#get a sense of humour me duck

[mediumgayitalian]

“Hide me hide me hide me hide me hide me.”

Nico blinks, watching blankly as Will ducks under his arm, situating himself behind the door and peeking around it. When Nico doesn’t move, he cranes his neck to look at him, face urgent, and says, “Close it, dude, hurry up!

“Solace!”

“Fuck,” Will curses.

Nico blinks again. He squints across the common, trying to suss out what Will’s staring at. It doesn’t take long. She’s hard to miss, especially in full armour.

“Are you…hiding from Clarisse?”

“Am I hiding from —” He scoffs. “No, I’m just behind this door for fun. Fucking obviously I’m hiding from Clarisse, