Once the light disappears, I flutter my eyes open, and after weeks, nearly two months of being disabled, I have my right leg back. That’s not all. My outfit has changed. I look like a knight with the same monochrome color scheme as my twin’s outfit. My twin is nowhere to be seen, but I have a feeling I know where she is. Not only that, but with my change, I know who she truly is. As I get up using my newly formed right leg, Kaishi has a tantrum. She stomps, jumps, and screams. The crowd and I step back, but neither of us can flee as she turns herself around to face the group that was behind her and opens her mouth wide. She begins to suck up the crowd. After she does, she grabs the sides of her face. She screams yet again but begins to laugh as a flash of golden light envelops her. I’m not blinded this time, but I wish I was because I see faces, familiar ones, pop out of her flesh. They scream as she continues to laugh and transform. I try to stop her transformation from finishing, but I can’t even take a step towards her because somehow that light is pushing me away, so I’m left to watch once again.

She finishes with a white cloak engulfing her with a circular symbol on the back of it. She no longer has her sword, but now she has a horrific wrinkled face. Hundreds of faces have been squeezed between her wrinkles, each with eyes crying out blood.

“Watcher,” I whispered the realization under my breath with eyes wide and another gulp. My body moved for me as I flung my right arm to the side and what came next is the emanation of a familiar blazing two-handler, almost like my previous one before she stole it, but without all the sci-fi elements.

With the flick of her finger, her feminine features, what was left of them, disappear. Her face is now covered by a faceless mask. “Not quite.” Its voice is deep but not quite masculine. It is powerful. The figure’s voice makes me feel like my organs are on the brink of exploding.

“A Lord? Here? But this is just a—”

“Now.” They wiggle their index finger from right to left before continuing, “Don’t ruin my fun just let.” I puke out. “Gross.”

“Why are you here? What am I doing here?” I press my free hand against my forehead, which has now healed. Although, it hurt trying to remember. “I was battling Syco...Shit! I need to get out of here.” I turned around one moment, and the next, I’m right in front of the Lord. The Lord moves its hand towards me, and I move my sword towards it. It goes right through where its stomach should be, but the Lord just laughs. The faces stretched across their arms open their mouths and laugh as well, but they’re forcing it out as they’re crying out blood as well. The sight grosses me out, but it does not warrant another puke. I don’t have anything else in me to throw up anyways, but my guts feel like purging again when the Lord begins to talk again.

“Sorry, human. I must admit to you that I am a little bit insane. Okay, I’m pretty much insane.” To my surprise, one that nearly has me let go of the sword, the Lord caresses my chin. It’s gentler than how Kaishi did, but considering she was this Lord, it’s another surprise, I suppose. “Although, it’s because of my insanity that helps me be such a great performer. I’ve played so many characters, yet all were believable. How were my lines? You think they were passionate, eh?”

“Passionate, maybe, but not believable.”

Sure, I can’t see the Lord’s eyes through that mask, but I felt them. I felt the Lord’s judging glare. They sigh. “A shame.” It lets go of my face. “Two thousand years and yet I can’t produce the perfect play. Playing director can be straining.”

“Everything that is and was here was made by you?” I shouldn’t be surprised about a Lord’s power, but I still am amazed. Maybe it’s the shock that I am before another Lord that drives me to question because I’d rather wish this not be true.

“Of course, but you were the producer. Can’t create a world out of thin air. This is all in your subconscious. I just pull strings. You called me over here, after all.

“You are such an interesting person. Maybe the most interesting case I’ve ever had to deal with. Actually, no. That short woman with the four eyes was way more interesting than you.”

There’s a power difference between us. The Lord is the one in power while I am not, but I buried down my fear when I clutched its cloak and pulled them closer to me. “What did you do to Ojos?”

“No need to get so worked up, human. Nothing happened to that poor, old hag. She didn’t submit to my offer.”

“Offer? You tried to kill her just like you did with me?”

“Of course. Souls are a delicacy. I haven’t eaten one in so long.” In the corner of my eye, the faces on their arms licked their lips. I pulled my sword off of the Lord and my grip and jumped away from them. In the process, they jerked forward and began to laugh. I clutched my sword in both hands as the demonic figure raised their head and slid one of their hands on their face, mimicking how Kaishi brushed away her hair. Then, they flew towards me. I swung, but before my blade connected with the Lord, I woke up to my hand right about to open an airlock and heard Saamuki calling out to me. I lower my hand, and I let her embrace me.

#225 #lost in space #my writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr

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lo-55 · 4 years ago

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Revel Ch. 10

Belated Birthdays

Things were peaceful, after their return from Imperia.

Even with the tightness in her ribs and the ugly taste of betrayal on her tongue Tori couldn’t deny that she was starting to enjoy her time with Katakuri. He was still a quiet man, all in all, but he didn’t avoid her anymore. Now and again he would even seek her out on his own, and take her on walks with him.

She also started taking on the administrative work. The day to day running of the chateau, and small disputes in the rest of the island as well. It was easy for her, it was what she had been raised to do after all.

Katakuri was a bit more at a loss for such things. He was a warrior, not a governer.

“So you see,” she said one day, sitting knee to knee with him in the office, “While these two farmers may be threatening to go to war over this strip of river, there’s about six other reports saying the same thing going back twenty years. So while it would be a good idea to set this to rights, it’s not an emergency, and we can set it to the back burner. Contrarily, these reports of polluted water should take absolute presidence, especially on an island of this size.”

“And the man claiming his wall doesn’t break any laws, is also unimportant,” katakuri set that file in the same pile as the farmers.

“Everyone under our protectorate is important,” she pointed out, “but yes, that’s not a priority. Besides, he’s not wrong. The code says that he can’t have a fence going higher than four feet off of the street. The five foot concrete base he poured before hand raises the street level, so his fence is really on three feet tall,” Tori had to fight a grin. She didn’t want to split her false lips, red decorated with fanciful gold roses.

It was getting harder and harder not to smile when she was around Katakuri. She liked to believe that, under that scarf, he smiled at her as well.

“You sound like you admire him for pushing the boundaries of a law.”

“Perhaps I do. I have been trapped in rules my entire life. ‘Victoria, you must wear this’, ‘Victoria, a princess stands at the correct angle.’” she rolled her eyes.

“You make a the rules now,” Katakuri pointed out.

Tori sat up, suddenly straighter. She made the rules now. She made the rule now. This was their home. Their land. She was not bound by the traditions of Imperia.

“I could wear jeans .”

When she looked back at her husband there was a definite curve to his eyes. A smile?

Business first. Business before pleasure, she turned back to the stack but her cheeks hurt from the smile pulling at her mouth.

Perhaps she could wear her jeans in full view of the court one day, and tell them all to fuck off.

As the year came to a close, with it came a day that Katakuri had almost forgotten even existed.

Victoria’s birthday.

Their life together, from one day to the next, had fallen into such a pattern that having something change didn’t feel quit right. They still slept in separate beds but they took long walks to the beach at dusk where Katakuri marvelled at her haki control. He had never seen anyone able to project haki like that before. She was a marvel in the water and the moonlight.

Their daylight hours were spent governing their lands and walking together in their home. Victoria was beautiful, she was a star in the shape of a woman and she was his bride. Her hand in his, while small, was warm and welcoming.

So, when he heard one of her ladies in waiting (who sometimes changed places with her, he’d found) mention that the birthday gifts should begin coming in, he realized that he had no idea when she was born. How old even was she?

So he listened and he looked over files that his mother had procured before they had joined their houses. It was the first time. Mama would tell him what he needed to know, and what he needed to know was that he was marrying this woman.

Tori was twenty three years old. Four years younger than him. She was born on Imperia, a summer island, in the scant winter months, on the twenty fifth of January. Her mother had fallen ill and died when she was seven years old. There wasn’t much about her. No scandals or information about her likes or dislikes. All there was was basic fact. It was one of the scantest reports he’d ever read in his life.

How could Tori, who was so interesting, have such a dull life?

She was a mystery that Katakuri was ever so desperate to unravel.

He doubted that would happen any time soon. Tori spoke to him, but even still, he struggled to form the right questions he wanted to ask her. Where was her passion, what did she love? Her own people. How different were they from his? Pirates and princesses.

What a strange story their life was going to be.

Katakuri had grown up as a pirate, and as the son of Big Mom no less. Their parties were massive and filled with food to feed their mother, mostly, but the rest of them too.

They had a feast of food and cakes as tall as regular men.

Yet, there was no part being planned for her, as far as he could see.

He didn’t understand. But he understood that he, at least, wanted to do something for it.

So he set about doing something he was good at. Something that didn’t involve fighting or skewering people on his trident.

He decided he was going to bake her a cake.

Katakuri sent the chefs out of the kitchen and chased away anyone who tried to come closer than that, a glare peaking over the edge of his scarf.

By the end of the day he had a cake made, big enough for the pair of them.

He frosted it and decorated it with careful blue swirls. It wasn’t a masterpiece but…

He didn’t know what else to get her. She seemed to have everything she could want, at least materially.

Perhaps there was something else he could do for her. Maybe one day she would tell him, what she wanted. Her dreams, her goals. What were they? She cared about people. Her people, his people, their people. She seemed to understand them so easily and know when something was important and when something was trivial. She knew everyone’s name, everyone's face, and things about their families, hobbies, and homes.

She even took him into consideration. He could still remember the warmth of her small body pressed against his from behind in the darkness of Imperia. And Brulee. She barely knew her, but she defended his younger sister.

People were important her.

And he had thought, before, that she was frivolous. But she had been delighted when she realized she could wear something as trivial as jeans.

Katakuri tried to clear his mind as he walked the way to his young wife’s room.

Finally he pushed the door open.

She was sitting at her desk, writing something in her fanciful, neat handwriting when he walked in. When she looked up at him her strange, false lips were missing and her real ones curved upwards in a smile.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, turning away from whatever she was working on to face him. Her fine dress was draped around her, hiding her from him in soft blues.

“It’s your birthday,” he said, and set the cake down on a clear space on her desk.

For a long minute Tori just stared at it. A strange smile sat upon her.

“This was so sweet of you. Pun intended. But… I can’t eat it.”

Katakuri frowned behind his mask. Was she on some sort of diet? Was that why she was so thin?

She must had seen something in his face. Something that gave his thoughts away.

“I can’t have any cake. Or bread, or ice cream, or anything fried at all. I’m allergic.”

“To cake?” he couldn't help the horror in his voice.

“To gluten,” she corrected him gently. “Wheat, barley, rye. Any of that, and it destroys me. If it gets too bad, they have to preform surgery on my internal organs.”

Katakuri’s mouth fell open. Wheat, Barley, Rye. That was in everything. Everything! On this island especially where Mama had tasked them with growing all of those things to feed her ever growing appetite. He was the minister of flour!

“Oh,” was all he could think to say. What else could he offer her? An apology? What good would that do to her allergy.

One so bad she might have to be cut open if she ate it.

“But I can have icing. As long as there’s only sugar in it, and no anti-caking ingredients. So, why don’t we share?” her smiled was sweeter than any desert. “I’ll even close my eyes, okay?”

Katakuri wanted to tell her not to. He wanted to tell her she didn’t need to. He wanted to finally give this facade up.

He wanted her to never see him.

When I was married, I had hoped that he might be blind.

If Tori had been blind, what would he have done?

“That sound nice,” he said at last, sitting down on the floor next to her. Her eyes lit up and her smile grew, unrestrained by the fanciful ones she wore regularly.

Tori went to her dresser and came back with a long scarf that she tied around her eyes, hiding them from him and him from her.

Katakuri was left in charge or splitting the icing from the cake and gathering it in a spoon for her. He was careful not to let a single crumb get into it. He got to see her smile, and listen to her laugh and talk to her.

It was the first birthday they spent together.

He hoped that by the end of the next one, he might not even have to ask her to close her eyes.

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

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damienthepious · 5 years ago

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[spoilers re: the new ep redacted]

Scattered On My Shore (Chapter 11)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [ao3] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [Ch 15] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol)

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: It is just the three of them, for a while. Until that begins to feel almost normal.

Chapter Notes: Psst. Happy Lizard Kissin' Tuesday! I am tired and have ceased to be creative. Chapter specific warnings for... hm. Some fraught arguments, I'll say. Not much more than that, this time.

Damien prefers to stay in the room, if Rilla and Arum are sharing space. Paranoid, Rilla thinks, but she can usually keep the frustration of it from biting at her. He's mostly harmless, anyway, and if she can get him talking enough to where he seems to forget Arum is there, it's almost pleasant. Arum pretends not to care one way or the other, but Rilla knows his body language well enough to tell when he's either nervous about Damien's scrutiny, or alternatively when he's just as drawn in to Damien's stories as she is.

"Amaryllis… explain the muttering to me," he asks, some afternoon when Damien has left to report back to the Citadel.

"The muttering?"

"Incessantly," Arum growls. "The muttering of your little knight. He is a poet, that much I understand, and the constant spinning of tales is not entirely disagreeable, but even leaving that aside, must he be always chanting to himself?"

"Yeah," Rilla says. "He actually does kind of must."

Arum frowns. "What do you mean?"

"It's important to him. Praying to Saint Damien."

"Saint," Arum hisses darkly, rolling his eyes.

"It helps him think, helps him keep himself calm."

"Tranquility," Arum mutters, his frown deepening. "Hm. That does not bother you, then? His chattering?"

"It's important to him," Rilla repeats. "Saints know I have my own irritating habits, anyway." She pauses as Arum scoffs, and then she shrugs. "I mean, I'd be lying if I said I never got annoyed with him, but I love him. Talking to himself- talking to his Saint doesn't hurt anything. If it makes him happy, I wanna do my best to support that."

"How magnanimous of you," Arum drawls, his teeth bared in a vaguely malicious smirk.

Rilla frowns. "Don't."

He blinks. "Don't- what?"

"I know that look," she says. "I know you like pushing his buttons, and I know he's cute when he's flustered, but this- it wouldn't be the same, Arum."

"I- cute? I don't have the first idea what you are talking about, takatakataka."

"It's fine if you tease him," Rilla continues, "but I'd really appreciate it if you made an effort not to make fun of him for that."

Arum opens his mouth, then snaps it shut, and then he flinches and looks away from her for a long rattling moment. "I… I do not intend to do the knight any favors, Amaryllis, but I am perfectly capable of verbal sparring without taking a cheap shot," he mutters, and she buries a smile because of course he wouldn't agree because she asked, but if it's about his own pride-

"Thank you," she says anyway, and then she changes the subject before his growling gets too out of hand.

Rilla leans in the doorway of her hut in the morning, coffee steaming in her hand, slowly rounding out to awake as she watches Damien go through his routine with a lazy sort of hunger curling in her stomach.

