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boymeetsweevil · 4 years ago

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SS7 - KTH, FANTASY!AU, 3623w

The sun was high in the sky when Taehyung met her for the first time. He was feeling the effects of the heat under his cloak and took some time to squat under the shade of a large, drooping tree.

Losing his chaperone was starting to seem like a bad decision as he rubbed at his growling stomach. He wasn’t certain that he could remember the last time he was hungry for this long. Normally, in the palace, he would have eaten at least a snack by now while the kitchen staff prepared lunch for him and his mother. But with only the palace towers visible against the northern mountains, he knew he wouldn’t get back until at least dinner time. Maybe longer.

He dozed off to fight the hunger pangs briefly only to be woken by the sound rustling. The stories about ferocious wolves he sometimes read from his chaperone's library came flooding back to him. He still wasn’t old enough or far enough in training to carry a sword like the knights at the palace did, so there was no way to defend himself against an attack. Did wolves even like the taste of princes, he wondered with watery eyes.

The rustling grew louder and he began to cry in earnest. He didn’t know much about wolves, but he did know that at some point his chaperone tried to teach him about the wildlife in the kingdom’s terrain. If only he’d listened instead of doodling on the margins of his parchment. Taehyung dropped his head to whisper a silent prayer to the gods like he sometimes heard the maids do over his bed when he got chills in the winter.

If he made it out of this, he promised to study harder, stay with his chaperone, and stop playing tricks on the palace seamstress.

A twig snapped and he screamed a high and childish sound. Then from the bushes emerged not a wolf, but another child.

Instantly he could tell the child was clearly not from any of the allying kingdoms. There was no gold woven into her cloak or lacework on the bodice of her gown, nor were there any pearls or smaller jewels sewn into the hem of her skirts. Instead the girl before him stood with a dirty face and a thin, greying frock with a dusty looking apron tied to her front. It reminded him of something some of the servant girls in the palace might wear. And then he thought of home and how far he was from it.

And then he started to cry again.

“You’ve got some funny clothes,” the girl mumbled almost to herself as she approached. “What you cryin' for?”

Taehyung couldn’t do much else but give a wet cough and keep crying in response.

“M’hungryyy,” he managed between heaving sobs.

“Oh, why didn’t you say so?”

The girl reached out and grabbed at Taehyung’s arm, quickly at first and then softer a second time to marvel at the smooth silk of his sleeve. He would have balked at the sudden intrusion, but the crying made his throat sore and he was still whimpering too much to say anything.

He let the other child pull him down some invisible path, ducking under low hanging branches and pushing through high weeds until they reached a small clearing with a gently babbling brook running through it.

“Water!”

Taehyung chucked himself to the ground and pulled off his leather gloves to cup the cool water in his hands. The girl watched off to the side as he drank until he was no longer feeling like he was being baked alive in his velvet trousers. When he stood, she stared at the dirt clinging to the knees of his pants.

“Wait here,” she said before turning on her heel and disappearing further into the surrounding shrubbery.

Taehyung almost panicked but she returned not a few minutes later with her apron gathered awkwardly in her two hands.

“Why are you holding it like that?”

“I’ve got you something.” The smile she gave him was so large it made her eyes small. She was missing a front tooth, just like him. She must have 7 birthdays as well.

Taehyung found himself trying to peek into the makeshift basket of her apron.

“No peeking! Sit first, then I’ll show you.”

Taehyung bristled. “You can’t tell me what to do! I’m the prin—”

“Are you hungry or not?”

With that, he pursed his lips and mulled over his options before settling back down on the ground. Once he was seated, the girl sat down as well. As soon as she was low enough, Taehyung could see exactly what she was hiding. In her apron lay dozens of wild strawberries, each one glistening like a large ruby in the afternoon sun. He realized then that the material of her apron was darkened with what must be water from the brook that she used to wash the berries first.

“These are my favorite,” he looked back up at her in shock. “How did you know,” he asked sincerely.

“I dunno. I just knew they were there. Sometimes I eat them when I’m out here and we've no bread in the house.”

“What? Why wouldn’t you have any bread?” Taehyung chuckles at the ridiculous thought and scoops up a handful of berries. “Just ask the cook to bake you some.”

“What cook? You mean my Ma?”

“Why on earth would your mother make the bread?”

“Well, who else is gonna make it? She says I’m too young yet to put the loaf the fire by myself.”

Taehyung couldn’t find fault with the girl’s logic when she put it that way, though he also couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea of his own mother in the kitchen. The few times she’d tried to go in, the cooks promptly chased her out. He’d have to ask when he got home.

“Oh!" He chirped, cheeks slightly grubby with berries. "Do you know how to get back to the palace?”

“The palace,” the girl asked while chewing on a strawberry of her own. “I don’t think so. I’ve never been there, I thought only adults went to the palace.”

“I live there.”

“No, you don’t! Only the king and his family live at the palace.”

“The king is my father, so of course I live there.”

The girl was silent again. She stared for a long time at Taehyung’s clean, neat brown hair, his un-tattered clothes, his delicate beaded shoes. She still wasn't sure he was telling the truth until she saw his hands.

“Woah! You really are from the palace!”

She reached out for the hand nearest to her but he yanked it back fearfully.

“Just let me see your hand. I want to see something.”

“No!”

Taehyung gulped and brough his hand to his chest. He knew he wasn’t supposed to take his gloves off outside of the palace, but he was so excited to see fresh water and food that he took them off and forgot to put them back on. The girl stood up and let the remaining berries fall to the ground, leaving small blood-red stains on her apron. If he didn’t fend her off, he’d have to deal with the burning and the splotches again.

“I just want to see really quick. I won’t do anything bad.”

“If you touch me, my skin will get sick,” he parroted the dialogue he heard from the town herbalist told him, nearly 3 suns ago.

“Really?”

He was about to explain more but the girl ambushed him by tackling him to the ground. The air in his lungs was knocked out and he could only lay there at first to get his bearings back. With the sleeve of his silk shirt rucked up, the girl grabbed his bare wrist delicately and peered at his hand. The skin of his palm was free of calluses or scars, smooth and soft. His nails were clean with no soot or soil wedged underneath. Just like her Ma had told her. He truly was a prince.

Taehyung yanked his wrist back and clutched it once more, waiting for the pain to start. But as the seconds passed, his skin remained free of the prickly fire that would raise underneath when his mother used to stroke his cheek or the herbalist would check his pulse.

“What are you,” he breathed with wide eyes up her.

“What?”

“I mean, why doesn’t my skin burn?”

“Does it really burn? I thought you were just pretending,” she blinked in surprise.

Taehyung was about to grab at the girl himself this time, but a call rang through the forest.

“Your Majesty! Taehyung, your grace! Are you here?”

The voice of his chaperone, Namjoon, should have been a welcome sound. But now that he was no longer tired, overheated, or hungry, Taehyung didn’t really feel like going home as badly as he had. In fact, he wanted to spend more time with his new friend. Happiness bubbled inside him at the thought. He could finally have a friend to play with now that he was cured. He could finally get rid of his stuffy gloves and hooded cloaks and go on adventures with someone.

“Who’s Taehyung?”

“Me! I’m Taehyung.” He puffed out his chest proudly. “I’m the first in line to the throne. So I’ll be king one day.”

“Oh. Alright.”

Taehyung pointed a chubby finger in the direction of the sound. “That’s my chaperone, Namjoon. Come on, I’ll let you meet him. He’s nice and he knows everything.”

He grabbed at the girl’s hand first this time. He marveled at the simple warmth he felt, a sensation he hadn’t felt for years without a fiery blaze accompanying it soon after. He smiled down at his fingers intertwined with hers.

“Namjoon, I’m here!”

“Don’t move,” Namjoon's disembodied voice called.

The sound of twigs snapping and flora brushing continued for a few more minutes before a young man of 21 came stumbling through. He nearly fell over a distended tree root while making his way over, but as soon as he righted himself he came charging at Taehyung. Realizing that he had sent his chaperone into a rage, Taehyung ran to hide behind his new friend, still clutching her hand.

“I’ve been looking for you for hours, Kim Taehyung. Do you hear me? Hours!”

“I’m sorry!”

“And now I see that you’ve managed to drag some poor child into your mischief as well.” Namjoon peered down his nose at the two children in front of him when he saw Taehyung’s bare hand nestled in the little girl’s hand.

“What are you doing—where are your gloves?”

Namjoon turned to search the forest floor for the handcrafted leather gloves that always traveled with the prince when he left his chambers or received company. He spotted the deep red garments strewn about nearby and dove for them.

“Put these back on,” he hissed before reaching out and yanking the young prince over to his side. Taehyung whined a little but let Namjoon mandhandle him away from his friend.

“How long have you been touching? Do you feel fit to ride on my horse?”

“Namjoon—”

“I’m afraid we’re too far from the palace to prevent the sickness this time, your majesty. You may faint on the ride back.”

“No, you don’t understand—”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you need to keep your gloves if you’re going to be free of the sickness?”

Namjoon looked into Taehyung’s face openly, clearly dreading seeing the little prince in pain.

“But I’m cured, Namjoon! We touched hands before—a long time ago—and I didn’t feel a thing. Look!”

Taehyung held out his arm and showed the smooth, clear skin there. Namjoon looked angry still but turned to the little girl.

“Is this true?”

She averted her eyes and curtsied like her mother had shown her to do in front of important people. Judging by this chaperone Namjoon’s clothing, he might be a prince as well.

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“Oh, I’m not—”

“Huh?” Taehyung looked up at his guardian before letting a giggle spill from between his lips. “He’s not royal, he’s just my chaperone.”

“What’s a chaperone?”

“It’s the person that follows you around when you leave the grounds or when you have to visit another palace’s prince or princess. Don’t you have one?”

Namjoon shushed Taehyung before the small girl could answer. Of course she didn’t have a chaperone, but Taehyung wouldn't have known that.

“Taehyung, your Majesty, we really must be going back to the palace. I fear that the queen may worry herself ill if we do not return soon.”

“And what of my friend?”

Namjoon didn’t have the heart to tell Taehyung that there was no way he could bring a common child back to the palace to play. Nor did he have the heart to explain why in front of the common child herself.

“There...is no room on my horse this time. Perhaps you’ll meet again when you finally make your debut in the village.”

Taehyung’s eyes grew wide at what was supposed to be Namjoon’s reassuring statement. He’d heard from his advisors enough times that he wouldn’t be debuting in the town until his 18th birthday, nearly Namjoon’s age. That would be ages from now, he knew. Which meant that he’d have to endure playing alone and wearing itchy layers and gloves and cloaks for another 11 birthdays.

“But—but I don’t want to leave her,” Taehyung sniffled as Namjoon hefted him up onto his hip. Namjoon ignored the beginning of the tears in favor of looking back down at the girl in front of him.

“Do you know how to get home from here, child?”

“Yes...sir.”

“Good.” He reached for a small animal skin pouch tied to his opposite hip and untied its leather drawstrings. The pouched jingled when he passed it to her and weighed heavy in her hands. “Hide this in your apron and don’t take it out until you get inside your home. Understood?”

The small girl chanced a look at Taehyung, whose lip was quivering with the silent dribble of frustrated tears, before nodding.

Namjoon turned and began making his way back to the horse he had tied nearby. Taehyung whipped his head around and dug his little hands into the hood of Namjoon’s deep blue cloak.

“I don’t want to leave, Namjoon.” Taehyung’s voice was watery but rang loud through the trees. “I want to stay with my friend. I’m going to stay with my friend!”

It was an empty promise, but the young girl still locked eyes with him and even gave a little wave as she watched the prince and his chaperone disappear into the tree line.

3 weeks later you woke from your slumber to the grey-blue of early morning. Judging by the sky’s hue, you were certain you should be allowed at least a few more hours of sleep. But, at your mother’s request, you rose from your bed.

You wanted to complain about it not being fair, but you were too sleepy to think up a good complaint. So you let your mother drag a wet rag along your face and hands, and silently marveled when she put you in your good dress. You watched with sleepy eyes as she pocketed the small bag of gold coins you brought home nearly a month ago.

“Where we goin', Ma?” You asked after leaving the baker’s with a warm chunk of fresh bread in one hand and a hunk of cheese your mother bought in the other.

“To the palace,” she replied with furrowed brows. Almost like she couldn't believe it herself.

“Why?”

“The King has asked for all the families with daughters to pay him a visit.”

The King was a mysterious entity to you. You knew that you were supposed to be grateful to him, according to your mother. But you also knew that every year your mother would become frantic and take on as many jobs as she could to pay taxes to that same King. Without a father to help earn money for the household, you were convinced your mother worked harder than anyone in the town. Your hand found a nearby pleat in her long skirt when you were done eating and you walked a bit closer to her.

When you reached the castle, there was a long line. There hadn’t been many people in town earlier in the morning when you left home but you understood why then. Every family with a daughter was lined up before the palace doors. You didn’t even realize there were so many people in the kingdom.

Your mother stood in line while you stepped to the side to get a better view of all the daughters being escorted. Some girls you recognized as girls you played with on days when you finished your chores early. Other girls you’d never seen before. You weren’t sure what you were all there for, but you knew it must have been serious.

Despite the winding line ahead of you, it still wasn't noon when there were only a few families left between you and the palace entrance. Whatever the King wanted you there for, it was quick. Families that were ahead of you entered in, ushered by stern looking guards, and left almost as quickly as they came. Some parents left looking deeply relieved but others looked disgruntled at having to spend so much of the day in line only to be dismissed by the King so quickly.

Your mother stroked your hair gently as you neared the palace gates. It was something she did to calm herself down. Knowing that much, your heartbeat jumped into your throat when the guards finally ushered you in.

The palace’s high stone walls seemed to swallow you up as the daylight left and only torches lit the way down a long passage. The first hall you entered was much brighter than the hallway thanks to the windows lining the walls that looked onto the mountains. Two families ahead of you stood before a group of palace staff and a man in a large, ornate chair. The King, you realized. To his right, in a smaller chair, sat a young boy. He looked familiar and as you moved up in line, you recalled the prince you ran into weeks before. The hand you had bunched in your mother’s skirts tightened when you realized he was telling the truth and you had tackled a real prince.

“Come forward and let his Majesty see the girl,” called one of the guards.

Your mother bowed deeply before the King before pulling you forward and pushing you into a similar bow. The two of you stepped forward with your heads lowered. The same guard stepped forward then and laid a heavy hand between your shoulder blades to bring your closer to the King.

“Father’s name?” The King addressed you, eyes bored and looking through you. You turned back to your mother with nervous eyes.

“Her father fell ill when she was only a few moons old, your Majesty,” your mother called.

“They reside in the Western quadrant, your Majesty. Near the grain fields.” Another guard off to the side read off a long scroll. “The woman does sartorial tasks for coin.”

“I see.” The King then turned to his son beside him. “Taehyung, my boy. Is this she?”

The boy hopped off his perch and approached the place where you stood. Your mother had drawn your cloak's hood up to protect you from the early morning chill, but you kept it up because it felt safer while entering the palace. Taehyung didn’t make any move to pull the hood back, but crouched low enough to peer at you with a discerning look pinching his small features. As soon as he saw you, his eyes lit up.

“It’s you! It’s really you!”

“Thank the gods,” the King sighed. “Send the rest back, then. Let us finish this.”

At once the guards not holding you and your mother in place moved from their posts to guide the two families behind you back through the hallway. There was a low murmur running through the adults of the retreating families and some of the lingering court members.

“Do you know how to read?” Taehyung turned to you suddenly as the palace staff began milling around busily.

“N-no. Ma says it costs too much to attend the school for girls in the South.”

“That’s okay. You can come to my lessons with me.”

He reached out a gloved hand and tried to pull you away, but a guard leaned down to let him know that the King still had some words to exchange with you and your mother. You tried to stay quiet while the adults discussed something about you and your mother becoming part of the palace staff and moving into a house behind the palace. At some point your mother cried a little bit, but it didn’t seem like the times when she cried because you had to skip supper multiple days in a row.

Eventually Taehyung managed to get the guards to let you go outside. In a secluded part of the palace gardens he threw off his stuffy extra layers and gloves and took you by the hand with a gigantic grin. You quickly forgot about the heavy mood that radiated off your mother from earlier and made you match her quick breathing. Taehyung scooped up a tiny frog from a pond he led you to and deposited the creature into your hands, palms brushing and bell-like giggles leaving him.

And so it began.

A/N: I really want to continue this, but idk if i will/how so this is being put in the SS collection until further notice.

#networkbangtan #btscreatorscorner #bts scenarios #taehyung fanfic #95line.net #kimtaehyung.net #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bangtan scenarios #bangtan fanfic #bangtan imagines #taehyung scenarios #taehyung imagine

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Galactica, Chapter 52 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Violet learned more about Sutan, Courtney got spoiled, and Katya turned her kitchen into a Thanksgiving factory.

This Chapter: Adore gets an unexpected invite, Violet experiences a relatively functional family, Fame hides out, and Courtney makes a bold move. (Thanksgiving Chronicles 3 of ??)

***

Adore stared at her phone as it rang, trying to get over her surprise and figure out what to do. Even Courtney looked shocked, eyebrows raising to her hairline.

“Are you gonna answer?”

“Uh...I dunno.” She stared for another second before curiosity finally got the better of her. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Pearl said and ugh, she sounded as sexy as ever.

“Uh...what’s up?”

“Um…” Pearl cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I was just like...thinking about you, and...uh…how are you doing?”

Adore smiled to herself. In spite of everything that had gone down, she still had a soft spot for Pearl, a very tiny and distinct hope that maybe they could work things out. She knew how hard it must have been for her to make this call. Maybe it was a sign?

“I’m alright.”

They exchanged small talk for a minute or two as Adore walked beside Courtney, back into Bianca’s building.

“I might lose you soon, we’re almost at the elevator-” Adore began.

“Wait!”

Adore stopped, brow furrowed, holding up a finger to Courtney, who nodded and stopped walking, leaning against one of the lobby’s giant marble columns.

“Yes?”

“I just...I really hated how things ended and I...would really like to see you again.”

“You would?”

“Yeah! Of course. I think we should talk, And, um...we’re doing this whole Friendsgiving cocktail party thing tonight. Maybe you wanna swing by? Everyone misses you, so...but I know you’re at your sister’s, so don’t feel like you have to-”

“Well I guess…” Adore took a deep breath, trying to slow her pounding heart. Did Pearl want to get back together? “I guess I could head over for a bit. We’re done eating here.”

“Okay, awesome! Come anytime, it’s just like an open house party thing.”

“Sure, see ya soon.”

Adore hung up, a little conflicted about the whole conversation. As much as she wanted to see Pearl again, she wasn’t so sure that it was the best idea.

“So...what did Pearl have to say?” Courtney asked, and Adore had to hand it to her for keeping her face entirely judgment free.

“She wants me to come hang out. She sounded...sorry?”

“Well, that’s good, right? I mean, she should be sorry.” Courtney linked her arm through Adore’s as they walked into the elevator. “Losing you would make any rational person sorry.”

“Not that you’re biased,” Adore chuckled, dropping a kiss to the top of Courtney’s head.

“Not a bit.”

“...Do you think I should go?” Adore bit her lip, still trying to get her hopes up too much.

“Do you want to go?”

“Kind of. I just feel like...even if we can’t like, make the relationship work, it would be good to be on better terms...” She didn’t voice the next through out loud. That maybe, just maybe, they could make it work.

“Then it probably makes sense to see what she has to say.”

“Yeah...you won’t feel abandoned, will you?” Adore asked.

“Um, no. I’ll probably just help Bianca clean up and then take off. Back to my own palace,” she joked, making Adore giggle, since her apartment was the literal exact opposite of a palace.

As they stepped back into Bianca’s foyer, she pulled Courtney in for a tight hug.

“You’re honestly the best, you know that?”

***

“Anybody want more coffee?”

“No thanks.” Violet shook her head, a smile on her face as she watched Sutan walk around the small kitchen table, pot of coffee in hand. Violet was absolutely stuffed, though not as much as Raven, the model asleep on the couch in the den after three servings of pie.

“More pie Violet?” Murni held up the pumpkin pie, Sutan pouring another cup for Raja.

“No thanks.” Violet shook her head. “I don’t think I could eat another bite.”

“You should be proud Bunda,” Sutan smiled, taking a seat next to Raja. “I can’t remember Violet ever eating this much.”

“Sutan!” Murni shot him a look, and Violet felt herself blush, warm rising in her cheeks. “Manners.”

“Sorry,” Sutan grinned, and Raja giggled too.

“He’s right though-” Violet didn’t know what came over her, but she didn’t want this tiny woman to think badly of her, didn’t want to seem ungrateful in any way. “You’re a very good chef.”

Murni’s cooking had been absolutely delicious, the Thanksgiving meal the best one Violet could remember ever having. Sure, they were served chicken instead of turkey, Raja smiling her way through the story about how Murni had first made the mistake when they were children and they all liked it too much to let go of the tradition, but it wasn’t the food that had made Violet eat so much.

It was the mood around the table.

Violet knew a lot of people saw her as picky, that Sutan probably thought that way of her too, but she wasn’t, she simply got nervous and then retreated back to the foods she knew.

