#flies in your meal can’t be the worst thing they’ve had | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pinkbelugacollective · 4 years ago

Note

veer-zaara for yunoasta !!!

Anon, thank you for the wonderful prompt. I hope you enjoy the feels.

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

It's Captain Fuegoleon who tells him that he'll never become Wizard King.

It doesn't burn as much as he thinks it would. There's no sneer accompanying the older man's words, no actual distaste on his part, just the cold hard truth of the matter.

He's not cruel about it, either. He simply calls Yuno to a formal meeting, and communicates what the rest of the Clover Kingdom nobility wants him to communicate. A prince of another realm can never rule as our rightful king, is what Captain Fuegoleon says.

I'm sorry, is what Captain Fuegoleon means.

Of course, that doesn't mean Yuno is stripped of his citizenship, or kicked out of the Magic Knights. He's Vice Captain of the Golden Dawn, and one day, he'll become their Captain, but that's where his career ends.

He tells Sister Lily, because out of everyone he knows, she's the only one who knows how to listen without interrupting. He sends Belle away to play with the children, and recounts his story as they sit across from each other at the rickety little kitchen table that still hasn't given up.

Somewhere along the way, he begins to cry, but he doesn't even notice, not until she takes his hands into her own, and squeezes them lightly.

The rest of the world finds out a few days later, when Belle is chewing out some junior Golden Dawn members, promising them that after Yuno gets tired of looking after them, she'll steal him away to the spirit world where he can become her king, because to hell with Clover Kingdom.

Once the rest of the Magic Knights find out, word swiftly travels back to Ralph Niaflem, who's strategically set up a small base on the border of Spade Kingdom to keep tabs on Yuno without breaking the uneasy peace treaty between Clover Kingdom and the transitional government currently leading Spade. Its been six months since the invasion concluded, and Yuno's only a few moons away from his eighteenth birthday, so Ralph is bolder than he's ever been.

Yuno doesn't need to do anything. He's leading reconstruction efforts along the border of the Neutral Zone on Clover Kingdom's side, so it's Ralph who finds him at the mead hall after the last round of meals have been served.

Come home, is all he says.

Leave them, is what Yuno hears.

The assumptions don't baffle Yuno as much as the audacity does.

It makes sense why some would talk. It's a nobleman's world, after all. Yuno knows parentage is as important as power, and he has the power, he's always had the power, but he simply does not have the parentage. He knows this, understands it, and gets why Captain Fuegoleon looks at him with pity, gets why Captain Jack offers him a spot on his squad if he ever gets bored of running around with the hoity-toity soldiers of Golden Dawn, because it's just a fact of their world, the fact that no man is born equal.

But the audacity – the fact that people think that being Wizard King is all that's ever mattered, that's what burns Yuno alive.

Because none of it matters, so as long as the people he loves are OK.

As long they're OK, Yuno will accept anything.

Maybe that's why Ralph comes with a contract next.

Come to Spade, and you and your foster family will never have to worry about food ever again, says Ralph.

Come to Spade, and Clover will never be able to look down on you ever again, Yuno hears.

Asta is the only one who contests the decision in high court, charges at Damnatio and the council, demanding justice, demanding equality.

He doesn't get it, of course, because Asta himself is only around so that Clover Kingdom can save face, not because Asta is their savior, not because Asta put his life on the line to establish a contract with the Anti-Magic Demon – no. Asta's only around because Damnatio can't deny that Asta has saved millions of people across borders, and Damnatio knows that exiling him is the same as offering him up as a free resource to another kingdom, and Damnatio can't have that, can't have a weapon that strong in another realm.

So Asta gets to stay – but like all other weapons, he doesn't get a say, and once the nobles are tired of hearing him yell on Yuno's behalf, they tell him that Yuno can become an advisor to the king like Marx Francois, should the future king ever desire, but that's about as far as they'll budge.

And that burns Asta alive.

Captain Vangeance and Yami Sukehiro are finally cleared for duty by the time Ralph prepares his third strike. This time, it's a missive from the transitional government in Spade, offering Yuno the opportunity to rule over his own army, because now they think that Yuno is an ambitious little soldierboy, and that if they can get him into the country as a high-ranked general, he'll eventually take the mantle as king.

As always, Yuno declines as rudely as possible, because there are no niceties left to share with Ralph – no respect for a man who desires nothing more than to snatch Yuno away from the only home he has ever known.

Maybe that's why Ralph's fourth strike is the worst.

Asta breaks Solid Silva's nose defending Yuno's honor, because Asta will accept any and all disrespect thrown his way, so as long as the insults are only directed towards him. Yuno doesn't think the Silva tribe has much common sense, because the young man, Solid, he says something in full earshot of seventeen other Magic Knights, so when Asta throws his punch, no one makes a move to help until Solid starts wailing about his precious face.

Yuno only finds out after Klaus and Mimosa hurry him to the courthouse where Asta is awaiting suspension details for attacking a fellow Magic Knight. He's outside when Asta comes out with a limping Captain Yami, whose hand is around the back of Asta's neck as the shorter of the two is dragged out like a ragdoll. He's there when Captain Yami throws Asta at him like he's a sack of potatoes. He's there when Captain Yami yells at Yuno to get the chibi in line before Asta gets himself fired for picking fights with every blueblood in the country.

He's there when Asta grumbles underneath his breath that if the asshole had kept Yuno's name out of his filthy mouth, then maybe Asta wouldn't have had to break his nose in public with seventeen other Magic Knights standing around.

He's there when he realizes it's not all for naught.

Yuno doesn't need to tell Asta he loves him. Instead, he shows him.

They're back in Hage, because Asta is suspended from his duties for a month without pay, and Yuno's just as petty as the rest of them, so he flies Asta home on his broom. After Asta's gotten his scoldings and scarfed down twelve baked tatoes in record time, Yuno leads him into the forest towards Fanzell Kruger's old house, having already promised Sister Lily and Father Orsi that they'd be back the next morning.

Asta doesn't understand until they're in front of the old house that's still furnished with the basics, a house that Yuno keeps tidy and well-stocked because he oftentimes needs a quiet place to do his paperwork.

Yuno doesn't tell Asta he loves him. Instead, he leads his beloved through the doors of the old house, and into the bedroom upstairs.

A week later, Ralph approaches him while he's lunching with the Vice Captain of the Green Mantis, finalizing the details of a new community center that will help the isolated villages have a place to congregate outside the old Grimoire Tower now undergoing renovations. It's good work, and En Ringard is an intelligent man, and things are going well until Yuno catches a glimpse of Ralph's sandy blonde hair.

The fourth time, Ralph slides over a copy of Clover Kingdom's constitution of rights. The section detailing the ban on same-sex marriage is marked with red ink. Before Yuno can punch him in the throat, Ralph slides another missive across the table.

This one promises Yuno he can marry anyone if he becomes the Spade king – including Asta.

It's the only time he doesn't rudely decline Ralph's offer. Instead, he's shaking with rage he can't understand. Ralph excuses himself and disappears from sight, while Yuno spends the rest of the day pouring through the documents, comparing notes, imagining a life where he can hold Asta's hand and be recognized for it.

They're not hiding it, of course, and the nation hasn't outlawed their existence, but that's about as far as the King's mercy goes. They can't marry, can't take in children unless they take up the cloth as celibate fathers, can't inherit wealth from each other, can't even claim each other during a health crisis. They're out in the open, in love and bound together for life, but they have nothing to show for it in the eyes of the law. They know it, and the kingdom knows it. They know it, and even Captain Yami and Captain Vangeance give them pitying looks, because they know Yuno and Asta will end up just like them – living detached lives with their respective men, lives that only matter to them and them alone, because Clover Kingdom doesn't care about them, doesn't recognize them.

And so the fourth strike is the worst, because Ralph is a master tactician, and worst than Damnatio will ever be. Clover Kingdom's citizenry sneer at them when they hold hands at the fish market.

Ralph offers him a kingdom, an army, and the right to marry Asta – all in the same breath.

They sleep in the same bed now, whether it be at the Black Bulls base, the Golden Dawn headquarters, or Fanzell Kruger's old house. The only place they don't share a bed is the church, and only because Father Orsi claims that only only married men can share a bed under God's eyes. At first, they're scared, because perhaps they've miscalculated, and maybe their love isn't enough, but the old man is of a different breed, and he's already yelled at seven different barristers for rejecting a marriage license for two men even though Asta and Yuno never asked him to fight on their behalf.

But he does, and so does Sister Lily, and so do the orphans who pick fights with the children who disrespect them, and that's how Asta and Yuno know that they're loved, that they'll always be loved.

So when Ralph comes to him a fifth time, Yuno has his answer prepared.

It's two weeks after his and Asta's eighteenth birthday, and Captain Vangeance has gifted them enough wood to build their own house in Hage, so that they have a place to canoodle until Father Orsi is able to threaten a barrister into approving his and Asta's marriage license.

It's funny, because they don't even have to propose to each other. Their loved ones do all the work for them.

Ralph approaches him while he's going over measurements for the kitchen. They meet under the bright, mid-afternoon sun, a day when Asta is away on a mission, and both Father Orsi and Sister Lily are in the capital for a formal meeting of the nuns and priests under Clover Kingdom's church.

“Your Highness-”

“Please, call me Yuno. There are no princes in Hage.”

He hums into Asta's chest that night as they canoodle beneath the stars. Asta's limbs are splayed out in every odd direction, while Yuno is curled up against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. The chill hasn't settled in yet, but when it does, Yuno knows that he'll be fine, so as long as Asta is fine, so as long as they're together, forever.

“When I'm Wizard King, I'll make you co-Wizard King,” Asta tells him for the sixth time that night.

“Still not the actual Wizard King,” Yuno hums.

“Then I'll kick Damnatio's ass until he makes us both Wizard Kings!” Asta yells at the sky.

Yuno can't help but laugh, because at one point, it did hurt knowing that he wouldn't be able to follow Asta to the top, but he'd forgotten that no matter what, Asta will never let him fall behind. One way or another, they'll both get there, regardless of who gets there first.

Whether it's as the Captain of the Golden Dawn, as an advisor, or as co-Wizard King – it will always be Asta and Yuno, together forever.

Yuno presses kisses up against Asta's throat before reaching his lips. The sky is free of clouds tonight, and the empty field next to Fanzell Kruger's old house is illuminated with an abundance of moonlight. Yuno smiles down on his beloved before pressing his lips against his forehead.

Asta's fast, too fast, and Yuno's on his back again, pressed against an old blanket as Asta kisses the daylights out of him. When Asta finally lets go, Yuno laughs into his neck, laughs as Asta leaves kisses along his shoulder while adjusting his hips, laughs as he falls in love over, and over, and over again with the same man, now and forever.

Ralph doesn't show up again after that, not until many years later when Asta and Yuno are pushing thirty, and Father Orsi has finally succeeded in threatening the council into signing off on Asta and Yuno's marriage license with the help of two royal houses, countless nobles, many of the commoners, and almost all of the peasantry.

Ralph gives Yuno his birth family's old engraved bookshelves as a wedding gift. He fills the furniture with books, photo frames, and his and Asta's grimoires.

And all is well.

#Black Clover #YunoAsu #Asta #Yuno #real talk #ava's ficcing adventures

46 notes · View notes

winterromanov · 5 years ago

Note

College Bucky taking her home to meet the fam!!

pairing: bucky x reader (set in the same universe as this fic and this fic)

You’d never met Bucky’s parents and sister in the flesh before, but you might as well have done by this point. Ever since Bucky had told them he’d been dating someone they’d been dying to meet you--to the point where Bucky can’t Facetime home without his mother demanding to pull you into the frame and Becca Barnes regularly messages you on Facebook.

So when Bucky finally invites you over to his family home for the weekend, you’re really not as nervous as you’d expect to be. Sure, there’s a vague sense of anxiety that stirs your stomach at the thought of how concrete and real this all is because, well. You’ve never had a proper boyfriend before. But Bucky’s mom has his smile and his dad has his eyes and Becca seems to be the best bits of all of them, so why shouldn’t this be anything but good?

“My mom is asking me if you like Mexican food,” Bucky says, phone in his right hand, sat cross legged on your bed. He’s supposed to be helping you pack. The most help he’s been was throwing one of his socks he’d found down the side of the bed right at your face.��“I said yeah. We ate enchiladas once, right?”

“I’d use the term we loosely. I made the enchiladas and you ate them after you’d had practice.” You raise an eyebrow as he sheepishly looks up from his phone screen. “I don’t remember actually eating anything that night.”

“Well.” Bucky shrugs, smirking and deliberately looking away from you. “I had a great meal that night. Not just talking about the enchiladas, either.”

Okay, so now it’s your turn to throw a dirty sock at his features. You watch as he makes a show of spluttering and acting disgusted like you’ve just thrown a tonne of raw sewage all fucking over him. “You’re the worst.”

“I know you are,” he says, teasing, scrambling over to wrap the sock round your neck like a scarf. You squeal, giggling as you try and push him away--because his football socks are gross, come on--but he only laughs louder as you struggle, pulling you closer and closer. “But what am I?”

His face is just so damn kissable even when he’s being annoying beyond belief. You have clothes to pack away, dinner to assemble (well, he’s the one that’s supposed to be making the dinner) and Netflix to watch but you let your giggles subside, curl your fingers round his jaw, let your lips collide.

“You’re still the worst,” you murmur against him. “But I seem to find that endearing, somehow.”

“Touche, sweetheart. Touche.”

It’s not exactly difficult to get to Bucky’s childhood home from university. He’s lived in Brooklyn his whole life so it’s just a matter of traveling there from Upper Manhattan on public transport. You have a feeling he’d not invited you sooner because he’d worried about whether you were ready--if things were going too fast, if you’d get intimidated standing in the front hall of the house he’d grown up in. But when he’d shyly suggested it walking through Central Park on the day of your fourth month anniversary, you’d squeezed his hand and let him know that yeah, you’re kind of okay with meeting the family he fucking adores.

The house itself lies in a fairly innocuous and relatively expensive looking neighbourhood, with tan brickwork and big windows and a bright red front door. A couple of cars sit in the driveway and flowers burst through borders trailing from the front yard into the back. You’d barely wheeled your suitcase up to the steps when the door flies open, two extremely excitable women rushing down to meet you.

“Oh, (Y/N)!” The older one--Bucky’s mom--gushes immediately, grabbing you into a hug before stepping back to take a proper look at you. “Oh, honey. You look just like all the pictures James has sent me. Becca, isn’t she just beautiful?”

“So beautiful!” Becca confirms, blue eyes glittering. She looks so much like Bucky it’s unreal. “Where did you get your boots from? I’ve been wanting a pair--”

“Hey!” Bucky jokingly breaks in between the three of you, running a hand across your waist. “Stop hassling my girl! I am here too, you know. You could show a little enthusiasm.”

Bucky’s mom slaps him on the arm in teasing and the two women fall under his arms, clutching his waist. His eyes close as he hugs them, squeezing them as tight as possible. Despite the closeness in distance it’s been a few weeks since they all last saw each other, and you can see it in the way he holds them. He’s home.

“Miss me, then?” Bucky says, tongue poking out between his teeth. Becca responds by burrowing closer into his side, while his mom reaches out to clutch your hand.

“Of course we missed you. We miss you every day.” His mom looks at you with a gaze of gratification and what...what might be relief, so you smile and squeeze her hand back. “I am just glad that this one has clearly been looking after you.”

“He looks after me, too, Mrs Barnes.” Bucky’s expression is warm, loving, face slightly tilted to the side as he falls in love with you just a little more.

“Please, call me Winifred.” She assures, before gesturing towards the open door. “Come on in. It’s freezing, and your dad can’t wait to embarrass you.”

Winifred lets go of your palm and trots up the stairs, Becca bounding excitedly behind her. Bucky rolls his eyes, picking up your suitcase, but it’s all done in jest.

“They’re going to be like this all weekend, just so you know.” Bucky informs you, ushering you up the steps in front of him. “If it gets a bit much, just say. They’ll get it.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m more interested in all these photos you’ve been sending your mom of me.”

Bucky groans and you laugh, not so secretly pleased by it all. His heart is so full to bursting for you that he sends his mom photographs. It’s, as Sam would surely put it, absolutely sickening.

Bucky’s dad is just as intrigued about you as his mom and sister are, but in a calmer, drier way shown through his bemused expressions and quietly funny comments round the dinner table. Where Winifred and Becca are thrumming with energy, he peacefully sits through the storm--exchanging measured conversation with his son and watching as you deal with Winifred and Becca’s near incessant questioning.

“(Y/N),” he says, quite suddenly, passing you a bowl of salad. “James says you’re the reason he passed Russian Literature last semester.”

You flush a little, not quite meeting his gaze as you pile lettuce onto your plate. “I wouldn’t go that far, Mr Barnes. Buck--I mean, James, is probably one of the smartest people I know.”

Becca snorts with laughter before masking it with a cough, and Bucky kicks her leg under the table, his mouth crammed full of enchilada. It’s funny, watching him interact with his younger sister. It’s like you’re getting a glimpse into the childhood they shared and you were never part of. The scuffed knees and pretend games and play fights that got out of hand.

“He works hard, and that’s all I ever ask of my children.” Bucky’s dad smiles warmly and proudly, eyes crinkling. There’s the blue, where it came from. Bucky’s dad has the same bright blue eyes, like the rough sea on the English coastline. Bucky’s cheeks burn pink and his hand finds your knee under the table, his fingers flexing over the fabric of his jeans. “And if he finds someone who works as hard as he does, well... I’m going to be a happy man.”

Bucky winks at you. “Good thing (Y/N) is the smartest gal I know, then.”

Winifred chooses that moment to bring out a pecan pie she’d made from scratch because Bucky said you’d like them and for half a moment you think you might burst into tears, because four months into loving their son and they’ve accepted you like you’re their own. There is no subtle (or unsubtle) judgement, no tripping up, no how can you possibly be good enough for our boy.

He loves you, so they love you. It’s as simple as that.

Bucky’s childhood room only has a twin bed so you both curl into it like a tin of sardines, limbs entangled and breaths confused, cold feet pressed together under a red striped duvet. There are still teddy bears on top of wardrobes and piles of superhero figurines stacked in boxes, comic books and Star Wars memorabilia and posters of his favourite football stars. Photographs line his wall of him and Steve and Becca and old high school football teams, pinned up with flaking sellotape.

“I don’t think I have enough wall space,” he says, on the edge of sleep, face burrowed into your neck. You don’t turn but trail your hand up his arm until it meets the back of his head, fingers twisting round the hair that grows there.

“Enough wall space for what?”

“For you,” he hums gently, “You’d fill every centimeter of it like you fill every cell of my body.”

He falls asleep, like he often does after delirious muted declarations of love, but that’s okay. You don’t have to fill his wall. You’re happy existing merely in the thrumming, heady organ within his ribcage. It’s all you’ve ever wanted, and everything he’s always given.

In the morning Bucky shows you the sights of his home borough, Becca insisting on tagging along for the ride. You look over Brooklyn Bridge and eat hipster pizza and giggle amongst a crowd of serious tourists in Brooklyn Museum. Becca eventually meets a friend and disappears off into the city, so Bucky takes you to Prospect Park, beautiful and gloomy in the harsh January frost. It’s not long before you encounter the pop-up ice rink that appears for the winter season and, really, it would be a shame to skip the opportunity. It’s not half as busy as the rink at Rockefeller Center.

Weirdly, Bucky’s more erratic on the ice than you are. His long limbs stutter and stumble as he tries to regain his balance and you laugh, grabbing onto his gloved hands.

“This sure is a bonding experience,” Bucky’s voice wobbles as he almost takes out a small child with his right leg, “You trying to hold the weight of a six-foot tall football player while also on ice.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” you reply. You pull him violently so he, again, doesn’t knock a group of little schoolchildren like bowling pins. It gives him such a fright that both of you end up tumbling to the ground, frantically reaching out for each other’s hands to gain any semblance of balance.

It doesn’t work. You just end up lying on his chest, on view of the whole of fucking Brooklyn, and he has the nerve to fucking kiss you.

“What?” Bucky shrugs, not looking the least bit ashamed. “Wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.”

“It’s a good job you’re so cute.” You half-smile, trying to roll off him and onto the ice so you’re not holding up the rest of the skaters. He struggles to his feet, palms scraped but otherwise unhurt--but the pout on his lips says hot chocolate over another turn round the rink, and you’re not in a position to refuse.

On your last evening before reality resumes once again you and Bucky cook dinner. Well. You watch intently as Bucky throws the ingredients for a chilli in a pan, making sure he doesn’t accidentally do anything wacky (which he does an awful lot). He chases you round the kitchen with fresh chili on his fingers but Becca eventually teams up with you, whacking him with a spatula into submission. His laugh is so carefree it’s magical. You wish you could keep it forever, keep it like this.

(Your stomach swoops dramatically at the thoughts of what the future could hold if this--if this were to last forever.)

The food goes down well. Winifred gazes at you dreamily before gathering up the plates with Becca and Bucky, leaving you and his dad at the dinner table.

“I’ve...been worried about him,” Bucky’s dad admits in the quiet, the only noise faint giggling coming from the kitchen. “About James. About college. Because there have been times when he’s come home and there looks like there’s nothing left inside of him. But I look at him now, and...he’s not just living. He’s thriving. And I think that, at least in part, is because of you.”

You blink back at him, not sure what to say. There are not sufficient words in the English language to reply to that, the tenderness and gratefulness Mr Barnes shows in his expressive eyes and kind mouth. It clicks why Winifred looked at you with relief when you’d first met. They’d been so worried about him.

“You make him so happy, kid.” Bucky’s dad’s smile is crooked, just like Bucky’s own. “I’m just glad you found each other.”

You can only smile back. But sometimes expressions say all the words you need to, so. Bucky’s dad gets it.

You hold him a little tighter in the twin bed that night. Face to face rather than back to back. Watching Bucky Barnes breathe is a privilege, but loving him is a responsibility. He will never be empty or lonely while you can feel his skin beneath your fingertips. He will never be anything but him.

my masterlist

send me a request

#obscene fluff #actually disgusting #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe

674 notes · View notes

atruththatyoudeny · 5 years ago

Text

Monthly Reads | January 2020

Happy 28th! Time for some fic rec! Here are all the fics I read and loved this month. As always, all the love for the authors in this fandom ♥

✦ Foolishly Laying Our Hearts On The Table | runaway_train | friends to lovers - marriage proposal - pining - fluff - light angst - 11k “You think Harry wants that?” “Dunno. Maybe. Wanna make him happy.” Harry takes advantage of the red light he’s pulled up to turn and look properly at Louis’ face. He’s not even looking in Harry’s direction though, focused instead on something out of his side window, head drooped, mindlessly playing with the string of his hoodie between his fingers, lost in his own world somewhere. For some reason, it makes Harry’s spine straighten. “Because he’s your best mate?” Harry questions carefully. “He’s my boyfriend.” He couldn’t have heard him right. “What?” Louis releases a deep breath, still not turning around. Harry wonders who he thinks he’s talking to right now. “He’s so pretty. Want to kiss him all day long. And buy him a big house and give him presents and marry him.” Or The one where Harry is in love with his best friend Louis but doesn't think he stands a chance until some wisdom teeth and a rather unusual confession might just change his mind.

✦ We Can Go On Forever (When Everything’s Gone Forever) | jurassiclouis | a/b/o - mating rituals - fluff - 39k Harry spent most of his adult life focused on either his studies or his books - 5 of which he has already had published before he was 30. Immediately after completing his dissertation, he was offered a lectureship at Cambridge University where he’s been for 2 years now. This wasn’t the first time in his life that he had felt the incessant itch to know more about a subject by any means. However, this was the first time the subject had been an Omega.

✦ keep it sweet in your memory | Safetypinprince | cheating - emotional cheating - divorce - moral ambiguity - 17k 'How'd it go?' Harry pushes them into Niall's room and shuts the door behind him, so Georgia doesn't overhear. 'It was good. We just caught up, mostly... I may have done something a little stupid, though.' And Niall's eyebrows are in his hairline at that. 'I mean. Okay, so I invited Louis out on Saturday.' 'Saturday? Your--' 'Yes, my bachelor party...' and then Harry has to explain himself, 'I just felt guilty. I think. He was like. Telling me he wanted to hook up.' 'He WHAT!?' 'No. I mean, not with me. Like. He wants to go out and meet people.' 'He'll hate that. He's too much of a romantic.' 'Yeah, well. Whatever his name was messed him up a little, it would seem.'

✦ the way the storms blow | rbbsbb | friends to lovers - accidental voyeurism - pining - 21k Louis doesn’t have a habit of thinking about Harry’s dick. That would be weird, seeing as they’re best mates, and they share a flat, and they’ve spent holidays at each other’s family homes. Their friendship hasn’t ever risen to a point where Louis should want to see his mate’s dick, and he’s happy to keep it that way. Except, all that Louis can think about is exactly that. The size of it. The shape. The amount of people it’s been in. Maybe it’s the tequila talking, or the fact that Louis’ just recently walked in to an eyeful of Harry taking turns on some slags that he’s never seen before, but. Louis’ mind can’t stop obsessing over the idea.

✦ The Frying Pan and the Fire | embro | 22k Harry is a former child star who now works at a bar. Louis is an indie artist who wants Harry to be in his new music video. Harry is a grump and Louis is too chipper. Harry is straight and Louis is openly gay. Louis is determined and persistent and at some point Harry stops denying himself.

✦ But When We Kiss... | indiaalphawhiskey | PWP - age difference - Sugar Daddy - strangers to lovers - daddy kink - discipline kink - spoiling kink - 8k Louis only nodded, still smiling. “Right, okay. As much fun as this has been, I really doubt the lovely heated seating of my car will dull our banter. Or...” he dragged out the ‘r’, eyes mischievous. “Are you really going to let a…” he assessed Harry. “Twenty? Twenty year gap,” he confirmed. “Be the reason you get hypothermia? Is that really the hill you want to freeze on, Mr. Principled?” –– Or, while Harry and Louis adore the chase, they find they adore each other much, much more.

✦ thinking about the t-shirt you sleep in | nonsensedarling | a/b/o - emotional hurt/comfort - mutual pining - fluff - friends to lovers - 52k Harry's alpha fraternity donates to a local thrift shop (because of Liam's latent crush on a cute beta in his lecture). Louis' financial situation (and confusing omega instincts) lead him to make some interesting fashion purchases. Lots of pizza, feelings, and not-really-lying.

✦ beautiful sound beautiful noise | delsicle | Guardian Angels - strangers to lovers - famous/not famous - hurt/comfort - light angst - fluff - 53k Louis is a washed-up pop star who has spent nearly a year hiding away from the world. Harry is a guardian angel who is assigned to live with him for the summer. Neither of them quite get what they’re expecting.

✦ once bitten and twice shy | pinkcords | friends to lovers - enemies to lovers - Christmas - angst - mild homophobia - 19k This time as his stomach rolls, there’s no doubt about it. He’s going to vomit. And if he does, it’ll be on Louis’ shoes, a nice little parting gift to go with the embarrassment he’s caused the both of them. “I’m gonna throw up,” he says just as Louis turns to look at him, blue eyes swimming with shock and confusion, and asks, “Is that true?” Or, in a rush of bravery only senior year can bring, Harry confesses his feelings in a letter to his neighbor and best friend, Louis, only for the entire school to hear it and laugh him out of their small town in Wisconsin. Ten years later, Harry's a successful lawyer at Columbia Records, coming home for Christmas for the first time since he departed for college. He plans to work his way through the trip, eat his mom's cooking, and avoid everyone from his past for as long as possible. The only problem is best laid plans hardly ever go as intended.

✦ You Smell Like | mystic_believexx | pack dynamics - werewolves - human pack member - soulmates - friends to lovers - kid fic - scenting - 185k For her part, Jay took everything in her stride, barely batting an eyelid when Louis came into the kitchen the night Harry left and said, “I seem to have accidentally become the pack’s Alpha”. Ever since Harry left town, Louis’ found himself with the role of pack Alpha, despite being human. So he can’t wait to hand over the reins when Harry returns. Except, it’s not quite that simple… OR The one where Louis is the Alpha’s mate and everyone is aware of it except for Louis and Harry. Go figure!

✦ Strangers in Love | sweetums | slow burn - amnesia - car accidents - angst - light dom/sub - enemies to lovers - 42k Louis wakes up to find himself in a marriage with the last man he thought he'd ever end up with.

✦ Just Let Me Adore You | lovelarry10 | kid fic - fluff - single parents - famous/not famous - Christmas - strangers to lovers - 26k When Louis’ daughter presents him with a Christmas gift far beyond the price range of a four year old, he jumps to the worst of conclusions. He’s pleasantly surprised when he finds out how she isn’t as naughty as he thought she was, and who came to her rescue..

✦ Looking for something dumb to do | rainbowslovehl (Larrymateforlife) | meet-cute - marriage proposal - fluff - 4k Louis somehow gets coerced into accepting a challenge to propose to his crush. Somehow, the night doesn't end in a disaster.

✦ Meet Me Underneath The Mistletoe | 4ureyesonly28 | christmas - fluff - 9k Louis flies out to Chicago for business just before Christmas... His flight home is cancelled because of a snow storm and he ends up going to his colleague Niall's Christmas party where he meets the most gorgeous man he's ever seen. And if they end up under the mistletoe within less than an hour then that's nobody's business but theirs.

✦ Just Say Yes | GMTYUniverse | fake relationship - fake marriage - friends to lovers - university - 19k “Well, given that I’ve run all out of options - I’d like to propose,” Louis says with a sharp grin. ‘Propose what?’ Harry questions, frown on his face. ‘Honestly Louis, you’re in trouble here and we have to find a way that’ll allow you to stay. Now’s not the time to be cryptic.’ “I’m not being cryptic – I’m proposing, here.” He sits down on one knee and quickly fashions a ring out of the hair-tie he’s still got wrapped around his wrist. “Harry Styles – please marry me and make an honest, British citizen out of me.” -- or the one where Louis and Harry fake a marriage to keep Louis in Britain, and it's suspiciously easy, until it isn't anymore.

✦ Won't You Help Me Make This Wish Come True? | DuchessKitty16 | bucket list - grandparents - 13k Harry is determined to help his grandfather Richard get through his bucket list. Problem is, #3 on the list is to "propose to the pretty girl down the lane", who just happens to be the grandmother of Louis Tomlinson, the boy Harry had a crush on as a teen. Harry and Louis work together to make dreams come true and make a love connection between their grandparents. But will some magic spark between Louis and Harry along the way?

✦ Don't Call Me Angel | larryent | a/b/o - strip clubs - stripper/exotic dancer - 16k Manhattan is a dangerous playground for the rich and entitled Alphas of New York. Those same wealthy Alphas are robbed after spending one night in the presence of a blue-eyed Omega and Officer Styles is assigned to the case.

✦ i'll be yours for christmas | rina_a | christmas - fluff - 5k My family invited you to join our holiday meal as an obvious setup and i’m so sorry.

✦ The Goat Guy of Bethlehem | lululawrence | advent fic - christmas - fluff - humor - strangers to friends to lovers - 25k “What a pretty little thing!” a voice cried, catching Harry's attention. Harry looked up, assuming it was a merchant talking to Gemma or some other “citizen” of Bethlehem, but when he did, he found a woman with bright eyes and long dark hair walking over to him. “Me?” He wasn’t sure what to expect from any of this since she wasn’t a merchant he had met before. “Yes, you! I think you’d make a very good husband for my son. Are these your parents?” “Uh, yes?” Harry said, almost like a question. Robin and his mom just watched on with amusement, much to his chagrin. Turning to Anne and Robin, the merchant woman said, “I’ll give you six goats for the marriage of your son to mine.” Or every year, Harry and his family attend a church festival called Bethlehem. Harry's freshman year of high school Bethlehem expands, bringing in new vendors, including one that just might change everything for Harry. But first, he has to see if Anne and Robin are willing to part with him for the price of a few goats.

#fic rec #28th appreciation #my reads #my fic rec #larry fics

67 notes · View notes

let-it-raines · 5 years ago

Text

Not Your (soul)Mate {9/15}

Killian Jones doesn’t like the idea of soulmates. He sees how happy his friends are with theirs, but he still doesn’t like the idea, not when he’s found love and lost it time and time again only to still not know his sign. He has no markings on his skin, no voices in his head, but then one day he meets Emma Swan and everything changes. Because, well, he may not have ink on his skin to tell him who to love, but the very first time that he hears Emma’s voice he knows that she’s the one for him. Then again, that could simply be his desire talking. After all, for every word she speaks, he becomes aroused.

It’s not the worst thing in the world to be incredibly attracted to a beautiful woman, but things aren’t that simple when she doesn’t have any interest in being his soulmate.

He’s screwed. And not in the good way.

Rating: Mature

A/n: Hello, all! We are back to our original artwork for the story (which I still absolutely love), but there will be two more fantastic pic sets by the wonderful @captainsjedi before the story is over! It’s the coolest thing getting to see this story through her eyes! 💙

So there was a kiss last chapter? How do you think this chapter will go? Thanks for reading! You guys are the best! 😊

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Tag list: @initiala @snowbellewells @karenfrommisthaven @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @emmas-storybook @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @xellewoods @thejollyroger-writer @galaxyzxstark @cssns

-/-

“What are you doing?”

“Working.”

“On what?”

“The same thing that I do every day. My bloody job.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Ariel breathes out on a frustrated sigh, holding her hands up as she plops herself down on the corner of his desk, her stomach coming into view before anything else. He looks at her stomach far too much, but it always seems to be what she puts in his eye line. “Who peed in your Cheerios this morning?”

“That’s a disgusting phrase,” he groans, placing his pen in its spot in the holder before leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes and rubbing his hands over his face to work out some of the heaviness that he feels there, that he feels all over. A spark flies between his fingertips and his beard, and he nearly yells out in frustration. But that would be too much, too dramatic, and he doesn’t want to give Ariel the satisfaction. “Who even came up with that?”

“Whatever cereal company it is that competes with Cheerios. They’re trying to taint the name.”

“Sounds like a brilliant plan.”

“Mhm,” she hums, reaching forward and tapping his shoulder until he opens his eyes and his hands fall down to his thighs. “Seriously, though. You okay? You’ve been even more grumpy than usual.”

Flashing her a smile, one that he knows is insincere and that she will too, he tries to be “less grumpy.” He personally doesn’t think that he’s grumpy. He thinks that the sun is basically shining out of his ass right now.

“How would you like me to be more pleasant, A? What can I do for you?”

Her right brow raises at the same time that her shoulder does, a pretty uncaring half shrug. “Maybe lose the creepy fake smile. It makes you look smug.” He nods his head and lets his lips fall, raising a leg to cross it over his knee under his desk. “And I want you to take me out to lunch today.”

“There it is,” he laughs, this one genuine as his eyes shift to the clock on his wall and the hand indicating that it’s a little before one. “Shall we go to your husband’s restaurant down the street or do you have somewhere else in mind? I’ll let the lady pick.”

“And they say chivalry is dead.” She slowly stands from the desk, smoothing out her kelly green pants and her blouse. “I want to go to that deli with the good sandwiches. You know the one that makes that - ”

“I know the one.”

He stands from his chair, adjusting his own suit pants, and lets Ariel hook her arm into his as he guides her out of the office, shouting down the hallway to tell Liam that he’ll be back in an hour, maybe an hour and a half only for Ariel to shout that they’ll be gone for at least two hours. That is definitely not happening when he got an unexpected redesign job this morning, but he can already see Ariel trying to weasel her way into it as they walk two blocks over to Delano’s Kitchen. It’s usually pretty quiet there, not too much foot traffic moving through the small deli, so he and Ariel buy their meals and settle down outside under the yellow and white striped umbrellas. Storybrooke can be such an idyllic little town sometimes with its bright colors and preppy storefronts, and it’s usually a pleasant place to be, especially outside in the summers when the temperature is just right.

Today is one of those days, but he’s having a bit of trouble focusing on the gentle breeze that is blowing through his hair or the sunshine that’s being blocked by the shades of his sunglasses. If he’s honest, he’s mostly having issues focusing on what Ariel is saying, which is something he’s most definitely not proud of. She wanted to go to lunch with him today, wanted for them to spend some time together, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t listen to her and engage in conversation with her.

But with every sip of water that passes through his lips he can feel Emma’s mouth on his, warm and pliant lips harshly devouring his and making the flesh on his arms and the back of his neck break out into hives. He’s wondered how she would kiss for months now, has thought about it whenever he thinks about her, but absolutely nothing could have prepared him for the actuality of it all. It was...bloody magnificent. He’s kissed many a woman in his time, had many very solid make out sessions in his thirty-five years, but this was decidedly different.

And a hell of a lot better.

God, she’s just...she’s amazing. She made him feel alive, like the fireworks that were exploding around them two weeks ago were exploding across his skin and down his spine to his groin instead of in the air in the Nolan’s backyard. But then she’d stepped away, said it was a one-time thing, and climbed out of the treehouse.

He kissed his soulmate for the first time in a six-year-old’s treehouse with fireworks exploding around them.

What the hell is his life?

He’d kissed Emma, or Emma kissed him really, and with the feel of her lips still on his and her scent mixing in with his clothes, he watched her run across the yard and into the house away from where everyone was standing on the balcony watching David light the fireworks with help from Robin. Emma told him to wait five minutes before following her, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t go anywhere. He couldn’t breathe.

For every inkling of affection and feelings that he’s developed for Emma since they met, that was the first time that he was sure of it all. He was sure that they could be something, that they could have something real and true. It was the first time that he thought that he could most definitely move on from Milah, from his last love. He’s mourned her and loved her for years, and he never thought he could love someone again. He doesn’t love Emma, but the beginnings are there.

He could love her.

He wants to. That’s thinking much too far ahead, but he tends to do that.

They match up well. The universe tells them so, but he doesn’t care about any of that stuff. Emma says she doesn’t care, but she very obviously cares too much. She cares enough to defy whoever it is that makes the world this way, but there’s no way that she can deny the very real something between them.

And not the fact that they both want to fuck each other the more they talk to each other.

But it’s Emma. He doesn’t know how she’s been hurt, but he knows that she has. Something, more likely someone, has scarred her pretty badly, and that’s why she ran away from him after kissing him. She made the first move and obviously got spooked during it. He has this small, inane hope that she was spooked because she’s scared of the possibilities, of the future, but he doesn’t know.

He can’t know.

It’s not like he’s spoken to her since.

Or texted her. Or written her a note.

They’ve had absolutely zero communication despite him seeing her around town at least ten times in the past fourteen days.

Despite him seeing her across the street at Mr. French’s bakery right now.

This town needs to be much larger. And preferably soon.

She’s dressed in jeans and a simple white button down with sleeves rolled to her elbows, her hair pulled up in a ponytail, and her badge clipped on her belt loops like it always is. David is with her, the two of them standing together in front of the counter, and he has to keep from staring at her for too long before she notices. Or even worse, before Ariel notices.

The absolute last thing he wants is for Ariel to know that he is undeniably pining over Emma Swan. The woman is all about love and pushing him into love, and he doesn’t need the extra push and encouragement from somewhere else right now.

Damn, he wishes he could talk to Emma right now about their kiss and their....friendship.

It’s a friendship, right? It has to be.

“Can I have some of your cantaloupe?” Ariel asks even as her fork spears one and she’s taking it off of his plate.

“Why do you even ask?” he chuckles, turning his attention away from Emma and from David to look at Ariel. “I mean, you know I’m not going to say no, and it’s not as if you waited for my answer anyways.”

She pops the fruit into her mouth as her shoulders shrug. “It’s the polite thing to do. Eric is always complaining about how I steal food from him, but he does the same thing to me.”

“Liam does that. He just leans over and takes food away. It’s usually the food I’m saving for last too.”

“That’s the actual worst. You don’t mess with someone’s food.” He raises a brow at that, not even needing to really respond with words. Ariel smiles and shrugs again. “I’m pregnant.”

“Is that going to be your excuse until you have the baby?”

“Yep. And afterward, it’s going to be that I just had a baby. And then later it’s going to be that I have a baby at home who exhausts me. So you pretty much have to give me all of your food forever now.”

He hums, grabbing a grape. “This will be the last time I take you out to eat then.”

“No part of that is true. I - oh look, there’s Emma and David. Emma,” Ariel shouts. He sinks down in his chair, wishing that he could disappear right now. Why did he not think of this earlier? Of course Ariel is going to call them over.

David quickly jogs across the street, but he watches as Emma debates it, looking around them and digging into her bag to pull out a cookie before she slowly walks toward them, pretty much stuffing the cookie in her mouth all at once.

“Hey,” David says when he gets to their table, leaning against the adjacent table while Emma does the same, her eyes glancing anyone but to his before she puts on a pair of sunglasses, “how are the two of you?”

“Great. Killian’s buying me lunch.”

“Not that Ariel’s given me much of a choice.”

“It’s the least I can do for all of the hard work that I do for you.”

“Do you mean your job?”

“Hush.” Ariel reaches over to grab some more of his fruit, and he takes a moment to see if Emma is still turned away from him. Her presence is making his body heat and his heart ache. He wants to talk to her. Or text her or leave a bloody message on a napkin again to ask why the hell she kissed him and then ran away. “Emma, do you want to come by on Saturday to catch up on Billion Dollar Wreck? Eric is itching to watch, and I told him we had to wait for you.”

“I bloody love that show,” he blurts out, unable to stop himself. Three heads turn toward him, and he makes an effort to keep his lips straight as he looks at Ariel.

“Oh that’s right,” Ariel sighs, motioning between the two of them, “you’re a History Channel buff too. Emma and I love it. Killian, you should come over on Saturday.”

“No,” Emma says. “I mean, I don’t think I can come over on Saturday.”

“What other plans do you have?”

“She doesn’t have any,” David fills in only for Emma to punch his bicep. It should sting because she’s trying to stay away from him, but he honestly finds it amusing. “She was just talking about how she was going to spend all of Saturday on her couch in her pajamas.”

“Those are plans.”

“Oh come on,” Ariel pleads, “it’ll be so much fun. You can wear your pajamas. I’ll get snacks, and it’ll be just like at home except you get to spend time with me.”

Emma groans, the sound probably only audible to him, and he realizes that her words haven’t really affected him today. She hasn’t spoken much, but there’s only been the slightest stirring. That’s...odd. It’s odd, but he’s not going to complain about it.

“Fine but next weekend you’re going to let me spend the weekend holed up alone in the apartment where no one can bother me.”

“You have a roommate.”

“She spends her weekends at Will’s most of the time.”

“Perfect.” Ariel claps her hands. “You guys can come over around noon. I’ll get Eric to make lunch.”

“I think that sounds like a great idea, don’t you, Emma?”

She finally looks at him, and even though he can’t see her eyes, he knows that they’re shooting daggers at him. The scowl that’s painted on her lips helps him realize that. Maybe Ariel calling them over here isn’t the worst thing in the world even if Saturday is most likely going to be a disaster.

“It sounds like it’s going to be the best day of my life,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm before she angles her body away from him. “A, I’ll call you later, okay? David and I have to get back to work. Make sure Killian buys you some kind of dessert too. I think you deserve it for having to work with him all day.”

A chill runs down his spine, slowly spreading over his body, but mostly he smiles. At least she doesn’t seem to totally hate him. But it wouldn’t be a complete surprise to him if she didn’t show up on Saturday. It would actually be what he expects.

“I do enjoy sweet things, darling,” he tells Emma, punctuating his words with a flick of his tongue across his bottom lip that has her cheeks flushing red.

Emma nods her head and walks away, her ass looking absolutely fantastic in her jeans, while David says more polite goodbyes. He probably could have been nicer, teased her less, but he seems to not be able to help himself when it comes to Emma. Maybe it’s a side effect of their...predicament. Maybe it’s simply what she brings out in him.

-/-

“Hey, Max,” he laughs when he opens the front door of Ariel and Eric’s house Saturday morning, stepping into their entryway and rubbing his hand behind the thick hair at Max’s ears. “Hey, boy. Oh I’ve missed you. Do you want a cracker? I bet I can sneak a cracker out of your mummy’s pantry.”

“I heard that,” Eric yells, and Killian glances up to see him rounding the corner of the living room. He’s still dressed in his pajamas, and that makes Killian feel a little better about only wearing his gray joggers and a t-shirt from last year’s summer regatta. “Just let yourself in why don’t you.”

“I mean, you did leave the door unlocked.”

“That’s beside the point.”

He rolls his eyes a bit before stepping forward and patting Eric’s back in greeting so that he can bypass him to head into the kitchen to get Max his crackers. It’s the oddest thing, but he’s obsessed with saltines, and if Kilian has to bribe the dog to get him to like him, he has no qualms about that.

“Where’s Ariel?” he questions, opening their pantry and scanning for the food.

“In the shower. She didn’t feel great this morning, so she slept in a bit.”

“Is she okay? Do we need to cancel today?”

“She’s okay. And if we cancel, she’ll absolutely have my head. She’s been talking about you guys coming over for days.” He finds the crackers in the cabinet and opens up a plastic sleeve before grabbing two and turning around to hand them to an eagerly awaiting Max, his pink tongue hanging out of his mouth. “And I keep having to run to the store to get food since she’s constantly changing her mind on that.”

“So what are we eating?”

“Ariel decided on pizza, but not the kind we can get delivered. Homemade individual ones. It’s quite the show for us to be sitting around in our sweats.”

“Pizza is great, babe,” Ariel sighs as she walks into the room in a pair of leggings and sweater with a towel wrapped around her hair. “And my taste buds are changing because of your demon child. The least you can do is spend all of our savings on food.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Eric smiles, reaching his arm out to Ariel to wrap it around her shoulder and pull her into his side so that he can kiss her temple and whisper something in her ear that makes her giggle. A flash of jealousy runs through him at how happy they are, at how much goodness they have in their life with each other, but he has to push that down. He absolutely cannot let himself think that way. That’s how he’ll make himself miserable. “I’m excited for us to eat pizza and sit on our asses all day.”

“That’s the best way to spend a Saturday.”

“Who’s running the restaurant, Eric?”

“Oh no one. I figured people could go in and simply eat all of the fish raw.”

“So Smee?”

“Smee.” Eric nods.

The three of them talk a little bit more, mostly about this year’s regatta and beach festival over Labor Day weekend, before moving into the living room and settling down after closing the curtains so that the usually light room is covered in darkness. He grabs a blanket from the basket and settles down on their recliner while Ariel and Eric lounge on the couch. He can’t help himself from wondering if Emma is actually going to show up, but he’s not about to ask about it. He could tell that Ariel noticed...something between he and Emma after their little run in at lunch. She’s far too perceptive of him, and he doesn’t want to let her onto anything. He may have no clue what exactly is happening with he and Emma, but he does know that she doesn’t want anyone to know that they’re soulmates. She’d likely be pissed at him if he were to let that secret spill.

So he can’t ask if Emma is still coming today. He has to act normally.

Which definitely doesn’t happen when he hears the click of the front door as it opens and Emma steps inside in what looks like her running gear with her hair tucked in a ponytail under her cap and legs on display in her black shorts and loose white tank top with a neon yellow sports bra underneath.

Bloody hell.

She’s trying to kill him. And somehow he knows that she’s doing it on purpose since she’s the one who wanted to wear pajamas and have un-brushed hair and simply do nothing today. And yet she’s apparently decided to go out for a run and wear...that.

What in the world goes through her mind? He’d love to know. He really would.

God, her legs.

