#don’t know why i drew him like this for such an occasion but oh well

[star-suh]

Movie Night and We’re Not Watching the Movie but is Still a Movie Night

Seok Matthew x Male Reader

cw: dom top matthew, degradation, sweat, spit, bareback, hole slapping, fingering, rimjob, facesitting, breeding, feminization, chest play, musk kink, impregnation kink.

an: if i took a shot every time i wrote matthew/matt in this fic i would’ve already died of an ethylic coma or wtv that’s called.

—

matthew is hosting a movie night with all his friends, they were planning to watch a horror movie, after all halloween is just weeks away. due to some inconveniences only yn showed up at the front door of matthew’s apartment. “did i come too early?” an oblivious yn asks, “not really, the others have to stay in their jobs or do some other important things.. so it’s just you and me tonight”. “ok” yn step inside the other’s house and plop himself down on the coach in front of the big tv waiting for matthew to arrive with food and drinks.

“no no no no don’t go there!!” yelled yn grabbing matthew’s arm as if it was some mystic shield to protect him from the evil spirits of the movie. this action drew a smile from matthew who kept on eating the popcorn. “you are a scaredy cat, why did you even accept a horror movie if you don’t like them?” matthew blurted out, receiving a punch from the aforementioned, “horror movies are best if you watch them in company” and as he finishes his phrase a loud bang was heard on the house causing both men to jump in surprise and hug each other in fear, “what was that?” yn questions, “i don’t know” matthew answers, “let’s find it out” he adds.

after walking around the living room in tippy toes they find out what the sound was, the ac just broke and stopped working, “oh my god. not now please” matthew hit the device multiple times hoping that it could go back to work again, “matthew it's no use in doing that. you have to wait tomorrow so the technician could come and fix it” yn says grabbing matt’s shoulder.

they decided to watch the movie till the end but the heat was getting uncomfortable, “is night now but it's still hot, what the hell” yn spoke, fanning himself with his hand. “yeah” matthew did the same but with his tank top, “is so annoying” immediately afterwards he gets rid of the piece of clothing, remaining shirtless on the sofa besides yn while using the clothing to cool himself down a bit. this took yn by surprise who couldn't help to glance at certain occasions at the other’s sculpted body. his big sweaty arms touching his, his sweaty tits sitting pretty there and his toned abs with beads of sweat rolling down to his crotch area. “fuck” matthew says out of nowhere, clearly annoyed, “this fucking hot is getting on my fucking nerves”. “woah buddy what was that, angry much?” yn says. “shut up, i don't like being all sweaty and sticky” matthew wipes the sweat off of his forehead and slicks back his hair so it won't stick on the already wiped out surface. “you look sexy tho” seconds later yn realized what he just said when matthew looked directly into his eyes, “did i say that out loud?” he asks, embarrassment present in his tone. matthew just nods, “oh” is the only thing that comes out of his mouth.

“well, who would've thought you were a slut yn” matthew says, breaking eye contact and looking towards the screen, “what?” something inside yn lits up, why did he like being called a slut? is it because such a hot man said it?. “we're here watching a movie and enduring this heat and the only thing that crosses your mind is my body. you're a slut” he remarks. “well damn, sorry for speaking my mind” he replied turning his head to the side to not look at matthew, “you know what's the worst?” the other guy asks, grabbing yn by the chin and turning his head so they can make eye contact again, “you liked it. i saw your blushed cheeks. you can deny it but your body is betraying you” matthew gently pats yn’s bulge with his index finger “didn't know you were into that. slut” he whispered that last word near yn’s ear. god, yn swear he could've cum right at the spot by just that word, seeing this side of matthew lit a fire inside yn, something that till now only matthew has been capable of doing.

“what the” yn mutters embarrassed, “ma-matthew wait it’s not what it looks like”. “cut it. i know what you are” matthew sexily cups one of his tits with his hands “and i know what you deserve”.

matthew was the first one to attack, latching his lips on yn’s, kissing him passionately, with hunger, his tongue dominating the other’s, saliva spilling out of their mouths. the messiest kiss they probably had in their lives. “matt-” yn tried to stop him but he couldn’t, his cheeks painted in a bright pink hue. “what happened to the whore of before? too much to handle?” matt questions, “typical sluts, they go out whoring themselves out but when they finally get some dick they back out like pussies” . after that matthew puts his middle and index finger on the other’s mouth, “be a good bitchboy and lick them good” meanwhile he starts to undress him by ripping his shirt and pulling out his shorts and underwear, “slutty body” he murmurs. yn gagged on matthew’s fingers, tears pooling on his eyes. he then pulls them out and yn coughs, the top lifts up the underwear barely so the bottom’s hole is uncovered, “let’s make this pussy slick”.

he firstly caresses around the ring of muscles covering in yn’s saliva, then puts the middle finger right on the hole, slapping it lightly and gently, “mmm warm pussy” he licks and smacks his lips. the first digit entered yn’s back entrance, “hngh ahhh” yn moaned, matthew brushed his lips against yn’s, the latter opened his mouth to kiss the other but matthew didn’t comply, he only teased and then put the second digit inside. “matthew too much” yn drooled, “pfft” the top replied “weak whore”, he grabbed yn by the back of his neck and pushed him against his tits, “suck them, and lick all the sweat off of them”. while yn licked those pretty manly tits matthew keeps fingering him with now 4 fingers inside. both moaned in unison, the pleasure being immeasurable already. next, matthew leaned on the coach while yn lowered himself slowly, sitting on his face. his already fingered hole clenching right away when it feels the top’s tongue barely touching it, “sensitive already?” matt laughs.

with his strong sweaty arms around yn’s hips, matthew guided him to ride his tongue, pushing him up and down with threads of saliva connecting his mouth to the other’s hole. tasting that warm sweaty pussy, “mhn i love this”,the room echoing with sloppy, gushy sounds. when yn goes up, matthew rubs his dilated hole and slap it harshly and when he goes down, the top’s tongue enters completely past the rim and wriggles inside, sending waves of pleasure throughout yn’s whole body.

yn has now completely given into pleasure and matthew’s domination, “who’s a bitchboy?” matt asks slapping the pink tip of his dick on yn’s puckered hole, “me, i’m a bitchboy” the bottom replies and is rewarded with matthew putting his dick inside all at once, “yeahh” they both say in unison, yn rolled his eyes back. “you like this, don’t you, needy cockwhore?”, the other nodded. matthew rams himself inside yn, not an ounce of pity nor concern on his thrusts. “how’s my sex toy doing, want more?” matt asks, “yes please” at this point yn looks like a gooner “look at you, all dumb over my cock”.

yn loved how verbal matthew was, degrading him left and right, calling him all types of names like pathetic slut, manwhore, cockslut, sex toy, human cumdump, all of them sounding like pretty words to yn, ringing in his ears like a beautiful melody. “i wonder if they all had made it to the movie night you would be acting like a manwhore too”, he pants, “because that’s what you would like right. being passed around by everyone, you wanna be their personal fleshlight?” each word was laced with venom, even a bit of jealousy deriving into hard thrusts that made yn’s ass recoil, his legs trembling and wiggling as if they were made of jelly, making him almost incapable of maintaining his position in all fours. their passionate encounter was the only thing in their minds that they forgot about the heat, the sofa was soaked in sweat, their bodies dripping on it. each thrust splashing some of the salty beads everywhere. yn turned around to face matthew and leaned on the coach, matthew spits in between his dick and yn’s hole resuming his thrust right away, “give me some of it” yn begs, “sure” a thick thread of spit falls down matthew’s mouth right on yn’s mouth, he swallows it and sticks his tongue out, asking for more. therefore they began to spit and swallow, matthew collects saliva inside his mouth then yn opens his mouth to receive it, matthew spats and yn swallows savoring it. sometimes matthew just spits on yn’s closed mouth and they shared a sloppy kiss, when their mouths separate strings of saliva falls down their chins and onto their bodies.

yn appreciates the top’s hot body drenched in sweat that consequently drips onto the bottom’s ass and his musky scent being spreaded in the air. it’s so manly, it feels intoxicating for yn, like a drug he’s not going to be able to forget anytime soon. matthew plunges his thumb alongside his shaft on yn’s ass, “i want to break this pussy yn, make you beg for my dick, beg me to put my loads inside you”, his hands snaking around yn’s neck “tell me you wanna be my cumdump” he presses lightly around it, cutting yn’s breath support making him feel lightheaded, “yeshh pleasseee” he slurred, cockdrunked. “fill me upp.. fill your whore up with all your cum.. make me pregnant”. that was matthew’s last straw, he couldn't contain himself anymore and with an almost beastly grunt he came inside, his ass contracting while he made sure to leave the last drop secured on the other’s abused walls, “i fed your pussy with my milk” he pants, “you better not waste it, i’ll be sure to pump more inside until you are fully knocked up” he touches his lower tummy. yn happily nods ”that’s the only purpose of your whore matt, to always carry your loads” yn stands up and massage his friend’s balls, “we should buy a plug so not a single drop escapes that loose pussy” matthew proposes “and we should finish the movie too” he adds, somehow embarrassed realizing how he acted. “i’m looking forward the next movie night” yn stands up and goes to the bathroom to clean himself a little, leaving a flustered matthew sitting on the couch with his dick getting hard again after seeing his cum sliding down yn’s legs.

[eggo-tistical]

happy birthday to the detective ever

[justnatoka]

Jealous? Nah.

David x GN! Reader

Word count: 872

Prompt: "OH you're jealous!"

David was in a particularly foul mood tonight. The cheery atmosphere of the boardwalk seemed to just flow by him without any effect, as if a dark cloud was hanging around him, shielding him from all the fun. The boys noticed it too. Their leader has been quiet for a while, chainsmoking one cigarette after another.

The more attentive among them – meaning Dwayne – quickly figured out what was going on. All he had to do was follow David’s gaze to where it has been fixated for a while. From where they stood, they had a perfect view of one of the vendors selling jewelry. And in front of that vendor were you and Michael.

You were talking away about one thing or another, picking up a bracelet and turning it around in your hand, all the while seemingly having no idea how Michael’s eyes were lingering on you. He was leaning towards you, taking in your words with attention, smiling every once in a while at something you said.

David wanted to bite someone. He tried to convince himself it was only his imagination, that there was no way Michael would be so bold as to go after his partner. He also didn’t believe that you would reciprocate if he did. Still, when you started laughing at something Michael said, the melodic sound travelling to them above the white noise of the boardwalk, something in David’s chest tightened aggressively. He didn’t even notice his hand was clenched into a fist until Marko addressed him.

“Hey, man, you okay?”

David blinked a few times, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling that was growing in his gut.

“Yeah, I’m good. Why?”

Marko hesitated for a moment.

“I don’t know, dude, you looked like you wanted to kill someone.”

David scoffed, and took a drag of his cigarette.

When they didn’t get any further response, the boys reluctantly settled into conversation once again, leaving their leader to sink back into his less than pleasant thoughts. He couldn’t help himself, his gaze wandering towards you. Then he almost crushed his pack of smokes as he saw Michael holding up a necklace between you, seemingly trying to decide how it would look on you, smiling warmly at you when he came to a favorable conclusion. David snuffed out his finished cigarette, and instantly ripped out the next one from the package with decidedly more force than needed. He was on the verge of getting up to go and break Michael’s hand.

That was the moment Paul decided to loudly voice his realization.

“OH you’re jealous!”

Silence fell over the group as they all stared at him. Dwayne wanted to bury his face in his hand. Sure, Paul could be surprisingly observant, even when he was high as a kite, it was something he had surprised them with on a number of occasions. However, he seemed to just fuck up the timing every single time.

“What?”

Paul sensed the warning tone in that single word. He shrunk under the intensity of David’s glare.

“I mean…,” he started hesitantly, “am I wrong?”

The accusation – and the possibility of it being right – didn’t sit well with David. He wasn’t the type to get jealous, he told himself. Why would he be? And especially at Michael? Ridiculous.

You slowed your steps as you approached the group, immediately sensing the tension in the air.

“What’s going on?”

Four heads whipped in your direction and you almost took a step back. You didn’t miss the tightness in David’s jaw before it was replaced with a much softer expression.

“Nothing, kitten, everything’s fine.” He held out his hand and you took it without hesitation, sighing in contentment as he drew you in close to his chest. “Did you find something you like?”

“As a matter of fact I did! Or more like Michael did,” you corrected yourself and David’s gaze darkened for a moment.

“Did he now?” He felt a smug satisfaction at the visible chills that ran down the boy’s spine as he glared at him over your head.

“Yes, and see? It looks like you.”

He dropped his gaze between the two of you and there, in the middle of your palm sat a small pendant in the shape of a bat on a simple silver chain. It had little yellow eyes, and the spiked up hair at the top of its head looked remarkably like his own. He blinked at it in silence for a few long seconds, and you seriously started to worry that he didn’t like it.

You yelped in surprise when he suddenly drew you into a hug. It was rare for him to show this much physical attention in public, so it took you a moment to realize what was actually happening before melting into his embrace, a knowing smile secretly stretching on your lips.

“Will you help me put it on?” you asked him after he finally broke away from you, his hands lingering on your hips.

“Of course.” The fondness in his eyes as he looked down at you filled your heart with giddy warmth. It confirmed that you chose wisely, because seeing him like this was worth everything, even a little jealous misunderstanding.

Tags: @stinkydove @pandemoniavenus

[biting-miguel-ohara]

Plaid Flannel Shirt - Logan Howlett x ftm!Reader

A/N: I drew a lot from my own struggles with dysphoria for this, which is why it’s a little more specific than my other fics. I hope it’s still relatable. Let me know if I missed any warnings

Written for this request

CW: clothing issues; Reader is implied to be smaller than Logan; gender euphoria mentions; clothes stealing/sharing; cuddling; Logan smokes cigars in this; Reader is called handsome several times; language; praise kink; explicit sexual content; smut; grinding; Reader’s parts are referred to as dick and hole; dirty talk; mentioned mirror sex; manhandling; mentioned multiple rounds; mentioned nudity; maybe ooc Logan

673 words

It starts and ends with a shirt. One of Logan’s, to be exact.

You’ve always had an issue with clothes. They’re too tight, or too feminine, or too expensive. It’s always something with clothes.

So when you first steal the shirt from Logan’s closet, it’s a bit of a deal. Until you put it on.

Standing there, in front of the mirror, gazing at yourself in Logan’s shirt, you look a bit silly. Silly, but not feminine.

It’s something about the drape of the shirt. The particular shadows of the fabric. Something about the shirt. But it’s perfect.

You look like a guy. You are one, you know this. But you finally look like one.

That’s how the whole shirt stealing starts.

Logan seems to find it cute. At the very least, he doesn’t stop you. In fact, you’re pretty sure he’s left his room open on multiple occasions right during the times when you stop by to steal his shirts.

Whatever his reasoning is, he seems content with what you’re doing.

So when he asks about your reason for doing it one day, you don’t think anything of it.

The two of you are cuddling in his room. Door shut, window open so he can smoke in peace. He’s on his second cigar and you’re all content and happy.

“You like wearing my shirts, huh?” He plucks at the fabric of the plaid flannel you’re wearing. It’s his, of course.

“Mhmm.” You don’t open your eyes, head resting on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, low and steady.

“Any particular reason why?”

“They make me feel good,” you mumble. “Like a man. All rugged and fierce.”

He chuckles quietly. “They make you feel like a man?”

“Mhmm.”

He hums thoughtfully. “You look good in them. Handsome and shit.”

Your face heats up. Sure, he’s complimented you before, but he’s never directly called you handsome.

You lift your head, resting your chin on his chest. “Say it again?”

“Say what again?” He glances down at you, taking a hit from his cigar.

“That I’m handsome.”

He studies you for a moment, then smirks. He leans closer. “You’re the handsomest goddamn man I’ve ever met.”

It goes straight to your dick, sending heat flooding throughout your body. Like a shot of pure lust.

“Again?” Your voice comes out raspy.

He chuckles and stubs out his cigar. He pulls you up, kissing you firmly on the lips as he guides you on top of him.