It had been so nice to sit down with someone who felt like a family, to feel like she was actually genuinely welcomed at the table.

“Thank you sweet girl,” Murni smiled, her dark eyes filled with a deep warmth.

“See Sutan?” Raja turned to her twin, nudging her elbow into his side. “It isn’t that hard to bring home someone who isn’t a raging bitch.”

“Raja! Don’t talk like that!”

“Sorry,” Raja smirked, grabbing her coffee cup. “But she was an absolute cunt.”

***

“Darling?”

Patrick opened the door to their bedroom, waiting a second as he looked around. Fame had gone missing after dessert, giving some quick excuse about checking up on Charles, but when Patrick had actually found their dog happily munching away on his chef-arranged plate of leftovers, his wife was nowhere to be seen.

The bedroom was dark, and Patrick was just about to leave, when he noticed a sliver of light coming from underneath the door to the walk-in closet.

“Fame?” Patrick walked inside, closing and locking the bedroom door behind him, an unsettling sensation growing in his stomach.

His family was downstairs, watching football and grazing on the last of the several desserts Fame had ordered, his mother making a snide comment that if she couldn’t cook, at least she knew how to hire a chef.

Pareick grabbed the door to the walk-in closet and slid it open, catching sight of Fame, who was sitting on the floor, apprentently rearranging her sunglasses drawer, a glass of wine at her side.

“.... Fame?”

Fame looked up, only just noticing him, and Patrick realized how right his gut feeling had been.

“Patrick,” Fame raised her hand, quickly drying under her eyes, but it was too late. Patrick had already seen the streaks, his wife's ever perfect makeup marred by what could only be tears. “I didn’t see you-“

“What’s wrong?” Patrick sat down on his knees, not reaching out to touch.

“I’m fine.”

“Nothing says fine like rearranging your 2003 Guccis.”

“They’re not-“ Fame cut herself off and Patrick had to hide a smile, the sunglasses obviously Chanel, but if Fame was rising to the bait, whatever mood she was in was salvageable. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s never just nothing with you darling.” Patrick leaned back against one of the many closet doors. “Now tell me.”

“It’s just,” Fame picked up a pair of sunglasses. “I just needed a break from the accusations of robbing your mother of her grandchildren.”

“Ah,” Patrick cringed. He had always been clear to his family about not wanting children, but it seemed like his mother had gone deaf since her friends started having grandbabies. They had busy, fulfilling lives - their friends, their dog, their work. They simply didn’t want children. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Fame wasn’t looking at him, her blue eyes focused on the drawer. “I just wish… I wished she wouldn’t constantly tell me I’m not enough for you, that I’m the one who-“

“Hey-“ Patrick reached out, grabbing Fame’s hand. “You’re my forever Famie.”

“Patrick.” Fame looked up, and Patrick turned her hand in his, making sure she could see the sparkling diamond on her ring finger.

“You are,” Patrick squeezed her hand. “And we’re the ones who don't want kids. Both of us. Together. Unanimous decision.”

“You’re such a lawyer.” Fame smiled, leaning forward to place a sweet kiss against his lip.

***

Bianca’s reaction to Adore’s plan to see Pearl was slightly different from Courtney’s, her spine going rigid and teeth clenching at the news.

“If that’s what you want,” she said tersely, snapping the lid shut on a tupperware and shoving it into the fridge.

“B…”

Bianca looked up, giving a resigned sigh and opening her arms to her sister.

“Come here.”

Courtney watched from the doorway, a smile tugging on her lips as they hugged.

“Do what you gotta do, pussycat,” Bianca murmured, finally releasing her with an insincere, “And give Pearl my very best!”

“Will do!” Adore laughed, blowing Courtney a kiss as she headed for the door.

Courtney stepped into the kitchen, her hands full of the last few glasses that had been on the dining room table. Secretly, she was thrilled that they were now alone together.

“Where can I…”

“Oh, just stick it right there.” Bianca gestured to the huge pile of dishes next to the sink. It was hard to believe that the three of them had created this big of a mess.

“Can I help you clean up?” she asked.

“Uh...sure…Most of it can just go in here.”

Bianca opened the giant dishwasher and beckoned Courtney over.

“So…” Courtney bit her cheek, doing her best not to sneak glances at the lacy black bra visible through the slit in Bianca’s top, turning her attention instead to the apparently 47 glasses they’d gone through. She picked them up one at a time, carefully placing them in the top rack of the dishwasher. “Not a Pearl fan, eh?”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Uhhh...yeah,” Courtney giggled.

“I just...I know she’s gonna hurt my sister again. Why? You think she’s great?” Bianca asked, the last word loaded with bitterness.

“No, I think she’s a cunt,” Courtney said bluntly, and Bianca let out a cackle of agreement, eyes sparkling with delight. “But...Adore really liked her, and it sounds like she feels really bad about how things ended, so...maybe it’s good that they’re gonna talk some more. Maybe they can even work it out.”

“You’re naive.”

“Possibly, but I prefer optimistic.” Courtney flashed a sunny smile, Bianca returning it slightly before shaking her head and reaching for her wine glass.

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t deserve your optimism. And she doesn’t deserve Adore.” She drained her wine glass and then stuck it into the dishwasher with the others, turning to the plates.

“I think it’s really cute how protective you are,” Courtney said softly, fingertips brushing against Bianca’s shoulder.

“I’m not, usually,” Bianca explained with a chuckle. “But I know Pearl, and she’s...a player, you know? She goes through women like Kleenex, and I just don’t buy that she’s capable of any kind of meaningful commitment, which is what I know Adore wants.” She looked up and caught Courtney’s amused smile, adding, “What?”

“You know that’s what people say about you, right?”

“Yeah, and they’re right!” Bianca barked, eyes hard, and Courtney took a small step back. Bianca’s face fell, immediately looking regretful, saying, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s okay,” Courtney said. “I know you’re just worried about her.”

She went back to the dishwasher, now trying to Tetris in the various bowls and coffee cups.

“Who’ve you been talking to about me, anyway?” Bianca asked, the gruffness softening slightly.

“I’m not gonna reveal my sources!”

“Multiple sources, huh?”

“Perhaps,” Courtney twinkled, twirling a stray wine glass by the stem before putting it into the rack.

“Hm. Well, I’d ask around about you, but nobody knows who the fuck you are, so…”

“That’s true. I’m shamefully irrelevant in this city. Just another small-town kid trying to make it in the Big Apple.”

“Teasing you is no fun. You always agree.” Bianca’s voice was low and husky, dimples appearing for a brief second.

“Sorry, I’ll try to be less agreeable,” Courtney shot back, stomach flipping as Bianca leaned towards her.

“Good idea,” she proclaimed, picking up a serving dish from the pile and putting it into the sink.

“So...since nobody knows who I am, I guess you’ll have to just judge for yourself, eh?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well…” Courtney swallowed, not entirely sure she was prepared for the answer to her question, before turning around to face her and bravely venturing, “What do you think?

“I think...that one day you’re gonna look in the mirror and own how absolutely extraordinary you are. And then you’re gonna be fucking unstoppable.”

It certainly wasn’t what Courtney expected, and she inhaled sharply, eyes glued to Bianca’s. And suddenly it was all too much. The lingering glances, the brief touches, the heated silence. Kiss me, Courtney found herself wishing, searching Bianca’s eyes for a sign…any sign, that she felt the same way.

Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me…

Bianca leaned in and brushed a lock of hair from her eyes, and Courtney gripped the edge of the sink, an ache growing in the pit of her stomach. She desperately wanted to close the distance, to taste Bianca’s plush ruby lips. She could feel her heart pounding in her throat as Bianca cupped her cheeks.

“This is probably…a very bad idea,” Bianca said.

“Okay.” Courtney nodded slowly.

Bianca stroked her cheeks, leaning in closer. “I told you to stop agreeing,” she whispered.

“Right…” All Courtney could think about was the warm breath on her face, Bianca’s perfect curves so, so close.

“Fuck,” said Bianca softly, finally leaning in all the way, pressing her against the counter, letting their lips touch.

Courtney thought she was going to faint. Somehow, she’d expected the kiss to be like Bianca - aggressive and strong and maybe even a little bit scary. But it was the softest, sweetest kiss she’d ever had, the light and teasing brush of her lips making her crazy before finally deepening. She melted into Bianca’s arms, letting the whole moment envelope her as the edge of the counter dug into her lower back--the only thing keeping her grounded.

One of Bianca’s hands slid down, and now it was on her waist, fingers on her skin sending shivers all up her spine, a soft whimper falling from her lips as she arched forward into the touch.

Then, without any warning, Bianca sprung back, leaving her trembling, chest heaving.

“I’m sorry,” Bianca said, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

It was a battle for Courtney to connect with her addled mind, her skin still tingling from where she’d been touched, and when she did, she still couldn’t make sense of it all.

Bianca continued to apologize profusely, even adding a regretful, “You’re not the first straight girl to get caught in my web. I’m...I’m really sorry.”

“I…” Courtney tried to respond, but it felt like her tongue was paralyzed.

“Um...why don’t I call you a car?” Bianca said.

“That’s not...you don’t have to-”

“No, I insist. It’s dark and you’re...you should take some food!”

“What?” Courtney shook her head, pangs of regret making her chest hurt, trying to understand what went wrong.

“Yeah, um...I gotta go out of town tomorrow and I don’t want it to go to waste, so-” She turned to the fridge and began pulling containers out, filling a Neiman Marcus bag she grabbed from a nearby cabinet.

Courtney still didn’t know what to say, so she just followed her numbly to the door, slowly putting on her jacket and scarf while Bianca called whoever it was in her life that made towncars appear. She finally stepped into the elevator, arms loaded with two shopping bags of food, watching her fantasies dissolve as the doors shut.

Downstairs, both the concierge and the doorman were expecting her, directing her to the black sedan waiting outside. It had gotten dark since she’d been out with Adore, the damp air somehow far more bitterly cold now. She took another step towards the car before hesitating, looking back longingly at Bianca’s building.

***

Bianca closed her eyes. The bewildered, stricken look on Courtney’s face as the elevator doors slid shut would be burned into her brain forever, she was sure of it. Along with the feeling of being absolute fucking garbage.

Flirting was one thing. Flirting was harmless fun for everyone. But the fact that she’d taken advantage of one moment of weakness--and with Adore’s best friend, no less. Adore’s straight friend. What the fuck was wrong with her?

In the moment, it had seemed so right: the softness in her eyes, lips parted, head tilted--it looked so much like an invitation, practically a dare. But it was a dare Bianca should have resisted. She knew better. Even at the time, she’d known better, known that she was making a reckless and irresponsible mistake. She’d done it anyway, though, hadn’t she?

She groaned, heading to the bar. She needed something much stronger than wine right now. She searched through the shelf, finally finding some Kentucky bourbon and picked it up, briefly considering taking a swig right from the bottle before pulling down a heavy glass and pouring herself a generous double shot. Possibly triple, she wasn’t measuring.

The liquor burned her throat, stinging her eyes. She pressed her palms to the top of the bar, blinking slowly, hoping the gross feeling she had would dissipate. It didn’t. She still felt Courtney’s petite body, shaking like a leaf under her hands. She headed for the stairs, thinking that a Silkwood shower was probably her last hope when her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Del Rio,” Carson’s syrupy voice came on the line. “I have Ms. Jenek here. She seems to have left her phone in your apartment. Shall I send her up to fetch it?”

“Uh...yeah, that’s fine.”

Bianca hung up, looking slightly bleary-eyed at the dining room table, which was empty save for the massive vase of Fall flowers, and then moved onto the kitchen. Where else could it be? Den, maybe? She was about to go search when she heard footsteps in the foyer, the dogs bursting into excited yips as they ran to greet Courtney at the elevator. She followed, shaking her head apologetically.

“Hey, I’m not sure where your phone is. Maybe we should check the-”

She was cut off as Courtney rushed forward, dropping the bags in her hand, the containers inside clattering to the floor. And before Bianca knew what was happening, Courtney had flung herself into her arms, pulling her into a desperate, heated kiss.

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #adore x pearl #vitan #bitney #adore delano #courtney act #pearl liaison #violet chachki #raja gemini #miss fame #bianca del rio #lesbian au #m/f au #fashion au

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random-mha-thoughts · 5 years ago

Text

Gamer’s Boy (Bakugou x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Someone messaged me on my Wattpad: “So I've been playing a lot of Pokémon on my 3DS here lately and I got to thinking about how Bakugou would react to playing it So maybe reader-chan introduces Sparky to Pokémon and tries to teach him how to play. Knowing Bakugou, he gets really frustrated with too many wild Pokémon attacking him in the tall grass or when a Pokémon outright ignores his orders. It's just an idea and you can adjust it as you need or want. I really enjoy reading your writing so I know it'll be awesome! Thank you”

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 893

Tags: @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog @bunnythepipsqueak

a/n: Guys I’ve been awake for almost 20 hours only on 3 hours of sleep, I’m ready to pass out so this is gonna be a short one. Also just a note, the last Pokemon game I've ever played is Pearl. Yes I'm a boomer, I'll take all the comments go on.

"You're always on that stupid thing, why don't you ever study?" Bakugou grumbles, eyeing my spastic thumbs.

Bakugou sounds a lot like a parent: he does the cooking, barks at me to go to sleep at 9 pm sharp, and nags at me constantly. Part of me thinks he might be an old man or something.

"I'll get off in a few minutes, let me just level up a little more." I barely look up at him, focusing on a pokemon that just appeared out of the tall grass.

My boyfriend roll his eyes and groans. "You said that five times already, hurry up!" The top of his pen taps impatiently on his notebook. "If you don't put it away now, I'm taking it from you."

"You sound like my dad," I mumble under my breath, do a quick save, and close it.

"No wonder you need my help, you can't focus." He flicks my forehead.

"But it's fun! It's not my fault they purposely made it addictive." I reluctantly open my notes.

"What's so fun about it? It's just stupid little monsters fighting each other, but you and Phone Charger play it nonstop."

I gasp as if he's sent me a personal insult. "They aren't stupid! They're my babies! My loyally trained babies who beat up everyone else's babies."

"Oh please, just do your work, dumbass." Bakugou forcefully pushes my head down to focus.

"Maybe if you play it, you won't call it stupid." Sticking my tongue out proves just how childish I am, if it isn't already obvious.

"Yeah, okay." He places his large hand down on my notebook. "If you get in the top half of the class with your exam grades, I'll play your dumb game with you."

If I had ears and a tail, they'd be perked up right now. "Really? It's a deal! Don't go back on your word!"

"I won't, dumbass, now focus already!" He thinks I don't catch the amused lifting of his lips.

"I don't know how you did it, but you did." Bakugou has a blank face on as he peers over my shoulder at my exam sheet.

I couldn't stop smiling from the moment I received the paper. Catching him off guard, I throw my arms around his neck. "It's only because of you, Sparky. Thank you!"

His warm arms hug around my waist. "If you weren't you, I'd destroy you for calling me that." He pulls away and pokes the center of my forehead. "It wasn't just me, you actually used your brain for once dumbass."

Immediately, I place a kiss on his smirking lips, only to chuckle at his slowly blushing ears. "I'm not just happy about the grade. I hope you remember what you promised."

I know he's resisting the urge to groan. "Yes, I promised. Let's go."

"WHAT THE HELL! WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?!"

"Babe, that's the whole point-"

"IT'S ANNOYING ME!" If anyone walked into this room right now, they would see the massive vein poking out of his forehead.

"Don't break my DS!" I snatch it out of his hands when I notice his hands tightening around my handheld device. "You're supposed to find pokemon in the grass, how else are you gonna level up enough to beat the gym leaders?"

"I'm just trying to get to the next town, why do they have to come up when I'm just going through?!" He pulls at his hair angrily and positions his head on my shoulder.

"Okay, yeah, that's annoying sometimes, but who can get mad at a little extra training?" My fingers move over the buttons reflexively. I've done this so many times it's become second nature, I would understand how frustrating it must be to play when you're starting out.

"Why do they listen you when you tell them to do stuff?" he grumbles.

"They must know who's playing," I tense him. "They know you don't like them either."

"Why wouldn't they listen to you anyway?! I caught one in that ball thing, that should've told them I'm the master!"

"They have personalities you know. Some of them are just unruly or jokesters." The wild pokemon faints with a final attack. "Besides, you wouldn't like it if you were stuck in a cramped ball all day until you're needed."

Bakugou groans. "It took a couple of those stupid things to catch them. They're rebellious little beasts."

I open the menu to the pokemon I have in my bag. "Look, I named this electric type Denki because he still doesn't listen to me."

"Hmph. Why don't you name one after me?"

I turn my head only to meet with a pouting Bakubaby. "Because I haven't found one that's cute and fluffy enough yet."

"Can't wait to see it. He won't be as cute as me though." His arms envelop me from behind and he pecks my cheek. "I dunno how you do this all day babe, I'd get so fed up."

"Obviously."

"Shut up. I'm not used it like you are."

"I think you should call it my second quirk," I smile brightly at him.

He chuckles at me, his chest rumbling against my back. "No babe, I think that's your talent. I'm proud of you, I guess."

"I'm gonna be the ultimate pokemon parent! I wanna be the very best-!"

"DON'T EVEN START THAT!"

#Bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki #bakugou imagine #bakugou scenario #gender neutral reader #request #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction

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hogwartsfirebolt · 5 years ago

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Ok so for the "the way you said I love you" prompts ask: 23

Thank you for the prompt! I have no idea what I wrote, NO IDEA. Let’s go.

The way you said “I love you” 23: Through a song.

Depending on which member of the crew was asked the question, the answer was a bit different.

“Dunno,” the sailing master, Nev, would say, when asked. “We woke up one morning and he was already there, in the Captain’s cabin.”

“But you’d never heard of him before?” The logical follow up question.

“Nay, but what do I know, ask Hermione.” Hermione was the second mate. “The cap’n tells her shit.”

A question, presented again.

“Draco? Not a clue,” Hermione would say, when followed into her cabin for a conversation. “I mean, the captain does tell me things, but he just showed up one morning and the captain said to consider him one of us.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Uh. I suppose. He’s alright, but… there’s something odd about him. He sings in the bath.”

“Most people sing in the bath, though,” The logical answer.

“No, no,” Hermione would reply, lips tight around the words, “he sings in the bath.”

The young boy in charge of preparing the baths was next, then. His name was Colin.

“Hermione said he sings?” A question instead of an answer.

“Yes, Colin, she did say that.”

“Well, he does. It’s… look, I’ll tell you this, but you can’t tell a soul.”

“Not a soul. Promise.”

“The Captain came to me in the dark. It must have been after three, the moon was high up in the sky and the Captain found me in my hammock, said he needed a bath right away. He wasn’t shaken, but the Captain never is. When I got up I saw he was soaked, I mean soaked, you know? Dripping everywhere, but he’s the Captain, so I didn’t ask and just went to prepare the bath. When it was ready, the Captain brought him in. He was freezing, just shivering all over, dead gorgeous, even in the dark, with his skin looking half blue, kind of… it’s crazy, but I swear it looked iridescent, just... and he smelled like sea foam, like the mossy rocks that sit on the shoreline, and he was naked and shivering all over and gorgeous and the Captain put him in the bath and then I left. In the morning, the Captain told me not to say a word, and he was introduced to the crew.”

“But where did he come from?”

“I don’t know. Ask the quartermaster, he might be able to say more.”

The quartermaster wasn’t happy with the question.

“My Captain doesn’t owe me any explanations.”

“Ron, I’m simply trying to understand”

“He showed up and Harry wants him here. That’s all there is to understand.”

“But doesn’t it seem just a little weird? Have you never seen anything strange happening around him? The cook said he adds salt to everything.”

“So does Luna and I don’t see you asking around about her.” Anger, in the name of the Captain, in the name of his friend, but the kind laced with curiosity. Almost there, with questions of his own, almost at the tip of the scale. Needing a push.

So, a push: “He disappears for days at a time, not a trace of him, then he reappears as if – as if he came and went with the tides, with the sway of the waves. His fingers never still, they dance over the table, hover in the air as if they weren’t used to being tethered to what’s underneath them, as if all of him were used to floating instead. His voice tilts around our words as if he were learning the language the exact same second that he’s speaking it. He smells like the morning before rain, like our pillows after being on board for months at a time. And he looks, he looks –”

“He looks like its child.”

“The water’s child”

“Yes.”

There it is. Ron’s there, and he’s going to answer the question. A new, more important question. “What happens when he goes back?”

“When he goes back, he becomes a shadow too dark for me to see, quick as a shark, graceful as a serpent once he swims deep. His teeth grow twice as long, like they could bite into the depths and open up the pearls of another sea. His hands shift, membranes sheer like silk and soft like moss in the spaces between his fingers. And he’s even more beautiful, green like the ocean, blue like the ocean, grey like the ocean, and Harry loves him, and Harry is our Captain, so it should be enough for all of us.”

“How do you know he loves him?”

“I heard him sing it. They sing, the chime of bells or perhaps the chant of seabirds at dawn. They sing, and they swim, they move through the ship as if moving through water, slow, the light bending around them as if they were submerged. They met underneath, and Harry brought him up, and now Draco is turning him. Harry’s skin glows gold under the sun, sometimes, if I look closely, and he stares out the ship’s edge with longing, yearning for what’s underneath the surface. His feet leave wet trails all over the deck, and his voice is all foam and bubbles, his anger turns the sky to thunder that sends light through the depths. He whispers in his sleep in languages I can’t comprehend, languages that sound furious like the breaking of waves over rocks, gentle like the lap of shallow waters on our feet, and he translates for me in the morning, he says the tide that brought us will claim us back, with complete conviction, as if that’s where he came from as well. Maybe it is. That knowledge was taken from him, he’s never known his own past. Maybe it’s this. ”

“We’re going to lose him.”

“Or we just won them both.”

#prompt #mine #drarry #drarry fic #harry potter #draco malfoy #ilyprompts #ladylulys2 #mywriting

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lawssword · 4 years ago

Link

Day: One Affection

Word Count: 1.8k

Luffy slipped his hand into Law's, lacing their fingers together as they walked through the grocery store. Law tried not to pay it any mind. Tried not to pay attention to the second glances thrown their way.

"What do you want for dinner?" Law asked. "There's still cilantro left, it would go well with tacos."

"Oh!" Luffy's voice hitched with excitement and he hugged Law's arms to him. "We can make those chicken tacos that Sanji made on New Years'."

"I think we could make it work," Law said with a small smile. "I think we'd need sour cream, lime, and chicken."

"Can we get rum and orange juice too?" Luffy asked.

"Captain Morgan's?" Law asked.

"Yep, the pineapple one!" Luffy agreed.

"Deal," Law said.

"You're the best Torao!" Luffy smiled and kissed Law's cheek. That definitely caught some second glances of people passing by. They gathered everything they needed for dinner and headed for the checkout.

"Oh, the rum!" Luffy said.

"I know, I'm going to grab it, you get the groceries and I'll meet you at the car," Law said. Law couldn't exactly get it with Luffy with him.

"Shishi, okay," Luffy said. "Oh, can we watch Pirates of the Caribbean when we get home?"

"Of course," Law said with a small smile. He let go of Luffy's hand and disappeared around the corner. Law found the rum that Luffy wanted and went up to the counter to pay. He set the two bottles he got in the back seat and leaned against the car, waiting for Luffy.

Luffy was coming out the automatic doors of the grocery store with the cart full of groceries in no time. Luffy propelled himself down the parking lot towards Law, standing on the cart.

Law shook his head as Luffy went horribly off course. He stepped out in the lane that Luffy was the middle of now. Law caught the cart and Luffy came to a halt, doubling over on the cart.

"I think you missed the turn," Law commented, he pulled the cart towards the car and opened the trunk.

"Maybe," Luffy said, smiling all the same. "But I knew you'd catch me."

"How corny," Law muttered as he started getting the groceries put away. Luffy grabbed a couple bags and got them put in the car too. Once the cart was empty, Luffy wrapped his arms around Law.

"Dinner is gunna be so good!" Luffy exclaimed, looking up at Law with a smile that made his eyes disappear. "I can already smell the chicken."

Law tilted Luffy's chin up just a bit and leaned in to kiss him.

"Oh," Luffy muttered, he stood on his toes and met Law halfway. Law pressed his hand to the small of Luffy's back and hugged him close. With his other hand, Law closed the trunk and they slowly parted.

Law smirked and looked at Luffy in that way that made Luffy curl his toes. "Get the cart put away and I'll start the car." Law's voice was quiet. He only spoke as loud as he needed to for Luffy to hear him.

"Okay," Luffy said. Law's hand fell from his back. Luffy spun the cart in the direction of the cart return and propelled it and himself forward with his foot. The car tipped back with Luffy's weight but Luffy took it in stride and took the chance to steer the cart into the return. Law chuckled to himself and got into the car.

Luffy hoped in and Law pulled out of the parking spot. As soon as they were on the road Law took Luffy's hand in his. He kissed the back of it as he drove and rubbed circles on Luffy's hand with his thumb.

It was only about ten minutes before Law pulled into his assigned parking space that was labeled the same as his and Luffy's apartment. Luffy's bike was parked in the spot next to them.

"Im so hungry I could eat 12 whole tacos!" Luffy exclaimed, jumping out of the car. "No, 14!"

Luffy started heading up the stairs.

"You're not getting even a tortilla if you don't help me with groceries," Law threatened.

"Oh!" Luffy gasped. "I forgot!" Luffy backtracked all the way to the back of the car and helped Law carry in the groceries. They for everything up to their apartment in one go. Luffy called it a win.

Law started putting the groceries away as soon as the bags hit the ground while Luffy got the movie ready.

"Torao," Luffy called. "Which one is the first?" Luffy asked.

"Curse of the Black Pearl," Law replied.

"It's not on Netflix!"

"Disney Plus."

"Oh!"

Luffy let the intro play out but paused it before the actual movie started.

"Do you need help?" Luffy waltzed into the kitchen as Law got the last of the groceries put into the pantry.

"Nope," Law said.

"Oh, that was fast."

"Mhm." Law already started unwrapping the chicken they had bought. Luffy stood by Law's side and ran his hand up Law's back.

"Can I help you make dinner?"

"Well, that depends, are you actually going to help, or are you going to eat everything when I'm not looking." Law glanced at Luffy as he poured seasoning over the pan.

"I wanna help you cook!" Luffy insisted.

"Hm, alright then," Law turned on the stove to heat up the pan and turned to Luffy.

"Promise you won't eat anything until all of dinner is ready and we're watching the movie," Law said.

"I promise!" Luffy assured.

"Ah, so I have your word," Law smiled like he had Luffy caught in a corner. "And you can't break your promise."

"I would never!" Luffy insisted.

"Alright, then," Law grabbed the onion and tomato he had left out to cut up for the tacos. "Cut these up for the tacos."

Luffy stood on his toe and kissed Law's cheek, he took the vegetables and set them on the counter next to the stove. Luffy dug out a cutting board and knife before he stared with the tomato.

"Am I supposed to cut it like little squared or like it's going on a burger?" Luffy asked.

"Squares." Law laid the meet onto the pan in front of him.

"Uhh," Luffy cut the tomato in half and chopped off the leaves. "I don't know how to do that. "

"Hold on," Law said. Law turned to the sink that was behind him and washed his hands before coming up behind Luffy.

"Hm?" Luffy looked over his shoulder at Law while Law put his hands over Luffy's, guiding the knife.

"Cut it in half like this," Law said. Luffy turned the knife sideways with Law and cut it down the middle.

"Oh! I've seen Sanji do this," Luffy said.

"Still need my help?" Law asked.

"I got it!" Luffy said with confidence. Law brought his hand from Luffy's to Luffy's waits and kissed his cheek.

Law turned his attention back to the chicken it wasn't cooked enough for Law to break it up for the tacos yet. Law opted to take care of the cilantro in the meantime. He cut off the stem and separated out all the leaves.

The knife Luffy was using slipped and Luffy jerked his hand away. The knife clattered against the counter.

"Did you cut yourself?" Law asked, he took Luffy's hands in his, checking Luffy's fingers for damage.

"No, it just slipped," Luffy said. There were no cuts on Luffy's hand to contradict the statement.

"Be careful," Law muttered, turning his attention back to the cilantro while Luffy finished up the tomato. Law set the cilantro aside and checked on the chicken, he flipped it and put more seasoning over it.

Luffy started on the onion, cutting it up the same way he had with the tomato. The onion was a lot easier since it wasn't so soft. Or at least that's why Luffy thought the tomato was hard to cut.

"You gotta peel the outer layer," Law said.

"What?" Luffy had no idea what Law was talking about. Law came over and took the onion.

"The outer layer is all dried up, we can't eat it, so you take it off," Law explained and he pulled off the outer layers.

"Woah!" Luffy watched in amazement. Law set half of the onion back down before doing the same to the other half. Luffy set back to cutting it.

In movies whenever someone cut onions, it made them cry, but that wasn't happening at all. It must be one of those things that aren't real. Or at least that's what Luffy thought before his eyes started to sting. Luffy squinted to ease the stick as he brought the knife down.

Onto his finger.

"Ow! Son of a bitch!" Luffy yelped. The noise made Law jump.

"Luffy-ya," Law sighed, though part of him knew that They'd end up like this. Law fond the cut on Luffy's hand. It wasn't too bad but Law wasn't going to give Luffy another chance to cut himself. Law reached past Luffy for the faucet and turned on the tap.

"Let the water run over it, I'm gonna grab the first aid kit," Law said.

"Oh," Luffy muttered, sticking his hand under the running water. "It stings!" Luffy yanked his hand away.

"Leave it, you were handling food, we need to make sure it's clean," Law said, he brought Luffy's hand back under the water. Luffy winced. "I'll be right back."

Law grabbed the first aid kit from under the bathroom sink and returned to Luffy in the kitchen. Law set it on the counter next to the sink and popped it open.

"You can turn the water off," Law said. Luffy did just that while Law grabbed some alcohol wipes and band-aids. Luffy let Law take care of the cut, watching him put Neosporin and finally the bandaid over it.

"How long until you're a doctor again?" Luffy asked.

"At least four years," Law said.

"I dunno, I think you could be a doctor now," Luffy said with a grin.

Law chuckled, "Maybe a nurse in another year.

"But look at how well you patched me up," Luffy said.

"It's a bandaid," Law countered.

"Still," Luffy said.

"I don't think a hospital would agree with you," Law said.

"I don't care." Luffy stuck his tongue out at Law just as Law looked up at Luffy.

"You're so childish," Law muttered with a small smile.

"Shishi," Luffy grinned, "I'm just fun, Torao!" Luffy leaned forward and kissed Law. Law wrapped his arm around Luffy and tilted his chin up just a little to get a better angle. The smell of the chicken starting to burn made Law pull away.

"You made me forget about the food," Law sighed and turned to the stove.

"Save the food!" Luffy leaned over the counter, with his head over the pan.

"You're in the way," Law muttered. Luffy moved as Law flipped the chicken, it was a little scorched but otherwise fine.

"YAY!" Luffy cheered. "You saved it!" Luffy hugged Law, wrapping his arms around Law's neck. "I love you! You're the best!" Luffy kissed Law's cheek.

"Love you too," Law murmured.

#LawLuWeek2020 #10 days of lawlu #one piece #trafalgar law #monkey d luffy #fanfic

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lilaviolet · 4 years ago

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I was tagged by the lovely

@madoddthings

1. Name: Leslie

2. Gender: A Woman

3. Star sign: Aquarius sun and moon!

4. Height: Five one and a half

5. Time: right now? 1:37

6. Birthday: February 12th sometime in the 80s

7. Favorite band: Pearl Jam I can go years without listening to them but nothing hits me like they do. Seeing them live is the best feeling in the world.

8. Favorite Artist: I dunno I guess Marina?

9. Song stuck in my head currently: Misery Business there was a post and it just came on spotify

10. Last movie you watched: No idea! I used to be a movie bitch but now I’m a TV bitch who has no attention span to actually watch TV Maybe Booksmart?

11. Last Series: BRIDGERTON

12: Blog age: I lurked for a few years just looking at the pretty gifs but in July 2013 something compelled me to actually create an account so I could leave little hearts. Four months later I re-blogged my first Sleep Hollow/Ichabbie gifset and the rest is me being fandom trash history. so 7 and a half years old

13. Content: I have no idea. This is just me being my most authentic self. Mostly re-blogs of thinks I like, love or am obsessed with. Plus a bit of politics and news. If you can’t stand my faves I don’t know how you could survive following me.

14: Last google: My hairdresser’s phone number

15. Side blogs: Yep! I finally gave in to my greatest desire and started a blog for all the Sami Zayn/Kevin Owens / El Generico/Kevin Steen content @thesamiandkevinshow I know it seems impossible but I was really restraining myself on here even though you guys probably couldn’t tell. My mutual was giving away the username and I just had to have it :)

16. Do you get asks: not really if I re-blog a list of questions a mutual will usually send one :)

17. URL Meaning: It was my livejournal username Lila (a name I liked better than mine at the time also the name of a character on General Hospital and Violet is a great song from my second favorite band Hole

18. Following: 228 I’m really picky if I follow you I think you’re a chill person I’d be friends with and/or your content is too good to miss.

19. Followers: 520 which is completely insane! I don’t know which of my many varied interests made you click that follow button but I hope my nonsense isn’t too annoying :) I’m ruthless about blocking bots I don’t know why. I worry I’ve blocked real people by accident tbh.

20. Average sleep hours: Sleep? I don’t know her! 4 hours is my usual but then I gotta take a long ass nap. I live on coffee.

21: Lucky number: I don’t really have any... maybe 7,8 and 21

22: Instruments: I have no talent I begged my parents for a bass guitar when I was 10 because it seemed like every band I was listening to had an awesome female bass player and I wanted to be one too! I have a medical condition with my hands that really should have stopped me or at least my parents from spending all that money :(

23. Clothes: Comfy and cozy. If I can get away with pajamas while lounging at home I do. I have a weird obsession with gray my friends have to physically stop me when we’re out shopping because I’m just drawn to it. There’s so many shades! It goes with everything. I don’t love black or white so gray is my neutral. I like solids and stripes. I own too may fandom shirts but I bagged my old wrestling tees and put them away, I only have like 7 currently in my rotation not counting my over sized Sami shirts I sleep in.

24. Dream job: Wrestling valet. I wanted to be (and kind of still do) Miss Elizabeth but with a big dash of Sensational Sherri. Like Miss Elizabeth just stood around but Sherri got physical with the guys and took bumps when the story called for it and I liked that. I wouldn’t want to be a full time wrestler because I’m not about pain, but bitch let me manage somebody male or female. Now it’s such an unpopular opinion everyone wants every girl to wrestle and I’m like bring back managers, valets, wives and girlfriends. Not very woman is so dedicated that she’s willing to break her neck or get that banged up. I can’t be the only one with this opinion lol.

25. Dream Trip: That’ll actually happen San Miguel’s Portugal. Dream that’ll never happen South Korea, Taiwan and Japan no one would go with me, but I‘ve dreamed of it since 2007.

26. Favorite Food: Junk food. Anything cooked in garlic. If I go out to eat Shrimp Mozambique I’ll settle for chicken Mozambique but it’s not the same. So spicy and flavorful great now I want to go eat some I don’t think anyone delivers it :(

27. Nationality?: I consider myself 100% American I was born here, as fucked up as this country is it’s my home. But if the Fascists take over I‘m praying Portugal will take pity on me. I’m eligible for citizenship I should have applied during The Bush Administration like my little cousin did but I was an optimist... I’m a dumb bitch.

28. Favorite Song: This Week? Don’t Go Away by Oasis

29. Last book: That I read ? I was going to be like it’s all fan fic for this bitch but I read the latest Amanda Quick novel and am patiently waiting for the next one!

I’d love everyone who sees this to do it. I’m shy with tagging people but for real if you follow me and want to do this tag me I’d love to see your answers!

6 notes · View notes

wildroseofarran · 4 years ago

Text

When it Finally Hits || Captain Issott || January, 2021

Leslie: {Text from Leslie} Do you need me today on the ship?

Tristan: {Text from Tristan} For working, no

{Text from Tristan} For kissing? Always

Leslie: {Text} That's all I am to you. Lips.

Tristan: {Text} You're the whole world, sweetheart

{Text} That being said, it's not a pressing need but I do need to make a couple new nets if you wanna help

Leslie: {Text} Making me swoon.

{Text} I'll be right there baby

Tristan: {Text} Bring your most heavy-duty gloves

{Text} And wear something long sleeved

Leslie: {Text} Heard

And he would be on his way after finding his most worn flannel. A yellow and brown piece with a hole in its sleeve.

Tristan: When Leslie arrived, he'd find Tristan sitting on top of the ship's cabin surrounded by a massive unfinished net. He wore a plain blue work shirt and his hair was piled messily on top of his head to keep it out of his face as he worked, kept in place by what appeared to be a pencil and some fishing line.

Leslie: Of course it was. The man looked the part. He wished for a better memory, to bring his camera more often to capture moments like this.

"Where's Oliver?" he greeted, climbing aboard.

Tristan: Tristan looked up with a grin. "Hey, you! He's off selling our catch for today and hopefully gouging Bonnie for it. Watch your step, there's twine and rope everywhere."

Leslie: "Been years since I did this. You're gonna have to show me, or lemme watch for a little." He didn't mind either. He settled by his side and stretched.

"Much as I love Myrtle, I'm ready for this new chapter in my life."

Tristan: "We can do both," he said, clearing the heap of finished net off his lap so Leslie could see better. "Did you tell her all our plans? She upset?"

Leslie: "Kinda sorta. I couldn't tell. She wants her niece to take over but she doesn't see a restaurant. She sees work she doesn't want. So hearing I'll be gone by next year doesn't sit well."

Tristan: "Is there someone else who she'd trust to take it over?"

Leslie: "She'll try other family. When that doesn't work, I dunno."

Tristan: Tristan thought for a moment. "Do you think she'd trust someone who wasn't family?"

Leslie: "Me, and as much as I love her, I don't want it."

Tristan: "Can't imagine this place without the Pearl Pond. Makes me wanna find a worthy candidate for her."

Leslie: "We can do that. Net first, then the Pearl," he smiled.

Tristan: Tristan grinned and nodded. "Hell fuckin' yeah. I'll ask around, see if anyone's particularly good at cooking seafood."

Leslie: "Could steal Peter's chef," he chuckled. "I know a baker. That's all I've got. Chefs are gobbled up in Edenton."

Tristan: "If I know one thing for certain, it's that Pete would fight us both to the death before he let us take Bobby." An exaggeration, but only slightly.

"We should teach Logan how to cook seafood. She'd be great."

Leslie: "She burns pots on a regular basis. How she makes jams for cakes or fillings for pastries I have no idea."

Tristan: "She understands how to control the heat in those scenarios. There's always a thermometer in the jam and stuff telling her what to do. That's what we need."

Leslie: "You two have gotten close."

Tristan: "She makes damn good cake."

Leslie: "She needs many friends."

Tristan: "I think she's got a good few with all the jobs she has. Or if not friends then potential friends."

Leslie: "She has you now. I know what that means."

Tristan: Tristan smiled. "I'm nothing special. I just do what I can." He held up the net and examined his work. "Like make nets that won't devastate what puts food on my table."

Leslie: "You can never say that you're nothing special. Not ever. You're magic."

He pulled at the net, held out with both hands to check progress.

Tristan: He chuckled. "There is that. A magic prodigy even."

The net still had a ways to go but what had been completed was holding well and strongly. The twine it was composed of was made entirely of organic materials; no synthetics to be found anywhere.

"How's it looking?"

Leslie: "Looks like I'm not nearly as good at this as I thought I was." Which was an exaggeration; he'd always known he was shit.

"Is this all for today?"

Tristan: "It's like anything in life, just takes practice. And yeah, this is it apart from cleanup."

Leslie: "That's what I've been telling you and Charles. My words have been turned against me."

Tristan: Tristan laughed. "Yep! They sure have. They're good words though, and true. You'll be a master net maker before you know it."

Leslie: "The scars on my fingers are not the same kinda scars, baby."

Tristan: "They show you've been through some shit, as have we all. Some people just go through different kinds."

Leslie: "Majority of these are kitchen related, I promise." Though a few were from spells.

Tristan: "Comes with the territory. It's like making a mess when you cook. If you don't have at least a few scars, have you really cooked?"

Leslie: "They fade, eventually. Always do." He smiled softly. "Is it terrible of me to say I'm glad yours don't?"

Tristan: Tristan smiled and shook his head. "Nah, it's not terrible. Do you like that they add to my swarthy sailor vibe?"

Leslie: "I do, actually. My kind, we don't keep our history on our skin. I value each one you have."

Tristan: "There aren't any magical folk with scars? Is there such thing as a magic scar?"

Leslie: "There are. Just not Verbena. And yeah. They exist. Seen some absolutely... unforgivable ones."

Tristan: "So it's not anything good that leaves magical scars, huh?"

Tristan looked down at his hands. They were covered in gloves but underneath were thick callouses and puncture scars from many a crab and hook. Scattered among the tattoos and sun-given freckles on his body was more of the same. Old cuts, old burns, thin scars, raised scars.

He barely noticed them after living with them for so many years, but seeing them through Leslie's eyes, he could find an appreciation for them.

"You know I used to worry my hands were too rough for you?" he mused, smiling softly.

Leslie: "I think there are, but they'd have to be very rare." Permanent disturbance to the body, the opposite of healing. It had to be truly horrifying or truly beautiful.

Leslie looked up from the net. Noticed Tristan's gaze.

"We did a lot of assuming."

Tristan: "We did, didn't we? Glad all that's over and that you don't mind my caveman hands and that they make me have to carry around a tin of Nivea like Mrs. Pennyapple."

Leslie: "What happened to that woman," he laughed. But! that wasn't what was on his mind now. "I love feeling those sandpaper hands all over me. Those hands right there? I want them on me when this net's finished."

Tristan: "She grew up on a farm! And I'm pretty sure she still helped her family work it up until she married Mr. Pennyapple. Maybe even after that, who knows."

Tristan laughed softly and leaned over to kiss his witch. "Just you wait, babydoll, they're gonna be alllll over you."

Leslie: "Keep that up and the net'll have to wait," he laughed through his nose.

Tristan: "You say that like it's a bad thing. We've got all the time in the world for net making."

Leslie: Leslie arched a brow. "Keep that up," he said again.

Tristan: A wicked grin and another kiss.

Leslie: And just like that, Tristan had a man straddling his lap. Arms resting on his shoulders.

Tristan: He laughed and wrapped his arms around Leslie, pulling him in for more kisses. Yes, perfect. He'd had honest intentions of making the net together but feeling Leslie up was better.

Leslie: True to his word, he wanted to feel those rough hands against bare skin. Going so far as to tug at his sweater in silent plea. He did not account for current weather, and what the cold had done to Tristan's hands, hissing and writhing at his touch.

"Ah, fuck!" he laughed.

Tristan: "Sorrysorrysorry!" Tristan said around another laugh. Leave it to them to get carried away and forget they were outside in January.

He moved his hands away and tried rubbing them together for a bit to warm them. "The one time I'm not a space heater."

Leslie: "Bring em back. Warm up on me." He didn't mind a bit of discomfort.

Tristan: "They're freezing, gimme a second." Friction could only do so much but it did help a little.

He still winced when he touched Leslie's warm skin though, kissing him in apology.

Leslie: "Tight." And he in turn would hug Tristan's head, fingers disappearing into his hair, messing up what had been neatly tied.

Tristan: If Leslie wanted tight, then he would be hugged tight, both for closeness and for warmth.

"Careful, don't poke yourself with the pencil I shoved in the rat's nest."

Leslie: "You have hair supermodels envy. 'Rat's nest'. Pfft."

Tristan: "It's all tangled," he chuckled. "My hair tie broke so I made the pencil bun but it kept coming loose so I threw some fishing line in there."

Leslie: "Oh, Luna, look what you did," he laughed, looking over Tristan's shoulder to examine the crime scene of tangled hair. Already set to work on detangling.

Tristan: “Never gonna get it back to supermodel levels without a comb. I think I’ve got one in my office somewhere.”

Leslie: "I'll get it in a minute." He would much rather use his fingers for as long as he was able. Addictive, is what it was. As was much of Tristan's company. "You'll just have to have me in your lap a little longer."

Tristan: “Nah, that’s all right. I’ll go get it when you need it.”

Tristan grinned and nuzzled Leslie’s cheek. “Well, shoot. I guess I’ll just have to put on a brave face. Whatever will I do with such a beautiful witch in my lap?”

Leslie: "You'll be still," he laughed. "Or I'll...accidentally...tug...when I don't mean to."

Tristan: "We definitely don't want that," Tristan said with another chuckle. "Does feeling you up count as being still? I think it does."

Leslie: "Rub those rough hands all over me."

Tristan: "Don't mind if I do."

Tristan slipped his hands beneath Leslie's shirt, running them up and down his back, massaging gently.

Then, with a particularly self-satisfied grin, those hands dipped into the waistband of Leslie's pants.

Leslie: "Now, merman, those hands are gonna distract me something fierce." And had already, accidentally pulling just a little too hard on the next tangle.

Tristan: "Ah, that's okay. Work is more fun when there's a distraction." He'd never been tender-headed anyway; a couple of tugs on his hair wouldn't hurt him.

Leslie: "I prefer music over hair pulling, but that's just me." One more knot to go, and all would be well. "How do you let it get this bad?"

Tristan: "It was an act of desperation after the hair tie broke. It was tangle-free when I left the house, honest."

Leslie: He loved that hair more than his own. Probably why he was so determined to detangle. All was well with a final finger comb. Back to a loving assault of kisses and neck nibbles.

Tristan: He hummed, nuzzling Leslie any time he was in perfect reach. "All's right with the world again. Thanks, doll. Still want the comb?"

Leslie: "I'm your comb." He offered his lips. Arms returning around his neck. "Should get back to the net, though."

Tristan: "You're the most beautiful damn comb I've ever seen." He took those lips and kissed them until his lungs screamed for air. The net could wait.

Leslie: Such demand and urgency from Tristan's lips caused a firming ache between his legs. An inadvertent roll of his hips. How did they even get to this point? Did he care? He was too busy trying not to smile into their kiss.

Tristan: If they weren't so out in the open with the potential of Oliver or someone else coming along at any moment, Tristan would've undone Leslie's pants and given him some relief.

"Just you wait until I get you home," he murmured, kissing his way across Leslie's jaw.

Leslie: "Keep that up," he grinned, ready to threaten this as well. "We gotta - the damn net," he laughed.

Tristan: "Oh, I will. I'm gonna eat you right up." Just a few more kisses to that beautiful neck.

"We'll get there eventually." Kiss. "Gotta get you a netting needle." Kiss.

Leslie: Another roll of his hips. One intentional and lingering. A soft noise in Tristan's mouth.

Tristan: Tristan hummed and pulled Leslie's hips closer, encouraging him. He was having a hell of a time prioritizing the net over this precious witch in his arms.

Leslie: "Uhn, baby... we gotta..." Something. Another. And another roll. If Tristan weren't careful, they would have a mess between them. In broad daylight.

Tristan: "Hmm?" He didn't have it in his mind to be careful. His thoughts and his senses were all centered around Leslie, but what little brainpower wasn't devoted to him figured that as long as they were both clothed, everything was fine.

Leslie: Leslie had just enough sense not to dry hump his boyfriend to oblivion, but friction relief was a constant burden to his senses. He offered his tongue to their kiss, forgetting what it was he was going to say.

Tristan: Tristan wouldn't have minded one bit if Leslie had dry humped him to oblivion; in fact, he was actively encouraging it with his roaming hands.

But he was perfectly happy to have his brain turned to mush by Leslie's intoxicating kisses in lieu of that. Hell, he wasn't even feeling the cold anymore, much less thinking about the task at hand.

Leslie: All Leslie wanted was to feel Tristan firm against him. To offer the same sanity reducing friction and enjoy the little noises which would follow. The feeling of those leathery hands as he'd felt the night before.

But the sky grumbled, and the wind whistled through the ships and the deck and between them, waking him from his daydream.

Tristan: Of course the moment Tristan stopped feeling the cold it decided to assert itself again, along with the ominous looking clouds slowly growing darker overhead.

He heaved a great sigh and pressed one more kiss to Leslie's lips. "I think that's Mother Nature throwing a bucket of cold water on us, sweetheart."

Leslie: "I think so, too." Or a druid in a sour mood. He didn't know of any mages with an agenda here. Not that he knew everyone.

"Back to the net, then?"

Tristan: "Guess we better," he chuckled, indulging them both with just one more tiny kiss. "All right, lemme go get you a netting needle. Got some below deck."

Leslie: "Aye aye, captain." First, climbing out of his lap without tripping.

Tristan: Tristan sighed mournfully as Leslie left his arms. If he didn't need a new net as badly as he did, he'd be putting the whole thing off and taking his witch home.

"All right, back in two shakes. Don't have too much fun without me."

Just as he got to his feet, the wake of a motorboat tearing out of the docks caused the Adriana to rock suddenly. Unable to catch his balance in time, Tristan stumbled over the net that, without him realizing, had tangled itself around his feet, and was pitched headlong into the freezing water below.

Leslie: Leslie had turned towards the cabin when he heard the unexpected splash. Looking back over his shoulder to a man no longer there. His heart leapt to his throat for only a second. Not the first time someone had gone overboard on this ship.

"Not about to beat Oliver's title," he called, walking towards the railing. "You're supposed to have the best sea legs!"

Tristan: Any other day, Tristan would've emerged from the water roaring with laughter at his own clumsiness. It had happened before.

But it wasn't happening now. The swarthy, tattooed captain of the Adriana wasn't coming up for air. He was still below the surface long past the admittedly impressive capacity of his lungs.

The shock of the cold water had made his body tense and freeze up. He tried to swim toward the surface but his arms and legs refused to cooperate, as if something were paralyzing him.

Leslie: Leslie hadn't bothered to count the time; he knew the capacity of those lungs. Tristan's nickname wasn't at random. But something was wrong. He should have resurfaced by now. Calling to a man underwater was useless. If Tristan was going to emerge he would have.

Leather boots were argued with a grunt, tossed carelessly before throwing himself overboard.

Tristan: Had he hit something on the way down? He hadn't felt anything. But then what was this horrible pain in his limbs and his neck that felt like he'd been tossed around in a washing machine?

Tristan made one more effort, one more push to get himself to the surface. His lungs couldn't hold out much longer. They were screaming in their desperation for oxygen, still shocked by the cold.

It felt like an age passed while he struggled in the water. His skin burned with something that was probably cold. He was so tired....so tired...

Leslie: Leslie could hardly see a foot in front of him. Not for lack of trying. The water stung at his eyes. This was approximately where Tristan should be. His lungs weren't nearly as strong like this. Had he meditated before he could have held his breath for an hour, but in his panic...

He felt at the water, swam deeper. There, near the underside.

Tristan: The freezing temperature of the water and Tristan's own weariness had gotten the best of him.

He was struggling still, but only slightly. The pain and the burning and the desire to breathe were too much to fight all at once, he had to give in to one of them.

In the end, he'd given in to his lungs. He gasped breath back into them which had brought relief so intense he hadn't questioned being able to do so.

Was this what drowning was? Pain and relief. More pain than relief. So much more. Something was moving toward him; he could see a shape through his blurred vision. Keeping his eyes open was too hard.

He just breathed.

Leslie: Tristan was grabbed by his arm, looped to his right as he headed for the surface. Calm. Just keep calm. Too focused on his own burning lungs and the additional weight he hauled to notice what had happened. He would assess when they could both take a breath.

Tristan: Something was grabbing him. Someone? Someone.

Tristan couldn't tell who; he could only tell that he was moving and imagined that whoever or whatever had him, they were dragging him into the murky depths to meet his maker.

His exhausted brain didn't register the approaching light as anything but the comforting hallucination before death until his head was breached the surface.

The pain, cold, and oxygen-deprived desperation slammed into him all at once with brutal force, leaving him gasping and flailing and trying to call out.

Leslie: He couldn't think of words as he resurfaced. Only to breathe as he hoped Tristan would. He needed to get him to shore first. They were almost there. When his voice finally returned, all he could say was, "Calm, baby! It's okay!" He had to breathe to yell, so that was a good sign at least.

The first sensation of shore on his fingertips, every muscle in his body relaxed.

"What happened, baby?"

Tristan: Reaching dry land should've eased some of Tristan's distress, but he continued to struggle and gasp and the reason why was blatantly obvious.

Tristan hadn't been wearing a jacket when he went into the water, only his work shirt. At some point it had come partially unbuttoned and askew, leaving part of his chest exposed to reveal what appeared be slits on either side of his throat and patches of iridescent scales on his skin.

Even as Leslie watched, those slits would slowly start to close, improving Tristan's breathing and causing him to cough up a good bit of sea water.

Leslie: Tristan was placed flat on the shore. One hand holding his weight by Tristan's head, the other pressed underneath Tristan's shirt, just shy of his scales. Finally able to assess, his eyes were wide in awe and confusion. This man he had called merman for years was in fact...

Things he had been unable to feel, a wealth of new information. He had to steady his adrenaline filled body, calm his mind to better analyze.

"It's okay," he whispered. "It - It's okay. Slowly, baby."

Tristan: Tristan didn't hear Leslie, not fully aware of his surroundings yet. He was shivering hard, breathing still erratic despite his now clear lungs. All he could register was biting cold wind lashing into his skin and the ominous rumble of thunder signaling an oncoming storm.

Leslie: "Tristie, can y - you say something?" The wind was finally getting to him. Adrenaline could only carry him so far. Now his body was shaking. He could only imagine what Tristan was experiencing.

Tristan: He heard Leslie that time. Tristan turned toward the sound of his voice, able to make out the shape of his boyfriend despite his blurry vision and eyes still stinging from the salty water.

He managed a head shake. Speaking was a no go, his teeth were chattering like there was no tomorrow. They needed to get dry and get warm.

Leslie: Leslie was afraid to move him. With his scales, his gills... He searched for more. Felt at his hands and - his feet. He needed to see them.

"Okay," he breathed. "Okay..." Carefully, he pulled Tristan to his chest. Squeezed him close and struggled to his feet. He had to get them back on the boat at the very least.

Tristan: Although at first glance it appeared like the patches of scales were scattered at random, there was a pattern to them. They didn't cover the whole of Tristan's skin, however, and now that they were out of the water they seemed to be disappearing.

But his arms and his legs--sore though they might be--were still very much there.

Tristan had recovered just enough strength to cling to Leslie for all he was worth and had just enough will to try and force himself to stop shivering. Reality was, slowly but surely, coming back into focus.

He pointed. Ship was that way.

Leslie: "I know," he managed, voice as gentle as it was strained. Tristan wasn't normally heavy, but circumstance had knocked the wind from his chest and the strength from his arms for an effortless journey. Another tired scan of their surroundings. There were people, but occupied by their to-do lists, deep in conversations, music, left to their own devices on their own boats. Two arguing in a car too far away to detail their expressions. Little beyond the way of flailing hands and sharp head movement.

They could make it without being seen. So long as he kept his pace.

To the warmest room. They were in desperate need of towels. Tristan was placed on the nearest sturdy surface.

"Be right back, baby."

Tristan: The captain's cabin was the warmest place on the ship only because Tristan had put a space heater in there to make it comfortable in the winter months. And hell if it wasn't going to come in handy right now.

The sturdiest surface that was free of clutter inside the cabin was his chair; not ideal, but he was more than glad to huddle into it. He nodded at Leslie and closed his eyes.

Towels would be found in one of the storage compartments on the deck, along with an extra set of clothes that Tristan kept just in case.

Leslie: He couldn't feel his fingertips. He realized in his grab for towels that he couldn't feel his toes, either. Both clothes and towels were placed on the desk.

"Let's get you outta these clothes."

Tristan: Tristan opened his eyes as he heard Leslie's returning footsteps and made to stand. He needed to get the heat going before anything else.

Leslie: "What are you doing?"

Tristan: His throat felt too raw to speak so he pointed at the heater instead. Luckily it was only a couple of steps away from his chair because his legs felt like Jello.

Leslie: "Sit down and work on your shirt." He would deal with the heater, and anything else that might bring Tristan to his feet.

Tristan: He sank back into the chair. He wanted so badly to protest but he was too tired.

The buttons were a safer bet.

Of course, that meant looking down at his chest and the moment he did, seeing the fading but still very distinct scales covering his skin.

WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?

Tristan practically tore his shirt off in his panic to get a better look at himself, nearly falling off the chair in the process.

Leslie: The heater had just been switched on when Leslie heard the clumsiness of panic.

"Baby! Baby, it's okay. It's okay. I promise." But only he knew. What little he knew was still a mouthful. A towel was draped over Tristan's head. Face firmly held in both hands.

"Tristie, look at me. I un-understand your panic, but you're not dying. There's nothing wrong with you."

Tristan: Nothing wrong?! Tristan may not have been able to move with Leslie holding his face but he could still raise an arm and point to it and say, "Scales!" in a voice that sounded like he was recovering from a sore throat.

"Why scales!?"

Leslie: How to even begin. Hazel knew more about them. Kelly probably knew even more than she did.

A frozen hand covered Tristan's heart.

"You're very late to the party, or someone put a very powerful spell on you when you were little. Maybe before you were born. I can't tell you that. What I can tell you is that... your nickname... was a little too on the nose."

Tristan: Nickname? But...

Tristan looked at Leslie in desperate confusion before it clicked that Leslie hadn't meant 'Tristie' or 'Captain'.

"Wha--....no. No no." He shook his head. Leslie couldn't be serious. He couldn't possibly be serious, that was impossible.

Leslie: "I wouldn't lie to you." Drying Tristan's hair helped serve to warm his skin. On his knees, he began to pinch and kick off his socks.

"What do you know about your father?"

Tristan: Leslie wouldn't lie to him, and he liked to think his own eyeballs wouldn't lie to him, but the thought that he could be--no, it was impossible.

"Barely anything." He uselessly cleared his throat. "It's not--he can't--no. No."

Leslie: Now that his own feet were bare, he began with Tristan's shoes and socks, using the second towel for gently drying and warming his skin. He needed to see what else was happening, but more than that, they needed to get warm.

"Your pants, babe."

Tristan: Trembling hands clumsy from the cold undid his jeans and eased them off. Tristan tried not to look at his skin. The sight of those scales was more than he could handle right now.

Hell, for all he knew he had drowned and all this was a hallucination he was having in the back of an ambulance. That made more sense than suddenly being a merman.

Leslie: Leslie forced himself back to his feet for more towels and any extra clothes left for himself. The door was shut behind him upon return. The wind having stripped any warmth he had managed to accumulate.

"No matter what happens, I'm with you, Tristie."

Tristan: The storage bench only had one set of clothes, but there was another set in the galley that Tristan had left at some point when he'd stayed on the ship overnight. The frayed jeans and work shirt weren't the warmest, but they were clean and dry.

Leslie would return to a completely nude Tristan hunched over with his head in his hands.

He sighed. "I don't even know what's happening now, Les. I don't..." Another sigh.

Leslie: Finally, Leslie began to work on his own clothes, still clinging to his goosefleshed body.

"The only explanation I can think of I've said. You're not in any danger. What this is, is... it's what you are."

Tristan: "Is it even possible to do that? To--I don't--suppress what someone is? Is that even the right--ugh..." He rubbed his face.

Leslie: "Can be. Every species has magic. What you are is no exception."

The last of his clothes, his underwear, was pulled from his shivering body. The nearest towel used to warm his legs and between them.

Tristan: Tristan looked up with another sigh, staring at nothing for a few long moments until Leslie's shivering brought him to his senses.

Silently, he reached for his boyfriend and pulled him into his lap. Here he was stuck in his head when there were more important things to focus on.

He bundled Leslie into a towel and wrapped his arms around him, just...holding on for dear life.

Leslie: They could keep each other warm far better than the ragged clothes on the desk. He buried his cheek against Tristan's neck and simply existed. No matter his optimism, this was Tristan's journey, and it was only just beginning. All he could do is support him. But right now, right now they just needed to get warm.

Tristan: He had no idea how long they sat there, only that it had been long enough for his body temperature to return to normal and for the...stuff on his skin to go away completely. He had to deal with it eventually but for now seeing his skin look the way it was supposed to just brought relief.

Tristan pressed his lips to Leslie's hair. "How do you feel?" he asked. The long stretch of silence had brought the healing sore throat quality back to his voice.

Leslie: Dry, but still feeling almost every ounce of winter. The heater did little to shake the events from his skin.

"Like I'm still cold, and I wanna take you home. Just wanna be buried in bed with you, naked." His eyes had yet to open. "How are you feeling?"

Tristan: Tristan kissed Leslie's head again. He couldn't begin to vocalize how he felt because he had no idea. "Jury's still out."

Another kiss. "We need to go home. Eat. Do nothing for a good long while."

Leslie: For the witch, keeping busy was healthy. Movement was constant. Things to do, people to help, progress in his own life and that of others. Right now, he wanted none of that. He craved silence and Tristan's skin-to-skin contact. He wanted nothing more than to be where Tristan needed him. Right now, that meant forcing himself from his lap to dress.

"I'm driving."

Tristan: “You’re still cold. I’ll drive.” Tristan followed suit and got up to dress. “You can bundle up and keep getting warm.”

Leslie: "No. No way. You just went through so much. We'll crank the heater all the way."

Tristan: “You went through it too.” But he wouldn’t argue. He probably should’ve but he felt deflated and defeated in a dozen different ways. He just wanted to be home.

Leslie: "When you didn't come up..." No, not here. They weren't finished getting dressed. He could pour his emotions when they were in a better place physically and mentally. That in mind, now dressed, he excused himself to find his boots, still where he had yanked them off in desperation.

Tristan: Remembering how he had struggled in the water, how he'd seen and heard stories of it happening to other people, Tristan could imagine the fear Leslie had felt. He'd give anything to be able to take the memory of that away.

He finished getting dressed and gathered his things, meeting Leslie back on the deck once he made sure everything was locked up.

The keys were offered. "Let's go home."

Leslie: Leslie was staring down at the offensive water, leaned over the port beam railing. Shoulders hunched and head down. His left boot barely tied. It seemed for a moment he hadn't heard. Finally looking up when he was able to shake his thoughts.

"Away we go."

Tristan: They both seemed to be stuck in their heads today; Tristan didn't blame either of them.

This fuckin' day had been as changeable as the sea.

As Leslie had suggested, once they were in the truck Tristan cranked up the heat. He'd spend the ride back to the house leaning against Leslie.

Leslie: If only he could manage resting his head against Tristan's and having a proper eye on the road. He wanted his arm around him. He wanted him close. They would have to wait until home, which wasn't far. His body was still uncomfortably cold.

Once home, there was nothing but his single objective. Their soggy clothes forgotten in the back of the truck. Tristan was all but pulled through the driver's side and towards the house.

Tristan: A fresh wave of relief washed over him the moment they walked through the door. They were home, they were safe, there was nothing to bother them here.

He made sure the heat was on as he led them upstairs, shedding his clothes along the way in a practiced manner.

Leslie: Leslie nearly stumbled in his attempt to remove Tristan's jeans. Just a hair too small for his hips, anyway. He was grateful for their nudity, and the inviting blankets he began to crawl under as soon as within reach.

Tristan: Tristan crawled in after him and immediately pulled Leslie into his arms and wrapped himself around him. He needed to get his love warm, he needed him close.

Leslie: Easy to ignore the cold when there was nothing to compare it to. Tristan's nearness revealed just how frozen he still felt. It was as though nothing could shake it. It seemed deeper than physical. It had been fear and adrenaline.

"I think... it's safe to say... your ship needs a few more upgrades."

Tristan: Tristan squeezed him tighter. "I'm sorry for scaring you. I'll put in more railing this week. I promise." He kissed Leslie's head. "I'm so sorry, baby."

Leslie: "What? Don't apologize to me. You're the one with a whole new life."

Tristan: "I scared the hell out of you. Damn near gave you hypothermia."

Leslie: "I'd do it again. You would for me."

Tristan: "In a heartbeat." They couldn't get much closer than they already were but Tristan was damn well going to try.

"I love you."

Leslie: "I love you." They were safe. Tristan was safe and spooning. "Do you wanna talk about it? What happened underwater?"

Tristan: "I know I need to, and I will, but I don't want to. Not yet." He burrowed his face against Leslie's neck. "Just wanna be here with you."

Leslie: "I'm not going anywhere." He hugged Tristan's arms to his abdomen and shut his eyes.

Tristan: At some point cuddled up under the covers with Leslie, Tristan had fallen asleep.

He had no idea how much time had passed but by the time his stomach had woken him, the sun was almost completely set and it was dark outside. It had been early afternoon when they'd gotten home.

"Les?" he said groggily.

Leslie: It hadn't been long before Leslie had joined him in sleep. No nightmares, although they had been expected. What he had was dreams of Tristan's ship, and of iridescent scales beneath the surface. Something he could feel with his fingertips, leaning over Tristan's dock. Impossibly smooth in one direction. He knew opposing would cut his finger.

It was Tristan. Gorgeous, but, where was his face?

The witch buried his face against the pillow. Teeth began to grind.

Tristan: "Les..." Tristan hugged his witch closer and started kissing along his neck and shoulder. Although to be fair, they couldn't get much closer without melding together.

"Wakey wakey. We've gotta eat, baby."

Leslie: "You're wet," he murmured.

Tristan: "M'all dry now. We're home in bed." More kisses, everywhere he could reach. "Gotta feed ourselves and the noodle."

Leslie: Something about his statement struck Leslie with a jolt. "Fuck. My - My blood sugar." So wrapped up in what had happened, and the cold, the emotions, he forgot something so basic. He was exhausted and he knew now why. Yet still he sank into the sheets again, eyes falling closed, hand against his forehead.

Tristan: Fuck.

"Fuckin' fickle fuckin' day," he groaned, untangling himself with great reluctance and getting to his feet. "Be right back."

There was a meter in the bedside drawer but food required going downstairs, so that's what Tristan would do.

They'd have to cook or order in here in a bit but for now, some fruit and baby carrots and tea would do.

He returned a few minutes later with the food and Opal dangling from his arm.

Leslie: Leslie had nodded off again. The day's ordeal was only partially to blame why he couldn't keep his eyes open. He told himself to sleep it off, but he'd negotiated the same as a child. The reason he had been so adamant to master meditation to suppress the need for insulin. All flown from the window in the moment.

Tristan: Tristan would kiss him awake again, and for good measure, would set Opal down on the bed to scamper around.

"Gotta eat, baby. I've got tea and carrots and a banana and some blueberries. We'll get some proper food here in a sec. Want takeout?"

Leslie: Kisses reawakened his witch, blinking as though stirred for the first time.

"Banana," he managed before yawning. Opal demanded his attention. She would have to wait. Stacking pillows against themselves to lean against. "I'll eat wherever you pick. How'd you sleep?"

Tristan: He waited until Leslie was upright and comfortable before handing him the banana, placing everything on the bedside table in the meantime.

"I don't even remember falling asleep. Guess that's a good sign. You?"

Leslie: He began arguing with the skin of the banana, taking a bite before answering. "I think I dreamed of you. Feels like I had that dream before."

Tristan: Tristan crawled back under the covers and leaned against Leslie. “Was it a good dream?”

Leslie: "I think so. I saw... scales. Your scales. Just under the water. My hand barely submerged touching - your tail. I think it was your tail."

Tristan: What little magical knowledge Tristan now possessed knew better than to discount a dream like that.

"You dreamt that I turned into a merman?"

Leslie: "I think... Maybe it was just today." He hardly ever remembered things said in the twilight of unconsciousness.

Tristan: "Yeah, maybe." Tristan nuzzled Leslie's shoulder, pressed a kiss to it. "Or maybe it was a premonition of things to come. Can't help but wonder why it happened now."

Leslie: "I've only ever had them when awake. Just like - like when something on the tip of your tongue is remembered." Speaking of. "I need my insulin."

Tristan: "Yes, you do. And I need to make us something to eat." Tristan got up again. "Come on, doll."

Leslie: "Right." He'd finish the banana, first, or he was never getting out of this bed.

Tristan: "How about I bust out the grill pan and make us some salmon and spinach salad?"

Leslie: "That sounds like the best meal of my life."

Tristan: Tristan smiled and kissed Leslie's cheek. "And you'll get it. Want me to carry you down?"

Leslie: "I can - You're the one that went through trauma, baby!"

Tristan: "You're the one who needs insulin!"

Leslie: "I'll be fine, I promise!"

Tristan: Tristan squinted. "I'll feel better once we're eating. Kinda want potatoes too. Potatoes comfort me."

Leslie: "I'll make some roasted. It'll take a while."

Tristan: "You're gonna sit your butt down, is what you're gonna do. I'm cooking tonight."

Leslie: "Do you remember a few hours ago?"

Tristan: "Diabetes trumps merman....ness." Fuck it, he was going with it.

"It's insulin time. Come on, fuzz noodle," he added, scooping Opal up and draping her over Leslie's shoulder.

Leslie: Opal's tiny cheek was given a kiss, carefully making his way downstairs to the kitchen. Insulin was non-negotiable, but so too was cooking, if he was going to have any say - which he would fight for.

Tristan: Leslie would get a say, but Tristan wasn't about to let him do any of the heavy lifting, so to speak.

"You can chop potatoes but I'm taking care of the rest. Salmon and salad are quick."

Leslie: "We can let the salmon marinate while the potatoes cook." With the injection out of the way... he would concede to his role as sous chef.

Tristan: "Okay, deal. What do you want on this salmon? I was thinking some lemon and dill, maybe some spice?"

Leslie: "What kinda spice?" His mouth was practically watering at the thought. "We still have carrots? Thinking some carrots with this, coriander, honey, lemon, mint, parsley, and pomegranate."

Tristan: "We have...." Tristan poked his head into the fridge. "A single carrot and about half a bag of baby carrots. Also, I was thinking chili powder. Just a little, nothing crazy. Also also, please no honey. Only sweet potatoes have any business being sweet."

Leslie: "So no pomegranate, either?"

Tristan: “Pomegranate is okay. Carrot, too, if you end up wanting to use them.”

Leslie: "Hmm." He looked at the potatoes again. Constructing the dish in his head like a painter with a canvas. "Scratch it all. Black pepper, the compound butter with rosemary, sea salt. Keep it simple so the salmon shines."

Tristan: "Okay," Tristan chuckled. "How about this, we'll put the pomegranate and carrots into the salad. Hell, even the honey, we'll make a vinaigrette."

Leslie: "Boy, I sure do love you," Leslie smiled.

Tristan: He kissed Leslie's cheek. "I love you, too, doll. Gonna make a bitchin' salad for you."

Leslie: "Your heart is too big for your chest."

Tristan: "If anyone's heart is too big for their chest, it's yours. Oh, was that a yes on some spice for the salmon?"

Leslie: Tristan was given a smile. "Sure! Could use a tingle on my tongue that isn't ice cold."

Tristan: Speaking of, "You still feeling chilled at all? I can turn the heat up some more."

Leslie: "Maybe a sweater. Ooooone of yours?" he grinned.

Tristan: "Your wish is my command." Another kiss. "How about the light gray one?"

Leslie: "Oh, hell yeah." He watched Tristan a moment. "You alright?"

Tristan: Tristan nodded. "I think so yeah. Mind feels...tangled, but I guess there's no helping that. Well, dinner will help a little."

Leslie: "Is your mother going to faint?"

Tristan: "Nah, she's not a fainter. If I know her as well as I think I do, she's gonna be fuckin' pissed. Not at me, at him."

Leslie: "Sounds too good to be true, and that's coming from the witch in this house."

Tristan: "Maybe that's wishful thinking. The fainting thing. I know for damn sure she'll be pissed because I'm fuckin' pissed."

Leslie: "I don't want to place you in the same category as were-creatures, but this feels... I don't have anything more to relate to. Fae doesn't sound as similar."

Tristan: "Don't were-creatures need the full moon to transform?" His brow furrowed. "Is there a full moon tonight? Does pre-emptive transformation happen ever?"

Leslie: "To my knowledge, but there are always exceptions to everything."

Leslie looked around and back, counting days in his head. "Not yet. Soon, though."

Tristan: "Guess that's something to think about," he sighed. "Lemme go grab you that sweater."

Leslie: "Kay, babe." He'd finish prep in the meantime. Put the kettle on for some tea as well.

Tristan: Tristan returned a few moments later with the sweater. He'd briefly considered putting underwear on, deciding against it. He wasn't going to be frying anything so there was no danger of hot oil getting on any sensitive areas.

"All right, doll. Let's get you bundled."

Leslie: "This feels one-sided," he pointed out, slipping into the sweater arms first. "Gonna make some tea. Earl gray, herbal...?"

Tristan: He chuckled. "Didn't feel like putting anything on. Thought about it though."

Tristan began gathering things for vinaigrette. "I want earl gray but it's too late for caffeine. Let's go with herbal."

Leslie: "Is it really that late?" Perhaps another reason why he was tired. It didn't feel as though they had slept long, and yet the stove clock didn't lie.

Tristan: "Doesn't feel like it should be but yeah. It's dark out. We slept for a good long while."

Leslie: "You needed it."

Tristan: "So did you. We both got uncomfortably close to hypothermia today."

Leslie: "I didn't suddenly become something pent up for an entire lifetime in minutes."

Tristan: "But you did jump in to save me. We're on this journey together, baby."

Leslie: "Of course we are, but this isn't the same as the craft. I can only walk so far on your path."

Tristan: That made Tristan feel more than a little uneasy and...lonely almost. None of this was sitting well with him. If he dwelled on it too long it would make him sick to his stomach.

"So, what do we want in this vinaigrette besides the honey?"

Leslie: Leslie had stopped what he was doing. Both hands on the counter, watching his boyfriend intently.

"Um, some white balsamic, salt, pepper, oil - talk to me. What are you thinking?"

Tristan: He got a bowl and a whisk. "I don't know. Nothing. Everything. I just..." He sighed. "I don't know, Les."

Leslie: "I don't expect you to know what those thoughts mean. I just want you to spill them on me."

Tristan: "I don't know what I'm thinking. I'm just fuckin' pissed and wishing I'd stayed in bed this morning."

Leslie: "You have a right to your anger. Your father, whoever he is, he should have had the decency to stick around."

Tristan: "He should've had the decency to do a lot of things, like fucking wrap it if he knew he already had one foot out the door."

Leslie: But I don't think you should regret what you are, he wanted to say, but that was asking too much of Tristan tonight. He was jarred and overwhelmed and while optimism was Leslie's middle name, there was a time and place for even that.

"I'll whisk. Can you put the potatoes in the pan?"

Tristan: Tristan nodded. “Yeah, I got ‘em.”

This was good. Methodical tasks were always good when someone felt like they’d been tossed around in a blender mentally. You got to pretend everything was normal for a second.

Or at least until you went to wash your hands, and more scales appeared on your skin.

Leslie: Tristan was lingering over the sink. Had Leslie looking from his shoulder, waiting to see what was going on.

Tristan: He was staring at his hands, where a smattering of scales had appeared the moment his skin had become wet. They didn't cover the whole of his skin; they seemed to taper off in some sort of pattern extending to each fingertip, leaving his palms bare.

Leslie: That was a few seconds too long.

"Babe?"

Tristan: "I'm fucked," he whispered.

Leslie: "What?" He walked over, hand placed on the small of his back.

"Oh." His lips felt as tight as his stomach. He took some nearby paper towels and wadded them, took his hand and began to dab.

Tristan: "I'm fucked," he said with a humorless chuckle. The scales faded as his hands were dried but his problem only grew. "I'm completely and utterly fucked. He fucked over my mother and now he's fucking me over too."

Leslie: Leslie tightened his arms around Tristan's waist, chin resting on his shoulder.

"It's a horrible day, baby, but you're not fucked. We'll figure this out. I promise we'll figure this out."

Tristan: "Aren't I? How am I supposed to do my job, Les? How am I supposed to exist in public if every time I get wet this--bullshit happens to my skin? Am I supposed to wear gloves and pants and long sleeves for the rest of my life?"

He sighed and scrubbed at his face with his hands. "I'm gonna kill him."

Leslie: "I'll ask around, see what we can do." We, he would continue to say, because the last thing he felt Tristan needed was to feel alone. "I'll do everything I can. Just one step at a time."

Tristan: "I'm still gonna kill him. He knew. He knew what was going to happen the second he got her pregnant and he ran off instead of bothering to tell her. What kind of sick son of a bitch does that?"

Leslie: "It's not right," he agreed, swaying once, twice, squeezed his middle again.

"But we can't do anything about the past, baby. But we can help the now."

Tristan: Tristan sighed and closed his eyes, letting himself lean back against Leslie. Felt like he was doing that in more ways than one.

“I’m sorry. This is misdirected anger, you don’t deserve it.”

Leslie: "Yell if you want. I'll let you punch me for a buck," he grinned, trying his best for some levity in this heavy atmosphere. "I'm doing my best to understand."

Tristan: Tristan turned in Leslie's hold and wrapped his arms around him.

"Can't ask you to understand when I don't understand either. We're both in the dark."

Leslie: Both hands buried in Tristan's hair and squeezed. Fuck. What more could he do to help him, he wondered.

"One step at a time. Food right now."

Tristan: He took a deep breath. "Yeah, food. Gotta get you fed before you get sick."

Leslie: "Stop that. I'll be fine."

Tristan: "You will be after this salmon and these potatoes."

Leslie: "Well, let's get back to it."

Tristan: "Right. What's going in this salad?"

Leslie: "I... forgot," he laughed quietly, with effort.

Tristan: "I know we said the carrots and pomegranate."

He gave Leslie a final squeeze and walked over to the fridge. "We've goooot....baby spinach, romaine, cucumber, blueberries, a questionable looking onion, tomato, broccoli, artichoke hearts..."

Leslie: He just wasn't hungry. He knew he had to eat, but his appetite had diminished some time before he jumped into the sound.

"Um... okay. I'll - Potatoes first! Then the salad."

Tristan: "Potatoes, yes." Rosemary compound butter, salt, and pepper went onto the potatoes while the salmon sat in its marinade. Mugs were grabbed for tea, water put on to boil.

And sprinkled in there was affection for Leslie and for Tristan's own sanity.

Leslie: Potatoes, salad, salmon. Some semblance of normality for Tristan, and that's all that mattered. The food didn't matter, and what an odd feeling coming from a chef.

He pulled his chair closer, sitting thigh-to-thigh and sitting a bottle of wine center of the table.

Tristan: Tristan smiled and wrapped an arm around Leslie, leaning in to kiss his cheek. He fully intended to stay that way for the whole meal; he needed that closeness.

"Wine, tea, and salmon. We're having a very fancy dinner."

Leslie: "That we are." He caught himself eating in silence. Well aware that he wasn't being himself. He just had a lot on his mind, and he could only guess what Tristan was thinking.

Tristan: For his part, he was doing his level best to think as little as possible, choosing instead to focus on the meal they'd made and Leslie's nearness. Tomorrow he'd think about his situation and his deadbeat sperm donor and make plans to do something about it.

Right now he just wanted to exist in the right now.

Leslie: Leslie could certainly exist. That's all he wanted as well, until it was Tristan needed him. This was not the first time 'we' came before 'I' in a relationship. His family, his coven, Myrtle, Tristan. But Tristan had been different for some time now. This 'we' was not the same. A deeper responsibility than he thought himself prepared for, and only to grow with the potential of Ruby and Ester. Was he ready for this? To be without the independence he'd come to rely upon in order to give whenever and wherever.

What was he even thinking? He looked up from the dishes and forgotten how he'd even gotten to this point.

Took Tristan falling into the water to see how much their relationship had grown. How much he had changed. Moving into his home, preparing for the possibility of children. No more Peter Pan.

How long had he held his breath?

"Tristie?"

Tristan: Not wanting to confront his issue any more tonight, Tristan donned gloves so he could help Leslie with the dishes. It was just as well. He was probably going to have to wear them until he went toes up.

Did that count as resignation? Maybe a little. But there wasn’t much he could do about it just now.

He looked over at Leslie. “Yeah? You okay?”

Leslie: "Yeah. I uh... I dunno what I was gonna say." He wasn't sure why Tristan was next to him, or when that happened, either. A one person job, unless he wanted nearness. In that case, Leslie bumped hips and offered a smile.

Tristan: Tristan smiled back. “I love you, you know. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there today. What I would’ve done. Thank you.”

Leslie: "I don't like the thought of you going through it alone, but I think... I think you would have been alright."

Tristan: “Maybe, maybe not. Just makes me that much more grateful that you were there, and that you’re here putting up with my...freak out.”

Leslie: "I'm not 'putting up with' anything, baby."

Tristan: He kissed Leslie’s shoulder. “I’ll never have enough life to deserve you.”

Leslie: "Maybe start a new life as a poet," he smiled.

Tristan: Tristan chuckled. “Maybe. Mama would like that.”

Leslie: "So we're telling her I'm a witch and you’re a merman all in one sitting?"

Tristan: "Do you think it's a good idea? Would it be too much?"

Leslie: "I don't know her as well as you do."

Tristan: "It's a lot to process," he sighed. "....Should we get her drunk first?"

Leslie: "Ha! No, baby, I don't think that's a good idea. Maybe start light. The world is magical... and then her son is magical."

Tristan: "And then we pour the bourbon, got it." There, a faint glimmer of his usual sense of humor.

Leslie: And his smile was given in kind. "Wanna go for a walk?"

Tristan: "I do. Guess I better go get some pants and shoes on."

Leslie: "Same..." And it just dawned on him, wondering how it was going to look and feel the next time Tristan took a shower.

"You still... have sea water on you."

Tristan: Tristan nodded. "Yep. Salt in my hair, too. Showering is now a source of bullshit instead of relaxation," he sighed. "If I'd known this morning's shower was gonna be the last one I would ever enjoy, I'd've stayed in there for an hour."

Leslie: "We don't know that, baby. We'll take one together after the walk. Deal?"

Tristan: Another nod. There was no avoiding the shower situation; might as well bite the bullet.

"Deal. Let's get some clothes on. Would it be weird to walk with a blanket wrapped around us?"

Leslie: "I won't complain. I don't think anyone will see us. It's pretty late." But this town was bigger than it seemed. Maybe. Not that it mattered to him, but perhaps to Tristan.

Tristan: His concern was more about the mechanics of walking while bundled as opposed to someone seeing them. People in this town saw far weirder things than them every day.

"Good. I don't have it in me to be cold any more today. We'll just walk carefully."

Leslie: "I have a king size quilt we could walk in? Pretty roomy, but a little heavy. How's that?"

Tristan: "Perfect. I'll take a heavy blanket if it keeps us warm."

Leslie: "I'll get my shoes on." After a quick kiss.

Tristan: "I'll get everything on."

Which meant shoes, a sweater, and pants. Underwear? He didn't much feel like it. Besides, they'd have a quilt to shield them from the cold.

Leslie: For Leslie, the largest sweater he owned, loose and faded in color. Whatever shoes were nearby - the man didn't match.

"Ready?"

Tristan: If Tristan's mother had taught him anything, it was that matching was vastly overrated.

"Yep. Got the keys. You got the quilt?"

Leslie: "That I do, sailor." He held his arms out, holding the quilt like heavy wings.

Tristan: Tristan walked into them and immediately sighed in relief. Perfect.

Annoyed as he was at his current situation, he couldn't not take them down to walk by the water. It was his whole life, his safety blanket.

Fuck if he was going to let some deadbeat take it away from him.

Leslie: The blanket was shared almost equally, giving a little more than half to Tristan without thinking. He wasn't going to say anything. Sometimes, silence was the best medicine. And nearness, he thought, wrapping an arm around Tristan's waist.

Tristan: Silence and nearness were exactly what Tristan wanted and needed. Apart from some answers, maybe. He couldn't get any tonight, and maybe not tomorrow, but he was determined to get them. He and Meg damn well deserved them.

"When should we go see her?" he asked once they were making their way back.

Leslie: "That's what's been on your mind?" His pace slowed to a near crawl. "Depends on what you want. If you want her to learn with you, or show her when you're in better understanding."

Tristan: He didn't much know what he wanted. Only that his mother deserved to know exactly what that bastard had done to her. "One of the things on my mind, yeah. Also wanna talk to Luke Graham. Maybe it's best to do that first."

Leslie: Leslie's brow knotted. "Peter's brother? What for?"

Tristan: "Because he works with a private investigator and I want his number."

Leslie: Not even twenty-four hours. He wasn't sure whether or not to admire or worry. Both felt right.

"Okay."

Tristan: "I'm gonna find him and fucking kill him. But first I'm gonna get some answers."

Leslie: "First, I just want you to breathe."

Tristan: "Literally or?"

Leslie: "Both. Both would be good for you."

Tristan: Tristan took a deep breath. Hell, he'd take two.

"I'll call Luke tomorrow."

Leslie: "Alright." He wasn't going to stop him, but he was going to follow every step, should Tristan need a place to lean.

Tristan: "Or we could go to the pub for lunch. Bobby's making shrimp and grits."

Leslie: "Lunch and then Luke?"

Tristan: "Chances are we'll be able to kill two birds with one stone. I think tomorrow he works at the pub."

Leslie: "Years, and I still dunno the schedule there."

Tristan: "Don't blame you. It's loose at best. Not even the menu is set, I only know what Bobby's making when he orders fish from me."

Leslie: A small smile. "The epitome of casual. Didn't like all the fighting there used to be. Seemed to chill after that one guy died."

Tristan: "Guess the deputy and sheriff reading Pete the riot act over and over finally worked. He only punched the assholes, though."

Leslie: "Surprised he wasn't sued."

Tristan: "One made a lot of noise about it until Pete pressed charges. Dude had broken a table and some chairs and felt up Mira Harley."

Leslie: "So he's been lucky," he laughed. "Mira... blonde?"

Tristan: Tristan nodded. "Yeah. Charmaine's baby sister. You know her, she plays the piano down at the St. James. Dude had Mira all the way in his lap with his hands up her shirt when Pete knocked him out."

Leslie: "Oh! Right. What a fucking tosser." There were a few exceptions to his opinion of a firm right hook.

Tristan: "If anyone's lucky it's that asshole. Never seen Pete so close to killing a man."

Leslie: Leslie swallowed hard and nodded, eyes to the ground. "When you think you're just, you're the most dangerous."

Tristan: "You ain't wrong. Charmaine was even closer to killing someone than Pete was. Like those poor girls haven't had enough to deal with already."

Leslie: "I don't know their story."

Tristan: "Daddy was in the Navy, died overseas before Mira was born. They moved back here, mama remarried then ran off with a biker. Left Mira and Char with their stepdad. He was a decent man before Brenda left and he set up camp at O'Charlie's. Stepped in front of a train and left them all alone."

Leslie: "Sounds like you just described a very heavily written novel by some... alcoholic sorting their demons."

Tristan: "He was. Personally, I don't think Brenda was worth throwing away his entire life. God only knows what ol' Eddie saw in her to begin with."

Leslie: "Why remarry if you're just going to leave? For the children? That's so..." His connection to family was too tight not to be riled. Blush warming his cheeks with emotion. The blanket was tightened to his chest.

Tristan: "I've always wondered that. They were married for like...four years before she ran off. Don't know what changed but my mama says they seemed happy before the biker."

Leslie: "I'm not about to blame a biker for her choices."

Tristan: "Takes two to tango, doll, but you're right. You can leave a spouse but you don't leave your kids. Saddest thing is, Eddie couldn't have loved those girls more if they were his own flesh and blood. Brenda just..." He sighed. "She had too strong a hold on him."

Leslie: "How do you know so much about them?"

Tristan: "Partly from mama, partly from Mrs. Pennyapple, and partly from Mira herself. Found her crying down by the docks one night, lent her an ear and a shoulder."

Leslie: Leslie sighed. "You're a good man."

Tristan: "I just do what I can. I know how she feels," he added with another sigh. "My old man didn't leave against his will like hers did, but even so. I was raised by a single parent."

Leslie: "We don't know why he left. I'm not sure what you're going to find in the next few weeks..."

Tristan: "I know why he left. He was no hero like Jack Harley or a depressed drunk like Ed. He's a goddamn reckless deadbeat."

Leslie: "I understand why you feel that way right now."

Tristan: "I've felt that way my whole life, this just confirms it."

Leslie: "He could have gone off for unfinished business and that business killed him."

Tristan: "He better hope it did."

Leslie: "Baby..."

Tristan: Tristan took a deep breath. "I know."

Leslie: "I know what anger can do, and I understand it feels good to ride that emotion, and you deserve catharsis but, don't let it be all you have."

Tristan: "Right now it is. I don't even know his name, Les."

Leslie: "She won't tell you?"

Tristan: "The name he told her was fake."

Leslie: "Now that's... curious."

Tristan: "Couple weeks after mama told him she was pregnant she went to see him, found his apartment cleaned out. Asked the manager where he went, manager had no idea who she was talking about. She figured he'd told him a fake name, too."

Leslie: "Typical of... not human...beings." Another sigh. "Ready to go home?"

Tristan: He nodded and leaned against Leslie for a moment. "Yeah, I'm ready to go back to bed."

Leslie: Leslie paused to rub up and down Tristan's arms. "Bath first, then bed. Maybe some more tea."

Tristan: "Gonna need a shot of whiskey in that tea."

Leslie: "You got it, baby."

Tristan: He nodded. "All right. Let's head back." He couldn't remember dreading a bath since he was a kid and taking one meant he had to come in from playing in the yard.

Now here he was, a grown ass man afraid to walk into his own bathroom.

Leslie: They needed the cleanse, and more importantly, they needed to assess the extent of this change. Perhaps it was unlike his endearing pet name, and something else. Something manageable. They wouldn't know until submerging, literally and figuratively.

The walk back, Leslie offered his hand.

Tristan: Tristan took it and gave it a grateful squeeze. One thing was for damn sure, he wasn't ready for a bath. Not after the day they'd had. A shower would have to do until he worked up the nerve to fill the tub and get in.

Would he sprout a tail? Would he be able to breathe? What if drying him off didn't return him to normal, what then? Would he just have to live in the tub?

He heaved a long sigh, remaining silent the whole walk back.

Leslie: Leslie slowly raised their hands to his mouth, kissing at Tristan's knuckles as he filed each what if and maybe of doom, thoughts the witch had already considered, which was why he would rather a bath, should anything dangerous happen without concern of a nasty fall on top of sprouting fins and gills. He could only encourage so much.

"What's a spell you wanna see?"

Tristan: Tristan offered Leslie a small smile. He wished he could absorb some of that Leslie hope and optimism. "Got any to make me waterproof?"

Leslie: Leslie would continue in such manner until some level of absorption took place. Just another layer of strategy.

"I know something kind of?"

Tristan: "I'll take anything, honestly. It'd be nice to have an alternative to covering myself up entirely when I work." If he could work with some sense of normalcy then he had it made, and he had to be able to work. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life in gloves but by god he would do it if he had no other choice.

Finally back at the house, Tristan swallowed his dread and went upstairs for some clean clothes.

Leslie: "It would cover all of you, the spell, so you'd still need your iron lungs. You'd still need to keep to yourself. If I'm remembering correctly, it leaves a sheen-like film over your entire body."

Leslie followed behind, slowly stripping along the way until naked.

"No matter what we see, you know I love you?"

Tristan: "I would settle for it covering my hands and my arms." In other words, the parts of him Oliver and Murphy could see when they were working and that had the highest chance of getting wet on any given day.

Tristan waited until they were upstairs to strip, tossing his clothes into the hamper.

"Yeah, I know," he said, smiling softly. "And I love you."

Leslie: "I can't change the spell, baby, but it's something to consider. If you want to learn, you'll have to work on meditation."

Naked and vulnerable, one considerably more than the other. Leslie mirrored Tristan's smile, albeit briefly. "I'll get the water started."

Tristan: "It'll probably be a while before I can do that worth a damn," he sighed. "But I'll try."

He grabbed some underwear and a t-shirt from his dresser.

"Water started? I thought we were just showering."

Leslie: "Didn't I say bath?"

Tristan: "I thought I said shower. Did I not say that out loud?"

Leslie: "What do you want, baby? I'm saying bath to take it slow. Literally dipping your toes in."

Tristan: He considered for a moment. "I don't think I'm ready to sit in a bath just yet. Showers are quicker."

Leslie: "We don't know what's going to happen," Leslie said gently.

Tristan: "I won't be wet long enough for another disaster. Navy shower."

Leslie: "Then I'll stand by."

Tristan: "Okay."

Tristan took a deep breath, both to calm himself and to stall. He didn't want to shower but he knew he had to, and the sooner he did, the sooner he could get used to it and learn how to deal with it.

He took Leslie's hand and led them back downstairs to the bathroom. Maybe he had to do this, but he was glad he didn't have to do it alone.

Leslie: Leslie followed behind, silent for the time being. Debated on jokes, but otherwise, felt conversation would only make things worse. Had circumstances been reversed, he knew he'd be rather deep in concentration, consideration all of the possibilities. He wished he would take a bath. Sit on the edge of the tub and allow his feet to soak. So concerned that Tristan was about to hurt himself, but, that's what he was for, to catch him.

Tristan: He would only let go when they reached the bathroom. His clothes would be put aside, the bracelet he always wore taken off and placed on top of them.

"All right. Time to face the music."

Tristan started the shower and used the moments it took the water to warm up to make one last effort to steel his resolve. He'd stalled long enough. He just had to do this and let the chips fall where they may.

Closing his eyes, Tristan stepped into the shower. Within moments the pattern of iridescent scales appeared on his skin, running up his arms, across his shoulders, down his back. They littered his sides in an artfully random sprinkle, fading at his groin before covering his legs almost completely.

Leslie: "You'll be alright." But, with that concern in mind, he made for the linen closet for a few extra towels. Just in case, he told himself. One for optimism, but circumstances such as this outweighed and overruled.

The witch couldn't help but near as the iridescent scales returned. They were... like his dream. He could kick himself. He understood visions and omens. Lived them. Why he ignored this as a mere fleshing of his beloved's pet name...

"Lean back, just a little?"

Tristan: Tristan had yet to open his eyes. He was trying to figure out if he could feel anything weird happening to his body without the visual of what was happening on his skin.

“How bad is it?” he asked, doing as he was told.

Leslie: "You're fine, baby," said softly. "Just wait a moment." Waiting to see if there would be any other changes, particularly around the groin. He looked up, also watching for gills, and the possibility of Tristan choking.

Tristan: So far so good. There was no indication of Tristan’s gills emerging on his throat and his breathing remained easy and steady.

His scales seemed to become more prominent the wetter he got but otherwise, everything was normal.

Leslie: He understood this was what Tristan needed to feel safe, but not knowing was only itching Leslie from the inside out. He could fall just as he had today, caught in the rain, a simple spill; they needed answers. Tristan needed to understand his body.

"It's not the same. I mean," he looked back up, "your throat, it's not - not the same."

Tristan: "It's n--what?!" Feeling a sudden rush of panic, Tristan felt at his neck. He probably should've opened his eyes to get a look at himself but he just squeezed them tighter.

"I don't..." He felt at his neck again. "It feels fine. What's wrong with it?" Aside from the definite feeling of scales.

Leslie: "You had something on your neck when I pulled you out. It's not there now. Maybe fresh water is different. Maybe not being underwater means something. I don't know. We're learning, baby."

Tristan: "Yeah, I guess we are." So far they'd learned he'd be able to shower semi-normally for the rest of his life. That was one hurdle out of the way.

Tristan felt around some more until he hit scale. He ran his fingers over them in one direction, then another. "These don't feel like fish scales. They're smooth both ways."

Leslie: "What kinda... fish is like that?" He couldn't think of any, despite his profession. His focus too narrow at the moment, too absorbed in Tristan's well-being rather than his culinary knowledge, which compared to the fisherman was all he had.

Tristan: "No fish I've ever pulled out of the water. Feel more like...reptile scales." He felt for more scales on his arm and lightly pinched a bit of skin between his thumb and middle finger, using his index to feel at the scales. "Yeah, these aren't your typical fish scales. Do they look the same as before?"

Leslie: "Pretty much the same. Didn't get a good feel before. Wasn't a forefront thought at the time." Leslie sat up then, taking Tristan's face in both hands to kiss. "It's okay to look," he whispered.

Tristan: "Right. The whole almost drowning and then teetering on the brink of hypothermia thing." He wouldn't be forgetting that any time soon, that was for damn sure.

His only warning of the incoming kiss was Leslie's touch, and Tristan leaned into it immediately. "Not just yet," he whispered back.

Leslie: "Okay." He wouldn't argue. Only gently encourage. "I'll wash you down. How 'bout that?"

Tristan: "Best offer I've heard all day. Scales won't hurt you, promise." Which had been a definite fear. "Smooth both ways."

Leslie: "Didn't feel anything when I carried you." But again, he hadn't looked for it. Probably wouldn't have felt anything after that dive.

Finally, Leslie climbed in front, gently guiding Tristan back a foot. "Hold your arm out. Test spot for soap."

Tristan: Tristan did as he was told. With two hurdles over with, they still had this one to go. He could still get in the shower and get wet in the shower but could he actually shower?

The test spot would indicate that yes, he could.

Leslie: A bar of soap passed the test. Now for shampoo and conditioner. Anything Tristan used was going to be tested, even excusing himself from the tub for shaving cream.

Tristan: After each product Leslie tested, Tristan felt at the patch of scaly skin. He wanted to know more about it but still wasn't brave enough to see it. And in any case, it didn't feel like there was anything new to learn; scales felt the same each time.

"It's like they were designed for this," he muttered to himself.

Leslie: "Immunity to cleaning products?" His smile reflected in his tone. "Maybe so. Gonna wash your hair now." Now that it seemed safe.

Tristan: Tristan tilted his head back. "More like adapted to them. Makes sense, natural selection is a very real thing. If you've gotta blend in with normal people to stay hidden, you need to be as similar to normal people as possible."

Leslie: "Mm," was all he could manage. He lathered and massaged at Tristan's scalp, breathed in deeply, and contemplated the situation. "Humans adapted to forget... pretty much everything. Push it aside. Not believe in it. Probably why - " he paused, staring at nothing in particular. "No, that doesn't make sense."

Tristan: He felt some of the tension ease out of his body as Leslie washed his hair and massaged his head with those magical healing hands. This situation was untenable but his witch was keeping him from losing his mind.

"Probably why what?"

Leslie: "Probably why you feel the way you do, I wanted to say, but - well, you're part human, no matter what this is."

Tristan: "Maybe I'd feel differently if it was like magic, you know? That didn't get thrust upon me against my will, without me knowing. You've been there to guide me and teach me. With this? I literally got tossed into the deep end of the pool and it damn near killed me. Then there's the whole separate issue of it being my sperm donor's fault."

Leslie: "I get it." To the degree he could manage. "Had my parents kept everything from me, I wouldn't... I'd feel distrusting. We still don't know the whole story. Only half. I reserve... 10% judgement."

Tristan: Tristan heaved a long sigh. "Distrusting is right. I feel that and a hundred other things. Can't tell you how much I would rather have been bitten by a radioactive fish or something. Then at least it would be my own damn fault."

Leslie: "Fish version of Spider-man? Piranha-man." His smile was tired and somewhat forced. Not that Tristan could see it. "Not really up-to-date on comic heroes."

Tristan: "I could live with being thrust into being Piranha-man." Living with this, that remained to be seen.

"It's your turn."

Leslie: "What about me?"

Tristan: “To get your hair washed.”

Leslie: "Oh! Gotta open your eyes."

Tristan: “I will in just one sec.” First he had to rinse all the shampoo out of his hair and slather some conditioner in there.

Only then would he open his eyes, keeping his gaze resolutely on Leslie.

Leslie: He could tell Tristan he was alright until his throat was raw. It would make no difference. So, for now, he simply smiled, patient.

"Okay?"

Tristan: Tristan smiled and nodded. “I’m okay, baby.” And even if he wasn’t, he’d fake it until he made it. “Duck your head.”

Leslie: Leslie was obedient, making no fuss in any measure as his scalp was pampered.

"I have no idea what we're doing after this."

Tristan: “Right after this? We’re gonna finish showering and dry off. I’m gonna comb my hair, or let you do it if you want to. Then we’re gonna head upstairs and get into bed. I’m gonna hold you as tight as I can, kiss you, and we’re going to sleep. And in the morning, things will be better.”

Leslie: "Yorkshire pudding for breakfast? Some... poached eggs and tomato from the backyard. Maybe... something with plantains for lunch."

Leslie, now blind, leaned forward to kiss whatever part of Tristan he could.

Tristan: Leslie’s lips landed on Tristan’s nose. “All that sounds great,” he said, smile evident in his voice. “I love your plantains. And you. So goddamn much.”

Leslie: "I feel it." His own smile evident in his tone, though less evident on his face, scrunched to prevent the shampoo on his eyelid from penetrating.

Tristan: "Good." Tristan guided Leslie under the spray to rinse the shampoo out. "Keep those eyes closed."

Leslie: "Heard," said through a yawn. "So when I open my eyes again, are you closing yours?"

Tristan: "I'll keep 'em open for you."

Leslie: "You mean on me?"

Tristan: Tristan chuckled. "You're the best thing they could possibly look at."

Leslie: "I appreciate it, but I know what you're doing, baby."

Tristan: "Taking baby steps, sweetheart. Been looking at my hands in your hair this whole time and I haven't freaked out."

Leslie: "They're still beautiful hands." He paused. "I know that's not what you wanna hear, but my optimism is relentless."

Tristan: "One of us has to be. Maybe one day I'll see them the same way you do."

Leslie: "It's been less than twenty-four hours."

Tristan: "In other words, every reason for optimism, right? Gotta have hope."

Leslie: "Absolutely. What you are isn't wrong. How you learned is."

Tristan: “Ain’t that the truth,” he sighed. “I really could’ve done without the shitty afternoon we both had.”

Leslie: "I'm always ready and willing to jump into a frozen ocean for you."

Tristan: Leslie was pulled back in kissing range. “Right back at you. Here’s hoping neither of us ever has to again.”

Leslie: "Well, I know you'll be alright, now." A soft kiss later, he felt at his hair for any remaining soap.

Tristan: Tristan did an inspection of his own hair, making sure all the conditioner had rinsed out. "I wash your back, you wash mine?"

Leslie: "Mhm." Washing Tristan's back would be more inspection than actual washing, but it too couldn't be avoided.

Tristan: He may not have been fine with what was happening to him or be comfortable in his own skin or even want to look at himself, but Tristan felt comfortable with Leslie touching him. Inspecting him. Washing him.

It made everything seem more normal somehow. And safer.

“Feels kinda different. Not weird, just different.”

Leslie: "Like a fever, kind of different, or something else?"

Tristan: “A different sensation, when you touch patches with scales.”

Leslie: "Is it numb? I mean, less feeling than normal?"

Tristan: “Not quite. It feels kinda like when you touch your elbow. The skin is a little thicker but you can still feel it.”

Leslie: Sort of what he'd been imagining. Tristan was better with description. "Sounds... protective."

Tristan: “Guess it must be. Might feel different if I’m fully wet like I was when I fell.”

Tristan crouched down. “Gimme a leg.”

Leslie: "What - What?" Leslie laughed from confusion.

Tristan: “Them legs need washing too. Gimme one.” Of course, washing was just an excuse for touching as much of Leslie as he could.

Leslie: "I can honestly say, no one has ever washed my legs before." So he held one up, pressed his foot to the tile for balance and let Tristan be his first.

Tristan: “Then I can honestly say, no one has shown your body the proper appreciation.” Or the proper reverence. Anyone who didn’t have to physically restrain themselves from touching Leslie at all times was stupid or blind or both.

Tristan kissed just above his witch’s knee carefully lathered the length of the first leg before giving the same treatment to the other.

Leslie: Leslie could feel that this was more than a washing. Had his suspicions for some time, the way Tristan stared at him. It was the same stare for years that he had somehow ignored. No longer, he thought, watching his boyfriend admire freckled skin.

"I love you."

Tristan: Tristan gave Leslie an adoring smile and kissed his thigh. "I love you too, baby. Turn around for me."

Leslie: He would obey. Hands loose at his sides, forehead to the cool tile. This was how Tristan coped, he realized. He tried to think of another instance with a similar reaction. Probably his mother, or Oliver. He wondered why, then didn't want to think about it.

Tristan: The gentle ministrations would continue as Tristan washed the back of Leslie. A kiss placed on the underside of each cheek, on each shoulder blade, and directly in the center of Leslie’s back.

“All clean.”

Leslie: Leslie hadn't expected to hear and then feel Tristan lowering to kiss there. It made him smile for sheer surprise.

"You're very thorough."

Tristan: “I pride myself on it,” he said with a grin that Leslie would be able to hear in his voice. “All of you deserves to be kissed.”

Leslie: "I can turn around now, or want more of my back?"

Tristan: He chuckled and pressed one more kiss to Leslie's back. "You can turn around. Ready to dry off and get snuggled into bed?"

Leslie: "Ready to turn." He wondered how much of himself Tristan had observed, or had he been so determined not to look at all, ignoring the glisten in his peripheral.

"I'll get the towels."

Tristan: Tristan hadn't gotten a good look, but he wasn't putting all his effort into looking away either. He was trying to...accept the bits of himself he could see and not try to move so he wouldn't see any of himself because that was weird and impossible to maintain.

He straightened and shut off the water. "'Kay. I'll be here squeezing out my hair."

Leslie: His towel was draped over his head and shoulders. Like a babushka, his mother used to say when he was a child. Tristan was given similar treatment, gently pulled by the fluffy towel into another kiss.

Tristan: He hummed happily, grinning at Leslie when he pulled away. "I feel...a hell of a lot better than I did before we showered."

Leslie: "Then it's been a success."

His own towel was used to aid in drying Tristan's skin. Scales? It seemed a delicate business.

Tristan: Like he had before, Tristan took a moment to take stock of new sensations. The scales didn’t feel fragile but it was probably best to err on the side of caution. Just in case.

“Still so weird.”

Leslie: "Mhm." Lastly, his legs. Less than a rub-down and more of a careful pat. He would wait, on a single knee, watching the transformation as though for the first time.

Tristan: He closed his eyes again. This time instead of doing it to avoid seeing himself, he did it to see if he could actually feel his skin change.

No such luck. Just like when he’d gotten in the shower; one moment scales, next moment gone.

Leslie: Leslie traced a patch of scales with that very thought in mind. Curious if that rough-sensation Tristan had mentioned would change instantly to usual sensitivity.

Tristan: The sensation itself was more gradual. As the scales faded, normal sensation came back. "Definitely weird," he said mostly to himself, rubbing at his arm. "The little kid in me wants to ask where they go when I'm not wet, but I'm guessing it's just magic?"

Leslie: "What I turn into is magic. You'd have to ask a were-creature. Someone born to it like...you."

Tristan: "You wouldn't happen to know any, would you?"

Leslie: Leslie bit his lip, looked at himself in the mirror.

"Mhm."

Tristan: "Am allowed to ask who or did you promise to keep it under wraps?"

Leslie: "I'll ask what he wants. To play messenger or maybe talk to you. I'll keep you anonymous, too."

Tristan: "Thanks, doll. Appreciate this and everything else you've done for me today."

Leslie: "Don't need to thank me, baby."

Tristan: Leslie was pulled in for another kiss. “I know. But I’m doing it anyway.”

Leslie: He nuzzled, inspected for any lingering patches. Satisfied, he said, "Let's get you warm."

Tristan: “Let’s both get warm and get in bed. Ready to cuddle you until morning.”

#When it Finally Hits chapter #leslieeissott #tristanseger

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365days365movies · 4 years ago

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March 16, 2021: Legend (1985) (Part Two)

Tom Cruise is terrible in this movie. Spoiler alert.

It’s not like I can claim that Cruise is one of my favorite actors working today, since he’s been in some real stinkers. But, like...he definitely got better over the years, seriously. Dude was not amazing in Top Gun, but he was WAAAAAY better than this performance.

All I know is that the dude...the dude’s been better, that’s all I’m saying. So has Mia Sara, while we’re at it. I mean, I didn’t even realize until looking her up that she was in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off! And here, she’s...whoof, OK? Also not her best role, is all I’m saying...again.

And Tim Curry...is another story entirely, holy shit. But I’ll get to him more later. The only other thing I want to say before going on is...goddamn, this movie is good looking. I’m not one of those “practical effects are better than CGI garbage” people, but GODDAMN, these are good makeup effects! Who did them, anyway? Rob Bottin? OH SHIT THIS GUY?

The makeup artist from fucking The Thing did the effects for this movie? HOLY FUCK! Dude also did RoboCop and Total Recall, so no wonder this film looks fantastic! Dude’s a Legend, dir. Ridley Scott.

Speaking of, let’s get back to it, huh? I’ll have more to say in the Review later, for sure. First part of the Recap is right here!

Recap (2/2)

As our little band escapes from the prison, they split up, with Jack, Gump, and Oona on one team, and Screwball and Tom on the other. Meanwhile, in his private throne room, Darkness speaks with his Father this time, whoever that is. He notes that he’s so close to making this world his own...but damn, that Lily girl is HAWT.

And unlike his mother, Darkness’ Father responds, nothing that she’s attractive to Darkness because she is so pure. Darkness must woo her, and corrupt her to the darkside. And somewhere, as Darkness speaks romantic words about Lily, a Goth baby is born, and a Goth fairy gets her vanta black wings. Yeah, Goth fairies are born from Tim Curry’s voice; that’s just biology, really.

Oona finds her way to the chamber where Lily is, and peers into it as Lily peers likewise into the fireplace there. Meanwhile, Jack and Gump are still searching, only to be set upon by...I don’t know goblin-witch-things? The mythology here isn’t very clear, gonna be honest. They run off, which Screwball and Tom find their way to the chamber where the Unicorn is.

Meanwhile, Lily ain’t doin’ too hot, and she’s lured in by, to be honest, shiny things. Yeah, she’s hanging out by the fire as Darkness’ father whispers to Darkness that she must be seduced. She’s distracted by pearls and diamonds, and finds a beautiful diamond necklace, which entices her. This is where I put a “women, amirite” joke, right?

Well, at that moment, a cherub statue on the piano comes to life, as does an onyx gown, which dances in front of her. And I gotta say, the effect is enticing, both to me and to Lily. Lily can’t resist dancing with the empty gown, and then becomes one with it, and, well...it’s a nice aesthetic.

But just as this outfit is revealed...so is somebody else.

GODDAMN. That is a gorgeous fucking creature, and I TOTALLY GET IT PEOPLE. The GF is only semi-watching, and she and I agree that if the actual Devil was that hot, there would be WAY more Satanists in the world. And here’s the thing, I’d love to put a billion GIFs here...but it can’t capture this performance accurately without a video, because GODDAMN THIS IS A GOOD PERFORMANCE

And to be clear, this isn’t the best movie. It’s actually pretty goddamn bad to be honest, but it’s SAVED ENTIRELY BY TIM CURRY I ONCE AGAIN CANNOT STRESS THAT SHIT ENOUGH

youtube

But we have to cut away from the best performance in the film (I guess), and we rejoin Jack’s group, who have also watched this performance through the door. Jack almost goes in, but Gump’s like, “Nah, dude, he is WAY too hot, you don’t have a goddamn CHANCE”, and they overhear Darkness say that his weakness is daylight. Jack and co. reconvene with Screwball and Tom to enact a plan. They rescue Blunder, who was almost cooked, then they fight and kill a few ogres and steal some giant metal pans.

Meanwhile, Darkness invites Lily to sit and talk with him. And again, GODDAMN IT I GET IT. He’s literally the ultimate bad boy, AND he’s a fucking romantic? Man, I swear that I’m straight, but FUCK ME I DO UNDERSTAND. After more wooing and sweet nothing, he offers her a rose, which makes me wonder why the fuck NOBODY’S tried this move on The Bachelorette! Just rolling up in a full Darkness costume, giving his various limes? That’d work on somebody, I know it would.

Lily’s constant defiance of his will enrages him, but she does agree to marry him, IF she’s allowed to kill the Unicorn herself. And that excites Darkness so much that there is NO WAY he doesn’t need to change his pants. Gross, I know, but I swear that I just saw him climax at that suggestion, seriously. Blame Tim Curry, not me!

As the ceremony is set to begin, and as the sun rises above the forest, Jack’s group uses the plates to set up a classic mirror trick, and uses them to reflect light from the outside directly onto Darkness. As they’re enacting this plan, Darkness is all set up to sacrifice the Unicorn, with Lily’s help. Or so he thinks.

Darkness is all set to extinguish light forever, and tells Lily to make the final killing blow. She seems set to do it, and Gump tells Jack to kill her. Instead, he fires the arrow at Darkness, and Lily frees the Unicorn, which runs away. Darkness, enraged, knocks Lily out, and when Jack goes after him, he also kicks his ass quickly. Even with Gump’s assistance from above, Jack is obviously completely screwed.

It’s even worse, because Screwball passed out in trying to set up one of the plates for the reflection. But Oona comes to wake him up, and they set up the last plate just as Darkness is REALLY kicking Jack’s ass. Jack grabs the Alicorn at the last second, and uses it to stab Darkness, just as the light of day hits him. He calls out to his father for protection, but to no avail, as the light begins to destroy him.

But he points out something important: there is no light without dark, and he can never truly be defeated as a result. And then...yeah, uh, Jack just defeats him. Literally, he gets swallowed into the eternity of space somehow. Fuckin’...I dunno.

Gump tells Jack that, to revive Lily, he must fulfill his promise to...get her ring back. Um. Sure? As he does that, Gump takes the Alicorn and returns it to the dead Unicorn, bringing it back to life as the sun rises. And the Unicorns reunite at the same time that Jack and Lily reunite in love. And it’s...kinda gross? Like, goddamn, I’ve heard of happy endings, but this is RIDICULOUS.

As the denizens of the forest and the Unicorns wave goodbye to the lovers as they run away together, though, we also see Darkness one last time, laughing. I mean, yeah, no light without dark. They way they choose to edit it is a little weird, but whatever.

And that was The Last Unicorn! I mean...that was Legend! And, uh...yeah, see you in the Review, because I really only have one universally good thing to say about this movie. You know what/who it is.

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rpf-bat · 6 years ago

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Against The Tide And Undertow

Pairing: Ray Toro x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Written for Inktober 2019, Day 3. Prompt: “Bait”. You didn’t know what to expect, when Ray suddenly suggested a weekend fishing trip. But, what happens on the boat, in the middle of the lake, is even more unexpected.

You weren’t quite sure, what had possessed Ray, to drive an hour and a half, from Los Angeles, to San Bernardino. But, despite your bafflement, you found yourself sitting beside him in a canoe, in the middle of Silverwood Lake. Your friend had been so busy lately, working on recording his band’s latest album. So, if a fishing trip, was the only way you and Ray could spend time together, you supposed you would take it.

“I never pegged you for a fisherman,” you confessed, looking over at him.

“I used to go a lot, when I was a little kid,” Ray revealed. “With my abuelo. But, it’s been years, since the last time.”

“So, why go now?” you asked curiously.

“Being in the studio all week was starting to get on my nerves,” Ray replied. “All these guys in suits, asking us which track is going to be the first single, which one we think is most marketable. Like, I don’t know! I don’t compose music, because I want to sell records. I can tell I’m getting on Frank’s nerves, too, because I want to get the guitar melody just right.”

“He thinks that what you recorded already, is fine the way it is?” you guessed.

“Yeah,” Ray nodded. “But, I know we can both do better.”

“Sounds like this is starting to stress you out,” you frowned.

“It is,” Ray admitted. “That’s why I wanted to come out here, and get away from it all, just for the weekend.”

“To be honest,” you confessed, “I’ve never fished before.”

“Oh, let me help you get the bait on your hook, then!” Ray offered.

You traced your fishing line with your finger until you found the hooked end. Ray fished a worm out of a small bucket, and dropped it into your palm. It squirmed energetically.

“If I have to stick it on a hook, then it’s going to die,” you frowned.

“It’s just a worm, Y/N,” Ray chuckled.

“I know,” you nodded, “But, I would still feel bad for killing it.”

“You’re such a kind person,” Ray smiled fondly. “Alright, if you insist, I can give you a plastic lure, instead.”

He took the worm back from you, and rummaged through his bag until he found something that resembled a thin, green fish.

“The big fish thinks it’s a little fish,” Ray explained, “and tries to nibble on it.”

“And then we reel him in?” you guessed.

“That’s right,” Ray grinned. “Go on and cast your line.”

You waved your fishing rod, sending the line beneath the surface of the water. Ray did the same, and for several moments, it was silent, as you waited for the fish to bite. You had to admit it was peaceful, though - a far cry from the hustle and bustle of LA.

“I almost forgot,” Ray sat up suddenly, “there was something that I wanted to show you, while we were out here.”

He pulled out a boom box, and popped a CD into the slot.

“It’s just something me and the guys have been working on,” he shrugged. “It’s still a demo - I definitely want to clean it up more, in the final version. But, it’ll at least give you an idea, of how it’s going to sound, when it’s done.”

“Brendan isn’t going to be mad at you, for bringing the disc all the way out here?”

You were referring, of course, to Brendan O’Brien, the producer who was working on the new record with MCR. He’d worked with some big name artists in the past - Pearl Jam, for instance. And Bruce Springsteen. But, from the way Ray described him, you weren’t quite sure, if his style, really meshed well with what the guys were trying to do.

“Forget Brendan,” Ray scoffed. “You’re my friend, and your opinion is important to me. So, I want you to hear this.”

He pressed play, and a killer guitar riff boomed across the empty lake. You listened as Gerard’s voice kicked in with the first verse.

You fell in love with a vampire

You wanna get it for free

Then say hello to the brush fire, baby

You gonna take it from me

I'm gonna take it from you

The melody that Ray had written, sounded amazing. But, you kinda thought that, about everything he composed.

Say hello to the good times

And burning up in the sun

You're sitting back on an empire

While the world lays back

Puts a kid behind that gun

If we crash this time

They got machines to keep us alive

When the mix tape lies

Choke down the words with no meaning

I stopped bleeding three years ago

While you keep screaming for revolution

Me and my surgeons and my street-walking friends

We got no heroes 'cause our heroes are dead!

“Gerard sounds angry,” you commented with a frown.

“I bet he is,” Ray shrugged. “I mean, I get it. Ever since we moved out here, to California, stuff’s gotten….complicated.”

That’s an understatement, you thought, remembering how Warped Tour had almost put the band’s frontman in an early grave.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Ray continued, “I’m grateful for the success that the band has had. I’m happy that I can afford a nice house, and I don’t have to worry about how I’ll pay for my kids’ college someday. But….I dunno. I don’t like the stress we’re under, to sell as many records, as many tickets, as many T-shirts, as possible. We used to be doing this, just because we loved it. Now, it’s a job.”

The final line of the song, underscored Ray’s point:

Because rebellion’s not a T-shirt you sell

So keep your money, and I’ll see you in Hell!

“So….that’s the mood in the studio right now, huh?” you sighed.

“You don’t like the song?” Ray asked, a troubled expression on his face.

“I love the song,” you assured him. “It fucking slaps.”

“I could do better,” Ray shook his head, sending his curls flying everywhere. “It’s not where it needs to be yet.”

“Don’t be too perfectionist about it,” you advised. “You’re just going to make yourself more stressed out.”

“But, what if the critics hate it?” Ray fretted.

“They loved your last album, didn’t they?” you reminded.

“That’s part of the problem,” Ray confessed. “Black Parade was such a smash hit. Now I have to top that. Or at least, make something as good.”

“You can do it, Ray,” you said with certainty. “You’re the best composer I know.”

“You….you really think so?”

You looked over at Ray, and noticed he was blushing furiously. For some reason, this made you turn red, too.

“Y-Yeah, Ray. Yeah, I do.”

For a moment, there was an awkward silence. But then, you felt a tug on your line.

“I think I got one!” you gasped.

“Reel it in!” Ray cried.

“I’m trying!” You pulled hard, but the fish was pulling hard, too, in the opposite direction.

“Let me help you!” Ray decided, and put his arms around you, so that his hands were on top of your hands, which were holding onto the fishing pole.

“C’mon!” Ray encouraged. “Pull, Y/N!”

Both of you pulled as hard as you could, and, by your powers combined, you pulled a massive trout up into the canoe.

“You did it!” Ray grinned, his arms tightening around you, in a congratulatory hug. He lingered longer than you expected, then pulled away awkwardly, as if he thought he might be bothering you. He wasn’t.

“I’ll, uh, build a campfire when we get back to shore,” he offered. “Cook up the trout, so we can have it for supper. Unless you’d rather I spare it’s life, like you did with the worm?”

“I am pretty hungry,” you admitted. Fresh, grilled trout sounded delicious.

“Cool,” Ray smiled shyly.

“So, are you going to start rowing back to shore now?” you wondered. He was just standing there.

“Not yet,” Ray said softly. “The truth is, there’s another reason, that I wanted you to come out here with me today.”

“What is it?” you blinked, curious.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while,” Ray said nervously. “But every time I almost get up the courage, I always lose my nerve, and end up walking away from you. I figured, in the middle of a lake, there’s nowhere for me to walk.”

“That’s true,” you nodded. Where was he going with this?

“The thing is, Y/N….,” Ray took a deep breath. “I...I want to be more than friends. I want to date you.”

For a moment, you simply stared at him, stunned.

“O-only if you want to!” Ray sputtered, his face turning even redder. “And if you don’t want to, I understand, and I’m sorry to spring this on you, I just…”

“I do want to,” you said quietly.

“Wha….What?” Ray stopped, like he hadn’t been expecting this.

“I do want to date you, Ray Toro,” you said, more confidently this time. “The truth is, I’ve been meaning to ask you the same thing for a while. I just couldn’t find the nerve, either. I’m glad you did.”

“So….we’re dating now?” Ray asked uncertainly.

“Yes,” you smirked, using the fishing line he still held in his hand, to pull him in, so that you could kiss him on the mouth. He accepted your lips on his, hesitantly, but then eagerly.

“You’re the best catch I could’ve asked for.”

#ray toro x reader #ray toro imagine #inktober

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eeveedel · 7 years ago

Text

Hi all, I promised you a REAL preview of the next chapter of feeling it out, so here it here. i was going to just post one scene, but then I decided it was too short, so now, you get two of my favorite short scenes, together. I hope you like it and that this tides you over. Much love xx

On the morning of Louis’s birthday, he woke up to the hard caramel cooking in a saucepan in the kitchen, and Harry standing barefoot next to the stove, in Alex’s favorite sweater, a wide smile on his face and his hands tucked behind his back.

“Happy birthday,” he said when Louis slipped into the kitchen, his hair still rumpled and his hands still tucked into the sleeves of his fleece night slip.

“Thank you,” Louis smiled, then took out his hands enough to motion to where Harry was hiding his hands, “What have you got here?”

“A surprise,” Harry said, and then put his hands out in front of him, showing a plain brown package, “I won’t make you guess what it is. Here.”

Louis jumped forward right away, snatching the package fast enough to make Harry laugh. He ripped the paper as he went to the table, tearing right through Alex’s beautiful, sloping handwriting to get to the interior. There was a little, cream-colored card on stiff paper, the letters sloped and rushed, and yet he still bit his lips when he read them.

To my beautiful china doll on his twenty fifth birthday.

For Christmas, you get my entire heart.

I miss you, precious. I’ll see you soon. -A

Louis lifted the paper to his nose and mouth, trying to smell Alex through the scent of ink, kissing the paper like he would kiss Alex’s mouth. Then he dropped the card and picked up the plain black box at the bottom of the package, undoing the twine holding it closed.

The lid clattered off as soon as the twine was drawn away, and a sharp line of gold fell onto the table. Louis picked it up and held it to the light, watching the light reflect off the soft gold chains, the little pearls fused into the ends of the bracelet.

He stared at it until he was brought out of his thoughts by a plate of hot caramel and potatoes being set in front of him, a cup of plain cider and a mug of tea right next to it. He looked up, and Harry was smiling gently, nodding the bracelet.

“Do you need help putting it on?”

“Yes please,” Louis said, immediately offering Harry the bracelet and then his wrist. Harry laughed and shook his head, buckling the chain carefully around Louis’s left wrist.

“I wonder where he got this,” Harry sighed, “Can’t be easy to find a new present in a war zone.”

“He’s in France,” Louis said quickly, “France is a nice place to find something.”

“Mm,” Harry nodded, “Well, he did a nice job.”

He finished hooking the bracelet’s clasps together, and pulled away, going back to the tea kettle to get his own drink.

“What do you want to do today?” he asked, and Louis shrugged, playing with his chain.

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “Sometimes we go to lunch, or dinner, and we go to the winter market in town.”

“Do you want to do that, then?”

“Sure,” Louis said, “I – that’s usually something Alex and I do, but – “

“We don’t have to do it,” Harry assured him, “If that’s something you do with Alex.”

“But I want to do it again this year,” Louis said, “I’d rather do that then stay here for the whole day.”

Harry nodded, his eyes going a bit soft.

“Only if you want to.”

“I want to.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded.

Louis smiled, and then pulled his plate towards himself, picking up a fork.

“I did want to ask, though,” Harry said, making Louis flick his eyes up, “Is it okay if I – go to Mass tonight?”

Louis frowned and tilted his head.

“Like, church?”

“Well, yes.”

Louis nodded, picking at a potato on his plate. He hadn’t exactly pegged Harry for the kind to go to church, even for the holidays. Alex had never mentioned his brother being interested in anything like that.

“You can, if you want,” Louis said, “Sorry, I didn’t think about that. Alex and I don’t really go. But yeah, if you want.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded, “I just – I haven’t ever missed a Christmas Mass. It feels odd, not going, but if Alex doesn’t go, maybe I – “

“Oh, just go,” Louis sighed, “I’ll probably fall asleep, so I’ll just stay behind. But you can just tell anyone that asks that I was tired and tipsy and wanted to stay home, and that you wanted to fit in some prayers for your poor brother overseas.”

“They won’t find that odd? That I’m there without you?”

“Alex and I go different places, Harry, it’s okay,” Louis laughed, “Really, go. We can even go to dinner early so you can make it in time.”

Harry nodded once more, and then his face broke, his smile carving deep into his cheeks, his dimple pressing hard into his cheek, his eyes sparking.

“Thank you, Louis,” he said, his voice so soft, quivering a bit.

Louis kept his hand clasped tightly around his wrist, feeling the chain that Alex had picked up and packaged so carefully for him, and smiled across the table at Harry, still so soft and happy and wrapped in Alex’s clothes.

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” he said, and then picked up his fork once more.

Harry left for Mass after Louis’s birthday dinner, dressed in Alex’s favorite business trip suit, and didn’t come back home until late.

Louis sat home and listened to the Christmas programs on the radio, the music and the readings of the Night Before Christmas and the well wishes to the troops across the ocean. He finished reading the book Alex had sent him, and then sat and fingered the little pearls on his wrist, smiling to himself as he settled his cheek into the side of the sofa, letting his eyes flutter closed.

He was woken up an hour later to the door opening, and a short burst of cold from the unheated hallway. He shivered, pulling his blanket tighter around himself, and lifted his head. Harry was shutting the door, stomping his snow-coated boots on the carpet as he locked the door behind him.

“Was Mass nice?” Louis asked, and Harry lifted his head and grinned, his eyes sparkling and his smile bright.

“Yes,” he said, “I – look, I got something.”

Louis lifted his brows as Harry came towards him, snow still in his hair and lining the collar of Alex’s coat. His cheeks and nose were bright red, his ears were flushed against his dark hair. He was holding something between his mitten-covered hands, hiding it from Louis, even as he held out his hands.

“Harry,” Louis sighed, “What are you doing?”

Harry just smiled, shaking his head.

“Look,” he said, and opened up his hands, holding them out to Louis once more so he could see what was inside. Louis blinked at his hands, and then lifted a hand to his mouth.

An orange was nestled in Harry’s mittens. A little dull, small, a bruise blooming on one side. But an orange.

“There was a market open next to the church. Last in the whole town, probably,” Harry was grinning, shaking his head, “Had to bargain for it.”

Louis still hadn’t spoken, and Harry looked at him, frowning a little as he leaned his head forward.

“For your cider,” he explained, and Louis nodded quickly.

“Thank you,” he got out out.

“You’re welcome.” Harry said, “Happy birthday, Louis.”

Louis’s eyes suddenly burned, and he forced himself to look at the fruit, not Harry. Slowly, he reached out and took it from the alpha, holding the soft ball in his own palms.

An orange. He’d gotten him an orange.

Alex had gotten him so many gifts over the years. Flowers, jumpers, rogue and lipstick in little golden cases, silver chains, little pearl earrings with clips so he could wear them in his unpierced lobes. Of course he had. That was Alex’s job, to get him things.

The most Harry had gotten him until now was a book, or a glass vase for the living room, or a ball of pale pink yarn for Louis’s knitting patterns. Simple birthday gifts between people that were loosely connected. And that was fine, because it was Harry. Louis didn’t mean anything to Harry.

But this year, he had gotten Louis an orange.

“Here,” Harry said gently, putting a hand over the fruit, “I’ll slice it up for you, put it in your cider. Do you still want cider?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Okay, good. And do you want biscuits?” Harry asked, “The ginger ones? Or chocolate?”

“Both, please,” Louis managed, “Both sound really good.”

“Of course. It’s your birthday,” Harry smiled. Always smiling tonight, “I’ll be right back.”

He took the orange carefully from Louis’s hands, leaving them open, and he just blinked and stared after Harry before finally letting his hands drop, instead settling them in his lap.

Louis sat and waited until Harry returned with a steaming mug, delivered right into Louis’s hands. The cider was heavy with spice, and there were two orange slices floating in it, making it taste sweet and ripe. Harry went back to the kitchen to get him a plate of biscuits, and then to the hall closet to get Louis another blanket, and then lit a candle on the table before he settled into the sofa, across from where Louis was huddled tightly into Alex’s armchair. Louis watched him, the alpha’s form blurred in the steam rising in front of Louis’s vision.

“I forgot to get you a gift,” Louis said quietly, “for Christmas.”

“That’s okay,” Harry said, “I don’t need any gifts.”

“Maybe for your birthday.”

“Get Alex something twice as nice for the both of us,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Really, Louis, it’s fine. You don’t have to do anything for me.”

Louis just nodded, the feeling still deep in his belly, overtaking everything as he looked at his cup.

Harry had gotten him an orange.

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Tree House Kisses, Chapter 38 (Adorney) - Scorpio and Veronica

A/N: Click here for previous chapters. And thank you so much to @saiphl for the beta help!! XO!

Chapter Summary: The girls spend a summer apart, but then start their senior year, closer than ever.

Chapter 38: Feelings

Courtney’s dad had moved with his girlfriend to Berkeley earlier in the year, and both of her parents unilaterally decided that she should spend the summer with him for some “quality time.” She’d argued, she’d protested, she’d pleaded with Karen, she’d even cried; but in the end she had no choice but to go along with the plan, sullenly packing her things and boarding the train, defeated. Her only solace was that Roy was doing a summer program in Stanford for a month, which meant that at least they could still see each other on the weekends for part of the time she was there.

COURTNEY: JFC I’m gonna be sleeping on a goddamn fold out couch all summer. This is shit.

ADORE: Awww, so sorry, princess. Xx

COURTNEY: Lol, fuck you. You have no idea what this is like

ADORE: That’s true. I haven’t seen my dad for like ten years

COURTNEY: WAH WAH WAHHH YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO WIN

COURTNEY: ;)

ADORE: lol

The truth was, Courtney hadn’t really spent much time with her dad since the divorce. Sometimes it made her sad, thinking about how close they used to be. She tried to keep an open mind, but a big part of her was still angry about him having an affair, turning their lives upside-down, leaving her mom...leaving her.

Adore was right, though. As far as absentee fathers went, things could be much worse. One night, while he sat on the sofa (the one that doubled as the least comfortable bed she ever had) watching TV, Courtney wandered over and sat down next to him.

He looked up from the TV, surprised, a smile spreading across his face.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Hi.” Courtney shifted slightly, tried to shake the horrible feeling that she was sitting next to a grown man that she barely knew. “Whatcha watching?”

“Just the news...if things go well this year, we can take both the house and the senate,” Peter told her. “And in 2008, that fucking shit-for-brains will finally be done and we can get the White House, too.”

“That would be awesome,” Courtney agreed, letting her head rest on her father’s shoulder. He wasn’t perfect, that was for damn sure...but when it came down to it, she supposed she was lucky to have him.

Meanwhile, Adore had gotten a summer job as a counselor at an arts day camp, and soon began spending her days surrounded by loud, attention-seeking child star wannabes. Every day, she came home and collapsed in exhaustion, vowing to never, under any circumstances, ever have children.

COURTNEY: How’s camp?

ADORE: The worst

COURTNEY: I’m sorry

ADORE: It’s all good. How’s the homewrecker?

COURTNEY: Weird

ADORE: Is she teaching you any good stripper moves?

COURTNEY: No, she just like, chain smokes and talks to her birds

ADORE: She has BIRDS?

COURTNEY: Yeah man, I told you. WEIRD

ADORE: What are the birds’ names?

COURTNEY: Something in Russian, I dunno. I just call them Boris and Natasha

ADORE: Lol you’re so corny

COURTNEY: I did meet some pretty cool anarchist guys down the block

ADORE: What’s their band called?

COURTNEY: Who said they have a band?

ADORE: What’s their band called, Courtney?

COURTNEY: Pussy Whisper

ADORE: LOLOLOLOL

COURTNEY: Okay, so...this is going to shock you…

ADORE: ???

COURTNEY: The Pussy Whisper dudes?

ADORE: Oh jeez, what?

COURTNEY: They’re gross

ADORE: Yeah, no shit

COURTNEY: i just really liked what Tristan had to say about late stage capitalism

ADORE: Right

COURTNEY: And Grant said I was smart

ADORE: Well, that was your first clue

COURTNEY: HEY!!!

ADORE: Lol, not because you’re not. Because dudes in a band called “Pussy Whisper” that call you smart are up to some no-good shit

COURTNEY: Right. Ugh

ADORE: Bird lady still a fucking weirdo?

COURTNEY: Yeah. Although she did take me to a yoga class this morning, so that was nice. She’s actually maybe not the most vile person on the planet

ADORE: Awww, look at you, falling in love

COURTNEY: Shut up

Once Courtney got over her initial resistance, she had to admit that Berkely was somewhat cool. Certainly more her speed than the bland suburban wasteland she was used to. She spent most of her days wandering around used book stores, head shops, or combing through racks of cute vintage dresses. One afternoon, sunbathing in the backyard of her dad’s apartment building (which was a converted Victorian house that she also had to regretfully admit was pretty charming), she made friends with a very affectionate marmalade-colored kitten. Turned out, the cat belonged to their downstairs neighbor, and soon Courtney found herself fully enchanted with the older woman.

COURTNEY: Okay I found a much better new friend than the PW boys. She’s our downstairs neighbor and she’s like 70 and so cool. She has pink hair and all her clothes are made of hemp. She’s gonna take me to an Iraq War protest on Saturday.

ADORE: Oh jeez. You’re gonna come back with white person dreads, aren’t you?

COURTNEY: lol it’s a nice look

ADORE: IT IS NOT

ADORE: Abortion should be legal until the kids are like...12 years old, at least

COURTNEY: Campers getting on your nerves?

ADORE: If I snap, will you visit me in prison?

COURTNEY: Of course! I’ll bake a nail file into a cake for you and everything. XOXO

ADORE: Good cake or some bay area bullshit?

COURTNEY: Gluten free agave-sweetened carob cake, courtesy of Patsy

ADORE: Fuck off

COURTNEY: Don’t insult Patsy. She’s been protesting since Vietnam, she’s awesome.

ADORE: HEY CHEERLEADER THIS IS WILLAM! YOU’RE A SLUT AND WE MISS YOU!

ADORE: AND I’M VERY DISAPPOINTED THAT YOU DIDN’T FUCK THE PUSSY WHISPERERS

COURTNEY: Sorry bunny

ADORE: He’s high

COURTNEY: And you?

ADORE: Meeee? Whaaaaaat?

ADORE: Yes lol

COURTNEY: Lol, have fun

COURTNEY: Would it be really bad if I liked Katya?

ADORE: Omg are you gonna start calling her Mommy?

COURTNEY: Shut up!

COURTNEY: But seriously...it would be like, disloyal to my mom if I liked her, right?

ADORE: Are you gonna start adopting birds?

COURTNEY: No, I just think she’s kind of funny sometimes. I’m a terrible daughter

ADORE: Well, your mom IS the one who sent you up there for the summer. So…

COURTNEY: True

ADORE: So. Something happened last night that was...uh…

ADORE: Very

ADORE: ...

COURTNEY: ???

ADORE: Give me a minute...I’m processing...

COURTNEY: Tell me!

ADORE: Well, we started in Violet’s basement, drinking, and I’m not sure how but somehow it ended up being like 10 people

COURTNEY: Aww, was Violet sad I wasn’t there? Did she cry?

ADORE: lol, totally

COURTNEY: So what happened???

ADORE: Yeah, so...I went out to the backyard to smoke and Trin came and like...I’m not sure exactly how it happened, but I think I made out with her

COURTNEY: WHOA

ADORE: Yeah

COURTNEY: Is she gay???

ADORE: No, definitely not. We were just like, drunk and high

COURTNEY: Is everything cool between you??

ADORE: Yeah, I think so. We were laughing about it this morning. But like, I still feel a little bad.

COURTNEY: Why do you feel bad?

ADORE: I mean, I dunno. I don’t want people to think that I’m like, some predatory asshole, you know?

COURTNEY: No one would think that

ADORE: My track record might disagree

COURTNEY: The only thing your track record shows is you’re a ho

ADORE: WOW

COURTNEY: I WAS KIDDING!!!!

ADORE: lol, I know

COURTNEY: XOXOXOXO

As much as Courtney tried, and as much as she made her peace with her summer surroundings, by the time August rolled around, she began to get increasingly homesick. Missing her mom, her bedroom, even Grandma Muriel. But especially, missing Adore.

COURTNEY: I really miss you

COURTNEY: Like so much

ADORE: Me too

COURTNEY: No like SO much

ADORE: Are you high?

COURTNEY: No, are you?

ADORE: A little lol

COURTNEY: I’m not high. I just love you.

ADORE: Aww, thanks babe

“DORY!!” Courtney squealed, practically leaping from her car the second she pulled into the driveway. She’d texted Adore from her last stop for gas, but she was thrilled to see her best friend actually waiting for her.

She wrapped Adore into a tight hug, her excitement causing her to pepper Adore’s entire face with wet kisses.

“Hi, okay, stop it,” Adore giggled. “Nice car, by the way.”

“Oh yeah, I know, it’s pretty great. Peter gets a gold star for that one.” Courtney glanced back at the car, her dad’s old Honda Accord, shaking her new bangs out of her face. He’d surprised her with the keys just last week, and it had almost made her forgive him for leaving in the first place...almost. “It was kind of scary to do that whole drive alone, though. I’m very thankful to have made it in one piece.”

“Me too,” Adore said, with a grin that told Courtney she was home. “Now that you’re back, it’s gonna be a fuckin’ party.”

Courtney laid a head on her shoulder, sighing happily.

“You’re going to Darienne’s goodbye party on Wednesday, right?”

“Yeah, of course. Omigod! Dory! I wanted to make those peanut butter cupcakes that she loves, but you know I’m just absolute shit at decorating, can you help?”

“What on earth makes you think I’d be good at cupcake decorating?” Adore laughed.

“I dunno, you’re better at art than me,” Courtney said. “Plus, it’ll just be more fun with you.”

Adore pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Count me in.”

School was going to be starting back up soon, and as Adore looked around the party at her friends, she couldn’t help but feel a little ambivalent. Summer had just been so nice, and having that small taste of freedom made her long to be done with school altogether.

Tonight, there was a big group at Pearl’s house--her usual friends as well as a bunch of the neighborhood kids, enjoying the pool and the warm evening air. Violet, Fame and Trinity lounged in the hot tub with April, watching the sun set. Pearl was standing at the grill, living her butch fantasy as she cooked up food for her guests, swatting Bob away with as he peered over her shoulder, trying to “help.”

It was a little bittersweet--Darienne had already left for Pepperdine a few weeks earlier, and Jamin for Cal Poly. Even though they weren’t as close as they used to be, it still felt strange, somehow, for them to be missing. Hell, it was even weird for Alyssa to be gone, the loudmouth head cheerleader now torturing people at UC San Diego, probably already sorority president.

A handful of people were dancing, including Courtney and Willam, twirling until they were dizzy and laughing.

“Ugh, I don’t want school to start!” Willam suddenly whined, reflecting Adore’s feelings exactly.

“I know, but this year we’re coming back as seniors, and we’re gonna rule the school,” Courtney said, imitating the line from Grease perfectly.

“Oh really? You think you’re Rizzo?” Adore challenged her.

“Why can’t I be Rizzo?” she demanded.

“Bitch, you are Sandy and you know it,” Adore laughed, grabbing a beer and sitting down on the back steps.

“I can be Rizzo if I want! Fuck you!”

“Yeah, lesbian! How dare you put cheerleader in a box! She can be whatever she wants!” Willam cried.

“That's right,” Courtney added, “I mean, I did spend all summer hanging out with a prostitute. What did you do? Day Camp?”

“I was a counselor,” Adore replied, laughing. She reached into the cooler and pulled out a bottle. “Here, have another drink. And I thought Katya was a stripper, not a prostitute.”

“You don't know her. It's a very blurry line,” Courtney explained, taking the offered wine cooler.

Willam grabbed Courtney’s hand and pulled her away, spinning her around and around. “Less talking, more dancing!”

Adore shook her head, watching them with a smile, lighting up a joint. Roy sat down beside her--the last of his class, since UCLA didn’t start for a few more weeks.

“Hey, Delano. How ya doing, man?”

“Good...bro.”

Roy flashed some dimples at her, then just sat for a minute, unusually quiet, as they both watched their friends dancing like fools. Willam dipped Courtney low to the ground and she shrieked and giggled.

“God, she’s so fucking beautiful,” he said.

Adore wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or himself. She nodded, leaning against the banister and sighing slightly.

When Roy spoke again, it was quiet. “I know, you know. How lucky I am.”

Adore looked at him, considering her reply. Finally, she just nodded and said, “Good.”

Roy gave her another smile.

“Make sure she stays outta trouble while I’m away.”

“I think I’m probably the least qualified person for that job,” Adore laughed, then held out the joint.

“Thanks, I’m cool.”

“Debatable,” Adore retorted, taking another hit.

Roy shook his head, chuckling.

“I’m gonna miss you too, Delano.”

“Aww...shut up.”

On the first day of their senior year, Courtney and Adore walked out of their fourth period economics class together, giggling over Laganja’s unfortunate new haircut.

“I feel bad for saying so, but it’s just so...”

“Hideous?” Adore supplied, and Courtney giggled some more.

“Yeah. Poor thing. Although it’s hard to say whether her hair is more or less tragic than Mr. Sutton’s awkwardness. He’s like a baby deer.”

“I know! But like, imagine trying to get the respect of students who are pretty much your age,” Adore laughed.

“How old do you think he is, anyway?”

“Uh, I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure he graduated with Kim and Angie. I think I remember him from when Angie did show choir.”

Courtney grabbed onto Adore’s arm, eyes wide.

“Omigod, you’re right! I knew he looked familiar!” she exclaimed.

It wasn’t until they were halfway down the hill that Adore noticed Courtney still walking with her. She hadn’t split off to go sit with the neighborhood kids like past years, simply walked beside her towards the oak tree, where Trinity and Willam already sat, sword-fighting with breadsticks.

“Are you...planning to join us?” Adore asked curiously, and Courtney bit her lip.

“Is that okay? I mean...it’s just a little weird without Roy and Darienne, so I thought…you can say no if-”

“Of course it’s okay!” Adore pulled her in for a side hug. “Everyone loves you, you know that.”

“Everyone?” Courtney asked, one eyebrow nearly to her hairline.

“Almost everyone.” Adore smiled ruefully. “And anyway, I want you here, so she can just deal with it.”

As it turned out, Adore was right. Everyone welcomed Courtney enthusiastically with open arms. And even Violet was unusually cool about it, containing her disapproval to some muttered asides to Fame, who promptly thumped her on the shoulder every time, akin to bopping a puppy on the nose with a newspaper.

Courtney didn’t seem to mind either way, cheerfully trading barbs with Willam and letting Fame “fix” her eyebrows, which were deemed “just too pale.”

“Are your pubes blonde, too?” Willam asked curiously, and Trinity began choking on her sandwich from laughter.

“Gross,” Courtney said, wrinkling her nose.

“Actually, are they? I’m kind of curious,” Trinity said.

“Come on, cheerleader, just tell us!” Willam urged.

“You know, I quit cheerleading almost a year ago,” Courtney said.

“So?”

“He still calls me ‘New Girl,’” Pearl explained.

“Why are you stalling? Show! Me! Your! Pussy! Hairs!” Willam said, and Fame put her whole head in her hands, letting out a horrified groan before going back to Courtney’s eyebrows.

“Careful, Bill, or you might get what you wish for,” Courtney sang, staring him down. “You really wanna see my pussy?”

“Uhh...no. Well, maybe...but no. Or…” Willam’s brow furrowed.

“Shit, you broke his little gay brain,” Pearl said, laughing.

“Omigod, that’s so much better!” Fame sat back on her heels, holding up a compact so that Courtney could see her new defined eyebrows.

“Oh wow, that is better! Thank you!”

After snapping the compact shut and handing it back to Fame, Courtney caught Adore’s eye, both of their faces melting into a grin. As Adore buried her smile into her sandwich, she couldn’t help but think about what a change it was from last year.

Maybe a sign of good things to come...or maybe the calm before the storm.

#rpdr fanfiction #tree house kisses #scorpio #veronica #adorney #adore delano #courtney act #bianca del rio #bitney #willam belli #miss fame #lesbian au #high school au #angst #fluff

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