“Sorry I’m late,” she starts, reaching down to pet Max’s ears before she’s in the living room and leaning over the couch to kiss Eric’s cheek and hug Ariel’s neck, giving him a slight wave. “I slept a little too late and then decided I wanted to go for a run since I’m going to be sitting on my ass all day. How many episodes did you guys watch without me?”

“None. We waited on you.”

“Oh perfect. What are we eating? I’m starving.”

“We’re making pizzas.”

“Oh my God,” she groans, falling over the loveseat and propping her legs up over the arm while he wishes for all of the world that she would stop talking. He’s never going to be able to move this blanket off of his lap. Her legs are so damn long. “I love homemade pizzas. If I ever get a house, I’m buying one of those pizza ovens. I just have to, because our apartment fire escape definitely can’t hold a pizza oven.”

“We should get one of those,” Ariel suggests to Eric.

“We have one at the restaurant.”

“But that’s not the same as having it here. You don’t let me cook in the restaurant kitchen.”

“You once lost your hairband in the kitchen, and we had to shut down the kitchen until we found it in the trash.”

“That was an accident.”

“There are health codes, A.”

“Whatever.”

“So are we going to cook the pizza now?” Emma asks, breaking Ariel and Eric out of their conversation. “That way we can eat while we watch. Don’t you think that’s a great idea, Killian?”

He grits his teeth and tries to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down as the base of his spine tingles a bit. She’s talking quite a lot today, and like the outfit, he definitely thinks it’s on purpose. He’d really rather like for the woman to make up her mind on whether she wants to tease him or kiss him and then run away because he has absolutely no idea what to think.

“That’s a grand idea, Swan.”

So they make their pizzas, the four of them moving around the kitchen, and he swears that Emma never stops talking. She and Ariel get into some kind of deep discussion about the Outlander book series, and while he’s read most of them, he keeps his mouth closed over everything as he kneads the dough for his, his hands covered in flour that’s found its way to the hem of his shirt.

He should have thought through the repercussions of wearing gray joggers around Emma.

When Ariel and Eric put their pizzas in the oven, only two fitting at a time, they leave the room to sit back down on the couches, leaving he and Emma to themselves. She’s currently on the tips of her toes trying to reach a spice from the top of the cabinet, and he takes the opportunity to cage her in, getting close enough that his chest brushes into her back but not too close so as to make her uncomfortable as he whispers in her ear.

“You know, darling, I find that women who run away after kissing me don’t tend to spend the next time they see trying to arouse me.”

“Lots of women run after you kiss them then?”

“Just the one.”

He feels her breath hitch and her shoulders tense, and he smirks into her ear, taking the risk of rubbing his beard gently into her as his hand travels up her arm. He can small sweat on her skin but also her shampoo and the faintest whiff of the pizza they’re making, and all he wants his to brush his lips under the shell of her ear so that he can hear the sound that he’s sure that it would elicit. But he doesn’t. He can’t. So he reaches his hand up a little further to grab the garlic seasoning she’s reaching for and places it on the counter.

“But I have a feeling that she’d like to do it again,” he tacks on before backing away from her.

“You wish.”

“I do.”

As fun as it is teasing her, he cannot stand that close to her again without doing something, so he quickly leaves the room, moving to the guest bathroom to splash his face with water and take a breather. He can finish making his pizza later, but he needs to calm down. And he refuses to wank another one out in this household, so he’s not going to. But seriously, what was he thinking when it came to his choice of pants?

“You okay?” Ariel asks when he exits the bathroom.

“Just dandy.”

From then on, he decides to stop taking the high road. If Emma’s going to torture him, he can do the same to her. He shouldn’t be the one taking the high road anyways. They’re regressing to how they were when they went out on the boat, and while it’s not what he wants, it’s where they are.

He is too old to be playing games, but life keeps throwing him new decks of cards.

Everyone is silent as the show starts, only the sound of the television and Max scratching his stomach filling the room, but he prefers it enough so that he can have a chance to calm himself down more while they eat. The pizza is delicious, and he idly wonders if he could get an oven on the deck of his apartment. Possibly. He’d have to check with his super. All is well throughout the first episode, but then during the second Emma and Eric start talking about the security system he’s having installed down at the restaurant. It’s a quiet murmuring, not really detracting from the show, but with the consistency of it, he can feel his erection beginning to grow at the sound of her voice in a way that it hasn’t since the first time that they met.

If his body could make up its mind on how it reacts to Emma, that would be great.

Fantastic. Now he sounds like that meme online.

And he sounds ancient saying it like that.

Killian: You have got to stop talking right now.

Emma: Why? Is your sail being raised?

He appreciates the pun, but he’s really not in the mood for it right now.

Killian: Yes.

Emma: Their bedroom is just down the hall. You’re familiar with it.

He glances over toward Emma, but she’s not even looking in his direction, her eyes still glued to the television screen.

Killian: Would you like to join me?

Emma: Like I said, you wish.

Killian: You literally have no idea.

Emma: Gross.

Killian: Oh come on, Swan. I know you find me charming.

Emma: Again. You wish. I’m just going to keep repeating that.

Emma: Why are they spending ten minutes writing a fake letter on this show? I know people wrote letters back in the day because they didn’t have anything else, but I feel like this is over the top.

Killian: It’s rather romantic to think about people writing letters to their loved ones who they may never see again.

Emma: Yeah, but they had to know that no one was going to see the letters.

Killian: But they said the words, love. They made sure there was nothing left unsaid. It’s closure, I think. And there’s also a beauty in putting your words to the page.

Emma: No one writes letters anymore, but you definitely could with the way you talk like an eighteenth century poet.

Killian: Maybe I’ll have to think on that.

Killian: They wrote letters in Harry Potter despite having actual magic.

Emma: You like Harry Potter?

Killian: I was a lanky British boy with dark hair and light eyes who wore glasses. He was basically my hero.

Emma: That’s adorable.

Emma: Do you still have those glasses?

Killian: The magic of contacts is better than the magic of the Elder wand.

Emma: That’s the nerdiest thing you’ve ever said.

Killian: But you understood the reference, didn’t you?

Emma: …

Emma: Yes. Harry Potter was pretty much my hero too. There’s not a lot of stories about orphans that end well.

He realizes what she’s just said, what she’s just revealed about herself even if he already knew that, but he knows not to push. This conversation is a rare pleasant one with her, and he’s not going to mess it up now. They get along when they text, sometimes even when they speak, and maybe this is simply going to be a rollercoaster of a relationship from now on.

Not that it’s a relationship romantically speaking. It’s simply a relationship as in they have one and can’t seem to get away from each other. Not a friendship, but maybe something close.

It doesn’t even matter.

Killian: Do you secretly have a wand and a robe in your bedroom?

Emma: Not that kind of wand.

He has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing, but it doesn’t work, his chuckles still ending up much louder than he anticipated. Ariel and Eric don’t notice, especially since they seem to still be much more wrapped up in the show than he is, and honestly, he’s fine with that. He’s terrified that if anything changes, if there’s the smallest shift, whatever little spell he and Emma are under right now will break and the pleasantries will stop.

No part of him wants them to stop.

And he’s going a bit crazy because he’s starting to think of other ideas for how he can keep getting to know Emma. Or at least, for her to get to know him.

Killian: Look who’s making jokes about the boudoir now.

Emma: Did you say that just to use the word “boudoir”?

Killian: You bet I did.

#Not Your (soul)Mate #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan

114 notes · View notes

tarithenurse · 5 years ago

Text

Agent of Hope - 14

Your world falls into ruin together with the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcements Logistics Division when you find out that your boyfriend isn’t one of the good guys. Pairing: (Brock Rumlow x fem!reader), Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader Contents: Loads of angst and dealing with trauma. I’m won’t tag for cussing anymore, just assume that it’s there. A/N: This chapter’s been a long way coming due to GISH and getting used to working, but here you go.

14 - Under the Skin

Logic has no place in your mind anymore. You must have lost it during the time Brock kept you prisoner. It’s not the only part of you that’s changed either. Any sudden sound scares you, especially if it comes from just the other side of the door, from the part of the world that you haven’t dared go out into. Not yet. The room is a cave where you can be safe because you are the one who can lock it as you please, meaning you can keep people out…and you do. The only one who’s given access is Natasha.

When your redhead hero is with you, things feel better. Less twisted, less grotesque. The looming shadows become peaceful rather than threatening as if, for a moment, Tasha has been able to restore your mind that otherwise makes monsters out of nothing. The horrors are still there when you close your eyes or when you look at the wounds healing under the attentive care of your saviour, and you wish the broken parts of your soul could be fixed as quickly as the rest of you. It can’t.

Waking in the night, screaming, it’s Natasha’s cool hand that wipes away the tears streaming down your cheeks. Her lips that murmurs in your ear to breathe.

“It’s a nightmare. It’s not real.” She leads your hand to her chest. “Feel my heart, feel the bed you sit on…that’s real.”

Hearts synchronize. Breath calms. She’s your haven.

… Romanoff’s PoV …

The two redheads are breathing deeply as they leave [Y/N]’s room. Pepper’s beaming with elation at the progress they’ve witnessed, but of course Natasha can’t shake the worry. For the first time since the return to the Compound, the woman in recovery has lower the defenses enough to let in another person.

“She’s doing much better,” Pepper offers.

“Mhm.”

“And I promise to keep you updated…I’ll be there for her each day.”

Natasha knows she owes her friend a glimmer of optimism despite the turmoil. Of all the parts of her life affected by the fallout after dumping SHIELD/Hydra intel on the net, leaving [Y/N] behind for a few days is the worst. It’s inevitable, of course. The moment the former Russian became the spokesperson for the agency and the Avengers during the hearing, she knew it’d be near impossible to dodge out of any hearings and the week she’s been granted is much more than she could have hoped for. Now the time is up.

“Get Jarvis to monitor her sleep discreetly…she has nightma–“

“I know. Nightmares.” There’s nothing but kindness in Pepper’s voice. “You’ve gone over everything twice already. Now, you’ve got to get going or you’ll be late.”

Still, it’s with reluctance that Natasha grabs the few things she’s packed and heads for the car, only pausing to wave at the guys sitting in the lounge. Clint’s on the phone and Nat knows he’ll be sending greetings from the family later. Just for her. No one else knows about the wife and kids.

…

She makes it in time for the hearing although she has to change in the car – at least Stark has made sure the windows can be completely darkened, having had his own experiences with the press. And the throng of shouting and chaotic people can only follow to the sets of double doors leading into the opulent building. By the time Natasha takes her seat, she hasn’t checked the phone much more than a dozen times.

The hearing is long, exploring the history of Hydra with the help of “trustworthy” intelligent officers and historians which requires very little direct involvement from the Avenger’s side with the exception of a senators attempts to hold her responsible for events older than the redhead. Ticking away slowly, the clock marks the seconds as slowly as though they were minutes. Time comes to a near standstill while Natasha studies the people around her, then the condense water on the side of the glass as it slides onto the table to form a ring…anything but the phone that feels heavy in her pocket.

… Rumlow’s PoV …

“She WHAT?!” Spittle flies onto the lowly agent standing in front of Rumlow. “The order was – it –”

Words fail the man as he paces back and forth, momentarily lost to the world around him. He doesn’t give a shit that the scar grows red and throbbing when the blood rushes to his head, doesn’t give a damn if the people in the room think he’s overreacting. Firstly, it’ll be his ass on the line with the higher-ups hear about this. Secondly, even a dimwit should’ve been able to know why [Y/N Y/L/N] could never be allowed to fall in the hands of the Avengers one more time.

Rounding on the pale and shaking agent, Brock gets up close and personal to whisper: “Either you go finish the job…or I’ll acquaint your brain with the floor.”

“Bu–“ Rather than finish the protest, the agent bites his tongue then nods and leaves.

“You,” Brock barks at another random agent, “follow and make sure he does as told.”

Rubbing the tender wreck of a face, Rumlow tries to calm down, marching out of the room with a tall man in tow. Not a word is said while the first cools down and the second polishes the monocle before replacing it with a click and folding the handkerchief neatly. Who uses that anymore? A glance over at the buzz shaven man is all Brock can muster right that moment. Handkerchief. Monocle. Bloody German.

“Zo, you are certain zis voman of yourz is gifted…but you let ze Afengers take her?”

Oh, what wouldn’t Brock give to punch the guy in the face. Preferably with a sledgehammer. “I was told to retreat and leave the cleanup to the imbeciles.”

“Many good agents vere lost ven SHIELD fell.”

“Yeah, well…they’ll be honoured.”

“Indeed. Hail Hydra.”

“Hail Hydra.”

Finally alone, Brock stomps the last of the way to his quarters and locks the door behind him.

Kicking off his boots to feel the cold concrete under the feet, he stands with eyes closed and arms hanging lose, breathing deeply as he counts under the breath.

At five thousand his eyes snap open, his gaze landing on the ceiling where pictures and notes are attached in perfect rows linked together with a few pieces of strings. There’s an overwhelming amount of photos featuring the same face over the span of several years, most of them taken without the subjects knowledge to capture the soft smile or the tongue escaping from behind the lips due to concentration. And the eyes blazing with a tenacious stubbornness that kept her from breaking during the time they last were together. [Y/N], how could I not end you? It was close alright, but each time he thought she’d reached the point some hidden source of resistance would well up.

After so long, it only makes sense Brock’s superiors wanted him off the case and on to something that could wield results and he’d been fine signing off on her death warrant. Or so he’d claimed. But his ex isn’t dead and his soul screams to the deepest pit in Hell with agony at the thought that she’s with someone else rather than him.

… Romanoff’s PoV …

Several texts are waiting, and one voicemail from Clint. He’d called Laura just as Natasha had suspected, asking for any sort of advice the sensible woman could give them. Naturally, the Mrs. Barton repeats the same things they already know.

“Miss Romanoff,” a drawling voice calls out, “care to explain where you’re going?”

Dark-red hair bounces as she pins the senator with a cold stare. “The hearing has been adjourned for the day and I intend to do exactly as I’ve been asked…hole up and wait for the session tomorrow.” She considers adding some less diplomatic words but thinks better of it.

Walking down the hallways, the glow of the phone in Natasha’s hand helps ward some curious people off while the rest get the point with a glare. Pepper. Cap. Automated messages from Jarvis. None of them are from [Y/N], and the woman can’t help the heavy knot of worry that’s growing in the stomach though nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. It’s gonna be a long night, she sighs, putting the phone away.

… Reader’s PoV …

It’s just not the same. Even if you try all the mindfulness and meditation techniques you can think off, your heart keeps racing and you can’t sit still. Turning the restlessness into intense training (as much as it’s possible in the little room without any equipment) has barely made any difference except that you’re now sweaty and weak.

You step into the shower on shaky legs, carefully avoiding to look at the reflection in the mirror and glass door. Eyes fixated on the tiles a foot above your head, you stand under the warm water, allowing it to flush away the dirt from a long day spent on your own.

Well not entirely alone because Pepper had stopped by both with the most delicious meals anyone else could want (but not you) and simply for the company. It’s a bit better than no one, but eventually the oppressing worry radiating from the kind woman became to much and you pretended to be tired only so she would leave.

Reaching for the soap, the bright scars on your hands and arms come into view causing you to freeze mid-motion. The wounds are healing well, and Natasha is confident that the barely will be anything left to see thanks to Dr. Cho’s prescribed treatment. It’s not even the scars that bother you the most. Under the healing skin are parts that still are broken and you’ve no idea how to put it all back together. Pieces of you seem to be missing, others have been graffitied on to the point that you don’t recognize it. The scars? They are the reminders, together with the fading bruises, and the thinness of your body. You know the changes all too well even if you haven’t dared look at yourself because you couldn’t keep your minds blank as Brock did what he did. You felt it all. Felt it and hated it, and now you hate what he’s left you…but it’s all you got, and an ember of stubbornness tells you to grow strong and rub his face in it.

68 notes · View notes

continuallycrow · 5 years ago

Text

i wanna know (when the pain stops)

Linhardt has 'Good Days'. Linhardt also has bad days.

title from dread by nothing,nowhere.

basically this is what happens when my brain helpfully supplies me with "what if the reason linhardt naps a lot is because he has a chronic illness but they're not really named or recognised in the time period of three houses".

i listened to a lot of nothing,nowhere. and this happened.

can be read as gen or gay aside from the very last line which is gay. caspar and linhardt are both sixteen.

Linhardt always knows, when he wakes, whether it’s going to be a good day. Or at least, a ‘Good Day’. He’s taken to borrowing the air quotes Caspar loves so much when it comes to describing the highs. Mostly because it means he has the energy to do them, and sometimes, it’s the little things.

A ‘Good Day’ begins with sleep, late enough that the morning rising over Garreg Mach is bright enough to creep in through the drapes, but not late enough that Edelgard is knocking on the door, demanding in shrill tones that he “better not be about to skip a lecture again!” It means he can wake up, swallow whatever potion or herbal tea Professor Manuela wants him to try this month, and dress in his own time. He replaces the burned-out candle from the night before, puts away the book he was reading before he fell asleep, and straightens the bedsheets, sometimes tucking them in if it feels like it’s worth it. He pulls the curtains aside and the day streams into the room, illuminating the dust motes, the sun warm on his hands. He dares to think, perhaps, that today will be fine.

There’s time for breakfast, even, sometimes, and he can walk there. The monastery grounds hold his many fellow students, clustered in pairs and groups talking, or walking alone to their duties and classes. Annette and Mercedes bid him quiet good mornings in unison as he passes, and he responds with a greeting and small smile in return. He meets Ashe under the arches, and they walk to the dining hall together, the grey-haired boy spinning a tale of Alois and the stable cats, and as Linhardt listens to his chatter and not-too-distant birdsong, he wishes all days would be like this.

Later, he is the last to their classroom for Professor Byleth’s lecture, but only by seconds, since Petra spots him from across the courtyard and sprints for the door - and of course, he understands why, because he’s late so often it would be an insult to the professor to walk in behind him. As it turns out, though, they both arrive before the professor himself. Linhardt slides with almost ease into his seat at the desk he shares with Caspar, and it’s as though the shorter boy’s whole demeanor lights up. “Lin! You made it.” Caspar beams, and Linhardt’s chest blooms with warmth. “Of course,” he replies, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. And really, it should be. Making it to class before the cathedral bells ring is supposed to be the easy part of academy training. Punctuality is a simple request, if he listens to what Seteth says.

Caspar only seems to grin wider. He scoots closer to Linhardt on their shared bench, and then Linhardt is being hugged. It surprises him every time, the affection that Caspar is so willing to give him. Others treat him like he’s made of spider-silk or blown glass, afraid to so much as bump into him in the hallways or land more than a tap during training. And of course, it’s sensible, for the most part. But it’s like Caspar can read him at a glance, and the embrace is the perfect amount of pressure, of warmth. So Linhardt allows himself to melt for just a moment, closing his eyes and finding the right way to return the gesture. For a few seconds, he forgets the dull ache behind his eyes, the heaviness in his limbs that even the short walk over from the dining hall has brought. All he knows in that short moment is Caspar.

“Your heart’s beating fast,” his friend whispers, shattering the spell. “My heart is always beating fast,” Linhardt reminds him gently. It’s one of the first things to slip Caspar’s mind, if he’s going to forget anything. He laughs a little as he pulls away, but stays sitting right by Linhardt’s side. It’s a good thing he takes notes with his right hand, while Linhardt uses his left. “Of course. I’m sorry.” “There is no need to be.”

Professor Byleth chooses that moment to stride in, and what could become of their conversation is lost to the respectful silence that sweeps the room. “Good morning, Black Eagle house.” A chorus of greetings in return. “We will begin today by recalling the sword blocking technique we studied last week. Ferdinand, if you would join me here…”

On a ‘Good Day’, Linhardt’s notes are neater than Caspar’s. His script is small, neat, slanted to the right in neat lines across his pages. On a ‘Good Day’, there are no ink spills or broken quills. There is simply the professor’s voice, and Caspar by his side, and when he’s asked to stand and demonstrate Recover on Edelgard as one of Bernadetta’s arrows goes awry, he’s more than happy to do so.

----

It stands to reason, of course, that after a streak of ‘Good Days’, and better days, and average-but-not-terrible days, the black clouds will come at their worst. And it’s just typical of Linhardt’s luck for it to all come tumbling down, just as he was beginning to hope he might feel better one day.

He first wakes to the bells chiming early morning - exactly what time, he can’t tell, because each toll sends what feels like earth-shattering pain through his head, radiating down his spine. It’s only because it’s early and the dormitory walls are thin that he finds it in him to grit his teeth, to hold back the cry that so desperately wants to tear out. He pulls the blanket over his head, but even the small movement is enough to bring hot tears to his eyes. It isn’t supposed to be like this, it’s incredibly rarely like this, but when it is, every time feels worse than the last.

He searches his mind for something to blame, to bury his head in the pillow and curse until his lungs give out. But there’s nothing there, nobody to spit at, because everything they’ve been doing, to try and help… it’s been working. Manuela’s latest syrup, infused with fresh herbs from Dedue’s small patch in the greenhouse, has had all but cured his headaches, pushed back the constant looming nausea to a level where he’s been eating three regular meals for weeks now. He’s been putting on a little healthy weight - putting on muscle , much to Professor Byleth’s delight, his hands hardly shake at all when he draws back the string on a training bow - and attending all his classes. He takes up weapons at the training ground and works to a programme devised just for him by the professors and Edelgard. A little more every day. Just three nights ago, he accepted Caspar’s offer of a duel after hours, and damn near knocked him across the classroom with his first successful Cutting Gale. He sleeps through the night, and only naps once a day, if at all.

He’s been getting better.

And yet, now, he’s powerless to do anything but lie motionless on his stomach, alone in his room. With the blanket pulled over his head, his feet and ankles are exposed and freezing. He’s always struggled to retain body heat, but the thought of moving to resolve the problem is too much. It’s all too much. So he shivers, and slips in and out of restless sleep, waking with tears drying on his cheeks more times than he cares to keep count of.

Daylight comes, and brings with it the soft sound of rain at the windows, because, well, of course it does. Linhardt’s father once hypothesised that his pain changed with the weather, and while experience has only served to prove that wrong time and time again, (he skates on the monastery pond with the others when mid-winter allows, and more than once has been bedridden as his friends frolic in the Blue Sea Moon sun - he missed Caspar’s sixteenth birthday, and is sure the regret will never leave him) it does seem that whenever the rain comes, so does the deep-set ache in his bones. He doesn’t see himself falling asleep again, at least not without a heavy dose of healing magic and another new potion or balm to try, and he knows that sooner or later, someone will come looking for him.

He doesn’t wait long. The thing about Edelgard is she seems to have a sixth sense when it comes to members of her house missing class. She must have a routine. Checking the infirmary, passing Bernadetta’s door to haul her, kicking and screaming, to the classroom, and then, coming by Linhardt’s room. Her sharp rapping at the door and the accompanying command of “Linhardt! Up!” is too much, too piercing, too painful. “Edel… please…” His lips are cracked, throat sore just from the effort of forcing out the words she probably can’t even hear. “I know you’re in there. Wake up!” When he doesn’t reply, she only goes on. “Come on, Lin! You’ve been so… spirited lately. So much better. I will not have you fall back to old habits. Open this door, before I open it myself.”

He knows she means it, and he doubts he’d be able to stand even if she gave him all day to do it, so he’s not surprised when the door flies open, hits the door with a thud, and reveals the princess in the light it lets in. She’s wet through from the rain, a sure sign that she’s made her way here without Hubert, as her advisor would insist upon carrying an umbrella for her. It wouldn’t do for a noble lady to catch a chill, of course. Something about that thought makes pained laughter spill from Linhardt’s mouth. How he wishes he could, one day, simply catch a cold and have that be the worst way his body could betray him. Edelgard strides in, and for a moment Linhardt fears she’s going to snatch the blanket right off him and order him to his feet. But as she blinks, her eyes adjusting to the darkness in the room, he watches her face soften, in familiar concern, and then even more familiar, pity.

Normally, he would despise her pity. But in this state, he’ll take what he can get.