“My handsome. Fucking. Man.” He punctuates his words with kisses, sliding his hands down to your hips. “Thought I was dreaming when I first saw you. So sexy and fine as hell.”

You moan into his mouth, shifting to grind against his hardening cock. You’re ridiculously wet, just from his words.

He nips at your lower lip, thrusting up against you as well. “And then you, fuck, go walking around in my shirts. Making me go wild. Can’t tell you how many times I had to excuse myself ‘cause you looked so goddamn hot.”

You smother him in kisses, sliding your hands into his hair. You lick into his mouth, tracing his teeth with your tongue as you practically hump his dick. “Logan…!”

“I got you, handsome.” He groans back, rocking up into you. “Gonna fuck you so good after this. Stuff that delicious fucking hole of yours so full you can’t breathe. Maybe even do it in front of the mirror, so you can see how fucking handsome you really are.”

It’s enough to send you toppling over the edge, and oh do you cum hard. You fist your hands in his hair, crying out his name as white hot pleasure seeps into your bones.

Logan gives you one moment before pulling you up into his arms. To manhandle you into place so he can fuck you like he wants. He makes good on his promises, fucking you twice on the bed and once in front of the mirror.

The only piece of clothing you have on? His plaid flannel shirt.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Malleus, Deuce: Like Mother, Like Son

BRO'S STILL MAKING THE "ARE YOU LOST BBY GHORL" FACE … Malleus’s birthday hits different knowing what I know now 💀 ALSO THE FACT THAT DEUCE SAID "THAT" ABOUT MALEFICENT VS THE HUMANS IS... (trying to keep this wording vague so as to not spoil people who haven’t gotten there yet)

It’s nice to see Malleus and Deuce in the vignettes, I feel like they don’t get to interact that much (which is a shame because I think their dynamic is cute). They had a chapter together in the manga anthology too! I’m glad they could hang out some more.

A Tale as Old as Time.

The princess and her prince were picture perfect in the painting.

The woman, with golden curls that tumbled down her back. Her cerulean gown spilled to the polished floors like a fabric waterfall, the tiara in her hair catching the soft evening light. She gazed up at her lover's warm, twinkling eyes, and smiled.

The man, brunette, locks falling loosely across his forehead. He was handsome in a red tunic with a high black collar, a crimson cape billowing out behind him with each step he took. His gaze was locked with the princess's, his one and only.

Onlookers gathered in a ring around the two, spellbound by how they danced, bodies twinning like threads bound together. It was something precious they dared not disturb, even their breaths clutched like pearls to prevent their escape.

This was happily ever after, a dream come true.

It should have been.

Yet Malleus frowned. His brows drew together and his mouth pursed, a brewing storm settling over his face.

“Draconia-senpai?” Deuce called to him anxiously. “I-Is something wrong? You look a little scary…”

The first year glanced at the portrait of the royal couple. He jumped. “D-Don’t tell me, did this painting piss you off?! Er, I mean... Did it offend you?"

“No, nothing of the sort,” Malleus replied. He rested an index finger against his chin. “It sparked memories of my own days in court. As the crown prince to the Briar Valley, it goes without saying that I've attended a number of occasions similar to what is depicted here."

"Oh, for real? That makes sense, you being royalty and all. What were those events like?"

"Most are rather solemn affairs. Grandmother, the senators, and other politicians gather to discuss diplomacy, trade, and national policies. For certain occasions, there are traditional rituals that must first be performed. A royal birth, for example, must be blessed before the festivities can commence. If it is a knighting, then all the royal guard shall be present and a speech of one's accomplishments read."

Deuce blinked a few times, as though shedding sleepiness. His mind struggled to grasp the enormity of a prince's duties. He dropped the smartest sounding response he could: "That sounds tough."

Malleus lips slightly lifted. "I do not mind it. There is pride to be had in conducting such work."

I don't have a reason to doubt what he's saying, but... Deuce clenched his fists at his sides. If Draconia-senpai really feels that way, why does he still seem so pained?

The fairy drew out a sigh, as if dissatisfied with the silence. "... Ah, but how strange. When I look upon this painting, I see many people present... yet the princess touched by diurnal fae and her prince take no notice of them. They have eyes only for each other."

His words were velvet-lined, soft on the ears. Beneath them, a pang of longing rose like a fine mist at daybreak.

"What must it feel like to be so beloved?" Malleus wondered. "To have someone who considers you the most special being in all the world?"

Vines twisted in his gut, thorns prickling his insides. Frustration and molten discontent pooled. For all the power that he wielded, he failed to attain such a basic thing.

Love.

"Do you understand such a feeling, Spade?" The inquiry was pure acid.

"H-Huh, me?!" Deuce startled, not prepared for the demand in Malleus's voice. "Well... uh, I guess my mom calls me her big, strong man. Does that count?"

Malleus's brow furrowed. "I'm afraid I don't follow. Is it customary for children of man to refer to their offspring as 'big, strong men'?"

"I think that's just my mom's thing." He shrugged. "I'm the only man in the house, so I try to help her out if I can. She jokes about it when I do."

Malleus made a face. It was difficult to discern the emotion he wore.

"Moms, right?" Deuce gave a nervous laugh. "They can be embarrassing, but they care about us a lot."

"I never knew my mother."

"... Oh." A rock dropped in Deuce's stomach. He hurried for an apology as dread rippled through him. "Shit, my bad! I didn't mean to..."

Malleus held up a hand in an elegant dismissal. "Be at ease. I harbor no anger."

There was no point, he told himself, in rage expressed for a woman he had no bond with. Her face, her voice--they were all a mystery to him. She was but a stranger adrift in an abyss.

Still, a part of him sparked at the thought of her, of someone he had yet to meet--would never meet. The thrill of fates closely intertwined, the tenderness of a parent's love.

Malleus went quiet, lowering his hand.

"Grandmother and Lilia have done their utmost to mentor me in her stead." He sounded hollow, insistent. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was Deuce.

The Heartslabyul student swallowed. He placed a firm hand on Malleus's arm and squeezed. "... It's not enough, is it?"

He received no answer.

“Your mom is thinking of you, wherever she is.”

Malleus pulled away, presenting his back to Deuce. "Dead fae do not tell tales," he said simply.

“That doesn’t mean she loved you any less,” Deuce stubbornly protested. “Right up until her last breath… she must have been so happy to have you, thinking about what kind of person you’d grow up to be.”

Dreaming of the day when she can, at last, meet you.

Blink, and his eyes were wet. Blink again, and his vision blurred. Heartbeat hot and quick, galloping upon coals.

Did my mother truly…?

“She’d be damn proud of you too.” Deuce flashed a wicked grin. “Believe me.”

“… Hah.” Malleus chuckled dryly.

The longer he considered it, the more appealing the idea became.

A woman in his likeness—or was he made in hers? Papery kisses, fond embraces, words of affirmation. Fire that burned strongly, warding off the darkness.

Wouldn’t that be something?

"I love you, Malleus," whispered that she-phantom. Sweet nothings that sated his starved soul. "Forever and always. My dear son, my pride and joy."

The carefully constructed stone fortress around his heart faltered. His desire burned like a falling star.

He took a breath, and fell from the heavens with his wish.

“Thank you, Spade.”

Just for this moment, let me walk once upon a dream.

A single tear slipped down Malleus’s cheek.

And what a wonderful dream it was.

[skitskatdacat63]

Happy One Year Anniversary to Boy King AU!!!! 🎉

Okay wait before I start talking, look at these close ups and the process!! Aren't they so beautiful aaaahhhh

Wow, can you believe it’s really been a whole entire year since my very first post about this AU? Well technically I first started talking about the statuette a day earlier, but the very first sketch was exactly a year ago!! Let us not forget the incredibly prophetic tag on that post: “also in the sense of this au i think the only ship that would work(historically accurate wise) is Vettonso.” Who knew that after that my entire life would devolve into vettonso, this specific period of history, and the lovely combo which is Boy King AU. Also wow this means it’s taken me almost a whole entire year to actually draw a joint portrait of them hahaha. I drew this sketch around the beginning of the AU, but never finished it. It’s fine though because this one is a lot better, and I’m in love with it. Took me a year to draw a couple portrait, and took me almost a whole entire month to finish said piece. 

Okay let me explain this piece, which I am very obsessed with!!! I dragged the process out more than I usually would, but I’m glad, because it was so enjoyable. But also look at that fucking crown, no wonder this took almost a month. Usually I’d write like 50 paragraphs detailing the characterization. HOWEVER! I’ve spent over a month writing little bits of characterization, mostly for fun, but also in preparation for this very post. A lot of the earlier ones, I had this drawing in mind, thinking on how I could expand on the ideas I was drawing. Though there’s definitely some things I could still write about. I’ll probably continue to write more Lore a Days, but yeah, they basically amounted to this drawing where you can actually see the characterization I was talking about displayed. Anyways, here are the explanations of bits in the drawing:

First of all, this is some part of the long process of their wedding. Look at the married couple!! Look at their rings!!!

Okay, but why are there two, almost identical looking pieces?? Because look at their hands!! I talked a lot about how Fernando is the one to give out affection more easily, especially in public, where he knows he can easily fluster Seb. He’s acting all grumpy and out of it, I mean to be fair, it’s probably been such a long ceremony across weeks. But he notices Seb is out of it too, just better at keeping his smile (let’s be honest, even if he’s distracted, he’s super smug.) So Fernando catches him off guard by squeezing his hand. Before that, as you can see, Fernando is just resting his hand on Seb’s outstretched palm, like that one scene from Succession. Very: yes I’m getting married, but I’m not happy about it. The combination of Fernando refusing to even touch him more than lightly beforehand but now going full force, them being in public, and Seb already being distracted catches Seb so off guard he has to try to cover his blush with his fan. He thought Fernando was being super impolite, but now he’s the impolite one!! Getting all blushy and giggly over a simple display of affection, perhaps even ha-

So. Their crowns. Seb’s wearing the crown of Austria, because he is in fact only a king still! Also, because I really wanted to try drawing it after I wimped out of it before in this drawing. Fernando’s a king as well by the point, but the fact he’s wearing only a tiara-like hairpiece is to represent how much of an outsider he still is. At this moment, he’s just Seb’s wi- ,I mean husband, to all these guests. Of course this bitch wears a black veil instead of a white one, to signal that he’s mourning the loss of his autonomy and personhood. Don’t worry too much about his mental state though, considering he’s not depressed enough to be able to resist teasing Seb. 

The fan, oh my god. Back in this era, people would gift/make fans for basically any occasion. To symbolize an event, to celebrate something, to show a story, etc etc. I wish I could have drawn something more narrative, but I think the bull vs. horse is good enough. Also you can see those same symbols on the pendants they’re wearing!! I’m so happy when I can fit irl, modern stuff like that into these drawings, it feels so clever!!

It’s so funny, I wrote a lore a day from a prompt about what they’d be like when doing a joint portrait, while I was already almost through painting a dual portrait of my own! So I got to explain some stuff like their clothing colors and poses before I even posted this. I feel very coy about that still honestly. 

Hmmm what else? It feels so weird to not expand on the characterization, considering I already did it for myself weeks in advance. I can’t imagine what it’s like opening this read more, and seeing more than 10 in-text citations. Happy reading!!!

 Happy anniversary to  this wonderful, crazy AU that makes me download 500pg German papers about 18th century etiquette. I drew a couple pieces of fanart before this AU, but I definitely think it jumpstarted my insanity about drawing/making AUs, and literally is what made me insane about Vettonso in the first place. Remember, if I hadn’t learned about Joseph I/Charles VI, most of my blog probably wouldn’t exist in it's current form. Thank you if you’ve stuck around since the beginning, or if you’re even just learning about it now!! It’s so incredibly niche but I’ve had so much fun researching and building this world and these characterizations, and I hope you’ve enjoyed what I’ve made in the process. I hope I can draw/write many more things in the future. I think next, I’m gonna maybe open up requests. I’d like to try to either write ficlets or draw chibi comics about specific Lore a Day posts on request. I think that’d be a lot of fun, but also will probably kill me. We’ll see!! Anyways. PPlease enjoy this absolute labor of love, which is a result of a year’s worth of work.

[noforkingclue]

Hi I was wondering if you would be willing to do a NSFW billy butcher fic? Maybe the reader is teasing him or takes charge? You are an awesome writer!!!

Yes of course anon! I fucking love 'The Boys' and can't wait for series 4 :D

Hope you like the fic!

Title: Teasing

Warnings: nsfw

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

You folded your arms and leant against the doorframe. Butcher sat up in the bed and smirked at you. The duvet pooled around his waist and you resisted the urge to stare at his chest.

“Morning, love.” he said

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“You didn’t mind previously.”

“That was before you fucking left me.”

“Still pissed about that.”

You pushed yourself off the doorframe and stalked towards him.

“I leave for one night,” you said as you approached him, “and I come back to find you in my bed.”

“A pleasant surprise then.”

“Hardly,” you stopped at the foot of your bed, “you’re bad news William Butcher. People usually end up dead when you show up.”

“Maybe that’s why I left.”

“Oh,” you let out a humourless laugh, “you were being chivalrous for once and not just ditching the middle of the night? Is this another side of you I’m learning about against my will?”

“Do you want me to fuck off?”

You glanced to the side and saw his clothes dumped in the middle of the room. He could’ve at least folded them.

“I have no desire to see you naked,” you said, “besides, you’re a wanted man. I should call Mallory and let her know what I’ve found.”

“You sure you want to do that, love?”

You narrowed your eyes and sat down on the edge of the bed. Butcher’s smirk widened and he edged closer to you.

“I thought I told you not to call me that.” you said

“And what are you going to do about it.”

He reached forward and brushed your cheek with the back of his hand. You snatched his wrist and slammed it against the pillow beside his head. You were leaning over him and bent down so your nose was brushing against his. Butcher’s gaze dropped to your lips before flicking back up to your eyes. His other hand grazed against your waist and quickly you grabbed that one and slammed it next to his head. By now you were straddling him. You knew that he was stronger than you and could easily break free.

“This what you like, William?” you asked

“You tell me, love.”

You rested back and raised your eyebrows as you felt him against you. You tilted your head to the side and gave him a small smile. You rested your hips back and watched with satisfaction as he shuddered below you.

“I forgot how much you liked me being on top,” you said as you rocked your hips back and forth, “to give control over to someone else for a change.”

“Y/n.”

You squeezed his wrists and to your surprise he stayed in place. During your… relationship moments were surprisingly common. You had always guessed that it was because he liked the view of you above him. However, from the way he was bucking under you, you might have to change your reasoning.

“I wonder,” you asked as you slowed down your rocking, “if you still kept those handcuffs.”

“They… come in use,” Butcher drew in a shuddering breath, “on occasions.”

“Tying people to the bedposts?”

“Dealing with supes.”

Ah. He still had that vendetta then. You grimaced but Butcher had his eyes closed so he didn’t see your disapproving look. Not like he would’ve cared anyway. You stopped moving, feeling him throb against you. Butcher opened his eyes and glared at you. You smiled, smug that you were preventing his release.

“You know what I want before I give you what you want, William.” you said softly

“Y/n,” Butcher said through gritted teeth, “if you don’t fucking move I’ll-”

“Yes? You want to be inside of me?”

“Y/n-”

“You want to fuck me? Or for me to fuck you?”

“Y-”

“Then you know what I want.”

Butcher opened his eyes and you stilled. In a flash you were off of him and by the door. The duvet had fallen to the floor and you looked down and said,

“Have fun with your hand, William. I’ve got a call to Mallory to make. I doubt either of you will want to see each other like-”

You waved your hand and him and gave him a wink.

“Y/n,” Butcher said through gritted teeth, “get back here.”

“Hmm. Nope! Have fun!”

[third-arch]

No Surprises-A Trafalgar Law x Reader Fan Fiction

Quiescence Extras-Secret

sfw, fluff

You hum to yourself as you lean against the wall and draw. Occasionally, you liked drawing in rather unusual places. On one occasion, Bepo nearly tripped over you, because you were sprawled out in the middle of the hallway. Since then, your Captain has banned you from drawing in places “that block traffic”.