She hears Arum behind her, limping slowly from his room on the crutch, and she tries not to feel irritated that he's pushing himself instead of asking for help. He is getting stronger, she reminds herself, and she buries the little flash of nerves that comes with the thought.

"Morning, Arum," she murmurs over her shoulder, and instead of going towards the table she hears him pause, and then approach, the crutch thumping rhythmically against the wood of her floor.

"What are you doing, little doctor? Why have a door at all if you intend to leave it hanging in the… wind…"

She doesn't turn towards him, tilting her head to better watch the way Damien is stretching instead. "Morning routine," she mumbles, her voice catching on a yawn at the end. "His, and mine too."

"A-ah," Arum says, and she hears him whir out a strange sort of exhale. "Routine?" he echoes. "He does this… regularly, then?"

"Almost every morning." She takes a slow sip of coffee, and then tilts her head the other way, watching the light gleam off of Damien's skin as he rolls his shoulders before he moves into his next set of forms. "Mm."

"And the- his- clothing-"

Rilla hums again, sighing a light laugh. "No point in getting his shirt all sweaty if he can avoid it," she says, making no effort to disguise the pleasure in her voice. "You won't hear any complaints from me," she murmurs, and then she takes another sip. "Anyway. You sleep alright, Arum?"

He doesn't answer for a moment, and Rilla glances over her shoulder. Arum's head is tilted as hers had been, his lips just barely parted, his tongue is flicking lightly, and his eyes are very obviously fixed on Damien.

Huh.

"Enjoying the view?"

"Hmm…" Arum trails off, then he blinks quickly as he seems to realize what she actually said. He flinches, the crutch skidding a step against the wood, and Rilla reaches automatically to stabilize him as he hisses in alarm. "Ah-"

"Whoa, easy- I've got you-"

He shakes his head, readjusting and then taking a large and decisive step back from her, back from the door.

"I-" his frill flutters, but he clenches his teeth and it settles before it can flare entirely. "Certainly you will forgive me for being distracted by the sight of the outdoors, Amaryllis. I have been cooped up in this hut for- for entirely too long. I am unused to prolonged captivity, I am sure you understand," he hisses, looking very deliberately away from both herself and the door, and then he hobbles over to sit at the table, growling low as he goes.

Rilla watches him go, too stunned to really respond to that. After a moment, the monster still refusing to look her way, she bites her tongue, and then she closes the door.

When Rilla comes into his room Arum is sitting on the edge of his cot, shoulders stiff, and he has her recorder in his claws. He stares up at her, eyes narrowed to vivid violet slits, hard and flat and angry, and Rilla feels a little pang of confused dread drop through her.

“Arum?” she says, and the monster’s lip curls into a sneer as he presses the button down on the device.

“Subject is severely injured,” says Rilla-in-the-past, her voice crackling through the recording and noticeably detached. “Wounds consistent with… attack by another monster. Likely, multiple.” The version of herself on the recording sighs. “Injuries will likely prove fatal. I’ve done what I can to stabilize the subject, but it hasn't regained consciousness, and it's unlikely that it will. Honestly, I would be surprised if it survives the night. Which is unfortunate, since this seems like it might actually be some sort of new and undocumented ashdragon variant, or possibly something even less documented than that, which would make it utterly unique. I guess I’ll see if it regenerates when this particular body dies, and then I’ll have that answer, at least.” Another sigh, some shifting noises. Rilla imagines herself moving some papers aside, possibly a bestiary being closed. “Well, either way I’ll get some interesting data out of it. Even if it doesn’t regenerate when it dies, I’m sure I’ll be able to learn something useful in dissection.”

Arum stops the playback. He drums his claws off of the recorder in a rapid-fire staccato, still staring up at her in silence.

“Arum,” she tries again after a moment.

“I hope, human, that I have provided enough useful data in my convalescence that I have made up for the inconvenience of not dying and presenting you the option of weighing my internal organs.”

“That's not-”

“I knew it was all a lie, I knew there was no possibility that your precious little I am a doctor nonsense was genuine.”

“It was, Arum, I didn’t lie-”

“You kept me alive to gather data. You’ve been spoon-feeding me so as to get a better picture of how your knights might take me and my kin to pieces. None of this was because you-” he cuts off. “How long were you planning to maintain this little play-act? How long until your pet knight was meant to slit my throat? Did you simply want to get in sight of my nest before you destroyed me? How much data were you going to gather before you decided you had properly wrung me dry, Amaryllis?”

“That wasn’t what I-”

“Don’t lie to me, human! I have had enough of this farce.”

Rilla presses her lips together, her throat feeling tight. He’s not going to listen, right now. Not to her, not to-

He won’t listen to her now. But…

“Skip ahead on the recorder,” she says.

“What?”

“Skip to entry four two one one. Should be… eighteen to twenty after the one you just played, I think.”

“Why?” he snarls, ducking his head and clutching the recorder close against the bandages on his midsection.

“Because there’s something else you should hear, too. You heard what I said when I first found you. You should hear what I said after. If you really think that I’ve been using you for some sort of spy work, then the rest of it should interest you too, right?”

He hesitates, his expression tightening. “Perhaps I have no interest in hearing myself cataloged, doctor.”

“Please. Just- listen to it. And then you can decide if you want to- I don’t know. How you want to proceed. But before you make any sort of decision, please- please just listen, Arum.”

Arum stares at her for another long moment, suspicious with a growl in his throat, and then he moves his thumb, sending the recording forward with a thin squeal of sound. He overshoots the start of the entry a little, and it cuts in just in the middle of a word.

“-ter than that, and it seems like his frill is really starting to knit together properly. Finally. It’s been tricky since it’s only a half-conscious thing, the flaring, but- I mean, it’s hard to complain about. It’s always so funny when he gets indignant and it just- fwoops out like that and-”

She laughs on the recording, breathless, and Rilla remembers this moment with exact clarity. The door to his room had been cracked, she could just see half his face through the gap as he rested, the gentle light of early morning on his scales and his expression untroubled in sleep-

“He’s beautiful,” she says, and she still feels the little stunned swoop that realization had made her feel. “He’s… I didn’t know a monster could be so beautiful. I didn’t know they could be funny either, honestly, or- or-”

There is a pause.

“Saints…”

Another pause. Quite long.

“He… um. He’s improving by leaps and bounds, now,” she says, her voice a little clipped, a little muted. “He can almost stand on his own, though it tires him out. He’s… soon he’ll be well enough to travel, I think. Which means we’re going to have to have another conversation, soon, about- about exactly how we're gonna get him back home. And that shouldn’t… it shouldn’t hurt to think about that, should it? It’s good. It’s a good thing that he’s… soon he’ll be well enough to go home, to be free again, to go back where he belongs and rest and recover where he’ll be comfortable and safe, but-”

A little half-laugh.

“I’m gonna miss him, is the only thing. I’ve gotten so used to having him around, and- and even if he’s always arguing about the methodology he’s been so- it’s been nice to have him around when I’m doing my experiments, I mean- it would have taken me ages to think of modifying my bandages with machracnid silk, and the improvement to the elasticity is- but that isn’t even the point, you know? He’s just- he’s-”

Less of a laugh.