“Again?” she asks, the anger in her voice melted away, replaced by a whisper. He closes his eyes against the disappointment in hers, and confirms, “Again.”

The Black Eagles all know of Linhardt’s affliction, though the Empire doctors don’t have a name for it. There was no way to keep it from the other students, either, though he suspects they think they know more than they do. He tried, of course, at first, to keep it hidden. Even lied to Caspar, whom he hadn’t seen in a year or more, and told him it was getting better, under control. Fainting at the steps up to the entrance hall within a week of enrolment had not been one of his finer moments, and had sparked a lot of questions and prying eyes. But by now, the students surround him with support, for the most part. He knows he frustrates them at times, with his constant exhaustion, his inability to concentrate or remember the point of conversations or the passages of the books he pours over, again and again, desperate to retain the information through the fog in his mind and the tears in his eyes. Sometimes it’s hard to remember a lesson, or call back a moment in battle. And it angers him, let alone them.

But now, Edelgard perches at the edge of his bed, he can feel the slight dip in the mattress as she settles there. She’s hardly the most affectionate of his classmates, but still, he appreciates the warm touch of her fingers on his icy skin, as she draws back his tangled hair from his face and ties it loosely with the ribbon he lost at some point in his sleep. He whispers a thank you, but the words are lost once they pass his lips. “You’re welcome,” Edelgard tells him anyway. “Are you absolutely certain… no. No, disregard that. You are clearly too unwell to come to classes.” She sounds as though she regrets even going to ask. “I cannot stay. But I will fetch your medication, and send for Professor Manuela the moment she is available. And some extra blankets.” Her presence is suddenly lost, but only for a moment, and he can smell sweet-mint. Too exhausted to even consider sitting up, he allows Edelgard to pour a small dose of the syrup into his parted lips, and somehow, swallows it without choking. She rearranges the blanket to cover him properly, and in lieu of a cool rag to cover his eyes, finds a small towel and lays it there, to block out the light. “Rest, Linhardt. Do what you do best.”

He hears the door close, and with the help of the medicine, manages to pass out again.

He guesses it’s mid-afternoon when he next wakes properly. He’s been roused a couple of times, first by Professor Manuela with some stronger medication and a couple of magical tests to make sure this is just another relapse, and not something that’s going to spread through the academy like the flu that did this time last year. When she’s sure it’s just him, she leaves, and the second time he wakes coherent, and she’s brought blankets from the infirmary, which he’s infinitely grateful for. He manages to thank her, and she gives him cool water to drink. When she tries to coax him into eating, though, he manages a few bites of something plain and unidentifiable before the dizziness overcomes him once more and he drifts off again.

He recognises the smooth heat of white magic before he even opens his eyes. He expects Manuela again, but instead finds Mercedes in a chair at his side, her brow knitted together in concentration as she casts healing spells over him. He watches her for a while, almost transfixed by the spirals of light bridging the space between them, until she notices he’s awake and closes her hands. “Linhardt.” She’s always so at ease, it puts his mind to rest too. “How are you feeling?” He takes a moment to answer, first assessing the state he’s in, and then deciding whether it’s worth lying to her. “Quite dreadful,” is the reply he ends up giving, with a rueful smile. “Though better than this morning. Warm, at least.” It’s a little easier to speak, easier to breathe. “Such is the way these things go, I suppose.” She stands up and picks her way over to his desk, bringing back a steaming teacup. “You absolutely must drink this. While another remedy is brewed, this will help.” The tea smells familiar, and Linhardt tries to focus on that instead of how much his body protests as Mercedes helps him sit up.

He insists on holding the cup on his own. Something about having a fellow student there, even if she is practically Manuela’s apprentice, brings a little shameful heat to his cheeks. “Angelica?” he asks, after a long moment inhaling the steam. “For nerve and joint pain.” Mercedes practically claps, which he thinks is ridiculous, because he’s a healer too. What kind of a healer would he be if he didn’t know the uses of simple herbs? He smiles anyway. “My favourite kind. Thank you, Mercie.” It’s slow, but he raises the cup in shaky hands and takes a sip. It’s perfectly warm, and brewed just right, and as he drinks, he feels a little more human again. It clears some of the clouds in his mind, at least.

Mercedes sits with him until the cup is finished, and she talks about the weather - it’s still raining - and an incident in the courtyard involving Ferdinand and a cat exactly the colour of his hair. It makes Linhardt smile, her insistence on filling him in on the day he’s slept away. She tells him Ashe and Annette are making sweet buns for dinner, and she’ll be sure to have someone bring him a plate, since there’s no doubt in either of their minds that he will see this day out in his bed. And when his tea is finished, she takes his cup and goes to help him lie down once more, but he pushes her away, albeit gently. “Not yet. When I want to sleep again, I will call for someone, if you leave the door ajar.” “If you’re quite sure, then of course. But I doubt that will be necessary. Your house have been quite desperate to see that you are recovering,” she tells him, still smiling. “Professor Manuela insists only one visitor. Perhaps two, if they’re quiet. But last I heard, Caspar was willing to spar someone for the honour, so…”

Despite everything, that idea is so undisputedly Caspar that it makes Linhardt laugh, for the first time all day. “Let him come. No, tell him I requested him, specifically. The others can wait.” “Of course. I’ll pass the message along, I’m sure he’ll be with you shortly.” She beams. “Take your syrup before bed, as usual. The new blend should be brewed by morning, Professor Byleth has been working on it all afternoon. I hope you feel well again soon, Linhardt.” As promised, she leaves the door open just a little on her way out, and he’s left to wait for Caspar.

He listens to the rain on the window for a while, and hopes that every set of footsteps to pass his room will be his blue-haired friend. Just as he’s wondering whether he should have asked Mercedes to pick out a book for him, though he doubts he’d be able to focus his eyes enough to read more than a few lines, the air fills with the sound of running boots on wooden floorboards, and Caspar comes rushing in in a flurry of cold air and wet clothes, though thankfully without his armour and weapons, so at least Linhardt knows he hasn’t come straight from a training session. “Lin!” Caspar’s excitement at seeing him takes over for a moment, and Linhardt winces at the sudden noise, enough to be visibly uncomfortable if Caspar’s reaction is anything to go by. The shorter boy presses his hand to his mouth and mumbles out a muffled “I’m sorry!” before getting his volume under control. “I’m sorry,” he says again, once he’s taken off his academy jacket and hung it on one of the hooks on the wall. He takes Mercedes’ vacated seat by the bed, and perches on the edge of it. “Hey… I missed you today.” The easiest smile of the day makes its way onto Linhardt’s face. “Hey, Cas. I missed you too.”

They talk for a while like that. Caspar takes off his boots, and the warmth of the room dries his hair, leaving it fluffy. His hand creeps across the blankets, and when Linhardt notices it getting close to his own, he moves to close the gap, entwining their fingers. Caspar always worries about being too rough when he’s like this, yet Linhardt still hopes that before tonight ends, he’ll get to feel his friend’s arms around him. Caspar hasn’t hugged him on a bad day before, and he’s too proud to ask for it, even though he thinks, or perhaps hopes, that it might take some of the edge off, the same way it does on the days he makes it to class, or the library, or the pond.

“Come closer,” Linhardt hears himself say, later on when the candles have been lit and the exhaustion is setting in. He can see that Caspar is tired now too, and most likely uncomfortable, leaning in to talk in the dim light and still sitting on that awful chair that Linhardt hates because it makes his back kick up a fierce complaint any time he tries to work in it. “I can’t move the chair any more, Lin,” Caspar points out, trying anyway. He drops it back to the floor with a thud, and Linhardt smacks his hand lightly. “Ow. You can get on the bed, you know. Idiot.” It’s a fond insult, and accompanied by a tug at his wrist, there’s no doubt that he does, in fact, want Caspar there beside him, quite desperately. Caspar frowns. “There’s not a lot of room. I don’t want to hurt you.” “When have you ever hurt me before? You won’t. I trust you.” “You trust me more than I trust myself, you know.”

“I know I do.” Linhardt pats the bed. “We’ll figure it out. Come on.”

Caspar looks as though he’s fighting an internal battle for a moment, but he sighs and relents, and moves from the chair to the space at his friend’s side. The pillows are all propped up, and he sits against them. He’s right, there isn’t much room for the two of them, but Caspar is short for his age and Linhardt, despite everyone’s best efforts, is thin for his height, so they’ll make it work. And Caspar is so warm, so familiar, that it’s all Linhardt can do not to collapse against him and, though he’s too proud to beg, beg to be comforted and held.

Because really, that’s what it all boils down to. To Linhardt, Caspar’s presence is safety, sanctuary. It means a hand to grasp onto when it all gets to be too much, an arm around his waist when he grows weak with fatigue, a voice in his ear that tells him it’ll all be alright, even if it doesn’t seem in the moment like it will be. Sharing the bed with him is awkward and painful, but if it means they can be this close, he won’t so much as whimper.

It’s a surprise when Caspar sighs, exasperation evident in his voice. “Lin, you’re hurting. Come here.”

And he’s resting on Caspar’s chest. His friend may be shorter than he is, but when they’re pressed up together, and muscle tension has Linhardt curled in on himself to be most comfortable, the difference is barely noticeable. He lets out a shaky breath, and cuddles closer, and to his delight, Caspar’s arms wrap around him and he cuddles back.

For a moment, the room is quiet.

“Better?” Caspar murmurs into his hair, so close and yet so soft it makes Linhardt jump. “More than better. Nearly perfect,” he admits, not sure when he closed his eyes, yet making no effort to open them. If this is a dream laced with medicine and pain, he doesn’t want it to end just yet. Caspar laughs quietly, and Linhardt feels the sound go right through him, flooding his veins with warmth and bliss. He decides he doesn’t ever want to move from Caspar’s embrace, right here in his bed. “Good. That’s good. You gonna be okay?” Linhardt yawns. “Oh, absolutely. I promise.”

“You wanna go back to sleep?” “It won’t help.” “Does anything help?”

“You do.”

“Me? Sure you’re not feverish, Lin?” Caspar is laughing again, and Linhardt feels like his heart might swell right out of his chest. “I don’t know how I do. But you’ve always got me.”

“Don’t leave,” Linhardt hears himself murmur. “I’ll sleep, but don’t leave.”

He hears the smile in Caspar’s voice. “I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.” And perhaps Linhardt imagines the kiss to his hair, as slumber pulls him in once more.

#fire emblem #fire emblem: three houses #fe3h #fe:3h #casphardt #fe lindhart #fe caspar #linhardt von hevring #caspar von bergliez #lincas #caslin #wtf is their ship name

34 notes · View notes

lady-divine-writes · 6 years ago

Text

Klaine Advent Challenge - “Dependable” (Rated PG)

Summary: The one where Kurt is a DoorDash driver, trying to earn money for college, when he ends up making an early morning delivery to a special customer. (2576 words)

Notes: Written for the @klaineadvent Challenge 2018 prompts 'festival' and 'incident'. Also, the title and the summary suck, but it's been a long couple of weeks.

Read on AO3.

“Mr. … Mr. Anderson? Blaine Anderson?” Kurt tiptoes cautiously through the dark quad, bright red delivery bag looped over his shoulder announcing his presence from a mile away. Everything in his body screams, “Turn around and run!”, that this is a practical joke at best or at worst – a trap. But the bizarre sense of obligation that comes from both having something that doesn’t belong to you (in this case, a jumbo Jack combo) and a job he doesn’t want to lose keeps him pressing onward, even if he might be walking head on into danger. During his time as a DoorDash delivery driver, he has had a few people pull pranks on him - send him to either an abandoned house, a tree in an empty field, even all the way to Columbus to deliver seventeen pizzas to some underground BDSM and leather festival. That one he didn’t mind so much. The people there accepted his gift of free pizza (since he gets to keep the food if the order is undeliverable), invited him to hang out with them for a while, and showered him with tips.

All in all, not the worst experience in the world.

He doesn’t understand why people pull pranks like that other than they suck. They pay for it in the end – literally. They pay for the food and they can’t get their money back. They’ve basically spent their hard earned cash to waste his time, give him a paycheck and a free meal. How is that a satisfying joke by any stretch of the imagination?

He’s never had anyone prey on him before. He knows it’s a possibility. He’s heard of it happening to other drivers, mostly women - lured out to the middle of nowhere and attacked. But it’s never happened to him.

This delivery might actually be the case.

He looks down at his phone, the only thing he has lighting his way, and checks the address one more time. Lima High School, outdoor quad/lunch area (under construction). Kurt reads that last part and swallows hard. How did he miss that? Under construction? What the heck does that mean?

Kurt looks up and squints into the black, eyes trying to readjust from the bright white screen to pitch black surroundings. A few hard blinks later and he sees it – a sizable portion of the cement in front of the doors that lead to the cafeteria have been torn up. Yellow caution tape wrapped around orange safety cones surround it, warning anyone who comes near not to accidentally walk into it … the way he was about to. Kurt looks left and right, eyes and ears straining for any trace of the customer who supposedly ordered dinner and wanted it delivered here.

“Mr. Anderson? It’s DoorDash. I have your food. Can you tell me where you are, please?” Kurt had tried calling the man, but it went straight to voicemail. Still, Kurt chooses to remain optimistic. There’s a dozen reasons he can think of why someone would place a one a.m. order for Jack in the Box to be delivered to Lima High School. There’s construction being done. Maybe it’s a construction worker. Or the janitor. Or someone from the drama department working late on sets for the spring musical.

A skeptical voice interrupts his positivity to remind him that this is a high school campus. Therefore this has the potential to not only take a turn for the worse, but end up splattered all over YouTube, too.

That thought has him back stepping, ready to turn around and bolt, declare this delivery a bust and give the whole cholesterol laden meal to his stepbrother Finn when he hears a soft whimper. A voice calls out, of all things, his name.

“K-Kurt?”

The fear vibrating in that voice makes Kurt’s blood go cold. He turns toward it, expecting to see some short, shivering, Gollum-like creature standing behind him, but there’s no one. “Mr. Anderson?”

“Kurt?” A hollow knock follows. “Is that you, Kurt?”

Kurt’s entire body turns to stone, wondering how the mysterious voice knows his name. But then he remembers – the app tells the customer who’s delivering his food.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Kurt walks carefully around the cement patio, trying to pinpoint the voice’s hiding place. “Are you Blaine Anderson?”

“Yes! I---I’m Blaine Anderson! Are you alone?”

That question glues Kurt to the ground. Why would Blaine need to know that he’s alone? Can’t he see him?

What did he plan on doing to him?

“Yes, I am … for now. My stepbrother’s waiting for me in the car,” Kurt lies. “He’s a big guy. A football player. And he’ll come running in a moment’s notice if something happens to me!”

“I’m not going to do anything to you! I promise! I need your help because I’m … I’m stuck!”

“Stuck?” Kurt turns on his flashlight app and starts swinging the beam around, searching for any place a human being could get stuck. It strikes him that Blaine may have fallen into that hole, and he hurries over to investigate. He sees darkness, some pipe, and a lot of rubble, but no person. “Stuck where?”

A mumbled sentence answers Kurt’s question.

“Sorry,” Kurt says. “I didn’t catch that. Where are you?”

Blaine sighs. It’s so heavy and defeated, Kurt can hear it as clear as if Blaine were standing beside him. “I’m in the porta potty.”

“Porta potty, porta potty …” Kurt doesn’t recall seeing one when he walked in, and they’re pretty difficult to miss. He turns a full circle, swinging his light around high and low, and spots it in the corner – a tall, blue portable toilet, identical to the ones they have scattered around the McKinley sports fields, but this one has several benches pushed up against the door. And in the slot for a padlock, the handle of a fork has been slid in to keep it closed.

“Oh my God!” Kurt runs up to it, gives the door a knock, and hears a startled yelp reply. “Blaine? Are you in there?”

“Yeah, I am!” Blaine sounds relieved. “Please, get me out!”

“I will! I will! Give me a minute!” Kurt springs into action while flashbacks of a particularly horrible incident involving one of his friends getting locked in a porta potty hops to mind, not to mention his own experience getting locked in a dumpster. It was on spaghetti Tuesday, and ruined one of his favorite Alexander McQueen sweaters. “One second and I’ll have you out!”

“Okay.”

Kurt puts down his bag and starts shoving benches aside. They’re not heavy, just awkward, stacked in such a way that the metal supports lock together, making it difficult for him to maneuver without pinching his fingers. And since he had to put his phone in his pocket to free up his hands, he’s doing this completely in the dark.

This is definitely more nightmare fuel than he needs in one night.

With the benches gone, he slides the fork out of the lock. Before he can do anything else, the door flies open, nearly smacking him in the face, and a boy about his age stumbles out. He bends over double, sucking in air so quickly, Kurt thinks he’s about to pass out. Or puke. Kurt wouldn’t blame him. The stench that wafts from the narrow stall hits Kurt’s olfactories like a hammer, and he retches. He can’t picture having to live with that for longer than a few seconds.

Kurt pulls out his phone to check if Blaine has any injuries. He looks the boy over from a short distance, searching for black eyes or a fat lip. But aside from having been locked in a porta potty for who knows how long, he appears unharmed.

Blaine’s knees wobble. He weaves to his right, unable to stand upright yet, finds one of the moved benches and takes a seat. “T-thank you. You have no idea how stuffy it is in there.”

“I can imagine.” Kurt picks up the DoorDash bag with the boy’s meal inside and holds it protectively in front of him. This could still be a prank, Kurt reminds himself, peeking stealthily around as Blaine struggles to compose himself. “But, if you don’t mind me asking - you were locked in a porta potty. Why did you order DoorDash? Why didn’t you call your parents? Or the police?”

Blaine takes a few deep breaths, then lifts his head, sadly looking Kurt in the face. Kurt smiles sympathetically at what he sees. The boy looks pale, as if he’s recovering from a flu he’s had for at least a week, his bottom lip quivering, his forehead covered in sweat. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone, and his sleeves rolled up to his biceps. The mop of curls on the top of his head hang damp and limp, as if he ran his fingers through them obsessively. His eyes, shining in the light from Kurt’s flashlight app, translate clearly from their hazel depths how exhausted he feels. He definitely looks like a boy who’s been locked in a small, humid box for a few hours, stressed beyond belief, trying to find a way out.

But he’s also a handsome young man, someone Kurt would definitely notice walking down the halls of school if they both went to McKinley.

“I was on low battery,” Blaine explains. “My parents are away for the weekend. My brother would be no help. He’d make fun of me, then tease me worse when I got home. And I’ve tried the police before. They think it’s a practical joke. They don’t even send anyone to check it out.”

A lump rises to Kurt’s throat when he hears that. Apparently this has happened before then. And no one’s done anything about it yet? No one?

“My dad used to joke that if my life was ever in danger, call for pizza, not the police, because most pizza places guarantee they’ll be at your house in 30 minutes or less. So, I kind of went with that and took the chance you’d actually show. I wrote: ‘Help me! I’m locked in a porta potty!’ in the special instructions box. Didn’t you see it?”

“Sorry. No. The only note on your order was please bring extra Chick-fil-a sauce. I couldn’t, by the way. They’re not open right now.”

“You know, I keep trying to erase that, and it never works. I don’t even order from Chick-fil-a anymore. Stupid app. No offense.”

“None taken. I feel the same way.”

Blaine sighs, resting his head in his hands. An awkward silence grows, and Kurt can’t think of anything to do, any way to make this better. And he wishes he could. He really does. If they were at McKinley, he’d take Blaine to see Mr. Schue. Will Schuester has spent much of his teaching career championing his students’ causes. He’d definitely help Blaine.

But here at Lima High, Kurt knows no one. McKinley High and Lima High are in the same district. They compete against each other, go to each other’s rallies and what not. Maybe Mr. Schue could still help.

But not right now. Not at one a.m. For lack of anything better to do, Kurt unzips his bag and takes out Blaine’s food. “Well, uh …. here’s your order.”

“Thanks.” Blaine reaches out a trembling hand and takes his food. He puts the bag in his lap, hugging it like a security blanket.

“No problem.” Now what? Kurt thinks. This is generally the point where he races back to his car and hopes for another order, but he can’t leave Blaine here in the dark with his meal. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah. I mean … this happens all the time. Jerk hole jocks. No offense to your stepbrother.”

“None taken. He used to be a jerk hole himself.”

“I’m an easy target. I’m the only out gay kid at this school, and I …”

“… constantly get picked on?” Kurt finishes, taking a seat beside Blaine. “Thrown in dumpsters, shoved into lockers, that kind of thing?”

Blaine turns to look at Kurt. “Yeah. How do you know?”

“It happens to me a lot at my high school, too. For the same reason.”

“Oh.” Blaine’s eyes open wide when he gets it, but he sits up straighter. “Oh, I’m sorry. What school?”

“McKinley.”

“Ah. Land of the Slushie Facials.”

“So you’ve heard of it?”

“Ironically, I did everything in the world to avoid going there. But Lima High’s not much better. Minus the slushies.”

“You’re lucky. They’re a special kind of hell.”

“I bet.”

Kurt looks down at his phone with the red and white app screen still visible. He has yet to mark this order delivered, and he should. He should get going. He’s already considered late (unavoidable since he had to search the campus to find Blaine in the first place), and he really should get as much work as he can in before he has to be home. He’s saving up for college. His dream school – NYADA. But the thought of bidding Blaine adieu doesn’t sit well with him. He needs to know that Blaine is going to be okay, that he’s safe, and that his brother isn’t going to give him too much grief for what happened tonight.

Blaine doesn’t have anyone reliable in his corner if the person he put his faith in was a food delivery driver.

If they went to the same school, they’d have one another.

Kurt wonders if that’s a possibility …

He swipes his finger across the screen. Instead of waiting for another order, he marks this one delivered, and signs off. He has months to save up for school. As important as NYADA is to him, he has a feeling that there’s something more important he needs to do here.

Be there for Blaine.

“Do you have a way to get home?” Kurt asks.

“I … yeah. My car should be in the parking lot. Only it’s a far parking lot, and I’m a little bit afraid of walking out there by myself … in the dark. I just don’t know if they’re waiting for me. I don’t think they would stick around here on a Friday night, but …”

“Gotcha. Well, Blaine Anderson, if you would, please do me the honor of letting me escort you to your car. Then maybe you and I can go somewhere and talk? Get a coffee? Compare battle scars? I’ve got a doozy on the back of my calf where I cut it on a trash can.”

“Hey, I think I have one of those, too.” Blaine waits for Kurt to stand, then clumsily follows, putting a hand to his hip when it complains about moving. “I wish my phone hadn’t died. Then we’d have two flashlights to light our way. What happens if we get ambushed? Do you think your stepbrother can help us?”

“I … uh … kind of lied about him being here. Sorry about that. But don’t worry.” Kurt reaches into his DoorDash bag and pulls out an industrial-sized bottle of pepper spray wrapped in a black leather holder with a silver spike on the bottom – courtesy of the kind members of the Lace and Leather Sadomasochists Club of Greater Columbus. He unlocks it and gives it a good shake. “I’ve got us covered.”

#Klaine Advent 2018 #klaine fic #klaine fanfiction #frankie writes

53 notes · View notes

pokemonruby · 6 years ago

Note

1, 2-18 even only for ravi and oswald!!

MY BOYS!!

1. their voice

well, ravi’s tone is usually very… upbeat? it has an airy sort of feel to it, the kind of voice that could immediately raise your spirits.. but at the same time, if you listen close enough, it can sound quite… strained? as if he’s faking this whole “cheerful” act. hmm

now, as for oswald? well, he doesn’t really speak often; he much prefers sign language of course, but whenever he explodes it’s uh… let’s just say oswald doesn’t care about the volume of his voice. he’s essentially a cantankerous old man in the body of a young adult.