So, you decided to sit on the staircase leading to your Captain’s office. Not many of your crewmates used those stairs. The forecast was calling for cold weather soon, but you decided to take advantage of the peacefulness outside while you could.

(Humming)

Je te laisserai des mots

En-dessous de ta porte

En-dessous de les murs qui chantent

Tout près de la place où tes pieds passent

“...Hm, I really need to play that song for him,” you say to yourself. "I think he would really like it."

"Who would really like it?"

You notice your Captain turning around the corner and heading your way. You look back at your sketch pad and continue to draw.

"Captain! Sorry, I was just talking to myself. Was I too loud?"

"No, you're fine, and I could tell," he responds, softly looking at you.

Your Captain glances at your sketchbook as he climbs the stairs. "Kanna-ya, what are you drawing?"

You cover your sketchbook, "I can't show you!! It's a surprise, Captain-yaaa"

You scoot closer to the wall as your Captain sits down next to you. You both look at eachother. Your chest feels full of butterflies the longer you look at him. Up close, he was certainly handsome.

“Why not? You know I admire your art, Kanna-ya.”

Crud! Captain!!

“Sorry, Captain. It’s something personal to me! I'm just finishing up this drawing of a guy from my dream last night.”

Your Captain looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “Your dream? That’s so random.” he smirks.

Seeing his dimples caused you to blush. “It was just a nice dream, I suppose.”

“Well, listen. I have a couple of books that I want you to start reading for your training. Come find me in my office when you’re done and we can talk about them.”

You nod, “Also, Captain! I was thinking. Thank you for everything you’ve done. I know I don’t say it enough, but thank you.”

You frown into your lap, remembering your conversation with Corazon from last night. “I really do want to protect you. I want to stay by your side and help you all I can. And if it means reading those books, then I’ll do it.”

You tighten your grip on your sketchbook. “Sorry, I just really wanted to let you know.”

“You’re fine,” your Captain responds. He doesn’t really know what to say.

“Oi, why don’t you come into my office to draw? You’re gonna block traffic or get cold out here on the steps.”

“I like it here, though!”

Your Captain gently flicks the top of your head, causing you to jump.

“Hey! Not funny!” You turn and frown at him.

He then gently presses his index finger at the center of your forehead. “You know what else isn’t funny? The thought of you getting a cold. Just finish up that drawing and come in here.”

Your Captain pauses for a moment, “Also, just out of curiosity, have you drawn any of your crewmates? Or the Straw Hats at all?”

You shake your head, “Just you and Bepo, sir. The rest is just stuff I like. Oh wait,” you flip to a page and smile widely.

“Look! I drew Sanji!” You show your captain a drawing of Sanji, smoking and surrounded by butterflies.

“You can draw your crew, too. I’m sure they’d like that.”

“I know but I feel embarrassed. It’s a bit different for like Zoro and Sanji, but I’ll draw you if you ask, Captain!”

Your Captain looks alittle dejected by your answer,

"Jeez, fine. How about Luffy or

Captain Kid?" He says, crossing his arms.

"You mean Craptain Useless Mid?"

"Pfftt" Law laughs.

"DON'T TELL HIM I SAID THAT!!!"

You cover your face with your sketch pad to hide your embarrassment, “I’m sorry!”

"Oh, Kanna-ya...when Eustass-ya learns what you said..." he smirks.

"Captain!!” You laugh.

He bonks your head, "Silly-ya, I won't tell him. You're fine."

You smile warmly in response,

"Thanks Captain! I'll draw you something later!"

He ruffles your hair before walking back to his office. “Just remember to come find me when you’re done.”

—

After several minutes, you feel satisfied with your work.

"Alright, they're done!!"🤍

You pack up your art supplies and head up the stairs.

“Captain! I’m ready!!”

—

From a distance, Shachi and Penguin wait to hear their Captains’s office door open and close. They look at eachother and smirk. “He definitely likes her.”

Quiescence Extras-ONE doodles done by Reader-ya!!🤍🤍🤍

Song Credits:

Je te laisserai des mots (Patrick Watson, 2010)

[arda-ancalima]

A Study in Shuffling

Characters: Genshin Asogi, Yujin Mikotoba, Herlock Sholmes Words: 1,743

For TGAA Gen Week Day 1 - Dancing @tgaa-gen-week

(Update - edited version now on ao3!)

-

Genshin stepped back outside and took a moment to glance up at the stars. He wasn’t exactly pleased to get called to a crime scene tonight, but such was detective work. He wandered to the gate of 3 Lauriston Gardens, waiting for Inspector Gregson to return from an errand. A man with a similar silhouette approached in the dark, but to Genshin’s surprise, the man who stepped into the street light was Yujin Mikotoba.

“Ah! Good evening, Genshin,” he said politely.

Genshin raised an eyebrow. They were on the other side of London from the hospital where Mikotoba worked, and farther still from the flat he just moved into on Baker Street. “Good evening. I should inform you that this is a crime scene, so whatever business you have here will have to wait.”

“Oh, it—it’s nothing like that,” Mikotoba said, oddly nervous. “Actually, I was wondering if perhaps…”

Genshin cut him off. “One moment.” He stalked along the fence to the shadow attempting to creep in between the rails. “Mr. Sholmes.”

Sholmes snapped up his head and hit it on a rail, wincing. “Why, Mr. Asogi! Fancy meeting you here of all places!”

“I could say the same,” Genshin said dryly. “All right, on your way.”

“Of course.” Sholmes’ grin shone in the lamp light. “Just as soon as I’ve had a look at the crime scene.”

“No,” Genshin said firmly. He saw Mikotoba hovering nearby and put up a hand. “One moment, Yujin.”

“Oh, er, you see…” Mikotoba began.

“He’s with me,” Sholmes said.

“Ha!” Genshin barked. “I’m sure.”

“Tell him, Doctor.”

 “Lying will get you nowhere. Now quit bothering this man and—“

“Er, Genshin,” Mikotoba interrupted. “I am here with Mr. Sholmes.”

Genshin whipped around to stare at him. “What?” he said dumbly.

“This is my flatmate, Herlock Sholmes. Mr. Sholmes, this is my friend, Genshin Asogi.”

Sholmes extended his hand and Genshin automatically went to shake it. “Pleased to—no, I know who you are!” He snatched his hand away. “What do you mean, your flatmate?”

“I told you about that flatshare on Baker Street, right?” Mikotoba said.

Horror filled him. “You didn’t tell me he lived there!”

“I didn’t know you were acquainted.”

“This is all fascinating stuff,” Sholmes said, making it clear that he thought it was anything but. “However, we are on a rather tight schedule, so if we could just…”

“I thought I made it clear on several occasions that civilians, even amateur detectives such as yourself, are not allowed at any crime scene,” Genshin said.

Sholmes drew himself up to his full height, which was still a good few inches shorter than Genshin. “And just how is Scotland Yard coming along on this case?”

Narrowing his eyes, Genshin glared at him. They were going nowhere, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Sholmes.

“That’s what I thought,” Sholmes said, his smug look doubling Genshin’s irritation. “Anyway, I was invited by Inspector Gregson.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“Just ask the good doctor.”

Genshin raised an eyebrow at Mikotoba, who rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well…he was doing a lot of grumbling…and he did mention the address, so…could we take a quick look?”

Genshin couldn’t believe he was actually considering this. He gave an exasperated sigh. “Five minutes.”

“Splendid!” Sholmes said, climbing up over the fence and pumping Genshin’s hand. “You won’t be disappointed, my dear fellow!”

He went ahead into the house and up the stairs, while Mikotoba followed behind with Genshin.

“I’m used to Mr. Sholmes wheedling his way onto my crime scenes,” Genshin said, “But I still don’t understand why you are here.”

Mikotoba shrugged. “I’m not sure myself. But he invited me along, and I had nothing else to do.”

“I really must warn you against him,” Genshin said, lowering his voice. “Especially as a flatmate. The man is a nuisance, and possibly insane.”

“He seems a decent enough fellow,” Mikotoba said. “Eccentric perhaps, but from what I’ve seen, a brilliant man.”

“Listen, Yujin.” Genshin stopped on a landing. “You see the best in people, which is admirable, but can get you into trouble. I don’t want to see you get in over your head. You tend to get swept along in whatever someone asks of you.”

“Yes,” Mikotoba said with a faint smile. “Like how you and Seishiro bullied me into coming to Britain in the first place.” He took the last few steps ahead of Genshin.

Genshin sighed through his nose and stepped up to the door, nodding to the bobby guarding it, and went inside.

Sholmes took a quick look at the body in the middle of the room, before turning his attention to the walls. After he had scoured them, he gestured to the body. “Doctor, if you would.”

“What—me?” Mikotoba said.

“What is your professional opinion, as a medical examiner? It would be very useful to me,” Sholmes said.

“W-Well, I…I’ve only just begun studying post-mortem examinations, but…I’ll do what I can.” He crouched beside the body, carefully turning the head to get a better look at it. “He’s dead, that’s for certain…no signs of head trauma…” He picked up a hand. “No blood, no defensive wounds…erm…heart attack, perhaps?”

“Would it be a crime scene if it was a heart attack?”

“Oh, right, then…poison?”

“Excellent!” Sholmes snapped his fingers. “Now take a look at this marking on the wall and tell me what you make of it.”

Mikotoba jumped when Sholmes pointed it out. “Oh! There is blood! It looks like writing.”

“Rachel,” Genshin said dryly. It had been the most glaringly obvious clue in the room.

“Is that indeed what it says?” Sholmes turned his grin on him, and Genshin got a sinking feeling. “Scotland Yard is falling down on the job these days. This crime is completely transparent to me!”

Mikotoba gaped, and it needled Genshin to see him so impressed. “You—you’ve worked it all out?”

“All the clues are here, we need only put them together.” Sholmes pointed aloft. “It is time for Herlock Sholmes’s Logic and Reasoning Spectacular!”

Genshin groaned as the spotlight fell on Sholmes, who twirled around the room as if it were a stage and pointed to the red writing.

“Here we have a word written on the wall. What does it say?”

“That’s obvious,” Genshin said, his arms folded as he watched from the doorway. “Rachel, though he was interrupted before he could write the ‘L.’ I believe it to be the victim writing the name of his killer.”

“Rachel, is it?” Sholmes said. “Mikotoba, is there any other meaning it might have?”

“Well, this is a bit far-fetched,” Mikotoba said. “But I know a little German. It struck me that it might be ‘rache,’ the word for revenge.”

“Precisely!” Sholmes spun around again. “Don’t lose your time looking for Miss Rachel. The word is revenge, the motive for the murder, written…in tomato paste.”

“Er, Mr. Sholmes…” Mikotoba ventured. “Don’t you think that might be blood?”

“Indeed, it is blood!” Sholmes disappeared from the wall and reappeared near the body. “And just what is this revenge all about? Strange that it was written by the victim, don’t you think?”

Mikotoba said nothing, looking intently at the victim, thinking hard. Then something seemed to light up his face. “Hold it, Mr. Sholmes. That’s not it at all.”

He tapped out a few dance steps before tipping his hat stylishly. “The victim’s fingernails are perfectly clean and smooth. Since the word was scratched onto the wall with blood, it couldn’t possibly be the victim who wrote it.”

“And thus it concludes…” Sholmes spun so that he and Mikotoba could point out the solution together.

“Rache was written by the killer!”

They began work on another clue in the same manner while Genshin watched in astonishment. From time to time, Sholmes turned over the spotlight to Mikotoba, who danced as he explained his own deductions. He was light on his feet, suggesting a certain lightness of heart that had been absent in him for a long time.

Softening at the sight, Genshin almost missed Sholmes appearing behind him.

“Brilliant, isn’t he?”

Genshin chafed at the detective so close over his shoulder. “He is. You on the other hand…”

Sholmes laughed loudly and went off to twirl around the stage again.

Once their deductions were complete, Genshin, to his chagrin, had a much better understanding of the case.

“All right, your five minutes are more than up,” he growled.

“Not a problem at all, my dear fellow,” Sholmes said. “Our work here is finished. Do excuse me, I must fetch the victim’s missing suitcase in the back alley.”

He dashed down the stairs. Genshin and Mikotoba went back outside at a slower pace, waiting by the house while Sholmes conducted his search. Genshin sighed.

“Why don’t you like him?” Mikotoba asked.

“Why don’t I—why do you like him?”

“Well, it’s hard to explain, really.” Mikotoba looked out at the dark street where Sholmes had disappeared. “He fascinates me. Yes, he has some bothersome habits, but he’s the cleverest man I’ve ever met. It’s never a dull moment with him around.”

“Yes but, not being rude Yujin, you’re more of a dull man yourself.”

Mikotoba laughed, filling Genshin with warmth to hear the sound again. “Yes, well, good to keep the mind occupied, you know? I think I’ve had rather enough dreary days all to myself. You were the one telling me to get out more—”

“Not like this!”

“—And to make new friends—”

“Not like him!”

“Genshin…” Mikotoba faced him directly. “I know you’re trying to protect me. And I know you’re older and wiser and know better. But if I am making a mistake, I’m confident I can handle myself.”

If he was honest, Genshin would agree. It was possible Sholmes did have a good side to him, and if he could make Mikotoba laugh again… Well. It’s not like Genshin had much choice in what the detective made up his mind to do, and maybe if Sholmes had Mikotoba to civilize him, he would be less of a pest at his crime scenes.

“Tell me that when I bail the pair of you out of prison,” Genshin muttered.

Sholmes appeared out of the darkness holding a packing case. “Come, Doctor, the game is afoot!” he called.

Mikotoba chuckled. “I’m sure I will.” He wished him goodnight and followed along after Sholmes.

[sailtomarina]

A Winter Ball for Two

Draco x Hermione | @hp-yuletide-bliss Day 9: Winter ball | WC 2050 | Rating: T

She was enchanting.

Draco could at least admit that.

He might find his tongue tied up in knots, or find sudden, intense interest in the cracks of the castle walls wherever she drew near, but he could not deny that Hermione Granger looked like a winter fairy dressed and glowing as she was in the flickering light of the hundreds of candles floating above their heads.

The Great Hall was decked from corner to corner with its usual Christmas icing, but additional care had been taken to make the event feel extra special in light of the school’s inaugural Winter Ball, to be held annually after their Eighth and final year. The students had truly pulled out all of the stops with their eagerness to bring joy back to the haunted halls of their youth.

Granger spearheaded those efforts as Head Girl, delegating tasks to Professors, Prefects, and volunteers alike. Draco might have been spared if not for his best mate being her counterpart as Head Boy. Theo refused to let Draco hide himself away in his dorm room, or, on the rare occasion, the library. He’d found himself dragged to the Heads’ private rooms and pressured into providing any valuable input the sole child of Narcissa Malfoy could give. He’d grown up in the lap of luxury, after all. Organizing and attending balls were as natural to Draco as riding a broomstick.

He’d expected to be left alone with Theo in the common room, for Granger to avoid him like the plague that he was. He’d seen how others couldn’t help but stare at his arm, as if willing his mark to burn through the sleeve. 

She hadn’t done that.

Granger sat in with them most nights, curling up in an armchair, her armchair as Draco started to see it, cushioned by squishy pillows and swimming in a blanket large enough for a Quidditch team. She started plying them with treats and hot beverages, even going so far as to remember their likes and dislikes and supplying accordingly.

Knowing what she did of his family and home, and bearing the weights of their past, Granger was surprisingly curious about his experiences. She asked him about his family traditions, his most memorable gifts. His experiences growing up in the Malfoy household were much gentler than Theo’s, whose sole comfort had been his mother, one lost after her untimely death.

They, in turn, learned about her and, by default, Muggle traditions.

“I’m telling you, Granger, Father Christmas has to be a wizard. I mean, how could he not be? Fireplaces? Flying reindeer? Time manipulation?”

Theo had taken the opportunity to steal the witch’s chair when she’d gone for a tea refill, and she’d been forced to join Draco on the sofa to address his theory.

“Doesn’t it strike you as odd how entrenched he is in Muggle tradition? It makes me wonder just what kind of man he was–was he simply a philanthropist who wanted to bring joy to all children, Muggle and Magical, rich and poor, no matter their nationality or beliefs, or did he have some other underlying agenda?”

They’d gone on to argue over whether or not one wore pajamas to open Christmas presents–the only way Draco would ever concede would be if she showed up in crimson lingerie, otherwise clothing appropriate for pictures and visitors it was–as well as their expected courses at the dinner table. They both agreed Yorkshire pudding and redcurrant jelly were requirements, but Draco had put his foot down at her insistence that roast beef could be anywhere near the level of a perfectly prepared turkey.

“Why not both?” Theo mused.

“Shut it, Theo,” Draco snapped, “I don’t want to hear that from a wizard who eats his weight in sausage rolls every Christmas.”

Theo had merely winked, sending Granger into a fit of giggles.

“Oh, yes, Theo does love his sausages,” she managed to get out, before dissolving once more into laughter. Draco refused to acknowledge how cute he found the snorts that peppered her glee.

And now, here he was, lurking behind one of the many towering fir trees lining the Great Hall and attempting to blend into the foliage.

It hadn’t been difficult to avoid notice. Very few students, or even teachers, paid him much attention other than to glare or mutter insults. The sooner he could leave, the better. He wanted to be here as much as others did, which meant not at all.

“Why don’t you ask her to dance?”

Of course, Potter would find him.

Draco turned to face his long-time rival, taking in his relaxed stance, the bulkier form he’d built in his time since those days as Undesirable No. 1. Adulthood looked good on Potter.

“I’m surprised to see you here.” He ignored the question, choosing to redirect instead.

Bright green eyes flashed, and Draco couldn’t help but feel like he’d been easily read. Then, in a curious show of nerves, Potter bit his lip and looked off into the crowd.

“I couldn’t resist.”

Draco traced the line of sight. He saw Granger dancing with Theo, her head thrown back in a laugh, the graceful line of her neck bare and delicate. He searched for the expected fiery red hair of the Weaslette, only to find her far off to the right and decidedly not the target of Potter’s desire. So, who was he looking at?

A horrifying thought tickled the back of his mind.

Was he looking at Granger?

“Why don’t you ask her to dance?” he found himself asking the same question he’d dodged earlier. 

Had they found love during their lost year, despite Weasley’s presence? Had Draco stumbled across some sort of love triangle? Granger had never indicated her attachment to anyone, but Draco had assumed the obvious. How could anyone not fall for her in close proximity like they’d been?

“Doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose?” One thick, black brow rose in consideration as Potter stared straight at him, his arms now crossed over his chest. 

“What do you mean?” Draco was confused. Defeat the purpose of what? 

He nearly let his younger self sneer out an insult at the way those eyes rolled into Potter’s head.

“How can I spend any time with Theo if I’m dancing with Hermione?”

Wait, what?

Potter and…Theo? 

“No offense, but how? And when?” Draco asked, nearly sputtering in disbelief.

“Well, I’d have thought the intricacies of gay sex would lie outside of your particular interests, but if you really want–” He broke off with a laugh at Draco’s choked gasp. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself. You make it so easy sometimes, Malfoy.”

“I do not,” he muttered. He hated that Theo and Granger both said the exact same thing.

“I’d heard about how he helped last year here at the castle from Neville, the way he was there for the younger kids no matter their house or blood status. That couldn’t have been easy for someone with his background.”

That knowledge had surprised Draco, as well. He hadn’t been around last year, either, but it didn’t take long for Theo’s actions to make themselves known throughout their mutual circles. Theo’s father had been…less than pleased, but that hadn’t stopped his mate from doing whatever he could to help. Theo was a better man than Draco, by far.

“So when Hermione brought him around, I already had a good impression. After meeting him, though?” Potter’s face softened, his expression wistful as he glanced back towards the dance floor. “How could I not fall for him?”

Not only was he the Chosen One, the damn Savior of the Wizarding World, but he was every bit the sort of person Draco would have wanted for his closest friend. He was brave and, Draco could admit it now, kind.

One song ended, then another began, slower, sweeter. Draco summoned up every bit of courage he could find. There wasn’t much, but it was enough.

“Let’s go, Potter.”

Again with the arched brow. Then, a crooked smile, one Draco couldn’t help but reciprocate.

Within moments, he stood before her, sweat building at the nape of his neck. He resisted the urge to wipe his hands against his robes. She turned at his approach, her partner now also facing away towards Potter.

“Malfoy? Is there something wrong?”

Sweet Salazar.

Her skin was flushed in the heat of her movements, tiny curls spilling out of her updo and framing her face in a way that had him yearning to brush them back, to lean in and breathe in deep. Her chest rose and fell heavily, chestnut irises pierced through with flecks of gold staring up at him in question.

“Would you do me the honor of this dance?”

Curiosity melded into pleasure, her lips spreading wide to show off her perfect smile. He wanted to make her smile like that everyday.

“It would be my pleasure.”

She placed her hand in his, and he smoothly moved it up to his shoulder, stepping in close to sweep her up into his arms. It didn’t matter what song played, or whether or not she knew the steps–as far as he was concerned, there was nobody else but them. Hermione seemed just as caught in the moment as he, her face upturned and rosy lips parted as she traced his features like she meant to memorize the moment for the future. He knew he would.

She floated weightlessly in his embrace, her steps following him without hesitation. A raise of his arm and a spin had him admiring the silver-white twirl of her skirt around her slender legs. It didn’t matter what she wore, however. He still would have thought her just as enchanting were she in her favorite joggers, her mane tied up in a wand as it often was.

“You look beautiful.”

She blushed at the praise, eyes darting away for a split second like she couldn’t believe him.

“So do you.” Her head jerked back and eyes widened comically, and she hastened to correct herself. “I mean, you look handsome. Your robes, they bring out your eyes.”

He found it impressive that she could blush even deeper, and couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “I don’t mind ‘beautiful’, but you’re free to compliment me however you’d like.”

The hand that was resting on his shoulder came up to thwack him lightly on the back of the head.

“Ow!”

“That’s for teasing me,” she said with a scowl, but he could tell she didn’t really mean it. 

“As long as you don’t punch me in the nose again.” Could that have been the moment that she really caught his attention? Not her blood status, nor her annoying academic superiority, but her swift right hook?

Her head tilted one way, then the other. “I don’t think I will. I quite like your nose how it is.”

Well, in that case.

He brought his face down closer to her own, and she squeaked at the sudden nearness of him. 

Fucking adorable.

“Hermione?”

She stared unblinkingly back at him, as caught by the sound of her name on his lips as she was by his proximity. “Yes?” she whispered, so softly it was only his eyes on her lips that read the word.

“Would you let me take you out this weekend?”

“Out?” she echoed, still barely audible.

“Out. You. Me. A date.”

“A date?”

Had he broken her? She looked lost, like she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming. Maybe he’d read her all wrong, and the perceived closeness of the past weeks was nothing but his imagination. Perhaps his request blindsided her, coming from someone she only saw as a friend of a friend, or, worse, someone she barely tolerated.

The possibilities roared through his head and his movement slowed, no longer hearing the music. He wanted to leave. He should have left earlier, before Potter and his bloody bravery.

“I’m going to–”

“Yes.”

Strings and woodwinds roared back to full volume, laughter from the other dancers surrounding them as he returned to the ball. To Hermione. She looked up at him now, serious, expectant.

“Yes?”

Hope unfurled like the spreading warmth of a crackling fire as her lips turned upward and creases formed at the corners of her eyes.

“Yes.”

Cross-posted to Tumblr and AO3

Well, this certainly went a tad deeper than I had intended. I wasn’t planning on doing much backstory on their relationship, but couldn’t help myself with Theo in the mix. He’s such a darling, and I loved inserting a bit of him and Harry into the background.

[gripefroot]

Crooked Ways [17/22]

Bulma tried to remember another time when her life felt so full, and couldn’t. 

Sure, adventures had come and gone, just like friends had, but they’d been punctuated by periods of such boredom and inactivity that she couldn’t claim that the quiet life was really for her. She’d sampled it, enjoyed it, and discarded it. This was a thousand times better. 

Summer waned into autumn and then into winter. She was never bored. Between her projects and responsibilities at Capsule Corp and evenings (or mornings or afternoons or, on occasion, all of them) with Vegeta, Bulma finally felt the itching moroseness of being left behind start to fade. 

Too used to creeping around late at night when no one else was around, they’d been startled to be walked in on by Dr. Briefs one night while Bulma had been draped over the couch and Vegeta had been behind her, his hands gripping her hips while he worked a merciless rhythm. By benevolence (or his own embarrassment) her dad had said nothing but greeted them in a jaunty voice on his way to the kitchen. Vegeta had frozen, Bulma had squealed, and by the time Dad returned with a cup of water they’d been sitting on opposite ends of the couch with blankets pulled up to their chins and both red in the face. 

“Have a good night,” he’d said, and Bulma had only squawked in return. Vegeta had said nothing, and once they were alone again he covered his face with his hands to emit a long groan. 

“It’s fine,” she said immediately. “It’s fine. Nothing fazes Dad.” 

“Are you saying he’s happened upon you during lovemaking before?” Vegeta lifted his head to snap. 

“Of course not, don’t be silly,” Bulma snapped back. The frenzy of her near-orgasm had put her body on edge, and it wasn’t coming down well. 

“No? Yamcha never had to face your father after meeting his eye during interrupted sex?”

She didn’t know what to respond to in that statement first, and so she merely started to laugh hysterically, clutching the armrest of the couch and letting her blanket slip. “Oh, Vegeta,” she finally said, shaking her head. He eyed her warily from the opposite end, and that wouldn’t do, so she scooted down the cushions until they were pressed up against each other. In contrast to their earlier activities, he was as still as a statue, leaning away from her fingers crawling up his bare arm. “Did you really meet Dad’s eyes?” she asked first and with a smile. “Full on gaze? Inescapable?”

Vegeta sniffed. “Yes.” 

“Oh, my. No wonder you’re frazzled.”

He gave a grunt. 

“And secondly. Yamcha and I never did…anything like this.”

Silence followed that admission, but Bulma couldn’t figure out why since it wasn’t that exciting. But Vegeta’s brows knit together, studying her closely. 

“You never…coupled with him in a public space,” he said. 

“Or in a private space,” she clarified. 

“Tch.” He turned his head away. “That’s too bad. I would have liked to hunt Yamcha down and drape his entrails over my shoulders.”

Bulma’s fingers stopped, gripping his bicep in surprise. “Tell me that isn’t a Saiyan ritual as well,” she said faintly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not in love with Yamcha anymore, but that’s a gruesome way for anyone to go.” 

Vegeta angled his head enough so that she could see his teeth, bared in a smile. “No one alive can tell you if I’m lying. Will you believe me if I say it is?” 

“Oh, good grief.” She gave his chest a thump. “Let’s go to my room.” 

He agreed, but put his shorts back on only beneath the cover of a blanket. Well and truly traumatized, Bulma thought with amusement, but she liked that the blustering, arrogant Prince of all Saiyans could be embarrassed by such a simple accident. 

That night took a softer, sweeter turn once they were safely behind locked doors. As rough as Vegeta had been in the living room, this time he was lazy bringing her body back to a climax, his lips lingering in sensitive places and his own noises low and rumbling. He drew a kiss from her mouth while stroking her to orgasm, she held on for dear life, and when he spilled inside of her she would have sworn it was with her name on his lips. 

“Do you know,” Vegeta murmured later, when she was dozing off beside him and his fingers made trails up her arm. “If I had my tail, our coupling would be much more enjoyable for both of us.” 

Bulma stirred enough to peel her cheek from the pillow, blinking at his face. He did not appear as tired as she was, despite having taken the brunt of cardio activity during their lovemaking. “Why’s that?” she croaked. 

“I would wrap it around your waist.” To demonstrate, Vegeta looped his arm around her middle to drag her close to her chest, and she laughed. This gave him unfettered access to her neck, which he nuzzled playfully. 

This is what love is, Bulma thought dizzingly to herself, plunging her fingers into his hair while he gave a growl. It has to be. This is what it’s supposed to be. 

“It was like having an extra arm,” he went on. “I would use it to pry your legs apart.” 

“Oh? You don't think you could do that with a few pretty words?” 

Vegeta’s lips coasted over her cheeks. “Since when have we ever exchanged pretty words?”

He was right, of course, but the truth of it weighed heavily in her stomach. “I guess you’re right,” she sighed, and held him tighter. He didn’t try to wriggle away, didn’t freeze as he sometimes did when she showed affection. His lips merely rested on hers, urging them open to plunge a heart-stopping kiss into every corner of her mouth that Bulma felt all the way to her toes. 

Soon after that night, she completed the final version of the battle suit which Vegeta received with an unruffled, cool nod of approval. Bulma spent time in the training pod to watch him train in it, just to make sure no more changes were needed. By courtesy or something else he used weights on his arms and legs instead of the training bots, and she followed his every movement as much as her human eyes could. Every grunt of effort she felt echoed with yearning in her chest, his every focused frown made her tingle, and when he finally stopped to drift to the ground, eyes on her across the pod, she considered whether it was worth ripping the suit off of his body to have her way with him. 

“It’s better than the Frieza Force uniforms,” was all he said, shedding the weights. “I want to train with the robots, now.” 

“A compliment, Vegeta?” Bulma teased. 

Vegeta glared, a pristine version of the glares he handed out like a grandparent dishing out candy. Gruffly he said, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, woman.”

But the way he made love to her that night proved his compliment ten times over.

~

“Bulma! Come down here for a minute!” 

Lifting her goggles from her eyes, Bulma peered over the scaffolding to see Dad waving at her from the floor of the new interior training room, half-assembled but well on its way to surpassing the pod. 

“What’s going on?” Dropping her wrench into her belt, she put one foot on the ladder to head down. She needed more screws, anyway. 

Dr. Briefs said nothing, merely holding up a thick envelope that, once she was near enough, Bulma saw had her name written in elegant font. She took it, ignoring the smears of grease her fingers left on the paper to tear open. 

“Oh, gosh,” she murmured. She would have said “oh, no” if she wouldn’t feel guilty afterwards seeing Dad’s crestfallen expression. Forcing a smile, Bulma tucked the invitation back into the envelope to stick into her breast pocket. “Thanks, Dad. Sweet of you to hand deliver it.” 

“You’ll notice there’s a second ticket,” he said, bushy brows wagging slightly. “You can take your friend.” 

“My - who?”

“Vegeta, of course, darling.” 

Vegeta? Go to Capsule Corp’s annual end-of-year gala? Vegeta? In a tuxedo? Vegeta, making nice? Vegeta, sampling tiny hors d'oeuvres? Vegeta, dancing?

“Oh,” Bulma gave a titter of unconcerned laughter. “We’re not that type of friends.” 

“Are you sure? Based on what I saw - ”

“Oh! I needed those!” Cutting off Dad’s curious line of questioning, she dodged for a box of screws left haphazardly on top of debris. “Thanks again for the invite, Dad.” The box went under her arm, her feet already on the scaffolding to climb as fast as she could. She did not want anyone to see how red her face was. 

“Save a dance for me at the gala, darling.”

“Of course!” Bulma waved at her dad as soon as she was safely on top of the scaffolding. He waved back before closing the door behind him, and she could breathe again. Head drooping, fingers tightening on the box of screws. 

Another event she couldn’t say no to. As a child she’d begged to attend the Winter Gala with her parents and finally, when she’d turned eight, they’d allowed it. She’d had a dazzling custom dress made, her hair coiffed by her mother’s hairdresser, her first pair of high heels delivered in a shiny white box with a bow. The brilliant night, spent dancing on her father’s feet and eating bright cakes with frosting, had ended with her asleep in an armchair. Possibly one of her favorite occasions as a girl, but now…

Bulma wasn’t a little girl anymore. But sometimes she wondered if her parents still clung to that over-eager child. She continued to attend out of loyalty, though she’d been disillusioned with the boring adult conversation and simpering attendees long ago. 

Take Vegeta! She started to bubble with laughter, spilling out of her mouth as her feet swung over the side of the scaffolding, project momentarily forgotten. 

“You were talking about me.”

Startling, she grabbed a hold of the scaffolding before peering between the bars. An ominous figure stood in the doorway. She hadn’t even heard it open, but that only gave away the identity of her intruder. 

“What?” Bulma asked. The sight of sweat sheen on his biceps and his dark blue suit that left little to the imagination (she had a vivid imagination and first hand experience) made her tongue feel heavy and her heart fluttery.  

“I heard my name,” Vegeta said impatiently. He strode into the room. “What were you discussing?” 

“You’re welcome,” she told him, resting her chin on the bar to watch him stop several feet below her dangling boots, eyes narrowed suspiciously as he crossed his arms. “Dad suggested you attend the end of year gala at Capsule Corp and I turned him down for you.”

“Your company has more galas than inventions.”

“That’s not true!”

“Are you going to the gala?” Vegeta asked, ignoring her protest. 

“Of course.” 

“Then I’m going too.” 

Bulma’s mouth fell open. He surely didn’t mean - he wasn’t - 

“It seems to me that you’re in need of supervision at such events,” he went on, chin tilting up. “I will ensure that you don’t get yourself intoxicated and in trouble I might need to extract you from after the fact.” 

“So this is…a preventative measure?” 

“You may call it so.” 

A scoff escaped her. “Please, I was barely tipsy. And I didn’t get into any trouble.”

Even from her height she could see Vegeta’s brows arch in skepticism. “That’s no excuse to tempt fate,” he said. 

“You can just say you want to go to the party with me,” Bulma teased. “I promise I’m a good dancer.” 

“Tch. I can think of nothing I’d rather do less.” 

“Then don’t come.” 

“I will. Why do you search for alternative motivation than the one I gave you? You are impossible, woman.” 

“Takes one to know one,” she said, baffling Vegeta into a frown. She crooked a finger at him with a laugh. “Come up here and kiss me, you high-handed ape.” 

Without any visible effort or change in posture he drifted upwards. As he rose his frown softened, until when they were eye level Bulma swore he was trying not to smile. But he didn’t kiss her. Instead he asked, “How is my training room coming along?”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Kiss me and I’ll tell you.” 

“Has no one warned you about blackmailing a prince?” 

“No, but they didn’t warn me he’d eat all my snacks, either,” Bulma said. “I won’t resume working until you kiss me.”

Vegeta’s eyes rolled back in his head, a huff of indolent impatience making her smile. “Fine,” he muttered, and leaned forward for a hasty brush of the lips. Afterward he flew back a short distance, glancing over his shoulder at the door. 

“No one’s here but us,” she told him. 

His head slowly turned back. Now he definitely did smile, corners of his mouth tipping into a smirk that had her gripping the bars of the scaffolding more tightly. “I can lock the door,” he suggested, arms uncrossing. 

“We - no! We can’t have sex right now!” Bulma could have clapped a hand over her mouth for that outburst, her face flaming to life worse than it had when Dad had called Vegeta her friend.

Vegeta’s face contorted, clearly baffled. She hadn’t turned him down before. “If you say so,” he said finally with an indifferent shrug. He dropped a few inches, expression carefully neutral. 

“Are you going to ask why?” she called through the bars. He stared up at her. 

“You don’t like when I question you,” he stated. Bulma blinked. Despite their nearness - he could reach out and grasp her ankle if he wished - there might as well have been a gulf between them. In reality her refusal had a simple explanation, but if Vegeta wasn’t willing to hear it…

“That’s right,” she said, uncertainty making her voice sound wispy. 

Vegeta didn’t return to the floor, but he didn’t fly back up to her, either. Finally, after a few seconds that felt like years, Bulma admitted, 

“I would like to…lock the door. It’s just…it’s my time of the month.” 

He said nothing.

“You know…Aunt Flo is in town?” 

A twitch of his eyelids. 

“Riding the crimson wave?”

His mouth opened, then closed. “Are you referring to human menstruation?” he asked at last. 

Phew. “Yes!” she cried out, relieved that he wasn’t so ignorant. Maybe he learned it from the same websites where he’d learned to pleasure an earth woman. It still made her want to giggle when she thought about it. 

“What difference does that make?” Vegeta asked roughly. “If you want to have sex, why should it stop you?” 

“Because you think it’s gross!”

“When did I say that?” He shot back up until they were face-to-face again, temper lining his eyes. “Don’t put words in my mouth, woman!” 

“All men think it’s gross!” Bulma retorted. “Just because - even though you’re a Saiyan, you’re not that much different!” 

“I am different! I am far more powerful! And I do not think your body nor its functions are gross.” Nose-to-nose now, his breath hot on her face, she could barely breathe with the suddenness of this confrontation. And the odd stand Vegeta was taking. Of all the hills to die on…he picked strange ones, sometimes. 

“Well,” Bulma finally managed. “That was…romantic.”

“It’s not romantic! It’s the truth!” 

“Oh, pardon me.”

He glared, and she glared back. Wracking her mind, Bulma was sure that they’d had no real disagreement. She’d thought he’d be of one mind, he was sure he was of another. At the end of this, they were of similar opinion. And yet…

“Your training room is coming along nicely,” she said to break the oppressive silence. “I have a few more gravity sensors to install and after I hook them up to the computer system it’ll be time to test them.”

Vegeta gave a grunt, either in approval or indifference. His knuckles curled over the bar of scaffolding at her chest height, as if he had half a mind to climb up and join her. But he didn’t, and after a split-second where she couldn’t breathe, he released the bar. 

“Do I wear my training clothes to the gala?” he asked. 

“N - no. I’ll send your measurements along with mine to have outfits made.” 

“Are these outfits flexible enough for fighting?” 

“Vegeta!” Bulma threw her hands in the air. “We don’t get into fights at parties! We have fun!”

“Fighting is fun,” Vegeta retorted. “Fine. I won’t fight anyone.” 

“I hope that includes me,” she muttered, pulling her feet up from dangling. He stared, arms crossed over his chest once more. 

“It certainly does not, woman.”

“And I feel so special.”

“I’m returning to the pod to complete my training for today,” he told her. “I would like to see you in my bedroom afterwards.” 

“Oh, is this a disciplinary meeting?”

“Only if I’m still angry that you assume my feelings,” Vegeta said. Regret pinched her stomach; she’d thought her assumption was fair. Perhaps she couldn’t predict Vegeta as well as she thought. Not to mention his insistence to attend the gala…

It gave her a lot to think about after he left. 

[pastriibunz]

A GIRL, A GHOST, AND A GENERAL - EPISODE THREE: LESSONS IN BEING HUMAN

McNamara and Max, with their combined years of experience, try to teach Kai how to be human (a concept that, apparently, Kai doesn’t believe in).

Kai was a confusing creature.

She spoke more formally than any 17 year old McNamara and Max ever knew.

She was smart, clearly. A bright kid.

But she was clueless.

“So, wait, you guys willingly get into metal death traps, with other metal death traps speeding down what’s practically a lawless barren landscape?!” Kai questioned, terrified.

McNamara nodded. “That’s driving.”

“It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be.” Max said.

“HOW ARE YOU ALIVE?!” Kai shouted.

Max laughed. “You have no clue how life works, huh?”

Kai shakes her head. McNamara sighs. “I’ve tried to explain life as one of us to her on multiple occasions, but…it doesn’t go well.”

Max shrugged. “Well, why not try again! I mean, I’m here, I’m like, updated course material.”

McNamara blinks, considering it. Kai perks up. “Ooh, are we gonna play school?”

Max looks towards McNamara. “I dunno, are we?”

McNamara thinks for a moment more before nodding. “Why not, sure.”

Kai squeals excitedly and Max cheers, as McNamara wonders how good of an idea this was.

“Welcome to your lesson on how to be a functioning human being!” Max said with a grin as he scribbled ‘How 2 b human’ onto the chalkboard in the middle of the room. 

Kai grins and claps. “I can’t read that!”

“Your handwriting is completely illegible.” McNamara says.

Max shrugs. “Eh, doesn’t matter. My name is Professor Maxwell-”

“You’re having too much fun with this.” McNamara interjects.

Max shushes McNamara. “Sh-sh-sh-shaddup. It’s keeping her engaged and not yapping about how humans aren’t real.”

Kai nods. “It is!”

McNamara sighs. “Carry on then.”

Max grins. “So, the first thing on the chopping block is our social lives.”

“Uwaoooh!” Kai says in awe.

Max doodles a crappy image of a traditional three person family. “So, in a traditional human family, there’s a mom-”

Kai corrects him. “Mama.”

Max nods. “Mama, and a dad-”

Kai corrects him again. “Papa.”

“Papa. A mama, a papa, and a kid.” Max finishes. “But, the cool thing is that every mama and papa started out as a kid with their own mama and papa!”

“But, as far as I know, my papas just spawned in.” Kai says.

“That’s because your family is weird.” Max says matter of factly.

“Oh okay.” Kai shrugs it off quickly.

“Anyways, there’s also other family dynamics, like sometimes there’s multiple kids, only one mama or papa, or maybe two mamas, or two papas.” Max says, drawing out the different dynamics.

“If there can be two papas, why can’t I have four- or five- papas and sometimes one mama?” Kai asks.

“‘Cause your family is weird. One, one of your papas changes between mama and papa almost daily, two, all your papas are brothers, three, it’s just weird.” Max says.

Kai nods. “Gotcha.” 

“And then there’s friends.” Max drew out himself and two other boys. “Back in Hatchetfield, I had two friends: Kyle and Jason. They’re cool. Anyways, friendship looks different for everyone. Sometimes it’s being assholes to each other, sometimes it’s talking for a long time, or sometimes it’s sitting quietly together.”

Kai raises her hand and shakes it around. “Can it be giving big ol’ hugs and maybe a smooch every so often?”

“You’re so weird, man.” Max says, chuckling. “But, yeah, if you really want that. Don’t do that to me, though.”

Kai nods. Max continues. “Also, there’s these things called social cues. You clearly have no idea what they are-”

“Uncle Mac! He’s bullying me!” Kai whines. 

McNamara shrugs. “It’s true, though.”

“I know! I’m offended because he’s right!” Kai says.

Max cackles. “Anyways, they’re things that almost every person understands.”

Max starts to doodle out certain social situations as he talks. “Like, don’t touch people without permission, give people personal space, don’t talk over people, don’t talk for too long, wipe your face, chew with your mouth closed, don’t say things that could hurt people’s feelings, sit up straight-”

“Too many!” Kai shouts.

“That’s just surface level stuff!” Max says.

She groans, flopping onto her back. “You guys are confusing. I don’t wanna be a human.”

McNamara sits down next to her. “Most of us don’t. Most of us are confused by ourselves.”

“And then there are people like me who totally get it and make fun of the people who don’t.” Max said with a shit eating grin. 

Kai glares. “You’re an asshole.”

Max burst out laughing, and McNamara immediately covered Kai’s mouth. “Don’t say that around your papas.”

Max roared with laughter as Kai looked confused. “Why?”

“It’s not a nice word.” McNamara said.

“KAI, SAY ‘FUCK’!!!” Max said in between cackles.

Kai starts. “Fu-!” McNamara clamps a hand over Kai’s mouth.

“Max, you ought to stop teaching her swear words.”

“Why?! It’s hilarious!”

“It’s gonna get you killed. Again.”

“Eh, worth it.”

Kai giggles and pulls McNamara’s hand off her mouth. “You guys are confusing. But I like it.”

“I like you guys.” She says with a smile.

Max smiles back and hooks an arm around McNamara’s shoulder. “We like you too, Kai.”

[silverstarfics]

Today’s @thunder-pride prompt is ‘join the club’. I am way too sleep deprived right now to plot anything so I just started writing without any plan and this is the result...

AO3 link

The island was suspiciously quiet with the exception of voices chattering from the television in the den. Alan poked his head around the door to spy someone face down on the couch, mostly buried beneath an instantly recognisable clownfish-patterned blanket. Gordon wasn’t his first choice of confidant but he was still better than no one and Alan had to talk to someone or he might actually spontaneously combust within the next ten minutes. Seriously, he was having a whole crisis here.

“Help,” he declared, rolling over the back of the couch. Gordon let out a vague oof as Alan jammed his heels into his brother’s ribs. “I’m a bi disaster.”

“Join the club,” Gordon mumbled into the cushions. He flung out an arm, twirling a hand in the general direction of the TV. “Look at them. I don’t know who I’m more jealous of. Like, I know it’s basically a requirement to be annoyingly attractive to work in Hollywood but come on. This couple is just unfairly hot. I can’t cope.”

Alan momentarily forgot his crisis as he squinted at the screen. “Dude. Are you watching a rom com?”

There was a slight pause.

“Shut up,” Gordon growled, fumbling for the remote. “Anyway, what’s your specific reason for being a disaster? More of a disaster than usual, I mean?”

“Oh, god.” Alan shifted to balance on the armrest. “Okay, so…” He clasped his hands together grandly and tried to sound calm and more like an actual functional human being. “Brandon asked me out.”

Gordon popped up from the blanket like a delighted meerkat. “This is a brand-new development! Wait, why is this an issue? I know you’re chronically socially awkward-”

“Thanks.”

“-and, like, embarrassingly nerdy. Also, you’re basically a toothpick.”

Alan snatched the pillow from behind Gordon’s back and whacked him in the face with it. The brief scuffle ended with them both hopelessly tangled in the clownfish blanket. Gordon shuffled upright and settled against the armrest whilst Alan flopped dramatically across the couch.

“I’m still waiting to hear how this is related to you being a disaster.” Gordon prodded Alan’s knees with one foot. “We like Brandon, don’t we?”

Alan wrinkled his nose. “This is not a we situation. In what way is this a we situation?”

“Well, it’s true. We both like the Bear, just in very different ways for very different reasons.” Gordon reached for his mostly flat coke and took a long slurp. “For example, I like Brandon because you can almost see Scott’s sanity degrading whenever the kid’s around. You like Brandon because you’re a hormonal teenager with no taste.”

Alan wriggled free of the blanket and clawed his way over the back of the couch. “I’m leaving.”

“What? No. Alan. Allie, c’mon. I was kidding.” Gordon made a wild flail for the back of Alan’s shirt, widening his eyes in a mock plea. “Don’t leave me. I’m so bored right now. I promise I’ll be serious.”

Alan crossed his arms. “Do you even know what that word means?”

“Hey! I can be serious on occasion.” Gordon propped his chin on the back of the couch with a heavy sigh. “Okay, fine. I’ll make you pizza rolls while you tell me all the gossip. Deal?”

“This feels like a trap.”

“Pizza rolls, my dude.”

“…Deal.”

The pizza rolls were stuffed at the very back of the freezer. Alan perched on the counter and made no attempt to help as he laughed at Gordon’s attempts to reach them. He had to practically crawl inside to retrieve the packet and yelped about hypothermia the entire time. Neither of them had the patience to wait for pizza rolls to defrost so turned the oven up to extreme and tossed them in anyway.

“So…?” Gordon slid onto a bar stool and waited expectantly. “You’re a disaster.”

“Is that a question or an observation?”

“Both.” Gordon cackled. “Ah, always both.”

Alan drew his feet up to sit cross-legged on the counter.

“Ew.” Gordon pelted him with a stray ice cube which had escaped the freezer. “Hygiene, man. We prep food on that surface. Get your grimy feet off it. Sit on a chair like a normal person.”

Alan shot him a pointed look. “When has anyone ever described me as normal?”

“Valid point.” Gordon cracked open a second soda and slid it across to him. “Speak, my young Padawan.”

Alan cradled the can between his hands, staring into the foaming bubbles as if they could tell him the secrets of life’s greatest mysteries. It took him a moment to find his voice.

“So, Brandon asked me on a date.”

“As we’ve established.”

“Which is great. Fantastic, even. I really like him… and that’s kind of the problem, because when I like someone I get nervous and when I get nervous I tend to…”

“Act like an insane person?”

“I either say nothing or I can’t stop rambling. It’s like… I can hear myself talking and I know I should stop but the words just keep coming. It gets worse and worse. And I’m sitting there thinking, oh my god, what is wrong with me? Shut up already. But I’m incapable. I actually can’t function as a human, Gords. It’s a problem.”

“Blame Scott. He’s the one who decided to home school you.”

“Home schooling really isn’t the issue.” Alan ran a thumb around the rim of his soda with a despondent sigh. “Just kill me. Kill me dead. Like dead, dead. Brandon’s gonna think I’m a total weirdo and dump me before we can even make it official and I’m never going to get another date so I’ll inevitably die alone. Should I get a cat? I feel like that would complete the image. Okay, so I need to get a cat. Can you get me a cat for my birthday? Wait, no, get me a cat for Christmas. That’s sooner.”

“Wow,” Gordon drawled.

“I know.” Alan tangled his hands in his hair. “See? I’m a disaster.”

Gordon didn’t even try to hide his laughter. “Yep. Pretty much. You’re right – you’re doomed.”

“Great talk, Gordon. Thanks. Really helpful.”

“Oh, shut up.” Gordon retrieved the tray of sizzling pizza rolls from the oven and dumped it on the counter. “Here. Pizza cures everything.”

“I’m gonna eat my body weight in pizza until it fills the void in my soul,” Alan declared solemnly, instantly dropping the first roll with a yelp. “Holy shit.”

“Hot?”

“Like lava.”

“Dumbass. Wait for them to cool.”

“Yeah, right.” Alan cautiously pinched the very edge of a pizza roll and tossed it into the air, catching it in his mouth like a circus act.

Gordon eyed him suspiciously. “You good?”

“Fine,” Alan squeaked, making grabby hands for the mostly melted ice cube which was still skidding around the counter. “I have so many regrets right now, but I’m fine.”

Several minutes passed in pained silence as they chose to ignore all advice and consumed the tray of pizza rolls regardless of the temperature. Gordon slouched over the counter and propped his chin in his hands to give Alan his full attention.

“I don’t get it,” he admitted. “You guys game together nearly every other day and you don’t freak out. What’s the difference?”

“We’re not face-to-face then.” Alan picked at the final pizza roll miserably. “Maybe I should wear my uniform. I don’t have this problem when I’m in my suit.”

“Okay, definitely don’t do that.” Gordon drummed a hand against the counter as he considered the issue which he totally didn’t find hilarious in the slightest. “Have you considered just… not caring?”

“I’m not you,” Alan muttered as if it were an insult. “I’ve tried not to care what people think of me but the problem is that I still do. I especially care what Brandon thinks. So. You know. Not exactly a solution.”

“No, no, I don’t mean…” Gordon reached across and flicked Alan’s knee, earning both a wounded look and his brother’s actual attention. “Brandon’s asked you out. That means he likes you. So, being your weird, nerdy little self? That might actually be a good thing. He’ll probably think it’s cute or some crap like that because he basically has heart eyes whenever he looks at you.”

Alan looked up hopefully. “Wait, really?”

“Uh, yeah. Ask anyone who’s ever seen you two interact. It’s disgusting. He’s all like, oh Alan, you’re super cool and you’re like, oh my god thanks but you’re way cooler. See? Disgusting.” Gordon paused to drain the rest of his drink. “Point is,” he continued, “He’s probably just as nervous as you are. Be yourself, carpe diem, whatever the hell, just… don’t overthink it.”

Alan twisted his hands together with a heavy sigh. “I can’t stop overthinking.”

“Okay, I’ll be serious for a second.” Gordon grimaced. “Yuck, I can’t believe I just said that. This a whole sacrifice, you know? Anyway…” He dropped the joking tone for something softer which turned his grin into a warm smile. “Don’t try to be someone you’re not, okay? Because who you are is pretty great and if Brandon can’t see that then he doesn’t deserve you.”

Alan faltered, taken aback. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gordon faked a shudder. “Serious talk over. Time for the gory details! If your date goes well, there’s this trick with-”

Alan practically vaulted off the counter. “No, no, no, shut up! I can’t hear you! I’m leaving now! Bye!”

[trip-tuckers-hyperspanner]

The Time She Almost Didn't - 4

5 Times T'Pol Kept a Secret and 1 Time She Didn't

Sub-Commander T’Pol was sitting in the training room with Ensign Sato, stretching her arms. “You’re preoccupied,” she said as she watched her friend stare off into space. “That can lead to recklessness.”

Hoshi snapped out of her thoughts with a shake of her head. She tossed her hands into the air. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “Sorry.” She wiped the side of her face. “It’s just that Trip and Malcolm have been acting really odd lately. He won’t tell me what it is, but I think it’s got something to do with whatever project they’re working on. Trip’s avoiding me too.”

T’Pol, thoroughly exhausted by the human need for surprise, only sat closer to her friend. “Does this bring you concern?”

“No, not majorly.” She hugged herself. “It’s not the fact that they’re acting funny, it’s that I don’t want to get excited if it isn’t… if it isn’t a…”

“A proposition of marriage?”

She nodded hesitantly. “It’s silly. Isn’t it?”

T’Pol sat up. Human females tended to require more emotional navigation and care — she didn’t want to appear as a negligent companion to Hoshi. “No, it’s not silly,” she informed her. “You and Lieutenant Reed have known each other for many years — it’s perfectly reasonable to desire a closer relationship than what you currently have.”

“You think so?” she asked, knitting her brow. “Things usually aren’t so simple back on Earth. There’s all sorts of stuff you have to do and so many variables you don’t see. Last time I had a boyfriend, I didn’t even know if I wanted to go to prom with him, much less marry him.”

T’Pol relaxed ever so slightly, intrigued by the response. “If you want to marry the lieutenant, it would be in your best interest to tell him so.” 

“We’ve talked about it, but… Don’t you think it would be rushed?” 

“Not at all. I see no reason not to. The most healthy marriages are the honest ones.” T’Pol tilted her head. “When did you realize you wanted to take the lieutenant as your mate?”

Hoshi blushed. “You mean marriage? I guess I knew about three weeks ago for sure. Remember? With the leech?”

T’Pol stayed silent, but the answer was in the air. 

Ensign Sato went on, visibly eased by the confirmation. “Well, anyway, he just reacted so quickly and stayed so calm during the whole thing. I guess I realized he was worried that I was hurt instead of worrying if he would lose a friend or not. And he’s never tried to push anything, either — everything between us has been so natural and casual. I think I noticed I wanted to marry him because I was never going to stop missing him if I ever lost him.”

“That is quite similar to the same conclusion I drew when I decided to propose to Commander Tucker.” She stood off the bench. Hoshi followed. “I have less… emotional reasoning, but this is a rare occasion where emotion and logic dictate the same thing.”

“You never did tell anyone why you wanted to marry him. You could have had a Vulcan man if you wanted. Why Trip?”

“I could.” T’Pol assumed the position. As did Hoshi. “Commander Tucker was the mate I desired. He makes the most logical sense.”

“As compared to a Vulcan?” she asked. She was clearly confused, and with good cause — it was unorthodox. T’Pol was seen as a superior being, even to humans she spent most of her time around. She raised her fists as T’Pol did. 

“He will be able to fulfill all my needs throughout his lifespan. When I eventually outlive him, I can always take up another mate.” She began to tackle her as carefully as she could, putting pressure against her sparring partner. This wasn’t to develop T’Pol’s skills, after all. 

Hoshi held her off for a second, puffing breath. “So he’s only a temporary mate?” she asked. The judgement in her voice was clear.

T’Pol flipped her onto her back, exercising caution as well as thoughtful execution. Her friend hissed lightly. 

“Are you hurt?”

“No.” Just as she had calculated. Hoshi pushed herself off the ground. “But okay, I get it. You like Trip.”

“I have developed a strong attachment to him,” T’Pol countered. “He has an attachment to me as well. I did not want him to live his life without me.”

“So even though you’ll outlive him, you want to marry him because you love him,” she summarized. “Everyone knew he loved you, but we all thought…”

“You were incorrect.” T’Pol quirked her brow. “It is a common misconception. I thought perhaps he would ask me to enter a courtship with him, but he seemed… hesitant.”

“It’s because he thought you were kind of scary. Who could blame him? A hot, smart, strong woman who could break his heart at any given moment isn’t really someone you want to risk ruining a friendship with.” Hoshi laughed. She began to head over to the bench again, putting her uniform back on over her skivs. “He would always talk about you, even though you guys fought all the time.”

“He would?”

“Yeah, all the time. We wondered what kind of intellectual torture you’d put him under. At first, it was nothing but complaining and then it turned into something… I don’t know, weird. There wasn’t a day your name didn’t leave his lips. Malcolm and I finally put the pieces together after the whole Fraydik incident.”

“That was not long ago.” 

“I know, right? How long did it take you to find out he’s in love with you?” 

T’Pol changed into her own clothes, pulling her sleeves over her forearms. “I knew about sixteen months ago. He realized it himself at eleven.” 

“And you didn’t confront him?” Hoshi’s eyes went wide. “When did you realize you wanted him, too, then?”

“A year ago. I had seriously debated reminding the commander his feelings would be inappropriate when I could not give him what he wanted.” She zipped up her jumpsuit, then carefully fluffed her hair back into place. “Upon deeper consideration, I realized I no longer wanted to withhold myself from him.”

“You take care of your appearance,” her companion pointed out. Hoshi Sato had always spent limited time with T’Pol. Usually, during sparring, they faced opposite ends of the room when they changed. 

T’Pol, however, was delighted by this… as delighted as her repressed emotions would allow. “Vulcans appreciate beauty,” she said. She turned to Hoshi and let her shoulders down. 

“I like it.” She smiled. “It’s nice to know more about Vulcan culture. I’m a little sad to know that you guys won’t be having a Vulcan wedding.”

“A Vulcan wedding would be held on the Vulcan homeworld. I would prefer to have more freedom with my ceremony; I would also like my mate to be accepted by my loved ones. Vulcans are nearly as prejudiced as humans toward those unlike us.” 

“Really?” Her jaw dropped.

Humans were very expressive, T’Pol thought once again. It never ceased to amaze her just how little was required to awe them. Perhaps Vulcans were stubborn and hard to impress. Perhaps humans were still green to exploration. Whatever the reason, it never stopped a blush or a blink or a gasp from someone.

“Quite.” She paused, wetting her lips. She would need to hydrate soon. “Many would see my marriage as… inferior, as well as illogical.”

“I can understand why,” Sato replied. They both started walking out of the training room together. “Our instincts kind of control us. Why would a logical Vulcan want to marry an irrational human? But then again, your reasons have to be sound. It’s not like you to make a decision without weighing all the pros and cons.”

“Precisely. Others would fail to see that perspective and only focus on the first half of the argument. Some would say I have gone soft from spending too much time around humans.” 

“That’s the logical thing to do — adapt where necessary.”

“While still maintaining your identity.”

“We seem to understand each other very well,” Hoshi said, holding back a laugh as she looked at T’Pol with pride. 

“That we do, Ensign Sato,” she replied. She puffed her chest. “I must find Commander Tucker; I hope I won’t offend you by parting now.”

“Oh, go ahead! I have to find Malcolm anyway.”

And so, Sub-Commander T’Pol and Ensign Hoshi Sato bid each other farewell and left in their respective directions. When T’Pol eventually found Commander Tucker, he was tinkering on the floor of her quarters with a few pieces of metal. These days, he spent more time with her than in his own quarters; while nothing of any sexual nature happened most nights, he very much preferred to be in her arms while he slept. Neither of them could complain — it made things much more efficient. Her quarters were at the halfway point between the Bridge and Engineering. His warmth made the ship feel more like Vulcan. Not to mention they could easily spend more time together without having to arrange it beforehand. 

“Oh, hey, honey,” he said, not looking up at her. “How was your evening with Hoshi?”

“It went as expected,” she said, sitting down beside him. “Are you not exhausted yet?”

“I was waitin’ for you,” he hummed, a small smile on his face. “I know you like to talk before bed.”

“You mustn’t deprive yourself of sleep just because I’m not home,” she said. There was a slight edge in her voice. Trip barked a teensy laugh.

“I’m not depriving myself of anything, missy,” he said, turning his head to give her a brief — yet sweet — kiss. “What’d she say today? Anything interesting?”

She briefly thought back to her fretful behavior over Reed’s proposal. “No.” 

“Didya tell Archer about our wedding, yet?”

“It will happen soon,” she reassured. She tugged his shirt up. “You need rest, Trip.”

He raised his arms in the air, letting her pull it all the way off. “Then we’ll go to sleep. Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he chuckled. Trip stood and brought her over to their bed. As they climbed in, he snuggled into her side. The physical contact was sometimes overwhelming, but it wasn’t tonight. Tonight, she enjoyed it. 

“Comfortable?” she asked when he finally stopped moving.

“Mhmm. Goodnight, darlin’.”

“You call me many names. Is there just one that you enjoy?”“Can’t decide. You’re too wonderful for just one,” he said, tucking his head on hers. “Now, sleep. You get real ornery when you don’t get enough rest.”

[sunspray-peak]

Ch. 21: Some Birthday, Huh?

TW: Suicidal ideation 

SATURDAY - SUMMER 13

Part of Achilles had assumed Alex—allegedly a bit of a player and partier in his early college days (or as Haley less eloquently put it, “a giant-ass whore for both women and wine”)—would throw a rager of some kind for his birthday. Kegs and strobe lights, large speakers crackling out the latest Top 100 hits and the like. Not Achilles’ scene these days, but he’d suffer through it for Alex… 

Then again, the other, probably larger, part of Achilles couldn’t quite reconcile the image of this supposed past Alex with the Alex he knew. Had he ever even seen Alex drink before? Perhaps the man had simply mellowed out since college. Regardless, to Achilles’ satisfaction, it was indeed this larger part of him that was rewarded as he promptly wandered down to the beach at 5pm to find a low key bonfire and barbecue in a flag-marked plot of sand. 

“No alcohol.” Emily greeted him with a glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade “Luau’s a special occasion, but otherwise, beach is supposed to be a sober zone. Not that anyone listens, but you know Alex is a stickler for the rules.” 

So much for the rager. Achilles stepped to the side as another attendee made for the lemonade and juice stand. “So is that why Shane isn’t here, then?” 

“Oh, Shane wasn’t invited. Although it is a public beach, I think he might actually be around, I thought I saw him earlier…” 

Together, they craned their necks to examine the small evening crowd. Sure enough, there was Shane, only a few meters away from the area Alex had reserved, watching Jas stack some sand nearby. Sagging in his beach chair, his shirt tight across his gut, he held the usual contraband beer in one hand, an ice cream cone in the other. 

It seemed that he could sense their stares, for after a minute, Shane turned to shoot them both dirty looks. Though Emily continued to watch, Achilles looked politely away to remark, “Lots of people from Zuzu, I suppose? College friends?” There hadn’t been too many friendly faces at the party so far—Emily, Haley, Evelyn, and George (two of whom scarcely qualified as friendly faces anyway), plus the Orange Grove receptionist, Megan, who had given him a quick hug upon his arrival. 

Emily finally drew her furrowed gaze away from Shane to shrug. “Eh, it’s still early. Abigail and Co. was invited. Maru should be coming, but she’s still at the office, I think. Penny, too… oh, what’d you get him?” She nodded towards the small giftbox in Achilles’ hand. “Heigh ho! Looks like a ring. Thinking of proposing?” 

“Yoba, Emily, the man hasn’t even bought me dinner, pump the brakes, will you?” Achilles returned drily, passing her the box with a little toss. “Nah, just some new earbuds… he’d mentioned his had broken.” 

Emily closed her eyes as she weighed the box in her hand. “Hmm. I’m sensing some good energy from this.” With a little flourish, she handed it back. “And by that, I’m sensing that you got him the latest Pear Pods.” 

“A thing like that, good guess—” 

“$200. Pretty damn exorbitant for a guy you’ve known barely half a year, even if you are—” 

“Yoba, not this again—all right, listen— ” But unlike Leah back in the Spring, Emily cut him off with a hearty, good-natured laugh as they made their way towards Alex who, at the moment, was surrounded by his Zuzu friends.