“It's almost time for him to go home. It’s the only way to keep him safe. The longer he stays here- I know Damien won't hurt him, not anymore. I think he’s seen it too, he’s seen how- how much- he’s seen Arum, really seen him. I know he has. But every day Arum stays here is another risk, is another chance that he’ll be seen or- and if that happens, then what? I don’t care what they do to me, I’m not afraid of them, but Arum- he’s still not strong enough to defend himself, and even if he was, what would he do against an armed squadron of knights? I wouldn’t be able to do anything to protect him, and- he- I can’t let that happen. I won’t. I won’t let the Citadel hurt him. So- so… so he has to go home. It doesn’t matter that I- it doesn’t matter how I feel. I have to get him home. He deserves- he-”

“Amaryllis?”

Arum’s voice, distant and a little distorted on the recorder, and Rilla-in-the-past gasps lightly. Rilla remembers pressing a hand to her mouth. Remembers plastering on a smile.

“I’m here, Arum. Just a second.” A rustle, and then, quieter, “I’m gonna make him well again. And then I’m gonna get him home. I’ll miss him… I’ll miss him so badly. But I’ll get him home. End of log.”

Arum stares at the device in his hand, his frill flaring around his head in a way that Rilla would otherwise think is appropriately comical. Now, it just makes her want to do something foolish.

The next entry starts a little too loud and they both jump, Arum pressing his thumb decisively down on the button to stop the playback. When he finally looks up at her again, his eyes are still guarded, but no longer furious.

“What… what was the point of that, then?” he asks, voice thick and low.

“To show you how I think about you now. That first day- I didn’t know you, Arum. And that’s not an excuse. Monsters aren’t- you aren’t what I thought you were, and I had no idea- I was cruel. I was callous and clinical in a way that I hate, and I’m sorry you had to hear that. But I was never, never doing any of this to get information on monsters for the knights. Never. And I would do anything to keep them from hurting you now.”

“You… why?”

“I care about you.”

“You do not. I heard- what you said, you wouldn’t simply turn-”

“I don’t agree with how I dealt with the situation, Arum. I- I don’t see you in the same way. Not anymore, and- honestly? I stopped seeing you that way the first time you woke up and I saw- I saw that look in your eyes. And then it got more and more obvious the longer I was around you, the more I talked to you. You… Arum, the luckiest moment of my entire life was when I happened to look at the lake at just the right time to see you. If I hadn’t- if-” she has to stop, to press a hand to her mouth. “I hate the thought that if I just hadn’t looked, you would have died out there. Died alone, in that much pain, out in the wilds. That- Arum, you’re- you deserve- you’re special to me, and I had no idea how special you would be when I first found you.”

“So why keep those notes, then?” he asks after a pause, his tone carefully blank.

“Because,” she says, frowning. “Because of this. Not you finding them, I mean, but because you don’t learn from mistakes if you try to bury them. I’m not going to try to make something go away because it’s inconvenient. I was horrible, the way I talked about you, the way I thought about you, about all monsters. There’s- there so much more out there than I ever knew, and I can’t believe I let myself be so ignorant of it for so long.” She shakes her head, then after a half second of hesitation she steps towards him. She reaches a hand out and- he misinterprets, lifting out the recorder for her to take. She moves her hand aside, instead, slipping her palm along the back of his hand and wrapping her fingers around his wrist. He inhales, sharp, his eyes widening as he looks up at her. “I’m sorry, Arum. Sorry that I talked about you like that, and sorry that you had to hear it after I- after I finally convinced you to trust me, even a little. I’m sorry, and I hope I haven’t- I hope I haven’t broken anything that can’t still be fixed.”

“Amaryllis,” he says, and then he drops his eyes. He does not move his hand, his grip on the recorder flexing awkwardly. “You- you’ve broken nothing, Amaryllis. We- you-”

His voice scatters off, unsure and lost, and after a moment he raises two more hands, one to grip the hem of his cape, and the other reaching by slow inches to brush his palm down her forearm until he can loosely wrap his fingers around her wrist, an echo of the way she is holding him. Her skin tingles at the touch, the gentleness and the cool strange texture both.

“You’ve broken nothing,” he repeats in a low murmur, and then he finally looks up at her again, that gentle violet pinning her in place. “You… you are meant for mending, Amaryllis.”

Her dark cheeks darken further, her lips parting in wordless surprise, and their arms are still clasped as they stare- they are simply staring at each other, now, and-

“Your…” Arum swallows, his thumb on her wrist moving just barely, just gently, tickling the skin at the heel of her palm. “Your heart is beating quite quickly, Amaryllis.”

“You know what a- a quick pulse feels like, in a human?” She asks, raising an eyebrow despite the slight breathlessness in her tone.

“I know what your pulse sounds like. I know when it is…” he trails off, possibly at the way she blinks, startled.

“You can- hear my heart?” She gives the smallest breath of laughter. “Your hearing is ridiculous, huh?”

“Vastly superior to you mammals, anyway,” he mutters, and he barely makes an effort to act as if he means it.

“Your heart is beating pretty fast too, you know,” She says quietly, and his hand flexes against her skin.

“Y-yes, well,” he glances aside, then he sits up a little straighter without pulling away before he meets her eye again. “I apologize, also. For- for ambushing you with this.”

“You don’t have to,” Rilla shakes her head. “I know that what I said was-”

“I have been searching for things to distrust. Digging for proof of deception, for anything that would indicate that your intentions were false, so that I could have some fuel for my anger. I wanted to be angry with you. It is not… easy for me, to accept help, or to- to indulge in hope.” His mouth presses into an uncomfortable line, his frill pressing tight against his neck. “Always you are harping on evidence and proof, and I know- I have seen-” he exhales sharply, not quite a sigh. “I know that you are… genuine, in… caring for me. I do not understand it, but I know. And if- if you- if you are willing to show me such so readily, I should be able to…”

“Arum, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything,” Rilla says, and he shakes his head.

“If I ever-" he pauses. "When. When I return home, at last, I will… I will miss you as well, Amaryllis.”

Their eyes are fixed, each with a hand still gently clasped around the other’s wrist, and Rilla finds that she doesn't quite know how to breathe, with him looking at her like that. Not a great response, Rilla, keep it together-

“In fact,” Arum says very quietly, and his thumb brushes against her skin again and she shivers with gooseflesh instantly. “In fact, Amaryllis, I would say-”

“Rilla?”

Rilla only glances over her shoulder at the suddenness of Damien’s voice in the front room, but Arum pulls his hands away as if burned, his expression going shuttered and distant again. She can’t help the sting of frustration, at that. It’s not fair, of course. Damien is still… well, it’s difficult, anyway. But Rilla is stuck with her mind five seconds ago when Arum’s thumb was gentle on her wrist and he had started to say something. Something Rilla gets the feeling she’s not going to get the chance to know, now, like it’s been chased away. She feels like a glass that got struck on the edge of a table, still ringing. She wants to know where that moment was supposed to go, but now-

She sighs, smiling despite herself. “One sec, Damien,” she calls lightly. “Probably good that he reminded me,” she says, more casual than she feels as Arum looks up at her uncertainly. “I just got done making lunch. It should still be warm. Did you- do you want to join us? I promise I’ll make Damien behave, and if he doesn’t wanna he can just go eat on the stump outside again.”

She’s only half kidding, and the mild mischief in Arum’s eyes at that possibility manages to creep past his guarded veneer.

“I suppose that sounds… agreeable enough. I shall be interested to see if the little knight will stoop to share a table with a monster, today.”

“He’ll deal,” Rilla says. She takes the recorder back from him, and then lifts her hands out again. “Steady enough to stand, Arum?”

He frowns, but he looks aside and reaches an arm to allow her to help pull him up to standing. It’s still a little odd, looking up at him after spending so long with him in that bed, where he has to peer up at her. He still leans on her, just a little, though. Just a very little. Just enough that he could deny it, if asked. His body beside her own is heavy, slightly cool, fascinatingly textured, as always. She does her best not to think about that.

Damien watches them exit Arum's room with guarded eyes, but he does not mention their proximity, nor does he comment on it when Rilla helps Arum settle himself on one of the cushions around the table. After a quiet moment, while Rilla takes her own seat between them, Damien takes the pitcher of water, and he fills three glasses.

"What…" Arum pushes a small stack of books aside after dinner, pulling one thin volume out from beneath the rest, and his eyes are narrowed and confused when Rilla glances his way. "What is this?"

Ah. Damn. Rilla absolutely hadn't meant to leave that out- she must have slipped it in with the wrong pile before she put her dads' books back under the floorboards. "Oh," she says, trying to sound casual. Damien is looking at the book too, now, which isn't exactly great. "Uh. I'm not sure. I haven't been able to translate it properly, so I only kind of have an idea what's in there."

Arum frowns, something that isn't quite suspicion crossing his face. "… is this why you asked me about monster languages, before?"

Rilla blinks. "What? No, I just wanted to make sure I wasn't gonna bring you a stack of books you couldn't even read."

Arum seems satisfied enough with that answer, but still he turns the slim book in his hands, eying the cover. "Hm. This is simply a coincidental curiosity, then?"

"It- I couldn't find you in my bestiaries, so I wound up pulling out… well-"

"You kept your fathers' books?" Damien asks softly, and she doesn't look at him, trying hard not to wince. "I thought their more…" he coughs, "questionable possessions were- were confiscated."

"Most of them were," Rilla says, her tone going bitter. "Not all. I kept what I could."

"You were looking for me?" Arum says, an eyebrow raising.

"Well-" Rilla glances between the pair of them. "Yeah. I figured that if I could find out exactly what you were it would help me figure out how to treat you more effectively. No such luck, by the way."

Oddly, Arum smiles at that, something smug in the expression as he flips through the pages, his scales making a whispery noise against the paper. "It seems you managed my treatment quite skillfully, regardless, Amaryllis."

Damien narrows his eyes, as if he's trying to find a way to make that sentence fit as a dig instead of a compliment, and then he shakes his head and refocuses on Rilla.

"Why did you not tell me?"

"It- I mean, when we started seeing each other it wasn't like-" her eyes flick around the hut, noting uncomfortably the way that Arum is watching her too. "You're a knight, Damien, I didn't know when I met you that you wouldn't get me in worse trouble for-"

"Oh, my darling flower-"

"It wasn't like I lied, Damien, I just- I didn't know how to bring it up. I-" she pauses, and tries a vague sort of smile. "It just kind of got to the point where I hadn't talked about it for so long, you know? Got to a point where it seemed- like it'd been too long already, and I couldn't change my mind about it."

Damien sighs deeply, reaching a hand out to cup her cheek. "Oh, Rilla… I am sorry you felt that there was anything you could not share wi-"

"I could translate this for you," Arum interrupts, and the both of them turn towards him. He isn't looking at them in return, his eyes firmly on the book as his tail coils tightly around an ankle. "The dialect is somewhat more eastern than I am entirely used to, but the bones of the language seem familiar enough. I suppose you already inferred from the illustrations and the size that it is a rather limited botanical census."

"Yeah," Rilla says, her voice bright with surprise. "Yeah, that's exactly what I was hoping." She pauses. "You'd really be willing to do that?"

"It's a book of herbs, Amaryllis. You can hardly do any harm with it." He glances towards her, his eyes guarded, and then he looks to the book again. "Seems a small sort of service I can easily provide. It shall not even begin to edge the scales between us towards even, I should think," he mutters, and then before she can respond to that, he points to one of the entries in the middle. "We can start here. I do not suppose you are familiar with this herb at all. It grows in a rather small range, quite a ways to the East."

Rilla doesn't want to let him deflect from the fact that he apparently sees her treatment of him as transactional, but she doesn't want to have that sort of conversation with Damien a foot away, either. She's already had one awkward conversation in front of someone who probably didn't want to be there, tonight. "Yeah, that would be- incredible, actually. Just let me grab the notes I already made, and-" she stands, and she tries not to look too uncomfortable or too eager as she goes to pull up the false floorboard in her bedroom to fetch the right journal. "Okay," she says as she returns, shuffling through the pages, "so I managed to work out the numeral system, I think, if you want to just check my work there before we dig into the conte-"

"Knock knock. "

The voice comes simultaneous with an accompanying actual knock, on the doorframe and not the actual door from the sound of it, and Rilla flinches hard enough that she drops the book in her hand to thwump to the floor. Damien rolls from his seated position to snatch it before she can, his own expression openly concerned, and Arum's frill is pressed tightly to his neck as he eyes the door in alarm, his tail coiling and then curling around his own ankle.

Rilla pats a hand in the air, a gesture for quiet, and no one moves for a long moment as she waits for whoever the hell to take the hint. It's late, even on a day when she was open she'd be unlikely to come to the door at this hour.

"Knock, uh, knock?" the voice comes again. "C'mon, Rilla, your favorite guest is here! I know you're home, there's smoke coming from the chimney-"

"Marc. Shit," Rilla scrambles, reaching to help Arum pull himself to his feet as she calls, "we're closed, come back- come back later. Tomorrow! Come back tomorrow!"

"Marc," Damien mutters, clutching the book to his chest with a scowl.

"C'mon, Rilla. I know you've got a minute for your best friend," Marc calls through the door. "Can you open up?"

"Dammit," Rilla hisses, and Arum chokes down a very nervous sort of laugh as Rilla presses a hand against his shoulder, making sure he's standing stable. "Marc, I really can't hang out with you right now! I'm- I'm right in the middle of-"

"I, uh, really, really can't, Rilla. Can you-" he pauses, and she can hear Dampierre's hooves shifting against the dirt. "Can you please open up? I… uh…"

Rilla stiffens, grits her teeth, and sighs. "You're… out of medicine."

There is a pause.

"I'm out of medicine," Marc confirms in a quick mutter. "But! But only just barely, Rilla, like, less than five minutes ago barely!"

"Marc!" Rilla complains, and then she stops herself to take a deep breath. She can handle this. She just- has to make up enough for the day, and then- then she can get him out of her hair for long enough to make a proper batch he can pick up tomorrow. She frowns at Arum, and then at Damien, and then she calls out, "Two minutes, Marc. Give me two minutes, alright?"

Marc gives some sort of relieved confirmation, but Rilla isn't really paying attention anymore as she walks Arum partway across the room, and then she passes the monster into Damien's arms as the knight splutters, his cheeks going dark as Arum hisses in alarm.

"Shush," she says with a scowl. "Damien, just walk him to his bed. Please? He can't be in here, we can't risk him being seen and I just- have to get Marc out of here."

"But," Damien squeaks, "but Rilla, I-"

Damien doesn't strain under Arum's weight, he's perfectly capable of supporting the monster, but he leans away awkwardly, leaving Arum to grit his teeth and sway in a way that makes Rilla instantly nervous. Her scowl deepens and she steps closer again to push Arum more securely into Damien's grip as each of them makes another quiet, indignant noise. "Into Arum's room, Damien, now. If you drop him I will be furious with you. No time to argue. Just do it."

Damien swallows, then meets Arum's eyes for only a moment before his cheeks darken further and he looks sharply away. He nods, though, and shuffles Arum into his room, the both of them wincing through the movement as Rilla marches in the other direction to throw the front door open and glower up at Marc as he raises an eyebrow at her.

"Is there- uh. D'you have company over, Rilla? Because you could have just said- "

"Marc? Please shut up," she says, already turning back and marching to start throwing together ingredients, her hands moving quickly over bottles and jars. "You know I'm busy, and if you and Tal want to stop by with no warning then you don't get to complain that I'm not ready to jump up and help!"

"Well I mean- it's just me, this time."

He sounds sheepish, and Rilla glances over her shoulder in surprise. "Wh- huh. Where's Tal, then?"

"Doing something dumb somewhere dumber," Marc scowls.

"Marc." Rilla turns away again, snatching up ingredients as she goes. "Come on."

"He stayed behind to take a job, and- if he just stayed with me we wouldn't have gotten lost and we definitely would have gotten here a lot sooner!"

"Sure," she says. "Whatever." Rilla can't actually decide if it would have been better or worse if the pair of them had visited a week or so ago. Might have been awkward for the boys to come knocking when Arum was collapsed by her front door, at the very least. Her lip pulls into a frown and she refocuses, rattling off the list of components as she mixes them together, but when she reaches for the last of the bunch-

She pulls down an empty jar. And then a second empty jar.

"Oh, come on. Really?"

"Uh, what's up?"

"The Numb-Cap. I'm out," Rilla groans, dropping her head to thunk off of the cabinet in front of her. "I used all of it because I had to make up so many batches of painkiller for-"

She pauses.

"For?" Marc calls warily, and Rilla grits her teeth.

"Another patient, Marc, because you're not the only person relying on me!"

"Well, I mean, uh. If you made up so much of it-"

"I made so much because I needed it, Marc! And even if I hadn't used it up, it's not even the same recipe as your pills. Which means- " she cuts off into an exasperated exhale, smacking her palms on the counter.

"Which means- what?"

"I need to go get more Numb-Cap. Now . And leave-"

She cuts herself off again.

"Well- I mean, if you're too busy to leave I can run off and collect the dumb mushrooms myself, right? I'll just grab a few and come back and-"

"There is no way I would trust mushroom identification to any untrained non-mycologist in the middle of the night, let alone you, Marc," she growls, marching towards the door and grabbing her boots. "You wanna have actual effective medicine, or d'you wanna wake up in a week with no clothes and no idea where you've been? Or, more likely, just choke to death on some fun magic poison?"

"Well, that first one doesn't sound so bad-"

"Marc." Rilla grips the doorframe tight. "This is, and I need you to understand this, wildly inconvenient for me right now, but I'm going to go out into the jungle with you, collect some stupid mushrooms in the dark, and come back to make more medicine for you. But first you gotta just- chill out here for a minute while I t- while I grab my stuff. Okay?"

"Yeah," Marc says, sounding just barely chastised enough as Dampierre whickers and stamps beneath him. "Uh. Yeah, Rilla, okay."

She sighs, then presses the door firmly closed so she can gather herself for a moment before she darts to the exam room. Arum is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the door as she enters, and Damien is carefully placed at the opposite end of the room leaning against a counter until he sees her enter, at which point he straightens up again.

"You're leaving? " Arum asks before she can say a word, and Damien stumbles as he crosses the room.

"What?!"

"That is what she just told the loud one at the door," he growls, gesturing towards her with narrowed eyes.

"Rilla you can't possibly-"

"I really can possibly, Damien," she says, grabbing a pair of work gloves from the counter and then coming close enough to grab Damien's hands tight. "Marc needs that medicine and it won't work without the ingredient I'm missing. It'll probably only be a few hours, I know where they usually grow, but it's a bit of a walk."

"But Rilla, surely- if you are venturing into the jungle then I must accompany-"

"I'll be fine, Damien, Marc and I can handle anything that happens. And I-" she squeezes his hands, winces. "I need you here a lot more."

"Here? But-" he looks towards Arum, and then they both look away.

"You realize that I do not require moment-by-moment babysitting, Amaryllis," Arum snarls.

"Precisely, and I-"

"Damien, I really don't want to have to deal with you and Marc fighting while I'm already stressed out about making sure he gets his next pill before his last one wears off," she admits in a rush, and Damien winces. "Please, please just stay here, don't fight for like, just a few hours, I promise, and- and everything will be fine. Just keep an eye on the stew and bring him a bowl when it's done, okay? That's your one job. Just that, and not fighting. And preferably not freaking out, either. Can you do that for me, Damien? Please?"

He wilts, just a little, his eyes going soft and his hands pulling her close enough that he can press a kiss to her temple. "Of course. Of course I can. Such small favors you ask of me, my love," he says, very lightly, and she laughs. "Of course. I should be used to the urgency with which your brilliance is needed, by now."

She breathes a laugh, then kisses his cheek before she pulls back from his hands, eying Arum (his own eyes carefully turned away from the both of them again). "You too, okay?"

"Me too, what, precisely?" he mutters. "I will not be going anywhere, and so long as the little songbird does not shoot me I cannot imagine I would have any way of coming to harm."

Damien scowls, but Rilla steps a bit closer to the monster, reaching out to tap the tip of his snout lightly, making him blink and hiss lightly in response.

"A couple hours. Just be nice, for Saints' sake. Or-" she laughs. "For my sake, at least."

Arum frowns (or pouts, more accurately), but something about the way his lip twitches makes her think he's trying to clamp down on a smile, and that makes her feel a little better about this whole thing when she returns to the door.

"Don't have too much fun without me," she says, and as they both splutter she closes the door behind her.

[->]

#elle's fanfic #scattered on my shore #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #amaryllis of exile #lord arum #sir damien #[other character tag redacted]

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flowerfan2 · 5 years ago

Text

Affinity - Ch. 10 (10.10)

McDanno, A03, 10.10

Summary: A continuous story of season 10 episode codas. Steve may describe their relationship as a dysfunctional marriage, but at some point, will he and Danny take a closer look at what it really could be? (The answer is yes).

Author’s note - this episode didn’t give us much (any) McDanno, so please enjoy this little domestic scene...

Chapter 10

Steve opens the door to his house and steps inside, feeling his shoulders relax. There’s music coming from the kitchen, and he grins a little to himself as he leaves his shoes at the door and goes to find Danny.

He pauses for a moment at the doorway, watching Danny sway his hips to the beat of what sounds like a Paul Simon song from the 80’s.

“Hey, babe,” Danny says, noticing him, and dances over to drop a kiss on his cheek. “You made good time. Dinner’s almost ready.” He waves towards the fridge with the spoon in his hand. “Why don’t you get out some beers.”

It’s been a long day, and Steve is all too happy to oblige. He opens a beer for Danny, takes a long swig of it himself first, and then sidles over next to him. Danny’s stirring something aromatic in a pan on the stove. Steve leans over, fingers darting out to grab a taste.

“Stop that,” Danny says, pushing Steve’s hand out of the way. “Animal. I said it’ll be done in a minute. Go wash up.”

Danny’s such a dad sometimes, Steve thinks. He kind of loves it.