2. their smile

again, if you inspect ravi’s smile closely… you’ll find that it’s just as feigned as his merry tone. an unfading, almost creepy smile to those aware of its truth; moreover, it can serve as comforting to those ignorant. the entirety of ravi’s demeanor is nothing but a facade built to hide the insecurities of a broken and daresay, maddened man.

as for oswald, it’s rare that he smiles due to his aforementioned foul attitude. but whenever that opportunity arises and he does show a smile, let’s just say… the whole world would stop and stare at it, it’s so adorable and pure.

4. their insecurities

as i mentioned before, ravi has many insecurities that he’d rather keep tucked away beneath a cheerful mask. he’s suffered quite a bit in his past, and therefore isn’t true to himself any longer - fearing that he’ll be taken advantage of, due to how unstable he is. so, ravi puts on an elaborate act to trick himself into thinking he’s sane, that nothing’s wrong, even as the pain gnaws away at his very soul.

not to mention… ravi cursed with immortality, which is yet another burden to carry on his brittle shoulders. the fact he’s unable to die to be with the loved ones he’s lost… is truly the worst form of punishment in the universe.

now, with oswald’s insecurities… he’s rather upfront about it, incomparable to ravi’s mindset of ignoring everything until it blows out of porportion. oswald doesn’t necessarily attempt to fix his insecurities, rather… he acknowledges them. he knows he isn’t particularly the best person to be around, due to his waspish personality… and he doesn’t consider himself to be very talented, despite being a high-ranking member of the country’s largest bureau. but he refuses to make a big deal out of something he can’t change. oswald just isn’t the kind of person to accept positivity, since he honestly cares less.

he just wants to do his job and get paid for it. that’s really it.

6. how they deal with grief

well, uh.. if you’ve been following along with ravi’s internal conflict, you’d understand that he doesn’t handle grief properly in the slightest. i mean, after he lost his former spouse and child, ravi decided to avenge them by… y’know, massacring the village responsible for their deaths. he’s definitely the type of person to choose revenge over forgiveness - i mean, he wasn’t exactly stable to begin with. ravi’s faced tragedy again and again, and when he finally found happiness - it was taken away from him in a heartbeat.

also there’s the whole plot in which ravi attempts to become god to bring back his deceased family but let’s…. discuss that later.

oswald, on the other hand, hasn’t faced much tragedy during his life. he never had a family who cared for him, so… upon their deaths, he felt nothing. in a way, oswald was relieved to finally be free of their abuse… but they’ve taught him to keep his distance from people henceforth. such has caused oswald to avoid relationships and isolate himself in his own, little world. it isn’t until he met ravi that oswald knew compassion from another person…

good thing his only friend is an immortal, right? maybe he’ll never face grief because of that.

8. what they like to eat

finally, i don’t have to hurt my boys anymore. so, ravi is an impressive chef - i mean, he’s downright masterful in the kitchen. he prefers traditional food from his homeland overall, but is very much open to trying new things. believe it or not, ravi has quite the sweet tooth! his favorite would have to be eclairs, with macarons as a close second.

oswald doesn’t particularly have a favorite meal? i mean, he’ll really eat anything that you’d present to him… but he does have a soft spot for seafood. which is something his dear friend happens to excel at making. but if i’m being honest, oswald could survive on nothing but coffee and be fine.

10. their fashion sense

i’m not necessarily sure how to describe ravi’s fashion sense, as he’s usually dressed in robes and sleeveless tops. i’d say traditional, but not really at the same time? to be honest, he believes in looking formal, yet being comfortable first and foremost.

moreover, oswald wears his uniform 99% of the time but that in itself is fancy and suits his character quite well. while he doesn’t “dress to impress”, oswald does make an effort to make himself look presentable for the sake of his workplace; however, i’d be lying if i said he’s never smiled at his own reflection before. to be fair, he does look rather elegant in his uniform.

12. their romantic life

after a lot of trial and error, ravi eventually accepts he’ll never reunite with his family… and begins a stable, happy relationship with my boyfriend’s oc, luther! they’ve been married since the moment their eyes first met, honestly. very lovey-dovey and ravi will cook his favorite meals and they’ll go on extravagant dates and… sigh. i love these husbands. let’s hope nothing happens to luther

meanwhile, oswald love life is… empty. while he developed feelings for ravi long before he met luther, oswald never had the courage to confess. therefore, he can only watch as the man he loved flies away in the wind… while oswald begrudgingly carries himself to his job each day and is smothered to death by a mountain of paperwork. rip oswald

14. how they react to burning their tongue on food

well, ravi has an incredibly sweet husband who will kiss away the pain… while oswald overreacts and acts as if he’s dying. listen… as a gay he’s legally obligated to be dramatic about every minor inconvenience.

16. their dreams

currently, ravi’s dream is to marry luther and live happily ever after with him… while completely ignoring the fact he’s immortal and there’s a cult after his head for that very purpose. but hey! as of right now, they’re perfectly fine! :)

sadly, oswald doesn’t have any dreams… because he’s accepted his lonely existence as unchanging, and will continue to drag himself to the office each day without a real purpose. hopefully a certain grayson will come along and convince him otherwise… but oswald’s already decided he’ll just spend the rest of his life working, as if it’s the only thing he’s capable of.

18. how they sleep

sometimes, it’s difficult for ravi to sleep due to the nightmares that plague his mind… but nowadays, he’ll often find peace within luther’s arms. as if he’s keeping the ghosts of ravi’s failure away, which is yet another reason ravi is so indebted (and in love) with him. i know i’ve gone on about them enough, but ravi and luther’s relationship is so beautiful to be honest. two, broken men who’ve lost everything find solace at last with each other.

…. as for oswald, he collapses immediately the moment he’s home from the office. exhausted doesn’t even begin to describe his condition; oswald hardly cares about eating dinner, he just wants to SLEEP

and when he does sleep, it’s rather soundly. the only time oswald isn’t troubled by anything.

#TY I LOVE MY BOYS #oc tag

1 note · View note

sciencespies · 3 years ago

Text

SpaceX's First Civilian Astronauts 'Underestimated' How Intense The Training Would Be

https://sciencespies.com/space/spacexs-first-civilian-astronauts-underestimated-how-intense-the-training-would-be/

SpaceX's First Civilian Astronauts 'Underestimated' How Intense The Training Would Be

SpaceX is about to attempt a new first: launching a spaceship full of people who aren’t professional astronauts into orbit.

The four-person crew consists of a billionaire, a physician assistant, an engineer, and a scientist. On Wednesday, weather permitting, they’ll climb aboard a Crew Dragon spaceship atop a Falcon 9 rocket, then roar into space.

They’re set to orbit Earth for three days, enjoying the views and collecting data for scientific research, then plummet back through the atmosphere and parachute to a safe landing. They call their mission Inspiration4.

Billionaire Jared Isaacman chartered the flight from SpaceX and is both footing the bill and commanding the Crew Dragon spaceship. He gave the other three seats to Hayley Arceneaux, who survived bone cancer as a child and now works at St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital; Chris Sembroski, an Air Force veteran who works for Lockheed Martin; and Dr. Sian Proctor, a geoscientist who serves as an analog astronaut in simulations of long-term Mars missions.

The crew isn’t just climbing into the spaceship like you or I might board a plane. They’ve spent the last four months training – studying manuals, pushing their bodies to new limits, and practicing for worst-case scenarios. They completed the training, which is largely based on NASA’s program, this week.

Even though Isaacman has spent thousands of hours flying jets and ex-military aircraft, he told Insider that the astronaut training was “more intense” than he expected.

“I definitely underestimated it to some extent,” he said.

When billionaires Jeff Bezos and Richard Branson each took their own rocket rides – flights which skimmed the edge of space but did not enter orbit – neither revealed the details of their training. But the Inspiration4 crew has been sharing its preparations publicly, offering a glimpse into what it takes to prepare amateurs for spaceflight.

Here’s what they’ve revealed.

Step one: Meet your rocket and watch it launch

Once the Inspiration4 crew was assembled, one of the first things they did together was watch SpaceX launch its third set of professional astronauts towards the International Space Station.

Arceneaux had never seen a rocket launch before.

“I thought I was gonna have anxiety before the launch, but it was actually really serene,” she told Axios reporter Miriam Kramer for the podcast “How It Happened.”

The soon-to-be spacefarers used a centrifuge to simulate the feeling of launch

Chris Sembroski sits in a SpaceX centrifuge chamber. (Inspiration4/John Kraus)

A centrifuge spins really fast to create centrifugal force that pushes things outwards, much like a salad spinner or the spinning carnival ride that presses you against a wall. That force mimics the feeling of launch, when the pull of gravity on your body feels three times its normal strength. Many astronauts and pilots use centrifuges in their training.

Isaacman took his teammates up Mount Rainier

The Inspiration4 crew climbs Mount Rainier. (Inspiration4/Scott Poteet)

Washington’s Mount Rainier is a 14,410-foot active volcano covered in glaciers, with punishing weather and hazardous crevasses. Summiting requires ice axes and crampons. So Isaacman decided it would be the perfect place to break the ice with his new crewmates. They climbed the mountain together in early May.

“They built some mental toughness. They got comfortable being uncomfortable, which is pretty important,” Isaacman said. “Food sucks on the mountain. Temperatures can suck on the mountain. Well, that’s no different than Dragon. We don’t get to dial up and down the thermostat … And I can tell you the food isn’t great in space, from what we’ve tasted so far.”

After camping, it was time to hit the books

After Mount Rainier, the crew flew to SpaceX’s headquarters in Hawthorne, California to begin training in earnest.

“Every day was pretty much a 12-hour day, and then you were getting back to the hotel room, and you’re just studying. That was kind of the intense academic portion of the training,” Isaacman said.

They had to learn about the parts of the Falcon 9 rocket and Crew Dragon spaceship, how everything works, and what can go wrong.

“We have like 3,000 pages across 100 different manuals. It was a lot. I don’t think any of us really predicted that,” Isaacman said.

Then the crew practiced flying Crew Dragon in simulations

Sian Proctor on a visit to Space Camp in Huntsville, Alabama. (Inspiration4/John Kraus)

Inside a mock Crew Dragon model, the Inspiration4 passengers practiced the procedure for launches and landings. Once they got used to how things are supposed to work when all goes smoothly, trainers started adding issues and spacecraft malfunctions to the simulation.

Some of these exercises involved all four crew members, but some were just for Isaacman and Proctor – the commander and pilot of the mission. Eventually, they were doing full simulations with mission control and a launch director.

In early August, the crew did a grueling 30-hour simulation

Isaacman, Proctor, Arceneaux, and Sembroski put on their spacesuits, climbed in the simulation model of the Crew Dragon, and sealed themselves inside for the 30-hour ordeal. Nobody knew what was coming, not even the mission controllers. A simulation supervisor had pre-programmed everything.

They practiced a regular launch, with a weather delay included. They ate a meal and slept. But as their simulated mission began to reenter the atmosphere and fall back to Earth, all hell broke loose.

The Axios podcast recounts what happened. In the simulation, as the Crew Dragon pushed itself into Earth’s atmosphere, three computers failed. The crew lost touch with mission control. Then the capsule’s parachutes wouldn’t deploy.

“Now you’re blind, you can’t talk, and there’s no way for the chutes to come out. There’s also no way for Dragon to stabilize itself during essentially a hypersonic reentry,” Isaacman told Kramer.

When they got their bearings, the crew realized the simulation was sending their hypothetical capsule a continent away from its intended splashdown site.

“It felt very real. You’re living in it for 30 hours. The last 45 minutes, there was awareness from us in the capsule, and them on the ground, that there is a chance that this might not be actually a survivable situation,” Isaacman told Kramer.

In the end, they landed safely, but the podcast did not specify how the crew pulled it off.

The training also involved fun parabolic flights to simulate microgravity

In a parabolic flight, a plane flies in arcs up and down, creating up to 30 seconds of weightlessness at the peak of the arc. Some people call the planes “vomit comets.”

The team tested their bodies in a high-altitude chamber

It’s rare, but sometimes spaceship cabins become depressurized, just like an airplane cabin. Spaceships typically have oxygen masks on board in case this happens. But it’s still helpful to know how your body will react before you slip that mask on. Being familiar with the symptoms of oxygen deprivation can also alert crew members to a cabin leak if the spaceship’s systems don’t detect it first.

To experience those symptoms firsthand, under supervision, the crew took to an altitude chamber that exposed them to a low-oxygen environment.

“It provided great insight into each of our various symptoms,” Arceneaux said, according to a tweet from the mission’s account.

They’ve learned to draw blood and take skin samples

Since scientists want more information on how spaceflight affects the body, the Inspiration4 crew offered to gather biological data for NASA. In addition to taking each other’s blood and skin samples, the crew will monitor their sleep, take daily cognitive tests on an iPad, and scan their organs with an ultrasound device. Isaacman said they didn’t realize quite how extensive this research would be.

“We were like, maybe we should have talked about this before we did it,” he said.

He added that the crew members will have to take skin-cell swabs “three times a day on 10 different parts of our body.”

The crew squeezed in some jet piloting above SpaceX’s facilities in Texas

During their training period, the crew members made public appearances, did media interviews, and took trips to Space Camp and SpaceX’s rocket-development facilities in Boca Chica, Texas.

That latter site, which SpaceX founder Elon Musk calls “Starbase,” is where the company is building and testing prototypes of its Starship mega-rocket and Super Heavy booster. When they visited, the Inspiration4 crew members went for a plane ride high above the rockets.

Earlier in the summer, Isaacman and Proctor also did fighter-jet training in Montana to brush up on their piloting skills. NASA astronauts do the same to practice thinking and responding quickly under stress.

The Inspiration4 crew flies jets above SpaceX’s facilities in Boca Chica, Texas. (Inspiration4/John Kraus)

With their training is complete, Isaacman, Proctor, Arceneaux, and Sembroski flew to NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Florida on Thursday to complete the final preparations for launch.

They are SpaceX’s first commercial passengers, but the company aims to fly more. It already has another such mission lined up in January: For that flight, called AX-1, the company Axiom Space chartered a Crew Dragon to take customers to the International Space Station for eight days.

The AX-1 crew includes real-estate investor Larry Connor, Canadian investor Mark Pathy, and former Israeli fighter pilot Eytan Stibbe. Axiom Space’s vice president, former NASA astronaut Michael López-Alegría, will command the mission. It’s not yet clear what their training regimen will be.

This article was originally published by Business Insider.

More from Business Insider:

#Space

0 notes

disneymoviethoughts · 7 years ago

Text

Thoughts I had while watching Princess and the Frog

1. I can't believe it took eleven years to make another princess movie. 2. I love that Tiana and Charlotte are being read a fairy tale. 3. Especially because it's the Frog Prince. #foreshadowing 4. Definitely one of my favorite stories. 5. Tiana and Charlotte are definitely friendship goals.

6. I cannot stop smiling at everything young Tiana does. She's adorable. 7. Her parents are so supportive but realistic but so encouraging and she's such a dreamer and I'm not crying you're crying. 8. If only the stars listened to my wishes then I would be in a relationship with Zac Efron. 9. Fun fact: Tiana has the most outfits, with nine changes throughout the film. 10. Dr. Facilier and his shadow are one of my favorite villains. 11. Tiana's friends are so rude to her. They all should aspire to be as hardworking as she is. 12. I've never wanted anything more than a stack of Tiana's beignets.

13. "Almost There" is my favorite song in this movie. It's so inspiring. It almost makes me want to get off my couch and do something with my life. 14. Honestly I would be impressed by a magician too, Naveen. 15. Is there a creepier villain song than "Friends on the Other Side"? 16. I love his shadows. 17. This was such a good concept and location for a Disney movie. I love New Orleans and voodoo and the 20s and I'm obsessed. 18. I feel like a lot of people don't like Charlotte and while she is a tad dramatic she's entertaining and a really good friend to Tiana. 19. I love the parallels this movie has. It's just so clever. 20. I feel like at this point I would need to kiss a frog to find a guy. #foreveralone 21. Naveen cracks me up. 22. Fun fact: this is based on a book series, The Frog Princess, and I highly recommend checking it out if you love this movie. 23. The music in this is so much fun. 24. I think we can all agree that Lawrence is the worst.

25. It bothers me that everyone seems to know who Dr. Facilier is but it seemed like he was unaware of Big Daddy and his riches even though he's apparently always in the paper. 26. Tiana not falling for Naveen right away is my favorite thing. 27. I'm confident that if I turned into a frog I would have been eaten by those alligators immediately. 28. "When We're Human" is a seriously catchy song and a lot of fun to sing. 29. I support your dream to be human and play jazz music, Louis. 30. Charlotte and Lawrence (as Naveen) make me so uncomfortable. He's so creepy. 31. Jeeze, Charlotte. I know you want to get married but planning a wedding in a few days flat does not seem like your style. 32. How does Louis know about any of these foods? 33. I would rather be eaten by an alligator than eat flies as a meal. 34. I love Jim Cummings and I love Ray and I want a pet firefly. 35. "Gonna Take You There" is a beautiful sequence with all the fireflies. 36. I think out of all the villains who have powers, I'd want to be able to talk to the other side the least. Those are things you do not mess with.

37. I don't know why, but for some reason, the three guys that try to capture Naveen and Tiana remind me of the crows from Dumbo? 38. For supposedly being a guy who parties a lot and generally takes the easy way out of everything, Naveen is surprisingly resourceful. 39. So earlier Tiana was able to understand Stella when she talked, which means that animals talk. But then Tiana talked to the frog capturers and they understood her, so shouldn't humans always be able to understand animals talking or is just because they're human? 40. I can't cook a frozen meal from Publix let alone make my own gumbo from ingredients I found in the forest. 41. If Ray loving Evangeline doesn't melt your soul, you have no heart. 42. Tiana and Naveen win the award for fastest Disney couple, falling in love in under a day. 43. I'm positive Peter Pan would really love to fight these shadows. 44. I need a wise Mama Odie in my life please. 45. I like that even though Tiana is such a hard worker, they also stress that work isn't everything and she needs a life as well. Balance is key, y'all. 46. I want to go on a river cruise. But only if Louis is there to play the trumpet for me. 47. Okay, under a day or not, I died when I saw that Naveen had a ring for Tiana.

49. But I also love that Naveen loves her enough to let her dreams come first. 50. I also ALSO love that the star they've been wishing on this whole time was Evangeline. 51. I'm not sure how Tiana actually thought Charlotte was marrying Naveen when she a) knew there were two Naveens in the beginning and b) she's still a frog. 52. This is actually giving me major Ursula/Vanessa vibes but with a dude. 53. If you're not sobbing your eyes out when Dr. Facilier kills Ray, there is seriously something wrong with you. 54. Tiana has some will power, I probably would've taken Dr. Facilier's deal. Probably why I'm not a princess. 55. Dr. Facilier literally being dragged to the underworld is the most terrifying thing I've ever seen.

56. Reason number 2827038 why I stay away from magic. 57. LOL Charlotte has no care in the world other than to have a prince. 58. I aspire to have those dreams. 59. But her trying to kiss Naveen even though she doesn't get anything out of it is the kind of friend I am. 60. Fun fact: this is the first time a princess' villain is actually shown killing someone. 61. Firefly funerals are beautiful. #ripray 62. And now I'm crying even harder because RAY IS A STAR NEXT TO EVANGELINE AND THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL

63. And now we know how Neverland was created. 64. I'm not gonna lie, when I first saw this, I was confused AF as to how they became human again. 65. But then they explained it so I'm good. 66. I literally never noticed Naveen's parents standing there. 67. Her frog wedding dress was much nicer than her human wedding dress IMO. 68. I really would love to eat at Tiana's Place.

14 notes · View notes

pen-masta · 7 years ago

Text

Crystallizing Cyclone Part 1

Castel and Joy venture out into the mountains for a few days stay in a cabin, when mother nature turns against them.

“Come on slow poke!” She laughs racing up the trail as fast as the snow will let her.

He smiles and jumps over the fallen log.

“I’m coming,” he chuckles zooming up to her.

She smiles brightly at him.

“What does the GPS say?” She asks taking her thermos out and sipping the water from inside.

He looks down at the little rectangle in his mittened hand. The screen shines bright showing a little blue triangle moving along on the virtual trail. It blinks reading that their destination was another four miles up the mountain.

“Four more miles Jo-jo,” he huffs a white cloud feathering out into the air around his mouth.

“Well we’re closer now than we were before,” she grins positively. “You wanna take a break or keep going?”

He mulls over her offer glancing at his watch. They started hiking at about eight it’s now about two o’clock and they’ve traveled five of the nine miles of their whole trip. They’re traveling roughly about a mile an hour which is pretty good. They haven’t stopped for an official break yet, they’ve just been drinking their water and eating granola bars as they walked. If they keep going at this rate they will arrive at the cabin around six o’clock. He supposes if they stop for a few minutes it won’t put they behind schedule too much.

“Sure we can take a break,” he smiles at her.

She grins and skips over to a dead log and brushes some of the snow off. They sit for a minute resting their packs on the ground. Castel calculates their position on his mobile map while Joy takes out her camera. He watches in his peripheral vision as she fiddles with the settings before snapping a picture of the landscape. They’ve been wanting to make this trip for a few years now, but they’ve never really had the time until now.

Of course being the owner of his own company he could easily take some time off, but Joy did not have that luxury. With plays running all the time she never got too much of break seeing that she was the only make-up artist the owner of the theater had. But Joy had recently been laid off...the last play did not hit the high dollars in the box office causing some backlash on the small theater group. That had been a few weeks ago and Joy’s quest for a new way to pay the bills has been fruitless...and kind of stressful. No better time to escape society with your best friend! He had proposed the idea to her last week and was happy he did; her eyes lit up and agreed it was a brilliant plan.

He watches her snap several pictures of the scenery, the few signs of life that poke out of the frozen powdery water that covers the ground, and the little bit of wildlife that runs and flies around them. He scrolls over the directions on his phone before pulling his compass out of his pocket to make sure they are still heading in the right direction.

“This is nice,” her voice suddenly breaks through the calm silence.

He blinks and looks up at her. She’s smiling at him, her face bright and full of color. He smiles back, happy to see her returning to her old self again. The past few weeks were full of anxiety as she went to job interview after job interview, trying to figure out how she was going to pay her rent, trying to ration the food she had left in her apartment not wanting to dip into her savings to go shopping. She was positive at first, but after the fourth job rejection she started to grow worried. He offered to gift her whatever money she needed, but she refused to take it. “I don’t need a hand out especially not from my best friend,” she had said. “I’m a grown woman Cassie I can handle this myself.”

He knew she could take care of herself he had no doubt, but everyone needs some help every now and then. So if she wouldn’t take his money directly he’d find other ways to help her. So he started to invite her over for meals more often--blaming it on him not wanting to be alone in the big house. He’d put a few extra bills in her wallet while she was in the bathroom, not so many she’d notice the growing amount but enough to help. He sectioned a part of his house off for her, telling her she could use it for anything she wanted--a new art studio, a place to sleep, storage space, whatever she pleased. He’s glad she’s moved some of her stuff into the wing, because at the rate this is going he’s afraid she may lose her apartment.

But he doesn’t want to think about that, this whole trip was to escape their reality for a little while. They’ll deal with their problems when they get back and it’ll work out. Maybe she’ll let him pay off her rent, maybe she’ll take his money, or maybe she’ll just move into his house--he’s hoping for the latter just because it’ll ease his mind and he’ll know she’s safe.

He smiles and takes two more protein bars out of his bag.

“Yes it is very nice,” he nods and holds a bar out to her.

She nods and takes one from him. He tears the other open with his teeth and takes a bite out of the bar as his eyes dart between the virtual map and his compass. He looks at his watch and swallows the wad in his mouth even though it’s only half chewed.

“We should get going,” he says in hast.

“Why?” She asks sipping her water.

“The radar says there’s a bad storm coming,” he says tossing his pack over his shoulder. “We need to get to the cabin before it hits.”

She looks up at the blue sky with the sun shining bright high above their heads. She looks back at him and smirks cocking her eyebrow.

“A storm Cassie? Really?”

“Yes Joy,” he nods and stuffs his compass back into his pocket. “I know it sounds ridiculous with the great weather we’re having at the moment. But if it does take a turn for the worst I don’t want us to be out here in the middle of nowhere.”

She sighs and stands up, “Alright Casanova.”

She puts her camera away and pulls her pack back on. They start hiking again with Castel out in front and Joy close behind him. When they’re about another two miles from the cabin the wind starts to pick up sending the snow on the ground whipping up into their faces. Joy pulls her scarf up onto her face while Castel pulls his goggles down over his eyes. The temperature drops dramatically causing the two to shiver and suddenly they find themselves without the sun.

The sky turns dark and gray and soon snow is falling down on them. Castel glances back at Joy with a smirk as if to say “told you so”. She rolls her eyes and waves her hand dismissively. He smiles and looks back at his phone to see the signal has dropped and the map has disappeared; his phone searching for a signal to grab onto.

Castel stops in his track feeling his heart drop into his stomach. Joy runs into the back of him with an undignified ‘oof’ sound.

“What gives Casper?” She calls over the wind.

“The map is gone,” he calls back taking out his compass.

“Can we make it with out it?”

“I think so,” he nods and points out in front of him. “If we keep heading this way we should hit the cabin soon.”

“Alrighty then lead on Mountain Man,” she says and he can hear the smile in her voice.

He grins, “Alright hang on a second.”

Dropping his pack he digs through his things before pulling out a bright orange strap--something he’s thankful he purchased. He wraps one end around his middle clipping it together before handing the other end to Joy. She does the same as he pulls his pack over his shoulder again.

“The storm is picking up I don’t want us to get separated,” he explains over the wind and she nods.

They hike on and the snow thickens, it’s getting harder and harder to see where they’re going. Castel squints his eyes down at his compass before looking back up in front of him. Joy keeps her head down eyes focused on the orange strap in front of her--she’s thankful that her dork is always thinking ahead, she can’t see him anymore and without this strap between them she’d be lost.

“Just a little further!” He calls back to her but the wind is whipping so loud in his ears he doubts she’s heard him.

Just a few more steps and--

Joy is pulled forward and she yelps trying to regain her balance. The strap snaps out in front of her extremely taunt. Oh no!

She grips the strap and pulls herself along calling out through the snow for him. Suddenly her boots feel wet, more so than they already were. She looks down to see she’s standing ankle deep in a semi-frozen river. The wind causes the water to rush over her boots which in return makes her shiver. She scans the water following the orange strap. She spots his pack floating ahead of her in the knee deep water and she pulls herself over to him.

“Cassie!” She yells and pulls the pack closer to her.

She pulls his limp body up out of the water seeing he’s unconscious. A small trail of blood drips down his neck from under his lumberjack hat. Her heart pounds as she pulls him across the river and out onto the riverside as fast as she can. Shivering she looks around them trying to find some kind of shelter from the storm. Up near the hill top she sees something that looks brown that is not tree-like at all--it looks like a rooftop. She’ll take the chance!

Slinging his arm over her shoulder she drags him up over the hill. At the bottom is the cabin and she’s never been more thankful to see a cabin in her life. Kicking open the door she hauls herself and Castel into the dark, cold building. It’s a small little one room cabin, with a small livingroom--if you can call a little 12″ tv and a lamp a livingroom--a bathroom, wood stove, and a small kitchenette. Off to the right side is a big king size bed which she drops Castel onto.

She strips his shivering body down to his boxers and covers him with all of the blankets on the bed, before scouring the room for more coverings. She finds a small closet stuffed with extra pillows and blankets. She takes all of the blankets and drops them onto Castel as she digs through her pack to find a first-aid kit. Her fingers tremble from the frigid temperatures as she fumbles with the little stow-and-go kit. As careful as she can she cleans and dressed the wound on the back of his head. He must have slipped in the river and knocked his head on a rock...a big rock judging from the slice and welt on the base of his skull.

Shivering she heads over to the wood stove finding a small stack of firewood next to the black stove. Only after she’s got a small fire going does she sigh and relax slightly. Not able to take the cold anymore she strips down to her undergarments as well and hangs both of their soaking wet clothes around the cabin. Exhaustion grips her body and she goes over to the bed; Castel is still shivering in his unconscious state. Shuddering she slides into the spot next to him on the bed, under the hundreds of blankets she has piled on him and curls up into his side. She runs her hands up and down his arms trying to create some friction to warm his frozen body. Once she feels his skin heating up she lies close to his side, wrapping her arms around him. The warmth between them starts to build and becomes comforting to her enough for her to drift to sleep.

1 note · View note

askkidandzoro-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Thanks a lot. It’s always great to have such cool followers like you. ;)

Now for answering the ask... how about another short story? Maybe I can even get Zoro to throw in some illustrations while I’m at it~

(For bigger versions of the pictures look here: AO3)

“Date idea 63: Go on a double date.“

And while it had not been the worst idea, it certainly had not been the best either.

Maybe it was because Law hated any activity including crowds of people. Maybe it was because Zoro seemed bored by every suggestion not related to physical exercise. Maybe it was because letting Kid loose on most public places could be considered an act of sheer irresponsibility. Maybe it was because Sanji desperately insisted on “something romantic.” Or maybe it even was all those things together. No matter how - in the end the result stayed the same: Just the four of them in the middle of nowhere-woods plus one tent.

They quickly had decided on sharing tasks. Kid and Law would set up the camp while Zoro and Sanji were off collecting firewood and comestibles. It was as simple as that. The definition of “simple“ however is known to lie in the eye of the beholder....

It had been a hot August day so far, draped in a cloudless sky and filled with the chirping of thousands of crickets. In the forest it was cooler though and Sanji was all too eager to leave the aisle behind where their camp was located. One hand wrapped around the handle of a wicker basket, the other dragging Zoro along, who was loaded with every backpack they could muster. After the shower of summer rain the other day - so Sanji thought - the woods had to be stuffed with mushrooms. In fact he could already smell them; amongst all the other damp, soily scents.

“Can’t you let go of my hand?“

Zoro was not too amused about the cook clinging onto him. How was he supposed to collect firewood like that?

“Not happening“, Sanji smiled, following a narrow trail uphill, “I came here for mushroom hunting, not for tracking down lost mossheads.“

“I know the way!“

“As if!“

Laughing Sanji dragged Zoro farther along the path until they reached the top of a small mound. From here the view was breathtaking. Old, gnarly trees watched over the sink in front of them, enclosing it like a protecting cocoon. One side was covered in steep stone, the other in every shade of green possible. A certain magic seemed to fill the place and from underneath branches of fern tiny, yellow dots looked up warily at the two intruders.

“Chanterelles!“

Full of excitement Sanji started to climb down the slope. Those spicy mushrooms were what he had come here for. He even bravely had accepted the possibility of encountering ticks, mosquitoes, deer flies or other vermin in the process.

“Just look at them, marimo! They’re huge! And so many of them!“

He squatted and started to fill his basket to the brim. The smell was irresistible and - oh! - he knew exactly what meal to prepare this evening. After all he had brought along two crates of eggs, which waited for being scrambled. The mushrooms would be a delicious addition and there were more than enough of them to suit their needs. In fact they were so many that he had to use both hands to collect them.

Wait. Both hands?

He stared at them for one moment, then spun around to look back at where he had last seen Zoro.

“Damn it! Marimo!“

Of course he was gone. Lost. Like always. How naïve had Sanji been to expect anything else?

“Oh, you...! Just wait ‘til I’ve found you!“

Angrily he got up again, grabbed his basket and stomped back uphill.

“Oi! Marimo!“

From the top of the mound he already had found him. Which Sanji deemed to be pure luck. Usually Zoro managed to get swallowed up by earth.

“Why did you wander off like that?“, Sanji scolded him while approaching him through waist-high spruce trees, “All on your own!“

Zoro, who had been stuffing branches into his backpacks until now, looked up and furrowed his brows.

“I’m collecting firewood as told, idiot cook!“

“Yeah, but don’t get lost the very moment I’m not keeping an eye on you!“

“I’m not lost!“

“Yes, you a...aaaaaahhhh!“

Sanji had almost reached the spot where Zoro was standing, but then suddenly jumped back fidgeting.

“There! There! There...!“

He pointed at Zoro’s feet, his face the epitome of horror.

“Huh?“

It did take Zoro not too long to realize.

“Oh, that’s why my legs are itching....“

“You’re standing in an anthill, you shitty retard! Get out immediately!“

“Already doing that! Don’t yell at me!“

With a few angry steps Zoro escaped from the tiny insects, which were tirelessly defending their stronghold. It was not all that easy though, as the ants turned out to be clingier than the cook.

“They’re inside my trousers!“, Zoro grunted while wildly shaking his legs and hitting the fabric with his hands. It looked like some silly dance.

Which Sanji did not seem to enjoy watching in any way.

“Stop that, stupid mosshead! You’re getting them everywhere!“, he yelled and even took some more squeamish steps back, “Take off your pants instead!“

“What?“

“Take off your pants!“, Sanji repeated hysterically, “We need to burn them!“

“BURN THEM?“

“At least boil them!“

Zoro stared at Sanji irritated, scratched his leg and then said: “If you really think that’s necessary....“

“I’m pretty sure it is!“

“Okay, okay....“

He knew in which cases resistance was futile. Sanji being afraid of insects was one of those cases. So he took off his shoes and his trousers, then crammed them into one of the backpacks. He shouldered the backpacks again, then stood up straight and looked at Sanji with a grumpy face.

“Satisfied? Can we go back now?“

“I... I guess....“

Undoubtedly Zoro looked hilarious wandering through the woods half naked, and bright red underpants did not help at all to improve that picture.

“You’re looking silly, marimo“, Sanji said as he desperately tried to hold back a giggle.

“Very funny, cook! You know whose fault it is!“

“Ah, come on, let’s check on the others. I’m sure they’ve already put up the tent.“

Little did he know....

The sun burned down at the aisle without any mercy. It were days like these when one could encounter the rare sight of Law in t-shirt and shorts. Any other day he was simply feeling way too cold for what others would describe as proper summer outfit. Today he was feeling way too hot instead. Either way - temperature was just not his thing.

So unsurprisingly he was just sitting on a log right now and skipping through the instruction manual of the tent. It seemed big enough for four people to fit in and even came with its own built-in mosquito net and a canopy in front of the entrance. Sadly though the pictures looked nothing like what Kid was currently struggling with.

“You might be doing this wrong...“, Law said in a bored tone.

“Whatcha sayin’?“

An angry red head appeared from behind a mass of gray tent canvas and mixed up poles.

“It doesn’t even look anything like a tent“, Law added and held the manual in Kid’s line of sight, “And I always thought you were good at engineering.“

“Oh, just shut up and get your own work done!“

“Already finished.“

He pointed at a perfect circle of stones on the ground next to him. It was meant to be the fireplace later on.

“Applause, please....“

Kid rolled his eyes, then vanished behind the tent canvas again. Law only shrugged and went back to reading the manual.

For quite some time none of them said a word. Finally Law sighed and slowly got up from the log.

“Why are you doing this without looking at the manual in the first place?“, he asked and approached that disastrous gray mass.

This time Kid’s head popped up faster than an angry snake.

“You’re such a wiseass, Trafalgar! Why don’t you go on and pitch that bloody tent?“

He kicked some of the helplessly stuck together poles. What only made Law sigh once more, before he almost gently shoved Kid aside.

“We don’t want it broken, Kid. Unless you have the ultimate answer to how to deal with a mosquito-plagued Sanji.“

A grumpy growl was all that could be heard.

“Well, then. Let me see if I can fix this....“

That said Law disappeared somewhere between and under the different layers of canvas. He rumbled and fiddled about, pulled the poles out of their loops, stuck them back in and finally....

“Bwahahaha! Law! Your manual sucks big time!“

“Stop laughing! At least it looks like a tent.“

“It’s upside down!“

Kid was laughing tears, while Law tried to adjust his creation so that it would be a bit more usable. To no avail.

“Forget it, Law! Haha! That’s even worse than mine!“

“You wish. Yours looked like a sick giraffe“, slowly but steadily Law became annoyed, “If I only knew how....“

He grabbed the manual again, comparing it to the thing in front of him.

“A sick giraffe? At least I didn’t forget half of the pieces!“

Kid picked up two parts of an incomplete pole and waved them in front of Law’s face.

“Quit it, Eustass! I’m trying to think!“

“Yeah, obviously you’re not trying hard enough“, he put the two pieces together, then he leaned over the tent to reach some of the loops, “I guess it’s meant to go in here....“

“No, it’s not! Give it to me!“

Still with the manual in one hand Law leaned over the tent from the other side and tried to take the pole away from Kid with the other.

“I won’t! You’re so fucking bad at this...!“

“You’re one to talk!“

Both they were clinging onto the pole in an attempt to wrestle it out of the other’s hand. The tent meanwhile was greatly in their way and not too stable at the same time. In fact it was already tipping, when Law lost his balance and fell face first into the canvas. On top of him landed a cursing Kid and the whole motion finally caused the indefinable structure to overturn.

In uncontrollable wobbles they rolled downhill, still yelling and throwing insults at each other. Somewhere between them gray canvas and an assortment of springing poles.

It was a little stream which ended their journey.

“Fuck that shit! I’m SO done with this tent! I’m wet all over! Law, you’re an asshole!“

“Yeah, you too. Could you please get up? You’re heavy.“

Law was lying on his stomach and seemed to have decided that resignation was the best way to deal with this situation. Underneath him the water was flowing happily, on his back rested a tent and his idiot boyfriend, and to make matters worse the manual in his hand was completely soaked.

Out of all moments this was the one when Zoro and Sanji decided to return from their mushroom hunt.

The sight was not quite what they had expected. For both pairs.

“Are the two of you too stupid to pitch a tent?“, Zoro complained, not knowing if he should be angry or puzzled. Meanwhile Sanji seemed to be frozen stiff in shock.

Kid, who just had crawled to his feet again, stared at them for a second, then he responded: “And you are stupid enough to lose your pants and shoes in the woods? With what were you thinking? Your dick?“

“We didn’t have sex!“

It took them some time to get everything explained.

In the end though Sanji regained his ability to move and shooed wet Law and Kid together with the tent canvas to a sunny spot, so they could dry. After them he sent Zoro, whom he had ordered a treatment from Law against his ant-bites. And while the doctor-in-training applied ointment to the irritated skin, Sanji was happening to the camp. He pitched the tent, lighted the fireplace and prepared four huge servings of scrambled egg with chanterelles. All on his own! So much for teamwork.

Night had settled and an ocean of stars sparkled down from above. The view was exactly what Sanji had wished for when he had decided the hillside to be the best camping spot. Now he sat on one of the logs next to the fireplace and admired the dark velvet sky. On his lap rested Zoro’s head, which he caressed from time to time, both hands deeply sunk into the mossy hair. Zoro himself enjoyed it with closed eyes, but was not yet asleep for a change. Too pleased was he by the cozy atmosphere created by tamely leaping flames, the scent of burned wood and the cool of the night. Calm guitar sounds coming from Law sitting at the other side of the fire rounded everything perfectly off. Although he was just strumming some improvisations, giving Kid next to him rarely seen smiles every now and then.

“You know what?“, Kid said after a while and put a grilled marshmallow into his mouth, “This whole double-date idea certainly wasn’t the best.“

“Yeah, might be“, Zoro answered with a content smile, “But it also wasn’t the worst.“

They all laughed. Yes, this was something they could happily agree on.

19 notes · View notes

torestoreamends · 8 years ago

Text

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Fic: Finding the Words

8k words, G rated

Scorpius is being weird – more weird than normal, that is. He’s spending longer than ever in the library, he hasn’t spoken to Albus in weeks, and he keeps forgetting to do his homework. Albus is determined to find out what’s wrong with him and help. That’s just what you have to do when your best friend is upset.

Thanks to @abradystrix for being a stellar human being and beta, and thanks to @the-eighth-story for nudging me to add the last scene. <3

Scorpius is being weird. Given that Scorpius is always weird, this shouldn't be that remarkable, but this isn't the normal sort of weird. It's not a good kind of weird. He's gone all quiet, and distant, and he's spending twice as long as normal in the library (which is quite a feat, considering how long he was already spending in there). He also looks tired, and Albus thinks he might not be sleeping very well.

Albus found out quite early on in their friendship, within the first couple of weeks of first year, that Scorpius doesn't sleep well at the best of times. Anything and everything wakes him up, from the temperature, to changes in the amount of light in the room, to the tiniest whisper or creak. If he's worrying about something, or his mind is working over some problem, he'll lie awake for hours, wriggling around and muttering to himself. And on the worst nights he has nightmares, that leave him shaking and in tears.

They've only known each other for just over a year, but Albus has lost count of the number of times Scorpius has come crawling into his bed, looking for warmth and comfort in the middle of the night. But that hasn't happened for weeks now.

Even though Scorpius looks exhausted, and keeps drifting to sleep in lessons, and there are dark shadows under his eyes, he hasn't asked for help once. Albus is starting to think about staying awake one night, just so he can find out what's wrong with Scorpius to make him this tired.

Normally he'd just ask what the problem is, but as hard as he tries, Albus can't seem to get a second alone with Scorpius right now. Scorpius doesn't seem to have time for him anymore. Any request to practice spells together seems to fall on deaf ears. Meal times involve Scorpius shovelling food into his mouth as fast as he can, and barely responding to any conversation Albus tries to strike up. At the weekend Scorpius simply vanishes into thin air. The one time Albus goes looking for him, to ask if he's okay and if they can work on their Transfiguration essays together, he finds Scorpius curled up in a corner of the library, barricaded behind a wall of books, hair all ruffled and stressed looking. Despite his better judgement, Albus goes across to talk to him, but Scorpius just snatches up some of the books and runs away without another word.

The strangest thing about all this is that Scorpius has always excelled in class. He's never once been behind on homework. His spell work is so effortless that he isn't set extra practice. It's not as if he has masses of revision to do. It's March, so the exams are on their way, but not for a couple of months. And last year Scorpius had drawn up revision timetables for both of them, and they'd done the work together, so it makes no sense for him to have decided to fly solo this year.

Albus simply doesn't understand what's going on. He feels lonely, confused, and worried. He's worried that something is wrong with Scorpius that Scorpius isn't confiding in him. He's worried that maybe he's said or done something awful without meaning to, and now Scorpius doesn't want to be friends anymore. He's worried that maybe something has happened to Scorpius's mum, although last he heard she was alright; at home, doing well. He's worried that maybe he's a terrible friend for not being able to work out what's wrong. He's worried... well, he's worried about everything.

Another horrible consequence of him and Scorpius not spending all their time together is that there's no one to defend either of them from the bullies. One afternoon, Albus is on his way back from Transfiguration when he's ambushed from a secret passage by a couple of third year Hufflepuff boys. They destroy his school bag, steal the packet of Pepper Imps he'd been saving to give to Scorpius later, then they shove him sideways into a suit of armour that collapses on top of him, leaving him winded and pinned to the ground. He manages to free himself using Wingardium Leviosa, but his ribs and head don't stop aching all evening.

Just a couple of days later, Scorpius shows up in Potions after a lunchtime library session with a purple bruise on his cheek, and dried blood staining his tie. When Albus asks what happened, he changes the subject back to the Potion they're meant to be making in that day's lesson. Albus tries multiple times to check if Scorpius is okay, but Scorpius just ignores him.

That Potions class is also the first time Scorpius forgets to do his homework. As far as Albus knows it's the first time Scorpius has ever failed to do a piece of work, and it's so bizarre and shocking that Albus has no idea what to do with himself. When they're asked to hand in their essays on the uses of Mandrake root in Potion-making, Scorpius stares up at their teacher aghast,

"We... had homework?" He breathes.

Albus glances sideways at him, eyes wide with amazement. "Did you not do it?" He asks. "I thought that was what you were doing in the library."

Scorpius doesn't answer. He dives down and grabs his bag, riffling through it for his homework planner. When he pulls it out he looks down at the page, and his eyes swim with tears. "I-I didn't think we- I missed it. I forgot."

He looks so distraught that he doesn't get detention, just ten points from Slytherin as long as he promises never to do it again. At the end of the lesson, he sprints from the dungeon at top speed, head bowed, face still red with shame. Albus packs his bag as fast as he can and chases after him, but he loses Scorpius at some point, and by the time he gets to the crowded entrance hall, Scorpius is nowhere to be found.

Over the next two weeks, Scorpius seems to be working harder than ever. Albus never sees him any more. He doesn't come down for meals. When Albus wakes up every morning his bed is empty, and he doesn't get into the dorm until after Albus has gone to sleep each night. In fact, the only way Albus knows that Scorpius is sleeping at all, is because one night he wakes up to use the bathroom, and finds Scorpius sprawled out on his bed, fully clothed and fast asleep, a book lying open on his chest. He marks Scorpius's page for him, puts the book away, and tucks the blankets over him, careful not to wake him. He looks like he desperately needs the sleep.

Despite everything, despite all the hard work and studying, Scorpius forgets to do his homework four more times. In two years, Albus has seen Scorpius do extra homework countless times, but never fail to do it. It's just unthinkable. And by the time Scorpius is on his third detention of the week, Albus is seriously considering writing to Scorpius's parents to ask them to step in.

At the end of Transfiguration on Wednesday afternoon, Professor McGonagall asks Scorpius to stay behind to talk to her after class, and Albus decides to try one last time to find out what's going on for himself. There's only one way out of the classroom, and if he waits right outside, maybe he can trap Scorpius and force him to talk about whatever is going on.

For a couple of minutes he paces up and down the corridor, trying to decide what to say. He has to be sensitive about this. He can't just pin Scorpius against the wall and demand to know everything. Maybe he can be more gentle, tell Scorpius how worried he is, ask if he needs any help with his work, suggest they start doing their homework together again like they used to...

He's just rehearsing exactly what he's going to say, when the classroom door flies open and bangs against the stone work. A streak of blond hair and black robes comes sprinting out, so fast that Albus almost misses him. His head is bowed and his hands are covering his face. Albus can see his shoulders shaking, and hear muffled sniffling over the sound of his running footsteps.

Albus is faster than Scorpius, so he catches up with him quickly, and follows him down the hall to the boys' bathroom. Scorpius seems entirely oblivious to his presence, because he doesn't look round at Albus as they go inside. He throws himself down on the floor in front of one of the sinks and rests his forehead against the ceramic basin, his entire body shaking with desperate sobs.

Albus hovers in the doorway, clutching the strap of his bag with both hands, and watching Scorpius. After several long seconds of indecision, he takes a deep breath and steps forward.

"Scorpius," he says. "What's wrong?"

Scorpius jumps. He swings round and stumbles to his feet, tripping on the hem of his robe. His face is red and raw, shining with tears, and he hurriedly scrubs at his eyes as he faces Albus.

"Go away," he says, avoiding looking at Albus, voice harsh and quiet.

"Did McGonagall tell you off for-"

"I said, go away!" His voice rises hysterically, cracking, and breaking into another sob.

Albus takes a step back. Scorpius has never shouted at him before. Scorpius isn't the sort of person to shout. But now, here he is, covered in snot and tears, and yelling, and Albus has no idea how to respond.

"I'm only trying to help you," he says, firing up. "We're supposed to be friends, Scorpius. You have to tell me what's wrong with you. You have to let me help."

"I don't have to do anything. I don't have to tell you anything," Scorpius shouts, voice echoing off the tiled surfaces. "Just leave me alone!"

Albus folds his arms and stands in the doorway, so Scorpius has no way of escaping. "No," he shouts back, then draws in a deep breath to calm himself down. He doesn't want to fight with Scorpius. He wants to make this better. "You've been weird for weeks," he says, forcing his voice to be quiet and steady. "I want to know why. And... and I'm not moving until you tell me."

Scorpius wipes his nose on the back of his sleeve, then draws his wand. "Get out of the way or I'll hex you."

Albus blinks at him in shock. "You wouldn't."

Scorpius levels his wand, hand perfectly steady, despite his hiccuping, shaky breaths. "Wouldn't- wouldn't I?"

Albus takes a tentative step forward. "Scorpius," he says softly, one hand on his own wand, just in case. "Please don't hex me. I just want to know that you're okay. I know you've been struggling, but maybe I can help. Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me? Or are you ill? Have the bullies done something horrible? Is it- is it your mum?"

"Expelliarmus."

Albus doesn't even see him move. He doesn't have any time to defend himself, to tighten his grip, before his wand spins out of his hand and clatters away across the bathroom floor. For a moment he stares at his empty hand in amazement, then he looks up at Scorpius, whose eyes are narrowed, and who still has his wand levelled at Albus's heart.

"Leave me alone," Scorpius says, low, and dangerous and unsteady.

"But-"

Scorpius gives his wand a tiny flick. "Rictusempra."

Albus ducks just in time, the streak of silver light flying over his head and bouncing off the wall behind him. It ricochets back and hits one of the sinks, which starts spraying water everywhere. He doesn't need telling twice.

He raises both hands in surrender, scuttles sideways to collect his wand, hurriedly stuffing it into his pocket so it doesn't look threatening, then he backs toward the door. "Okay," he says. "Okay, I'll leave you alone. I'm sorry."

He fumbles behind him for the doorknob, keeping his eyes on Scorpius the whole time. When he finally grasps the handle, he twists it and stumbles backwards through the door, nearly falling into the corridor. He rights himself, straightens his robes, and glances back. As the bathroom door swings shut he sees Scorpius's wand fall out of his hand as he collapses onto the floor, lost in a wave of broken sobs.

Albus doesn't really pay attention to where he's going as he walks. He feels numb, and lost, and he has no idea what to do. His best friend is in pieces and won't let him in. It's a bit terrifying, really, the sense of powerlessness. He's scared of what's happening to Scorpius, and the fact that he can't help.

There's only one possible thing he can try, but he isn't sure if it would be a betrayal. What if he tries to help and just makes everything worse? What if Scorpius never forgives him? He's already tried to hex him for helping... What will life be like for Albus without a best friend? Lonely. Miserable. Much like it is now, probably. But if Scorpius is in such a state then maybe none of that matters.

His feet carry him to the Slytherin dungeon without him planning to go there. It's dinner time, and he should probably be in the Great Hall, but he isn't hungry anymore. In fact, the idea of eating anything makes him feel sick. Instead, he mutters the password to the blank stone wall outside the dungeon, and drags himself across the common room and up to the dormitory.

He's grateful to find it deserted, and he dumps his bag on the ground and collapses face down on the bed. Behind his closed eyelids he can see Scorpius's tear streaked face. Desperate, and angry, and so unlike the normal happy, bouncy Scorpius he's used to.

It's such an awful image to think about, that Albus sits up, rubbing his eyes to clear away the picture. He curls up, hugging himself, and staring blankly across at the dormitory door.

After five minutes of empty numbness, he decides that he can't just sit and do nothing. Scorpius might never speak to him again, but that's better than seeing him suffer. Anything is better than that.

He crawls to the edge of his bed and leans over the side, pulling open his drawers so he can grab a quill, ink, and parchment. Then he curls up against the pillows and starts to write.

Dear Mrs Malfoy,

I don't think we've spoken before, but my name's Albus, and I'm Scorpius's best friend. He might have told you about me.

I'm writing to you because I'm really worried about Scorpius. He hasn't talked to me in weeks, and he's been forgetting to do his homework, and I'm not sure what I can do to help him. I tried to talk to him earlier, but he ran away from me.

I thought that maybe, since you're his mum, you might know what's wrong, or you might be able to help him, or maybe you could tell him that I want to help him.

I'm really sorry for intruding, and I think Scorpius might be upset with me for writing to you, but I just really want him to be okay.

Thank you for helping.

Sincerely, Albus

He stares down at his letter, trying to work out if it sounds stupid or not. He wonders whether writing to Astoria is even a good idea. If something has happened to her, if she's the reason for Scorpius's unhappiness, she might not be well enough to read letters. He might send this only for it to sit there for weeks and weeks, while Scorpius gets more and more upset. Writing to Draco might be a better option, but the idea of that is downright terrifying. Draco has always seemed a bit forbidding, and sending him an unsolicited letter isn't something Albus would even consider. Not unless writing to Astoria fails first.

He folds the letter up and slides it into an envelope, then he gets to his feet and starts to cross the room to head to the Owlery. But after a few steps he stalls. Maybe he should try to fix this himself, just one more time, before he gets Scorpius's parents involved. He knows he can do better, knows he can get through to Scorpius. They're supposed to be best friends after all. And giving up after a handful of failed attempts isn't what a best friend should do. If it were the other way around Scorpius wouldn't give up on him. He would keep trying. And Albus is going to have to do the same.

Determined, Albus tightens his grip on the envelope and marches back to his bed. He tucks the letter under his pillow, to keep for later, just in case he needs it, then he flumps down on top of the covers, kicks his shoes off, and sets about waiting for Scorpius to get back. After a few fruitless minutes of staring at the door, he gets his Transfiguration homework out. This is probably going to be a very long wait.

Several hours later, the dorm is pitch black apart from the pale light of Albus's wand. The room is full of the sound of snoring and quiet breathing. It's peaceful, almost too peaceful. Despite all his anxiety, Albus is starting to get drowsy. The wand light is making his eyes sting and water, and he has to squint to make out the text of the book he's reading.

Normally he finds his Potions work so interesting, but now his tired, worried brain keeps bouncing off the words. He's already written his Transfiguration essay, done a little bit of Charms practice, and finished a sketch for Herbology, and he's exhausted. He has no idea what time it is. Definitely after curfew, but there's still no sign of Scorpius, so all he can do is struggle on with his work and try to stay awake.

He blinks blearily down at the Potions book and tries to work out which line he was reading last. Nothing on the page looks even a little bit familiar, although he's been staring at it for at least ten minutes. He doesn't know what any of it means, and he isn't even sure what this chapter is meant to be about anymore.

He rubs his eyes and yawns, then he glances across at the door. There's no sign of Scorpius anywhere, not so much as a creak from the staircase outside to indicate that anyone might be coming upstairs. But it has to happen sometime. It has to. Scorpius can't have just disappeared from the school, can he?

The pages of his book rustle as he turns them. His eyes burn with tiredness. The bed beneath him feels so soft and comfortable. He sways where he sits. No. He has to stay awake. He has to- He covers his mouth as he yawns, and he tries not to think about how warm it is and how exhausted he is.

His eyes drift shut. His head droops.

Twice he starts awake and scolds himself for being so weak. He scrubs at his eyes and drags his hands through his hair. The words of his book swim and become nonsensical. His lit wand falls from his hand and goes out, and he's vaguely aware of his body slumping sideways as he loses his battle with consciousness.

The next thing he's aware of is that he's lying with the corner of his book digging into his cheek. It hurts, and he groans and shifts his head into a more comfortable position, pushing the book away. He opens his eyes a crack and peers around.

The dorm is no longer completely dark, but it's not daylight that's brightening it up. Daylight in here is of a turquoise, watery consistency, but this is silver. Silver and flickering, and it seems to chase and dance across the room, although it's very faint.

At first he has no idea where the light is coming from. He's never seen that colour and quality of light anywhere before. It's not a Lumos spell, none of the lamps are lit; the lake light is still a murky green, almost black.

He sits up a bit, rubs his eyes, and happens to glance in the direction of Scorpius's bed.

With a jolt of realisation, he sees that Scorpius's hangings are closed now. He must have come up to bed while Albus was sleeping. He also realises that the flickering light is filtering through the drawn curtains. They're so thick that only the barest glimmer escapes through the bottoms and tops and edges of the hangings, but it's enough. Enough to know that Scorpius is there, and that he's awake, and that he's doing... Albus has no idea what he's doing.

Albus glances around. Everyone else in the dorm is fast asleep, so they won't be disturbed. Still, just to make sure, he draws his wand and waves it in a circle, pointing at each of his sleeping dorm mates in turn.

"Muffliato," he whispers. It's a spell James taught him, and it's one of the few spells he's good at, because he's practiced it so often. He and Scorpius have been using it to hold late night conversations for almost two years now. He hasn't had much chance to use it in the last couple of weeks, but if this conversation goes well, hopefully he'll be able to start practicing it again.

Staying as quiet as he can, he slips off his bed and tiptoes across the creaky floor between his and Scorpius's beds. When one of the floorboards squeaks he stops dead, waiting for any sign that Scorpius has noticed him, but the silvery light keeps flickering and dancing.

Albus exhales and pads the last couple of steps, then he stands and faces Scorpius's hangings. The emerald green expanse looks black and forbidding in the darkness. Opening the curtains is a step he can't turn back from, and he has no idea how Scorpius will react when he does it. But he has no choice. This is the only way forward. Swallowing hard, Albus reaches out a shaking hand and pulls the curtain back an inch.

"Scorpius," he whispers. "Scorpius, are you-" He breaks off at the sight in front of him.

Scorpius is sitting against his pillows, wand in his hand, eyes half closed from exhaustion. A thin, silvery mist hovers in the air in front of him, and Albus recognises it from a book he read once for Defence Against the Dark Arts class. His eyes widen with amazement.

"Is that a Patronus?"

Scorpius looks at him, and he seems to tired; too miserable for surprise. His expression barely flickers as he takes in the fact that Albus is standing there, although his grip on his wand loosens, the silver mist fades away, and his lip trembles. As they're plunged into inky darkness, Albus sees by the very last silver flickers of light that Scorpius's eyes are swimming with tears.

In the blackness of the dorm, he hears rather than sees Scorpius collapse. There's a squelchy, muffled little gasp, and then Scorpius breaks apart. The bed creaks as his shadow curls in on itself, and Albus hears, for the second time that day, desperate sobbing. Alarmed, but glad Scorpius isn't going to try and duel him this time, Albus scrambles up onto the bed, shuts the hangings behind himself, and lights his wand.

Scorpius is huddled in a little ball, face buried in his knees, whole body wracked with sobs. Albus doesn't waste a moment. He crawls in beside Scorpius and wraps both arms tightly round him, and Scorpius melts in his grip, all resistance apparently now gone.

He feels thinner and bonier than he had last time they hugged, and Albus is certain he must have been neglecting to eat. When he brushes his fingers through Scorpius's hair it feels limp, and a bit greasy, but Albus doesn't stop. He cares less for Scorpius's current state, and more for making sure it doesn't get worse. And this, shuddering and weeping but letting Albus hold him, is a sign that maybe there's a chance.

"I'm here," Albus murmurs, because it's what his mum says when he cries to her. "I've got you. It's going to be okay."

"No," Scorpius says. "No it's not." The words tear out of him, tight and strained and a bit hysterical, and Albus clutches him tighter.

"Why?" He asks. "I don't understand. Scorpius, what's happening?"

Scorpius doesn't answer. He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a little hiccup. He shakes his head and pulls the sleeves of his sweater over his hands, curling up tighter in Albus's grip.

"Take your time," Albus murmurs. "I'm not going anywhere."

Scorpius gives a little twitch of his head, that's probably meant to be a nod, and tucks his jumper-covered hand in between his and Albus's bodies, curling his fingers into Albus's t-shirt.

For several long minutes they sit there. Albus's arms begin to hurt from the awkward way they're curled round Scorpius's body, and the knee of his pyjama trousers is splattered with Scorpius's tears. The sobs seem to be lessening though, and Scorpius is dragging in more desperate, shaky breaths. Albus tries not to look at how red and wet his face is, shining with tears and snot and spit. Seeing Scorpius doing anything other than smiling feels weird, and upsetting. Scorpius is supposed to be the happy one. Bouncy and full of life, not a care in the world...

After a little bit longer, Scorpius starts mopping his face with the sleeve of his jumper. He's still sniffling a bit, but he seems better. Calmer. And Albus releases him, although he keeps one hand on his back.

"Please tell me what's going on," he says, and he can hear the concern in his own voice. He doesn't mean to sound so worried, so shaky, but he can't help it.

Scorpius shakes his head and picks at his sodden sleeve. "I'm alright. You don't need to worry about me."

"Then what do I need to worry about?" Albus's voice snaps harshly in the silence of the dorm, and Scorpius blinks and looks up at him. Albus sighs, shoulders slumping. "Sorry. I'm just-" He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "You haven't been eating. You haven't been sleeping. Your homework... you keep forgetting it, and you never forget homework. You haven't talked to me in weeks. I want to help. I'm your friend, Scorpius. Friends are supposed to help each other, aren't they? You help me all the time, with bullies and schoolwork, and- and now I want to help you. So please?"

Scorpius looks at him for a moment, then he bows his head and picks at the hem of his jumper. "It's..." he takes a deep, unsteady breath. "It's Mothers' Day. This weekend. And I've been trying to... to work out a way to show my mum that I-" He breaks off, twisting himself away from Albus, so Albus can see is his back, and a bit of blond hair. "I don't know what to do. Nothing is working, and-" he pauses as his breathing starts to go shallow again, more tears flooding in. "And she's never going to know that I love her." He breaks again, burying his face in his hands.

In spite of himself, in spite of the whole situation, Albus laughs. "But that's silly!"

Scorpius goes stiff, shoulders tightening, and Albus realises his mistake.

"Sorry," he says quickly. "Sorry, I didn't mean-" he moves closer to Scorpius and puts a hand on his arm. "I just meant that, well, surely she already knows you love her? And why can't you just send her a card, or make her breakfast in bed, or... I don't know. There are loads of things you could do!"

Scorpius gulps in several breaths before he glances at Albus. The tears trailing down his cheeks glitter in the wand light. "My- my mum's going to- my mum's going to die. Soon. And this might be the last chance I get to- I have to do it properly."

Albus grips Scorpius's arm tightly, reeling from the new information about Astoria. He knew she was sick, but he didn't realise- it must be really bad. It must have got so much worse since last time he and Scorpius properly talked.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, because he doesn't know what else to say. "I didn't know it was that... I thought you said before that she was alright?"

"She's been in hospital for weeks," Scorpius mumbles, inspecting his fingernails. "It was a really sudden- She just got really bad, and ever since then..." he draws in a trembling breath. "She's been improving recently but we've still been told that she only has a few- a few months left." His voice breaks and he takes a second to compose himself, while Albus stares at him, speechless. "Every time Dad writes I keep thinking it's too late, that she's..." He trails off, and wipes his eyes with his fingers. It makes no impact on the steady flow of tears that are still pouring down his cheeks and dripping off the end of his nose. "I-I wanted to do something special. I thought I could- There are spells to conjure flowers, but I couldn't make them work. And then I wanted to try a Patronus Charm, using a-a happy memory of her, but I'm not good enough." He flicks at his wand with his fingers, and it goes rolling up the bed away from him, showering little gold sparks everywhere. "I've been practicing for weeks, and now I've run out of time and I don't know what to do." His tone rises with frustration, and he kicks at his blankets.

"Those are N.E.W.T. spells," Albus says in amazement. "Is that what you've been doing in the library all this time? Is that why I haven't seen you? Because you've been practicing?"

Scorpius nods. "And it was all a waste of time, because now I've got nothing." He gives a mirthless little laugh and shakes his head. "Stupid idea, all of it."

"But you've still got yourself," Albus says, nudging Scorpius's arm. "Are you going to visit her on Sunday?"

Scorpius shrugs. "I don't know. There's no point if I don't have anything to give her..."

Albus shifts on the bed so he's kneeling beside Scorpius. "I think you should visit her. And -- you probably won't agree with me, but -- I think you should just tell her how much she means to you, and how hard you've been working. You don't need fancy spells to show her that. I mean, Patronus Charms are amazing and impressive, but even my dad-" he breaks off and runs a hand through his hair. Thinking about his dad always makes him feel thoroughly miserable, and he tries not to ever do it.

"The point is," he continues, shoving Harry well out of his mind. "I think you can just be you, and she'll understand. I think it's a parent thing." He looks at Scorpius, desperate to convince him. "You know, last year me and James and Lily tried to make a big meal for Mum? James and I came home for the weekend, and we were going to cook something fancy. But James is the worst cook ever, and it all ended up burned and rubbish, and it was awful. But when Mum found out, she said- she said it didn't matter, and that she knew we all loved her without the silly meal. So maybe your mum will be like my mum was, and it won't matter that you can't do the things you wanted to?"

Scorpius sniffs and wipes his nose as he looks up at Albus. "Do you think?"

"I don't know," Albus says honestly. "Parents are weird and I don't understand them. But I think it's worth a try. And maybe-" he bounces on his knees as the idea comes to him. "Maybe instead you could write her a letter or something. To make sure she really knows? Letters are easier than saying things in person I think. I can help if you want. We could write it together and then you could give it to her on Sunday!"

Scorpius hugs his knees and frowns. "How are you supposed to put all of that sort of thing into a letter? The reason why I wanted to try the spells was because... because I didn't know what to say. I didn't know where to start."

"Well we can try it at least," Albus says. "It's worth a go, isn't it? Let's do it now!" He picks up his wand and shoves Scorpius's hangings aside. He flops half over the edge of the bed, head and wand sticking out past the curtain, and rummages through Scorpius's drawers, searching for parchment, ink, and a quill. He's such a geek that he keeps them in his top drawer, ready to be whipped out at a moment's notice, so Albus quickly locates them and scrambles back inside the hangings, almost losing his balance and toppling out onto the floor. Scorpius grabs his ankle and helps him, and soon the two of them are curled up by Scorpius's pillows, staring down at the blank piece of parchment.

"Dear Astoria," Albus suggests. "That's how you're supposed to start letters."

Scorpius steals the quill from him. "Dear... Mum," he says, as he scrawls the words down. He glances up at Albus. "Happy Mother's Day?"

Albus nods. "That's good."

Scorpius pokes his tongue out from between his teeth as he writes. When he's done he stares blankly down at the parchment. "Now what?"

Albus leans against his side and also stares at the parchment, hoping it will give him some inspiration. It doesn't.

"Maybe this is the part where I tell her about the spells that didn't work," Scorpius suggests. "I think I should say sorry at the beginning, and then tell her all the things I really wanted to tell her afterwards..."

Albus nods. "That sounds good."

"Alright," Scorpius says. "I think I can do this."

For the next few minutes they sit in silence. Albus listens to Scorpius's quill scratching on the parchment, and his mutterings as he tries to work out what to say. Occasionally he pauses to ask Albus a question, or Albus will make a suggestion as he reads over Scorpius's shoulder, but mostly Scorpius works in silence, pouring his heart and soul out onto the page.

Eventually, with one final flourish, he signs his name and looks down at the letter. The wet ink glints in the pale wand-light, and Scorpius blows on it to dry it out.

"I think that's what I want it to say. I think that's good."

Albus puts an arm round his shoulders and hugs him tightly. "I think it's perfect."

"Me-" Scorpius breaks off as he yawns widely. "Me too."

"And now I think we should go to sleep," Albus says, poking him in the arm. "We can leave the letter to dry while we rest. You need to sleep, Scorpius. You haven't slept in weeks."

"Mmm," Scorpius agrees. He pushes the hangings aside and sets the letter, quill, and ink on top of his set of drawers, then he wriggles his way under his covers and curls up.

Albus moves to get up and go back to bed, but Scorpius catches hold of his wrist.

"Don't go," he says, looking up at Albus. "I've missed you. And it's easier to sleep if you're here. I mean, you don't have to, but-"

Albus crawls under the covers beside Scorpius and lies on his side, facing him. "No. I'll stay. I missed you too."

Scorpius squeezes his hand. "I'm sorry I tried to duel you earlier."

"It's okay," Albus murmurs. "If you want I'll try to help you catch up on your homework?"

Scorpius rubs his eyes and smiles. "That would be..." he yawns. "That would be nice. Thank you."

They mumble a few more increasingly incoherent things into the dark, quiet space between and around them, until first Scorpius and then Albus drifts asleep, their hands still clasped together on the bed between them.

---

Astoria drifts along the shoreline between sleeping and waking. She can feel the soft bed beneath her, feel the warmth of sunlight spilling through the window onto her face, but she can't find the motivation to open her eyes. It's easier to just stay asleep for now.

Time flows in strange patterns. It's difficult to tell how long she spends asleep or awake. She loses track of time. Someone was supposed to come and wake her up just before lunch, but there's no one here yet, so it must still be the morning.

At some point she hears the door creak open and closed. Footsteps, two pairs of footsteps, tiptoe across the room, and a pair of familiar voices whisper to each other.

"Go on. You can sit there."

"But this is your-"

"I want you to sit there, Scorpius."

"...okay. Thank you."

Scorpius's voice sounds tight, and small, but just the sound of it is music to Astoria's ears. She turns her head to the side, opens her eyes, and beams at her son, who's sitting in the seat next to the bed, clutching a letter and a book, and looking very uncertain. The sunlight shines through his hair, making it glow golden. He looks older and more handsome every single time she sees him, and her smile widens to the point where her cheeks are aching.

She starts to claw her way into a sitting position, and both Scorpius and Draco, realising she's awake, get to their feet and rush to help. She waves them both away.

"I'm fine. Sit down. Draco, I said I'm fine."

Scorpius has already returned to his seat, but Draco is still hovering over her, the familiar worried crease carved into his forehead. She reaches up and smooths her fingers over it, then she pecks him on the lips.

"I'm so fine they're talking about letting me come home on Tuesday. Now would you sit down?"

Draco sighs and returns to his seat. "We thought you were asleep. We didn't wake you, did we?"

Astoria shakes her head. "Not at all. I was actually wondering what time it was." She runs a hand through her hair and looks around for her wand and glasses. Scorpius passes them both to her.

"It's just after eleven," he tells her, before retreating back to his seat and curling up into a little ball, hugging his book to his chest like he's trying to protect it.

Astoria watches him carefully. He looks a little paler than usual, and it's unlike him to be so quiet. She wonders if there's something wrong. Although it's possible that she's what's wrong with him. She hates thinking that she's causing her son any sort of suffering, but she can't deny that she is, and there's nothing she can do about it. She hates it. It might be the worst part of being ill.

Her smile fades and she swallows. "So," she says, forcing herself to sound cheerful. "How are you both? It looks like a beautiful day."

"It is quite nice," Draco says, glancing out of the window. "I think the weather's going to hold this week. It'd be nice to have you home while it's still warm. Your garden is doing beautifully. I don't think I've done too much catastrophic damage to your roses yet."

Astoria tuts. "You won't damage them as long as you follow the instructions I left you."

"Your instructions are twelve pages long," Draco says, smirking at her. "It's almost as if you don't trust me."

"I trust you with my life, Draco dear. But you never did have green fingers. Daphne told me how you killed your Venomous Tentacula in fifth year." She grins at him, then glances across at Scorpius. He's staring down at his feet like he can't even hear the conversation.

Her smile softens and she reaches across to him. "Scorpius... how has school been this week? Weren't you about to start studying the wizarding wars in History of Magic?"

Scorpius glances at her and shrugs. His fingers stroke the parchment envelope in his hands, and he hugs his book tighter, resting his chin on it.

Draco turns to watch him for a moment, then he gets to his feet. "Would either of you like a drink?" He asks. "I'm going to go and get some tea. Not the muck they serve upstairs. I'll go to that shop down the road."

"There's Muggle money in my purse," Astoria says, not taking her eyes off Scorpius for a second. "Do you know how to-"

Draco plucks a note from the top and waves it at her. "This one's worth £10. I've been learning." He glances between her and Scorpius, then backs towards the door. "I'll see you both in a bit." The door clicks shut behind him as he leaves, and Scorpius and Astoria are alone.

Once Draco has gone, Scorpius wriggles in his seat and tucks a bit of hair behind his ear. He glances at Astoria, then away again.

"Are you alright?" Astoria asks, voice soft and low. "You look unhappy."