“Right. So what did you get him then?” 

“Nothing.” Emily gave a disconcertingly Haley-like hmph at Achilles’ furrowed brow. “Well, that’s what the card said.” 

“What? What card?” 

“You didn’t get an invitation?” 

“I don’t think so, he just invited me, I don’t know, verbally.” 

“Oh weird, he was making such a big deal out of hand writing them, mailed them out like two weeks ago.” 

Oh, so it had been mailed… that explained it. Before the Luau debacle, Achilles had opened his mailbox only once so far this season (in search of another lost package). He had come across a royalty check for Apparition (ridiculous, these were supposed to be directly deposited) and in the subsequent foul mood, had dumped all the mail (including the check) into the bin without a second glance. 

Glorious job, you dumb bastard. You don’t bring a gift when you should, you bring a gift when you shouldn’t… stupid mistakes, it shouldn’t be this hard…

He had just decided to shove the wrapped gift back into his windbreaker and slide it to Alex later when they had a more private moment, when Haley, who must’ve seen the bright green bow, pointedly exclaimed, “My, my, my, Achilles, what did you get for our birthday boy?” 

Immediately turning red—from rage or embarrassment, he wasn’t quite sure at the moment—Achilles shrugged and had no choice but to walk through the little crowd that had parted, too aware of the curious eyes that followed him.  

Approaching the aforementioned birthday boy, Achilles forced a semblance of confidence into his voice. “I apologize, I… did not check my mail and didn’t realize…” 

Alex, a paper birthday crown askew on his head, gave him a rather tight half hug, which likely managed to turn Achilles perhaps one shade redder (though luckily, the scarlet, soon-to-be-setting sun disguised the flush). “Nooo! Ash, your presence was supposed to be the present, didn’t you read the card?” 

“Well, I’ve already bought it and wrapped it so might as well… open it later will you?” he muttered as he handed it over. “I feel rather stupid now.” 

“Sure, sure—thanks, man! You really didn’t have to, though.” 

Again, Achilles shrugged, though he at least accompanied this one with a tight smile. Under Haley’s disconcertingly watchful gaze, he made to head back towards Emily, but Alex held him back.

“Wait, let me introduce you! Achilles—Tanya, Leo, James—Megan you already know, of course— they all work with me at Orange Grove. Everyone, this is Achilles! He moved to the valley last month, he’s great.” 

Out of habit, Achilles swapped his grimace for the default smile he had once kept reserved for work as he shook everyone’s hands. Tanya he recognized as the haughty brunette who often lifeguarded with Alex. Good to put a name to the face, he supposed. 

“You’re the writer,” she said, arching a rather immaculately sculpted eyebrow. 

“Ah.” It would be too much effort to correct her. “Sure.” 

“Ohhh yeah! Megan mentioned you—Alex was so excited when he found out you were moving to town!” It was Leo, whose curly dirty blonde hair and warm, hazel eyes suggested he must’ve been Megan’s brother. 

“I’m glad someone was, you know, he was the only who could pronounce my name correctly…” 

It took only a minute for him to get back into the rhythm of conversing with strangers. The Zuzu Crew was (mostly) a friendly bunch, easy to ease into. James was a bit serious, but Megan and Leo were quick to laugh, and Emily soon joined him, replacing Alex who (trailed by Tanya) left to greet Abigail, Sebastian, and Sam. 

Hamburgers and hot dogs and potato salad tied them over for an hour, but just as the sun began its descent, someone—to Achilles’ horror—suggested a game of beach volleyball.

Fucking athletic people… 

Alex, naturally, was one team captain and James the second. As the two began to rock, paper, scissors for who got first pick of their teammates (Alex staunchly believing it wouldn’t be fair for him to get first pick just because it was his birthday), Achilles scurried over to Emily. Playing with just Abigail, Sam, and Alex was one thing, but in front of all these sporty Zuzu folk? He hadn’t played beach volleyball in probably a decade. 

“Are you playing?” he asked. 

“Oh yeah!” Seeing the desperation in his eyes, however, she quickly added, “Haley’s not though, if you want to sit with her.” 

Haley shot them both a rather disdainful look from the edge of the tiki torch fence. 

Soon enough, James had called Emily onto his team (leaving Achilles alone with Haley and, despite not actually wanting to play, slightly offended at having not been picked).  

“Oh, are you photographing?” Achilles glanced at the film camera in her hand. “How nice, I always wish I had more physical pictures around.” 

“I’ve been photographing,” she sniffed. 

Just as Achilles decided Penny would likely make for much better company, he heard his name called. 

“Ash! You’re on my team!” 

Achilles whipped around. Alex had the volleyball sandwiched under his arm, just like the night of the luau. It was so casual, so unposed, so… simple. So why on earth was it so damn entrancing?

Chill, dude…

“Oh. Or not.” Alex tilted his head, taking in Achilles’ hesitation. “You playing?”

“Yeah, he’s playing.” 

Achilles whipped back around to his side. It was Haley who had answered for him. Deadpan, she raised her camera to snap a close-up photo of his tight lipped frown before nodding him towards Alex. “Go on. Go away.” 

Well if Alex wanted him… 

“You just hate my company that much, huh, Haley?” Achilles didn’t wait for an answer before jogging over to Alex, Tanya, and Abigail’s side of the court. 

Sam joined James, Emily, Leo, and Megan, while Maru (who had arrived just in time) rounded out Alex’s team. 

It was ultimately a better experience than anticipated. A few haphazard passes and awkward dives notwithstanding, it didn’t take too long for him to get back into some sort of groove—his years playing tennis and fencing had, at the least, honed faster than average reflexes.

Summers he had spent whacking the ball back and forth in the back of his high school friends’ beach houses must’ve whacked a semblance of the game into his muscle memory, and after a few serves (and after getting used to Haley’s persistent camera clicking), one could say he was giving somewhat more than he got. 

“Damn Achilles, James should’ve picked you instead of Leo’s lazy ass,” Megan called from the other side after her brother failed to return a spike from Achilles over the net.  

Achilles pushed his hair back, surreptitiously wiping sweat from his brow. Did other people just not sweat as much? He risked a quick glance at Alex—how was he reacting to Megan’s praise?—and found the birthday boy grinning widely back at him, his hand raised. He supposed the celebratory high five was an innocent enough reason to smile back. 

They won by a margin of two points. To his slight annoyance (a stupid, illogical, annoyance he knew, but he couldn’t help it), he hadn’t been the star player by any means (who knew Abigail was so good at beach volleyball?). But he hadn’t been the worst either (though at least a bruised Maru wasn’t a sore loser, accepting Alex’s sympathetic pat on the back with a cheery nod). 

“How the hell are you so good at this? You should join my club team, we practice every week, compete on Thursdays.” It was James, who had sidled up to Abigail as the group made their way back towards the bonfire where Evelyn and George had returned a few minutes ago, a homemade cake in their hands. 

“Hey yo! Honestly? No idea. Don’t really spend much time out here.” 

“I was wondering that, too, you’re… really pale… great arms, though.” 

It was Sebastian who shot James a rather affronted look for that last comment. He gripped an unoffended Abigail’s pale, but apparently muscular, arm protectively, and led her towards the opposite end of the table Haley and him had help set up during the game.  

Tanya had taken the place next to Alex, clutching his arm and pulling him rather close. Was there something going on between the two? Surely it wasn’t jealousy Achilles was feeling—he was past that now, and what was there logically to be jealous of, anyway. Maybe he was just hungry… 

Haley, Achilles was amused to at least see, was unabashedly rolling her eyes and tutting at the sight as she helped Evelyn set the cake down. Achilles couldn’t help but feel a small flurry of satisfaction watching the blonde, without a trace of shame, shove Tanya to the side under obviously false pretenses of getting a better angle for a photo. 

“Happy 25th Birthday, Alex!” Alex read the cheery yellow words aloud and gave his grandma a hug. 

One rather pitchy but enthusiastic birthday song later, Alex cut the cake, giving the first piece to Evelyn and the second to George. Achilles—purposefully or not, he would never admit to himself the truth—strayed to the back of the line so that no one was waiting behind him.

“Tanya’s uh, she’s really pretty,” he couldn’t help but say, as Alex cut him a corner piece.

Bitch, why do you even care? Ugh. 

“Hmm?” Alex looked over at the brunette who was now in deep conversation with Megan and Leo. Easily in his line of sight, she caught his glance and, with a small bat of her eyelashes, gave a little flutter of her fingers. Alex smiled back. In fact, he looked rather dazed—perhaps some would call it lovestruck—but to Achilles’ surprise, the words that left his mouth were, “Sure! You interested? Happy to wingman.”

“Alex, I’m gay.”

George, who had wheeled over to grab a napkin, gave a tiny start, but Alex didn’t notice. 

“Ope. Oh yeah, sorry, I knew that. Forgot…” He set the knife down and licked his fingers. 

They turned and looked back at Tanya again, who, now aware she was possibly being watched, flipped her ponytail to her other shoulder to provide a better view of her profile.  

“I thought maybe you… were interested?” Achilles asked, carefully watching Alex’s face. Well, you’ve already opened the door, might as well fully commit, you pathetic little bastard… 

“Me?” 

Achilles speared the vanilla sponge with his fork with more menace than Evelyn’s fluffy recipe deserved. Chill. “Or, at least, she’s definitely interested in you.” 

“Tanya? Nah, I don’t think so—”

“My dude.” He swallowed his bite. “She is all over you.” 

“That’s just Tanya,” Alex said with a shrug. “She’s been like that since we’ve met.” 

“Because she’s always been into you, you dumbass.” Haley had joined the fray. “Though all she’s got going for her is a nice nose…” 

“You think so, too?” Alex sounded genuinely surprised. 

“Her nose or that she’s into you? Yoba knows why, given how dense you are…”

“Hey now—“

“Shoot your shot, man,” Achilles said. Masochistic little shit, you. 

“Do you think I should?” 

“No.” 

“I wasn’t asking you, Haley, I know how you feel—”

“Why are you asking me—” 

“—why are you asking him—”

“Well Achilles is the one telling me to do it!” 

Haley rolled her eyes and cut herself another slice of cake. “Men. Come on, Alex,” she grasped his arm with her perfectly polished nails and dragged him over to, not Tanya, Achilles noticed, but Abigail. 

Which left Achilles alone at the table with Alex’s grandpa. 

“George,” Achilles said with his usual nod. 

George glanced up. “A gay, huh? How can two men get married?” He began to roll away. “I’ll tell you, it’s unnatural… hmmph. I guess I’m just ‘old fashioned’…” 

“Thank you for that, George,” Achilles drily called after him before also gliding over to Abigail. But despite whatever riveting monster history story she was in the middle of telling, Achilles found it suddenly difficult to concentrate. 

*****

The party ended an hour or so after cake, on account of Alex’s grandparents and the clouds that were beginning to roll in. The Zuzu folk headed out first. Tanya—who must’ve been emboldened by nothing but the dusk given Alex’s commitment to the beach’s zero alcohol policy—even kissed Alex on the cheek as they bid him farewell and happy birthday, leaving Haley to once again roll her eyes as Alex mouthed a conciliatory, “Ok, I get it,” towards her and Achilles. 

Achilles was just about to head out himself, after helping the rest of the Stardew folk clean up the tables, when Alex pulled him aside privately, his grip sending an electric flutter up and down Achilles’ arm. 

“Man… you really didn’t have to get me these.” He was holding up the Pear Pods and Achilles’ note written methodically on light green linen cardstock (he’d never admit he had taken inspiration from Mayor Lewis—hey, but who could say Lewis hadn’t taken inspiration form Achilles’ farmhouse paint job). “Seriously, it’s a lot, you shouldn’t have…” 

Stumbling over Alex’s wide-eyed, lash-framed gaze, Achilles deflected with a twist of his neck. “Remember, I’m rich, so don’t think this means I think you’re special.”

Alex chuckled. “No, I’m serious, Ash. Thank you. This is… a lot, I feel like I really shouldn’t…” He made a gesture as if to hand them back.  

“Well I wasn’t going to get you shitty $30 headphones, might as well not get you a pair at all. You have to invest in the good stuff. If you can. Also,” Achilles pushed the box back into Alex’s hands, his longer fingers closing briefly over Alex’s before he forced himself to let go. “Trying to return a gift without even giving it a chance? Kinda rude, man, how dare you.” 

Alex laughed again, and Achilles felt that now-familiar surge of lightning careen up his spine. 

Get over yourself! Friends. You’re just friends. 

With a breathy sigh, Alex clasped Achilles’ shoulder firmly. “Well… you’ve got me there. All right then. Thanks, man. Really appreciate it.” 

“Hey, 25’s a big year. Happy birthday.” 

Alex smiled softly, glancing down at the box in his hands again before meeting Achilles’ eyes and grasping his forearm. 

“I’m glad you moved here. And, you know, not just because I like your books—”

“No, it’s because I give really good gifts.”  

“Nah, it’s actually because you play a mean game of beach volleyball.” 

They both laughed, until Achilles, with a quick glance at the sky, made himself pull away. “Well, we better all head back… looks like it might rain in a bit.”

“Hey, you would know, weather boy.” 

In standard Stardew fashion, Alex clapped Achilles on the back before jogging back to the remaining villagers to dish out final farewell hugs. Wishing them all another thank you, Alex bid them goodbye and began to push Mr. Old Fashioned George along the sand back to 1 River Road. 

*****

Achilles decided he’d take the Cindersap route back home. The volleyball game had invigorated him somewhat, and, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, Alex’s thank you even more so. Even Tanya’s clingy presence didn’t do much to dull his rather juvenile glee, especially given Alex’s seemingly lukewarm reaction to the whole affair. 

High on the evening’s events, and figuring the rain likely wouldn’t come down for another hour or so, he decided to enjoy a brisk walk through the forest and enjoy his favorite, windy weather before heading back. It was beginning to cool down dramatically as the storm grew closer. Even better. Perhaps he’d stop by Leah’s, if the lights were on. Restless, he was, and eager to share his good mood with someone.

He could still feel Alex’s grip on his arm… 

But Leah’s lights were off—either she was out or calling it an early night. Perhaps she was with Elliott… Achilles thought in cheery solidarity. 

Instead, he walked along the river with a small bounce in his step, down to the abandoned house by the cliffs. He hadn’t felt this carefree in ages. Amazing what a good night with friends could do to alleviate his recent chronic anxiety. Maybe he’d see if the Wizard was in—wouldn’t mind hearing more about those bad spirits Evelyn had mentioned up in the mountains… 

Lost in whatever fanciful thoughts and imagined scenarios with which he’d allowed himself to temporarily indulge, he was caught off guard when the first drops began to fall. No matter, it’d be scarcely a 20 minute jog back home.

But before he could turn back to Strawberry Farms, he heard a groan in the darkness. 

“Hello? Who’s there,” he called, shining his phone light around the darkened path. Bears? Wolves? Spirits? “Oh, fuck.” 

Sprawled on the ground, half hidden by salmonberry bushes, was Shane. His Joja hat had been tossed to the side and was smeared with dirt. A mass of empty beer cans were crumpled around him—he must’ve been here for awhile. 

“Shane? What the fuck, man?” 

Achilles knelt down, turning him over. The man groaned again, this time hiccuping as he managed a weak, “I’m sorry.” 

“Man, you gotta get up, it’s starting to rain…” 

“My life… it’s a pathetic joke… look at me, why do I even try…” 

The rain was rapidly beginning to fall harder, and the first flash of lightning tore across the sky. In the brief light, Achilles saw the discarded remnants of even more beer cans and bottles dotting the grass. 

“Shane, get up.” 

“Only twenty fucking five and already doing more than I ever will…” Shane spat, and it took a moment for Achilles to realize he was talking about Alex. “I wanted to get into sports too, once, you know? But I’m too small and stupid to… to take control of my life… I’m just a p… piece of soiled garbage flittering in the wind…” 

Shane burped, and Achilles, not nearly as patient with drunks as Alex had been that Spring night a month ago, weakly slapped Shane in the face in an attempt to sober him up. 

“Very poetic, Shane, but we have to go.” 

“I’ve been coming here often lately… looking down…” 

Achilles glanced over to the cliffs—another streak of lightning flashed through the sky, illuminating the drop—and Achilles found his own stomach drop at both the sight and Shane’s words as the gravity of the situation began to fully hit him. 

“Here’s a chance to finally take control of my life…” Shane continued to moan, cheek pressed into the mud. “These cliffs… but I’m too scared, too anxious. Just like always…” 

“Fuck,” Achilles breathed again. He bent down in an attempt to lift Shane at least to a sitting position, but the man, bloated with beer and misery, was dead weight. He heaved, but Shane only buckled back to his knees. The rain was heavy, pouring down Achilles’ hair, down his face, half-blinding him. 

“All I do is work, sleep, and drink… to dull the feelings of self-hatred. Why should I even go on? Tell me… tell me why I shouldn’t roll off this cliff fight now…” 

Achilles wiped his face, his head bowed as the drops clattered sharply in his ears, drumming against his windbreaker. “Fuck, Shane…” It was pouring even harder now, the rain quickly soaking through every layer of clothing and washing away any last remnants of his good mood. 

“The decision is your own,” he said, shaking his head slowly. Probably the wrong words to say, but he had, historically, always appreciated at the very least the illusion of agency… “You’re right, it fucking sucks. But… people care about you, man. I’m here for you. Jas loves you. Marnie loves you. ” 

“Jas…” Shane growled, his voice barely loud enough to be heard above the storm. “She’s probably better off without me… missed her fucking dance recital yesterday because I couldn’t find someone to take my shift…” 

“She knows you’re working to help support her,” Achilles argued back, letting whatever words spill out of his mouth, anything to keep Shane lucid and talking. “She loves you, Shane. Remember that.” 

“Thanks… I appreciate that, I really do…” 

The freezing deluge seemed to be sobering him up slightly, and with Achilles’ help, he finally staggered up. 

“Achilles…” he hiccuped through glazed eyes, his arms bracing against Achilles’ sodden shoulders for support. “I think you should take me to the hospital now.” 

With no car, and a now dead, wet cellphone, Achilles had no choice but to half-carry the man the two miles out of Cindersap and back to town. He could’ve stopped at Marnie’s—her light was on—but quickly tossed the idea. This wasn’t something he wanted to risk Jas seeing. 

It was a long, slow walk, made all the more agonizing by the pouring rain and frigid temperature. So much for Summer. Lightning continued to rip the sky apart, the accompanying thunder near-deafening with each streak, but at least it helped illuminate the otherwise pitch black path. 

Achilles was not a weak man, but Shane, while short, was still stocky and on the heavier side, and Achilles was already tired from the earlier volleyball game. Not a few times did they nearly careen into a tree or bush while plodding though the darkness. Every five minutes, they had to pause so that Shane, wheezing and dizzyingly nauseas, could take a brief break. But they finally made it, after a little over one painful hour, outside the hospital. 

It had to have been nearly 11pm now—Achilles hammered on Harvey’s door while Shane sat slumped against the awning. 

“HARVEY.” Achilles accompanied his fists with a yell, but his voice and furious knocking were lost under the thunder and the relentless rain. 

“Just leave me, Achilles,” Shane managed to groan. 

“And get indicted for manslaughter, yeah right,”Achilles managed to chatter out between clenched teeth. Yoba, he was soaked straight to the bone, he had only been wearing his windbreaker over a thin, short sleeve button down. His bare legs had turned numb ages ago. 

“HARVEY,” he yelled again, holding the doorbell down with an ice cold finger. 

He stumbled next door to Pierre’s—perhaps Abigail or someone was downstairs and could give him a phone. But no matter how he rang or pounded, the thunder was much too loud. 

Thinking bitterly that Harvey needed a better system in case of emergencies, he once again went back to beating the door and doorbell, when he heard someone else’s voice through the rain. 

“What the heck is going on?” 

Alex and Dusty were racing across the cobblestones, both wearing bright yellow rain jackets. In his dazed mind, Achilles couldn’t help but hyper fixate on the rubber ducks that dotted Dusty’s little raincoat as the dog tugged his owner along with more strength than he had ever seen the geriatric mutt move. 

“Achilles—Shane—? What are you two doing out here, you’re soaked—Dusty was howling his head off like ten minutes ago, wouldn’t stop until I took him outside—” 

“Dusty’s got h-h-helluva lot better instincts than H-harvey, that’s for s-s-ure.” Achilles was shivering like mad. “R-ran into Shane at Cindersap, had t-t-o take him to Harvey’s, it’s a l-l-long story—you got a ph-phone?”

Luckily, Alex did have a phone now—an early birthday present from his grandparents—and after one of the longest minutes of his life, Harvey finally wrenched open his front door. 

“What in the world—Achilles?” Harvey cried in alarm. The doctor was in his pajamas, but large headphones dangled around his neck. 

“It’s Shane, d-doc,” Achilles said, rushing over to lift him up again. Harvey raced outside as well to help him and Alex carry the clammy, comatose man in. 

The sudden blast of cold, dry air was nearly as bad as being outside. It took everything in Achilles to brace himself against the air conditioner as the three of them carried Shane to one of the beds at the back of the clinic. Achilles hadn’t even needed to explain the reason for the visit; the downpour hadn’t managed to wash away the thick scent of alcohol still clinging to Shane’s clothes and breath. 

Once he was more or less toweled off, Alex left the room with Dusty, giving the remaining three some privacy. 

“You’ll want to get changed, Achilles, and get out of those clothes—you can spend the night here if you need,” said Harvey as he quickly went to work on Shane. 

Achilles shook his head; the clinic’s artificial cold had joined the rain in seeping into his bones. “I think I’d rather head back—just… t-take care of him?”  

Harvey, who was swiftly setting up an IV, only nodded. 

Achilles shook the water from his hair and stepped back outside before immediately wondering if he had made a mistake. But the door had locked behind him, and Harvey had been laser focused on Shane—probably best not to turn back around and disturb the doctor from the one who actually deserved his attention. 

Taking a deep breath, he braced his aching body under the awning for one last sprint into the rain, when Alex suddenly popped up from around the side.

“Everything okay? Come back to my place, it’s closer—”

“Nah, it’s your birthday, man, and your grandparents—” 

“Dammit, Ash, it’s a 10 second sprint. Come on.” 

Dusty joined Alex in protest, pawing Achilles’ leg. At that moment, a north wind chose to slice through the air, sending rain and a freezing breeze towards him even from under the awning. Right. He’d take that as a sign—nodding, he sprinted alongside Alex and Dusty the couple hundred feet to 1 River Road. 

*****

The AC luckily was not on at the Muller’s—thank Yoba for George and his achy joints…

Alex unclipped Dusty and gave him a thorough pat down with a rubber duck embroidered towel. The beagle mutt gave a slow shake and padded softly down the hall to Alex’s room. 

“I can j-j-just… warm up here a b-bit and wait for the rain to d-d-die d-down,” Achilles heaved, unzipping his windbreaker and immediately regretting the cold that somehow snaked its way in. 

“That rain’s not dying down anytime soon. Just stay the night, you can take a hot shower in my room, let me grab you something to drink — ”

“No, it’s all right, it’s your b-birthday. I’ll just air dry, stay on the c-couch, won’t be a m-minute—“ 

“Achilles, just shut up, man. I don’t know what you’re trying to prove.” Alex rubbed his hands down Achilles’ violently shivering arms—the impatient touch was much different from the ones earlier this evening, though Achilles was too numb to hyper-fixate over it regardless—and led him to his room. “Besides, we don’t even have a couch…” 

He motioned for Achilles to take a seat at the desk chair, grabbed some items from the closet, and quickly popped into the bathroom.

“Left a towel for you in there and clothes—go ahead, I’m just going to tell grandma you’re here so she’s not confused.”  

In Alex’s bathroom, Achilles stripped out of his sopping clothes with some degree of difficulty— they coldly clung like a second skin—and jumped into the shower, supremely grateful for the steaming water. 

The shirt Alex had left behind had a badger on it. “Andrews” was emblazoned on the back, above some faded permanent marker signatures. His dad’s last name. Must’ve been from his high school swimming days. 

When he came out, Alex was nowhere to be found. Toweling off his hair, he looked again at the bodybuilder pictures, the grid ball wallpaper, the plastic sports trophies, the children’s books—a time capsule of a 12 year old boy. Only the massive weights in the corner hinted that a 25 year old man lived in this room. 

He took the seat by the desk again and examined the picture of Alex and his mother. She had also had brown hair, and there was something in her frozen smile that reminded Achilles of Alex’s. Her eyes, however, were blue. Not green… oh, what a glorious shade of green… he could feel himself nodding off… Every muscle in his body was sore, screaming for him to lie down. Oh, what he’d give for the heated mattress in his farmhouse… 

He must’ve fallen asleep, for he nearly fell out of the chair with a jolt when Alex came back into the room. 

“Just told Grandma you’re here,” he whispered, shutting the door softly. He glanced at Achilles who was dangling half-off the desk chair. “You can sit on the bed, you know.” 

Achilles took the cup of tea Alex offered him. Lavender earl grey. 

Fuck, you really are perfect… 

“Everything okay with Shane?” 

With a guilty start, Achilles remembered what had brought him here in the first place. Though he supposed, in his defense, he was feeling rather muddled in the head now. “Ah. Shane. Yes. He’s… I don’t know. He’s not in a good place.” 

“Mmm…” 

Neither was eager to say more. Achilles gulped down the tea faster than he would’ve liked to fill the silence; he was ready to keel over. 

“Here…” Alex took the empty cup and nodded towards the bed. “Go on, you look like you’re about to pass out.” 

“Where are you sleeping?”    

“Huh? Uh… also on the bed. I mean, if that’s ok with you… if not, I’m happy to roll out the sleeping bag…” Alex had looked surprised at the question, and Achilles turned red.

“No, no, sorry, yeah, that’s fine, of course…” 

He clambered awkwardly across the red duvet, pulling the covers down as Alex went to brush his teeth. Alex sure slept with a lot of pillows… he placed the body pillow in the center, before wondering if that was too aggressive, too presumptuous, and set it against the headboard. Instead, he scooted as far over to the edge as possible—although there was plenty of room with the full sized bed—and, despite being a back sleeper, turned so that he was facing the nightstand. 

Blinking back sleep, he forced himself to wait until he felt the weight of Alex’s body join him on the mattress before finally closing his eyes. 

“Some birthday huh,” he murmured as Alex turned off the lights. 

“Eh, I’ve had crazier ones.” But Alex didn’t expand. He rolled over to face Achilles’ back and gave it a little poke. “Man, this takes me back to grid ball camp… you better not hog the sheets.” 

“Don’t worry, I sleep hot…” 

Fuck. Of course. Definitely muddled in the head. Achilles nearly groaned aloud as the realization washed over him. Alex had been an athlete. Sharing a bed had none of the subtext for him that it had had for Achilles, who had never had to share a bed in his life if he hadn’t wanted to—the schools and camps he had attended would never have needed to have the kids share a room, that was for sure. Adolescent sleepovers? Guest rooms and temporary mattresses galore. 

Nevertheless, Achilles didn’t trust himself to turn around. With his luck tonight, he’d probably sneeze in Alex’s face. Or worse. But he could feel the other boy’s body heat from under the covers, and it took everything in him not to turn. Not to look, for even just a second.  

He’s just your friend… you need to get over this ridiculousness. 

He figured he’d doze off just as quickly as he had at the desk, but it was quite awhile after Alex’s breathing slowed (and Dusty’s snores erupted) before his idiotic nerves settled and he was finally able to fall asleep.  

[ghost-town-story]

FebruarOC Day 18: Rishanth

(Loosely combining with the ockissweek prompt “adventure”)

The sound of the door opening drew Isona’s attention, and Rishanth slipped inside underneath the full weight of their mother’s gaze. “Oh good,” Isona said, relief coloring her voice. “I was starting to get worried about you.”

“I’m fine Mama,” Rishanth said, hanging up their bow and quiver. “Aasathra and I were just making sure Halion made it home safely.”

“That poor boy,” Isona fretted. “I can’t imagine how awful it must be, knowing that maze took poor Lilya.”

Rishanth nodded. They could still hear the echo of Halion screaming at them to let him go, the entrance to that cursed maze far too close for Rishanth’s comfort.

“Where are Amma and Cyril?” they asked in an attempt to drown out the memory.

“Aryn should be back soon, she just needed to speak with Nsiria about something,” Isona replied. “And Cyril is in bed already. Poor thing nearly fell asleep on our way home.”

“Alright,” Rishanth said. “I’m going to say good night to Cyril.”

“Okay.”

~

Cyril’s room was dark, lit only by the weak moonlight streaming in through the window. Cyril himself was already fast asleep, splayed out on top of his blankets from his usual tossing and turning. Rishanth settled down next to his bed, reluctant to wake him just yet.

When they had returned to town with the news of Lilya’s disappearance, Cyril had gone quiet and scared, clinging to Isona’s hand. He and Lilya were friends. Not as close as Halion and Rishanth were, but there had been several occasions where Rishanth had spotted him following Lilya on one of her adventures.

Rishanth sighed, smoothing an errant lock of hair away from Cyril’s face. They hated seeing him so shaken and scared. They hated seeing Halion’s anguish-turned-anger-turned-stubborn-determination. But what were they supposed to do? Those mazes were cursed by the gods, monuments of betrayal and vengeance. Nobody who entered ever left again. Rishanth knew this. Lilya and Halion and Aasathra knew the stories as well. So why was everybody so determined to go running into a death trap?

“Adventure!” Lilya cried as she raced down the snow-covered path.

“Because it’s my job to protect her,” Halion said, his features painted in flickering firelight as Lilya dozed in his lap.

Aasathra grinned, all bloody teeth and bloody knuckles as she jumped back into the fighting ring.

Rishanth had never been brave. But maybe they were more of a coward than they’d realized.

Cyril rolled over, his eyes briefly fluttering open. “Ri?” he mumbled.

Rishanth shushed him. “I just came to say good night.”

Cyril sat up, still blinking blearily. “Did they find Lilya?”

Rishanth’s breath hitched in their throat. Their silence was answer enough for Cyril.

“Are you going after her?”

“What?”

“You and Hal and Sath always go and bring her home,” Cyril said. “Are you gonna bring her home again?”

Rishanth’s mouth was dry as they contemplated how to answer Cyril’s question. Halion and Aasathra want to try, stuck in their throat. I don’t think we can.

Cyril’s lip trembled slightly.

Rishanth pulled Cyril close and kissed his forehead. “We’ll bring her home,” they promised. “Just like always. Trust me?”

Cyril nodded, though his eyes were wet when Rishanth pulled away.

“Go back to sleep,” they told him. “I’ll see you when we return with Lilya.”

“Okay.” Cyril laid down again. “Good night Ri.”

“Good night Cyril.” Rishanth kissed the top of his head again, then stood and left the room, closing the door behind them as quietly as they could.

In the living room, they could hear the murmur of their parents’ voices. The voices stopped as Rishanth made their way back to the living room.

“Is Cyril asleep then?” Aryn asked, mustering up a facsimile of a smile for Rishanth.

Rishanth nodded. “Tomorrow I’m leaving for another hunt.”

“So soon?” Isona frowned. “But you only got back today.”

“I lost my catch,” Rishanth explained.

“Rishanth,” Aryn said carefully, “you’re not planning on going after Lilya, are you? I know Halion must be upset, but that maze is far too dangerous.”

“I know.”

Isona and Aryn exchanged a look. “Promise you’ll be careful?” Isona finally asked.

“I always am.”

The promise didn’t seem to reassure either of them.

“Good night,” Rishanth said before either of them could argue further. “I’ll be leaving at dawn.”

“Good night,” Aryn replied, though she was still frowning slightly.

The moment Rishanth left the living room, they heard the whispers start up again, a definitive worried note to them now. They tried to not let it erode away this unusual surge of determination.

Halion was a healer, not a fighter. Aasathra was a fighter with no regards to strategy or her own health. Rishanth would just have to have enough common sense for all three of them.