By the time Steve has washed his face and hands and changed into a clean t-shirt, Danny has turned off the music and is bringing the food out to the table. He sets the frying pan carefully on a green and blue quilted potholder – something Grace made years ago that managed to find its way to Steve’s house. Plates and silverware are already laid out, so Steve sits down and lets Danny serve him the fragrant stir-fry and a scoop of brown rice.

“This looks wonderful,” Steve says, his mouth already salivating. “Thanks.”

“Szechuan style,” Danny says. “It’s a little spicy. I added extra chiles. Might have gone a bit too far.”

Steve takes a bite of the gleaming combination of chicken, peppers and onions, and feels his sinuses tingle. “No, it’s great, I like it.”

Steve spears a particularly nice looking piece of red pepper from Danny’s plate, for no real reason at all, and Danny mock glares at him while he chews.

“Your table manners leave something to be desired,” Danny scolds, and Steve just smirks and knocks his elbow against Danny’s.

“Guess I’d better get used to chicken and veggies, huh,” Steve says after a few more bites. He knows this dinner is a result of his doctor’s instructions to change his diet. As delicious as it is, it’s a marked change from their usual fare of grilled meats, cheese-filled Italian specialties, and take-out.

“Not just chicken,” Danny says mildly. “Fish is healthy too.”

Steve frowns. “It sticks to the grill, and falls apart.”

“That’s because you refuse to listen to me. If you put in a grill basket, that wouldn’t happen.”

“If you use a basket, then it just sticks to the basket.”

“Not if you grease the basket with a little olive oil, like I showed you.” Danny pushes at Steve’s shoulder, and Steve goes along with it, rocking in his seat. “Stop pouting. You can still have steak sometimes. Your doctor didn’t say never, right?”

“True.” Steve sighs. “It’s just one more thing.” One more sign that he’s not the same guy he used to be.

“Yeah, I know. Better than the alternative, though, right?”

Danny’s in his 40’s too. At least they’re going through this together. It’s still depressing. “Quinn called me old today. And wouldn’t let me have a malasada.”

“Told you she was smart.”

“But you just said – it doesn’t mean never-”

Danny snorts. “You always tease me about eating them, why so eager for donuts now?”

“It’s principle of the thing.”

“Yeah, well, honestly, Steve, when you called me in a panic after your appointment this morning, I really didn’t think we were going to be discussing menus.” Danny’s tone has shifted; he’s not smiling any more. “It’s just food.”

Steve looks away, a tight feeling in his chest. He may have overreacted a bit. Given everything, needing to change his diet is relatively small potatoes, no pun intended. He glances up at Danny, who is frowning and picking at the label on his beer bottle. “You thought something else was wrong, when I called you after my appointment,” he finally says, acknowledging the cause of Danny’s concern.

“I did,” Danny says simply. “Next time I’m going to the doctor with you. My nerves can’t take this.”

Steve starts to protest, and then stops. He wouldn’t mind, actually, having someone there with him as he waits for the doctor to tell him if the radiation poisoning has finally caught up with him. It’s possible that the stress over what he feared he might learn at his appointment may have had something to do with his overblown reaction to the whole diet thing. “Okay, yeah. You should come next time.”

They clear the table in silence. Steve catches Danny around the waist as he sets the dishes in the sink, and presses a kiss to the side of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Danny says, turning to kiss Steve properly. It’s a good kiss, firm and with just the right tease of tongue, but Steve pulls back before it can get too involved.

“What’s wrong?” Danny asks.

“I’ve got to go back to the office. Duke wants to see me.”

Danny’s eyes widen. “It can’t wait until tomorrow? What’s going on?”

Steve shrugs. “Duke didn’t have a chance to fill me in.” He glances at his watch. “We’re meeting at nine at the palace.”

“That’s weird.” Danny grabs Steve’s hand and tugs him out of the kitchen. “We can chill for a while though, right? You look like you need a break.”

It’s true, just remembering that he has more work to do tonight has brought back that ache in his shoulders. Solving three murders in one day really should be enough.

They wind up on the couch, and before he knows it, Steve is curling into Danny, tucking his face against his partner’s chest. Danny strokes the back of Steve’s head with one hand, and wraps an arm around his shoulders. Steve lets himself focus on Danny, fills his senses with the warmth of his skin, the scratch of his scruff, the smell of soy sauce and spice on his breath.

“Don’t let me fall asleep,” Steve mumbles, and Danny’s chest vibrates under his cheek as he laughs softly.

“It’s okay, I’ll set an alarm.” Steve is shifted as Danny fumbles with his phone.

They resettle, Danny laying down on the couch, and Steve snuggling up alongside him. “I’m sorry,” Steve says again, too tired to do anything but hold on. The idea of making out sounds pleasant enough, but distant, and his head is too heavy to move anywhere in that direction.

“It’s really okay, babe,” Danny says. “I don’t know why you’re apologizing.” Danny lets out a long breath, stroking a hand along Steve’s side. “I love that you can be like this with me.”

Steve’s brain catches on this, trying to parse the meaning, and Danny must feel him tense because he quickly nuzzles a kiss against his hair.

“No, it’s good. Don’t think it’s a failing, for once, okay? It’s healthy for you to be vulnerable sometimes, to take some comfort.” Danny’s words are tentative, but no less sincere for it. “Most people need it, you know?”

“I’m not a kid,” Steve says reflexively. Babies need touch, but he is a grown-ass man, and he should be able to make it to the end of the day without collapsing on top of his best friend –slash– boyfriend.

There’s a pause, while Danny clearly thinks about what to say next. Steve’s not quite sure if they’re arguing. Usually their arguments involve a lot less cuddling.

“But this helps, right?” Danny says softly.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes out. “It does.” He can’t deny it. He won’t. He’s gone too long pretending he is happy on his own. He wants to let himself admit it, how much he treasures Danny and the care Danny shows him. He wants to believe it’s real.

“I’m glad it helps, babe.” Danny keeps his stroking Steve’s side, moving his hand up and down from his shoulder to his ribs, soothing the tension under his skin.

“Danny?” Steve asks, wanting to get this out, before he lets Danny’s movements lull him to sleep. It’s important that Danny knows.

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad too.”

#H50 #Hawaii Five-0 #McDanno #McDanno fic #Steve McGarrett #Danny Williams #my fic

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ladyanatui · 5 years ago

Text

The Seduction of Motomiya Daisuke, Ch. 6 *A Daiken Fic*

Daisuke’s friendship with Ken has always come easily. It’s the lusting after your best friend part that’s hard.

He just didn’t realize how hard until Ken starts acting weird.

Now, Daisuke isn’t sure how long he can handle his BFF and roommate’s sudden attentions. At least, not without potentially ruining a 12-year friendship.

AO3 | FF.Net

Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17

DAISUKE

Saturday, 2 a.m.

"Aaaahh…"

My eyes ache, but I force them open and eye the digital clock on the kitchen counter.

Fuck, it's only been an hour since I last looked at the time. Haven't done more than doze for the last few hours. Didn't even bother going to bed.

"Mmmmm…no, no…"

But Ken's having a nightmare, and even miserable and half-dead, I can't let him suffer. At least not alone.

I move on autopilot, staggering down the hallway, hand clutching the wall for support.

Ken's trembling when I crawl into his bed. Only when I wrap him in my arms and pull him tight against me, his face buried in my chest, do the spasms start to settle.

"Shhhh," I murmur, running my fingers through his silky hair, then down his back in slow deliberate motions. "It's okay now."

He shivers in my arms and presses closer.

I pull back enough to wipe away a couple tears glistening on his cheek and frown at how pink and puffy his eyes are—a sure sign he cried himself to sleep a few hours ago.

My eyes clamp shut; my jaw clenches. "I'm sorry." I'm not sure what exactly I fucked up and I know he's too out of it to hear the apology, but I'm sorry. "I never meant to make you cry."

I take a long breath and tuck his head under my chin. "Everything's okay, I promise. I'll make sure of it." My fingers rub circles down his back until his breathing evens out.

After that, I can finally relax.

Saturday, 7 a.m.

Thump, thump, thump…

A heart throbs deep through my ribs, and it takes a long moment to register it isn't mine. Admittedly, my heart beats to the same rhythm, so it's an easy mistake to make.

I inhale deeply and rub the sleep from my eyes. The world smells like jasmine and rose and sandalwood, and I would know that combination anywhere.

My eyes flash open.

Ken's head rests on my chest, an ear to my heart, his hand under my shirt, fingers grazing my ribs. His body clings to my side, one leg slung over mine.

I hold him tighter, enjoying the unabashed closeness. On the few nights we've shared a bed in the past, Ken has always been pressed firmly against the wall in the morning, as far out of reach as possible. If I woke up every morning with Ken snuggled up to me, I'm pretty sure I could die happy.

For now, nothing will prevent me from enjoying this moment.

My stomach grumbles.

Ugh, I guess I do require food. As much as I want to, I can't stay in bed forever.

Besides, who knows what kind of mood Ken will be in when he wakes up. He probably doesn't even know I'm here, and based on last night, I doubt he'd be too pleased to find me in his bed.

I close my eyes one last time, enjoying a final moment of cuddling before this has to end. Before I have to go back to the reality of being best friends and nothing more.

He releases a deep sigh—

And I take that as my cue to leave before he wakes up.

It takes some skillful maneuvers and finesse—meaning I fall on my ass and nearly drag the sheets and Ken down with me—before I can slip from the bedroom, and after a quick stop in the bathroom, I study the contents of our fridge and pantry.

Maybe if I make breakfast, he'll be in a better mood. He always likes it when I cook breakfast.

I turn on the radio and bounce around the kitchen, gathering ingredients. I start the rice and throw some chicken stock in a pot while chopping up the nori and tofu, then toss the nori in the simmering stock.

There's no sound from Ken's bedroom—odd in itself since he's usually up by now, even on the weekends—but when AKB48's latest single comes on, I twist the knob hard and dance around the kitchen, no longer concerned about the noise.

I shuffle from side to side while whipping together the egg, soy sauce, and mirin, then move on to prep the miso.

The steps and movements are simple, easy, memorized, and my eyes dart across the peninsula to where the living room is still a mess from last night.

Well, as messy as Ken ever allows it. Such a neat freak.

I frown as I study the vacant living room. The table is pushed to the side and the television is still pulled out to the middle of the room for easy viewing.

Honestly, I don't know what the hell happened last night. Or really any of yesterday. Why was Ken acting so weird? He kept switching from strangely, openly affectionate to more distant than normal, and I don't know how I'm supposed to make heads or tails of that.

Don't get me wrong, the guy can be moody as fuck, but yesterday was a special case. I just don't know why.

I slide the tofu and green onions into the broth and stir it together before leaving it to cook more, pausing by the counter.

My mouth tightens into a firm purse.

Something doesn't sit right. Like there's something obvious and important I'm missing, but I can't put my finger on it.

I heave a sigh and turn back to the food.

If it's important, I'll figure it out eventually.

The rice is done now, and I spoon it into bowls and stir in the egg mixture, then leave it to thicken. The miso soup should be about done too.

I pause to study the countertop, then begin to put away all the ingredients.

You know what's funny?

Last night, during that stupid movie neither of us paid attention to after the midway point, I used judo skills he taught me to get out of that painfully awkward mounted position, but Ken didn't use any grappling moves on me once. He definitely could have.

Judo was one of the few activities he continued after he was no longer the Kaiser. Yeah, he had to work his skill level back up to where it had been under the influence of the Dark Seed, but he did—or at least pretty damn close. And once he regained his confidence, he added jiu jitsu to his many talents.

What little I know is from watching all his matches like the amazing friend I am and from us goofing off. I kept getting pissed off when he won our every wrestling game, so he took it upon himself to teach me some throws and escapes. I managed to win a few after that, though I'm still convinced he was just stroking my ego.

His skill is far beyond my level, and we're both well aware of that fact. He could have escaped that mount easily, even with his hands pinned.

Wait.

That means he chose not to. Did he want me to hold him down like that, to straddle him? Why?

Unease settles in my stomach.

Because I can only come up with one reason:

He wanted me to kiss him.

I fan myself, suddenly overheated from working at the stove.

Okay, yeah, if that's not what he wanted, kissing him would've been a huge, awkward, embarrassing mess, but if it is…fuck, I missed a perfectly good opportunity to kiss Ken and I should be kicking myself.

I've liked him so long I stopped considering any of this possible. The idea that childhood celebrity Ichijouji Ken, even if he's been my best friend for years, could reciprocate my feelings is laughable.

But I don't feel like laughing anymore.

I close my eyes, hands clenched, and struggle to breathe.

"Motomi—"

I jump, suddenly grateful my hands are clamped on the counter's edge instead of holding any of the food.

Behind me, he hesitates, then says, "Daisuke, why is the music so loud?"

I turn my attention to the radio instead of Ken and move over to turn it down. At some point, the station switched songs, probably a few times, but I was far too inside my own head to notice.

"Sorry," I say when it's quieter, finally glancing over my shoulder.

On the opposite side of the peninsula, Ken leans against a nearby wall, heavy eyes watching me, his black hair mussed up on one side in a way that screams nothing short of fucking adorable. Or you know, adorably fuckable. Thankfully, he doesn't look angry or upset, but I'm not taking any chances.

I clear my throat and slide two bowls toward him. "I made breakfast."

He eyes them carefully, then scoots closer to examine the contents: one bowl of miso soup and one of tamago kake gohan. "Thank you," he murmurs, not meeting my gaze, but he accepts the chopsticks and soup spoon with a soft smile and sits on the stool there. He looks oddly peaceful.

I stay in the kitchen while I eat, keeping the distance between us.

For a while, we eat in silence, both picking at the food. Ken always eats slowly, especially in the morning, but I still can't quiet my mind—all I can think are the words kiss and Ken over and over. God, if I keep this up, my brain is going to explode.

Ken takes a quiet spoonful of his miso, then assesses me with freakishly piercing eyes. "You alright, Motomiya? You look shaken."

My reaction is somewhere between shrugging and shaking my head. Yeah, that's real fucking convincing.

But he doesn't push the matter. "Are you still going to show me how to cook today?"

I pause mid-bite, having completely forgotten. "Uh, yeah, sure. We need to go shopping then."

He nods and offers me one of those perfectly sweet Ken smiles that's made me think I'm having a heart attack on multiple occasions.

There aren't many people who earn that particular smile, and like always, I'm honored and pleased to be one of the select few. But unlike every other time, my brain is now going to spend the next twenty minutes dissecting what exactly that smile means.

#digimon #fanfiction #daiken #daisuke motomiya #ken ichijouji #digimon 02 #fanfic #digimon fanfiction #digi fic #my fanfiction #seduction of motomiya daisuke #anatui #anatui writes

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