Scorpius looks down at the book and envelope he's holding, then he pulls his chair closer to the bed, scraping it across the floor. "I wrote this," he says, holding the envelope out to her. "For you." He glances up at her, and as she takes the envelope, he pulls the sleeves of his sweater over his hands and holds them so they're covering his face. She thinks he might be chewing on the wool, but he looks so anxious that she doesn't comment.

"What's this?" She asks, turning the envelope over in her hands. Scorpius's seal is pressed onto the back. It's so neat, as is the way he's written her name on the front. He's clearly taken time and effort over this.

"It's a letter," he murmurs. "Because it's Mother's Day."

She smiles and places her finger next to the seal. "Can I open it?"

Scorpius goes pink all the way to his forehead, and nods, grey eyes wide and shining in the sunlight.

Astoria slits open the seal and pulls the letter out with slightly shaky fingers. She lays the letter in her lap, clenches and unclenches her hands to try and steady them, then she picks the letter back up and reads.

Dear Mum,

Happy Mother's Day.

I wanted to do something really special for you this year, because you haven't been very well, and because you deserve to have a good day. I tried to learn all these different spells, to show you that I love you, and that you're the best mum ever, but I couldn't make any of them work. I'm sorry that I couldn't do anything nice for you, but Albus said you wouldn't mind, and that I should write a letter to you instead, telling you how I feel, so I hope that's okay instead.

First, I want you to know that you're the best mum ever, and you always will be. I think you're amazing, and I like reading with you, and playing the piano with you, and looking at the frogs in the river with you. I'm glad you're there so I can talk to you, and I think it's going to be very hard when you're gone.

Second, I want you to know that I love you a lot. You make the perfect hot chocolate, and you taught me how to dance, and you make home feel like home. It's always quieter without you.

It makes me sad that you're ill, and I'm sad that you're hurting. I wish I could make you feel better, and I'm sorry I can't. But I hope that maybe I can make you forget about it all for a bit. I've brought our favourite book with me, for us to read together if you're feeling well enough. And if you're not then I'll leave it for you so you can read it later.

I really hope you know that I love you, Mum. I'm always going to love you, and I'm never going to forget you. Have a very happy Mother's Day.

Love you forever,

Scorpius

Astoria's eyes prickle with tears as she reads. Twice she has to stop because her vision is too blurred to see the words anymore. When she's done she takes a deep breath and brushes the tears off her cheeks. For a moment she tries to compose herself, then she glances at Scorpius and reaches a hand out to him.

The second she lays eyes on him, her beautiful, sweet son, who's growing up to be so brave and brilliant, the tears start to well up again, and she sniffs and beckons to him. "Come here."

"Is it okay?" Scorpius asks, finally removing his hands from his face, and getting to his feet.

"It's perfect," Astoria replies. The second Scorpius is within her reach, she pulls him into the tightest hug she can, brushing her fingers through his soft hair. "I'm going to love you forever too," she says. "You wonderful boy." She kisses the top of his head, and he squirms. She releases him, but all he does it put his knee on the bed and frown.

"Will I get told off if I-"

"I won't let them tell you off," she says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He gives a shaky smile and crawls onto the bed next to her, curling up by her side and wrapping his arms round her. She folds an arm round his shoulders in return.

"I tried to learn the Patronus Charm," he says. "I can get a bit of silver mist but I can't do it properly. And I was trying to learn Orchideous, so I could bring you flowers, but that was too difficult as well. So I brought our book instead. And myself. Albus told me that might be enough."

Astoria blinks very hard to hold back her tears. "Your best friend," she says, voice a little shaky, "is quite a smart young man." She squeezes Scorpius tightly and drops another kiss into his hair. "Of course this is enough. This is wonderful. You are wonderful." She gives Scorpius's shoulder a little shake and looks down at him. "Never forget that, okay?"

Scorpius looks at her and nods. "Okay," he murmurs. He picks at the hem of his jumper for a moment. "I really meant what I said in the letter," he says. "All of it. I love you, Mum."

"And I love you too," she says, holding his gaze, fierce in a way that she hopes will convince him to believe it, and remember it.

He blushes a faint pink and drops his head onto her shoulder. She gathers him in close, and gently slides the book from his hands.

"Do you want me to read this to you?" She asks.

"Maybe we can read a bit each," Scorpius suggests, reaching out to trail his fingers over the cover.

"I think that's a good deal," Astoria says, kissing his temple. "Shall I go first?"

Scorpius nods, and he wriggles in closer so he can see the book open across both their laps.

As they read, Astoria rubs his shoulder, and feels him wriggle and breathe against her side. He's a lot bigger than he was as a baby, but he's still just as wriggly, and just as excitable. He's still her little boy, and she's never been more confident in the knowledge that he loves her deeply. She only hopes that he knows, that he will always know, that she feels exactly the same way in return.

242 notes · View notes

aslightstep · 8 years ago

Note

13 - ROTC/new-to-the-Air-Force Rhodey and/or CW/post-CW Rhodey

Flying like a cannonball, falling to the earth/Heavy as a feather when you hit the dirt

First

The first thing Jim remembers is flying.

If he was honest, that would be a lie. His first memory is something mundane like his mother singing to him or watching TV with his father. But what he remembers most, brightest, strongest is this: standing on the ledge of his family’s second-story apartment balcony, gazing down at the little section of the tiny backyard Mrs. Turner has used for her garden (bushes grown up high, hopefully high enough) taking a breath, closing his eyes and leaping.

He remembers flying.

That glorious moment of weightlessness fighting gravity, when he was moving faster than light, faster than sound, the fastest thing on this planet. He was invincible.

He doesn’t remember hitting the ground, but he remembers rolling off his broken arm to stare up at the blue blue sky and thinking someday it would be his. Someday he’d never have to land.

(”He fell,” his little sister Jeanette insists with a pout when his mother comes home and panics at not finding Jim where he should be. He can hear them through the window. “He fell, Mama.”

His mama looks over the balcony and screeches, going back inside. Jeanette stares at Jim through the bars of the railing. “I didn’t fall,” he tries to say, but he’s six and the pain is finally catching up to him. He can’t feel his arm. He cries when his mother picks him up.)

In between fussing over him relentlessly, which he likes, and yelling at him for being so fool-headed he jumped off a balcony, which he doesn’t, his father says something that sticks with him for years.

“What if something had happened to Jeanette while you were stuck down there?” Terrence Rhodes says softly, his anger petering out, too tired to keep it up. Daddy is always tired. “You have to look after her, Jim. She depends on you while we’re away. Sometimes that means sacrificing your own wants.”

Jim feels his eyes go big, and Daddy notices and looks upset. “Ah, no, kiddo. Don’t listen to your old man. I know we’ve put a lot of responsibility on your shoulders and you’ve made us proud, you hear? It was a mistake, son, and you’ll learn from it, won’t you?”

Mama and Daddy work hard. Harder than Jim thinks anybody should, and he knows its to keep the roof over their heads and food on their table, and they would never say that, but Mrs. Turner downstairs would. That’s what she tells them when the Rhodes children have to stay over for the night, Mama too busy at the hospital and Daddy pulling overtime at the plant. “It’s all for you, baby dolls,” she says, wiping away Jeanette’s tears. “Because they love you.”

Sometimes that means sacrificing, Jim thinks. All they ask in return is that he look after Jeanette.

Meals are a little simpler after that, new clothes a little scarce, and Jim finds hospital bills on the table under Daddy’s sleeping cheek one night. Sacrifices, he thinks, and doesn’t go near the balcony again.

He studies hard, he works harder. He learns how to cook dinner and watches after his sister even after she complains she doesn’t need it anymore. He takes care of his family. It’s all for you, baby doll, he remembers, and kisses his tired mother on the cheek every night just to see her smile.

He builds model airplanes in his spare time and hangs them all around the room. For his eleventh birthday, the whole family makes a day of painting his ceiling like the sky. He hides his research on MIT under his bed so his parents don’t see.

He packs his dreams carefully into little boxes and stows them away. All but one.

He braves the balcony again. He keeps his head out of the clouds and his feet on the ground, but he keeps his eyes on the horizon. Someday, he dreams, it’ll be mine.

Here’s the thing: years from now presumptuous journalists will assume that he joined ROTC to get out of dead end future. That he seized an opportunity to rise above his ‘situation.’

That isn’t it at all. ROTC was always the goal, because Air Force was always the goal. He signs up for it in high school as soon as he could.

He is scrawnier than the other kids, having skipped a year, and the other kids think he’s stuck-up. Rhodes has always got his head in a book. Rhodes is too good to talk to us. Rhodes thinks he’s so smart.

(He is so smart. He’s gonna get smarter. Bring me the horizon, he writes on the edges of his notebook paper in classes that are far behind him.)

They playing at boot-camp, climbing up one of those wooden walls with a rope, trying to beat the other guy. Jim doesn’t, arriving up top later than Roy Williams, a junior, and Williams takes a sneering look at him before simply and easily pushing him off.

He flies for a brief moment, a child all over again, and he is smiling when his body hits the ground with a thud.

“Jesus, Rhodes,” someone says, touching his shoulder. “You ok?”

Jim just laughs. “Again!” he declares, and when he opens his eyes the boys are all staring at him.

Williams, up top, just shakes his head. “You’re crazy, Rhodes. But you’re alright.”

Later on his mother sighs as she rubs numbing cream on his bruises. “What am I gonna do with you, Jim?” His back is killing him, but he can’t keep the smile off his face.

He keeps the MIT acceptance letter tucked up tight under his bed with all his other little hopes and dreams. He quietly applies for scholarship after scholarship and resolutely thinks about other colleges that maybe aren’t as good, maybe not where he wants to be, but are good enough. Cheap enough.

He walks in one day to find his parents sitting at the table, an unopened letter from MIT between them. They never get home this early. That’s how they didn’t know. He didn’t want to get their hopes up.

Hopes, he has discovered, don’t fly. They fall. It’s all they can do.

“I can explain,” he says, and his mother smiles and it breaks his heart.

But Dad laughs. “There’s no need, son. They called the house to personally congratulate you for the acceptance awhile back, on my day off. We’ve been on the phone with the Office of Admissions for weeks, trying to work out a payment plan for you. They’ve got some really nice scholarships there. We told them we’d talk to you about it but imagine our surprise when they tell us ‘no need, he’s already done it, we should know in about a month.’ Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t want to-” Jim swallows. “I can go to another school.”

“Honey,” his mother shakes her head, pushing the envelope to him. “Open it.”

He takes it. It shakes in his grip - because he’s shaking. “What if they turn me down?”

“You’ll never know until you try,” Mama says. “Take a leap of faith, Jim.” And well. He’s always been good at that.

He does. The envelope is thick, filled with many papers. He flips through them one after the other. Two scholarships, then three, then five. A full ride to MIT. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry so he does both, and his parents hug him tight.

That night lying in his bed he takes all his hopes and dreams out and unpacks them. He looks them over, notices dents and dings and changes. He thinks for one night only about having it all. When the sun spills over the horizon he puts them all back and pins his acceptance letter onto the ceiling, up in the clouds. This one is enough.

Here’s the thing: other, nicer reporters like to say that James Rhodes and Tony Stark have been friends since the moment they met. Jim likes those reporters, likes the harmless fairy tales they try to spin. There are other, nastier ones that like to think they’re commiserating with Jim when they talk about the man being Tony’s ‘caretaker’ or ‘babysitter.’ On his darker days, Jim has actually done so. But those are few and far between, and usually involve Tony dying for stupid reasons.

The larger point is: nobody gets it right. For the first two month Jim knows Tony Stark, he hates him.

Stark is his lab partner in CHEM 316. He’s two years younger than him, smarter than him, richer than him, and he never shuts up.

Stark has this habit of fixing Jim’s measurements after he’s already done them. Stark is fond of double-checking Jim’s math. Never mind that he compliments Jim on nearly always being right, he always delivers these compliments like they’re a surprise to him, like its amazing that Jim is even halfway-intelligent.

Stark does his homework five minutes before class, the same homework Jim spent all last night doing and then double-checking, and still gets straight-As. The boy has come in drunk to more than one class. He has a fucking butler who visited once, dropping off some tools at the dorms, who Tony talks a mile a minute at and never once says thank you.

But the worst thing about him, the thing that Jim can’t stand, is that Stark is a dreamer. He scribbles on every spare sheet of paper he can, some of it even Jim’s, and Jim takes it home at night and marvels at the ideas there. He talks about artificial intelligence, he talks about the Arc Reactor Stark Industries built in California, he babbles incessantly about the next manned space voyage.

He talks about it all as if its entirely possible. As if there’s no conceivable way he couldn’t make it happen.

Tony Stark has never had a dream he’s had to lock away, and Jim can’t stand that.

He has one goal, one purpose that he works towards relentlessly, and even that sometimes seems out of reach. Stark has a million at any given moment, and holds them all in the palm of his hand.

Stark knows Jim doesn’t like him, but he just keeps chattering away every time they meet like they’re friends. As far as Jim knows, Stark doesn’t have any friends, and maybe that twinges something in his chest sometimes, but MITs the first time Jim hasn’t had to responsible for anybody but himself and he’s damn sure not picking up the habit for some mouthy rich-boy know it all.

“We should work on this,” Stark says as they watch their midterm project go up in flames - again. “This weekend?” He looks up at Jim hopefully, but he just shakes his head.

“I’ve got an English project due,” he says. An English project that is kicking his ass. Jim’s never been good at English, preferring hard sciences and math, and Professor Brubaker is a tyrant. A study on ten poems of a subject of your choice. Jim’s been putting it off and its due on Monday. “Some other time.”

But on Saturday night, his dorm phone rings and its Stark, sounding wasted and afraid. Jim grits his teeth and goes and picks him up. “You can take me back to my room,” Stark slurs, but Jim refuses to have the Stark heir’s death of asphyxiation hanging over his head and takes him to his room. Stark whimpers next to the toilet all night and Jim watches him to make sure he doesn’t die. The essay only barely gets done.

“I don’t even have a topic,” he snaps in Stark’s general direction. He hates this, hates being a caretaker again with a strength that frightens him. The mantle he wore so well in his childhood feels like a noose now. “I was supposed to work on that tonight, but of course Tony Stark has to go to the frathouses by himself to get drunk. Now I have to-” Stark throws up.

Reluctantly Jim rubs his back, trying to keep his anger when he feels the skin trembling under his hand.

In the morning Stark emerges looking only halfway dead, and Jim hands him a glass of water before picking up his backpack. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Stark says, and Jim nods jerkily.

“Don’t call me again.”

Stark finds him the library, five books stacked precariously in his hands. “Hi,” he says cautiously. Jim keeps his head down, trying to scratch out some semblance of an outline.

“I’m sorry,” Stark says. “I shouldn’t have called but I - well. You’re the only person I thought might pick up.”

Jim feels his shoulders tense up at the lonely, resigned tone of that voice. Jesus, what is Stark, fifteen? Besides, it is his fault for putting the essay off so long. “It’s alright,” he says gruffly.

“It’s not,” Stark replies. “And I owe you. You said you didn’t have a topic, so I brought you these.” He puts the books down, turns to bookmarked pages. Ten poems, all about flight. “That essay is pretty hard, huh? I didn’t know what to write about either, but Mom said to pick something that interested me.”

“You’re in Brubaker’s class?” Jim frowns, glancing over the first poem. The way the poet describes the bird flying stirs something familiar in him. “I’ve never seen you.”

Stark grins, a little strained. “I sit in the back; I don’t talk much. What is there to say? I wouldn’t even be in there except English is my mom’s major and I wanted to be able to talk to her about stuff she likes. She helped me pick these out, too. She said to thank you for giving me a reason to call home, by the way. Moms, you know?”

Jim feels his brow crinkle at that, then he looks down at the poems again. “…how did you know?” he asks quietly.

“The times when I talked about rockets and planes were the only times you actually looked like you were listening,” Stark says with a practiced shrug. “And then we read that Icarus poem in class. I think that’s the only time I’ve actually seen you pay attention. I picked that one, too.”

Its in him to bristle at that, but Jim is too busy looking through the poems. There’s a lot he could do with this. He picks up his pen, itching to get started, and Stark turns away. “Hey,” he says. “You already done yours?”

“Yeah.”

“What was it about?”

“Creation myths,” Stark says, looking embarrassed.

Jim points at his paper. “You want to help? I’ve got exactly 28 hours to write 5000 words.”

Stark’s smile looks just like the sun coming over the edge of the earth. “No stress, then?”

(”I don’t dream,” Tony scoffs one time when they’re both a little tipsy. “I think, and then I make it happen.”

Here is a list of dreams that Tony keeps locked away: that his father will love him. That his parents will be proud. That he hasn’t inherited an predisposition for addiction. That he will fall in love.

Most of those wither and die. There is one though, that he keeps deep, and Rhodey never manages to get him to look at ever again: that he will be loved in return.)

They graduate with honors, Tony with three degrees and Rhodey with his one aerospace engineering. (”You don’t just want to fly,” Tony accused him with a laugh. “You want to own the sky!”) His parents hug Tony after the ceremony and Jim laughs at his face just so he won’t feel sad about it. (”Oh my God, Rhodey, I’m not deprived, just a WASP. We don’t hug.”)

He enters the Air Force. He goes through training, and finds himself growing a bit terrified. Not of what happens once he finally gets in the air, but what happens when he touches down. When he lands, back on the Earth again, dream realized. What does he do, then?

He flies.

It is the most glorious thing to ever happen to him. The clouds hanging shelter over his head, close enough to touch, the horizon always there to guide him, the earth far below. He can see everything. He can do anything.

I am invincible.

When he lands, the feeling stays, and he isn’t afraid. This dream never dies. He goes up again, and again, until he’s the best flier in his squadron, on the base, on the ship, in the entire Air Force. He soars through skies and ranks. He never wants it to end.

(”But what if you fall?” Tony frets over the phone.

“I won’t.”

“But how can you be sure?” Tony presses. “You know what? Easy way to solve this. I’ll build some planes to go with that new weapon shipment. Then we’ll be sure.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “Okay, Tones.”

But really, the Stark jet line is fantastic.)

Being away from Tony and his family is hard, but not as hard as the moments he finds himself in when he’s with them, moments when he is uncomfortably aware of the solidity of the ground beneath him, and how far away the sky is. He becomes hyperaware of his body, how his lungs wouldn’t handle the thin air, how his body wouldn’t handle the pressure, how he isn’t Icarus with his wax wings soaring through the sky, and anyway Icarus fell to his death.

To be honest, he is incredibly jealous of the Iron Man suit.

It feels dishonest to do so, when its power comes from Tony’s three month sojourn into malnutrition, torture, and three decades of guilt landing all at once, but watching Iron Man soar alongside his jet and hearing how happy Tony is - well, he doesn’t always smile back.

He wonders, as he flies his new suit away from Iron Man’s fallen form, as the sheer joy of flinging himself through the air overwhelms the worry that has been a hum at the back of his mind since Obadiah died, what kind of man he is.

Because the entire world congratulates him on taking the suit like Tony couldn’t lock him out at any moment, using it responsibly as a force for good like Iron Man hasn’t been flying around the world putting out fires for two years, and that is part of the reason why he took Iron Patriot - because he wanted to help.

But in his selfish thoughts, he doesn’t care about the world, a billion nameless faces. He just wants to protect Tony, even if its from himself.

And even deeper, even darker: he just wants to fly.

But when he and Tony forgive each other, fight together, fly together, he figures out the man he is. It’s like Tony always says, and nobody else has understood. He is the suit, and the suit is him. He is these missiles and this armor and the minigun perched on his shoulders. He is the people he saves and the bad guys he takes out and the collateral damage he regrets.

He is War Machine, and he is flight. The sky is his, and sometimes he even shares it with Tony.

(”Is it everything you dreamed of?” Tony asks as they coast lazily over the water. Rhodey turns his faceplate towards Iron Man’s, imagining the shit-eating grin on Tony’s face.

“Yes,” he says, and maybe that surprises Tony or, more likely, it doesn’t, and they fly towards the edge of the earth nearly hand-in-gauntleted-hand.)

Tony flies into a wormhole and saves the world. Tony falls back out.

Rhodey sees it on the back of his eyelids every time he closes them: the suit, falling end over end. No control. No flight. Just the fall.

Thank God he didn’t land, Rhodey thinks. The noise. The thud. His arm pulses out an old ache. Rhodey opens his eyes and doesn’t think about it anymore.

unsignificantlyoff the coastthere was

a splash quite unnoticedthis wasIcarus drowning

What was it he wrote in his paper about that poem? He’d thought it be neat to juxtapose all those flight poems with a crash. Brubaker had liked it too. It had made Tony sad, though, he remembered. Something about how-

He flips again, feet pointing up. He doesn’t throw up in his helmet, even though all the systems are knocked out and nothing’s keeping pressure on his body.

-it made Icarus’ fall seem so normal, so commonplace. Like a bright young boy hadn’t just died. Tony said “It’s a tragedy!” and Jim had replied-

He has to close his eyes, he has to stop calling for Tony, for anyone. He has to stay calm.

-”I think that’s the point.”

The last thing Jim remembers is falling.

Tony isn’t there when he gets out of the hospital, too busy in surgery of his own. Rhodey wants to stay, but Pepper insists he gets rest, and he can’t exactly stop her from wheeling him away.

He can’t walk. No head in the clouds, no ground on the feet anymore. Just hanging, in between. Like a ghost between realms. He wishes he could feel his legs. He wishes he could feel anything.

And then the hospital ships them the mangled Mark III and Rhodey doesn’t wish at all.

Tony doesn’t dream anymore. He has nightmares.

Rhodey takes care of him, like he always has, but here’s the thing those reporters have never understood, alongside everything else: Tony takes care of him, too.

The braces are iffy at best for the first few editions. They get better and better.

Rogers sends a letter that Tony reads once and a phone that is shoved into a drawer and they make a home out of that cold, abandoned compound.

Tony and Jim get better, too.

“138 combat missions,” he tells Tony. He doesn’t regret it, he finds. Misses it, but can’t bring himself to feel sorry for himself any longer. He’d do it again, every bit of it. “It was the right thing to do.”

Mark IV is born alongside Tony’s new black and gold armor. They strap themselves in and don’t think about how this part used to be the most exciting as they launch up into the air.

“Higher?” Tony asks, and they both cautiously rise a few dozen feet. The ground is so far away, Rhodey notes. The HUD gives off a warning about his heart rate.

“Higher,” he grits, and hesitantly Tony follows him up.

They rise. Tony’s new triggers are not the same as his, and he is content to watch and wait at every level for Jim’s heart beat to slow down again.

“Higher,” Rhodey whispers, and they climb.

The horizon appears, ever there to guide him forward, and for the first time on this little trip Rhodey doesn’t feel like he’s still falling. His body stops waiting for impact. He watches the sun set inch by inch, Tony by his side.

Night falls, and the delineating line disappears. “I don’t know,” Rhodey breathes. “If I can go back down.”

“I’m always here,” Iron Man says softly. There’s a whir, and Rhodey knows that there’s a gauntlet extended towards him. He thinks at the suit to move, and feels it respond, turning towards Tony, hovering so close, always ready to catch him now.

I know you were coming for me, he doesn’t say. I know you tried as hard as you could. But Tony will never be ready to hear that.

He takes the offered hand, and War Machine is grappled onto Iron Man’s back as Tony takes them in a slow, circling descent. Rhodey watches to sky get further and further away.

They land impossibly gently. “You okay?” Tony asks, and Rhodey nods. It’s not even a lie.

He knows now, what it is to land, to crash. He knows how to treasure the ground under his feet. He’s different, but the dream is the same. He’ll fly. He’ll crash. He’ll fly again.

He is invincible.

#Anonymous #poem is landscape with the fall of icarus by WCW #song is first #by cold war kids #james rhodes #mcu #tony stark #slightly OOC because i really like rhodes but i don't feel like i'm good at writing him

146 notes · View notes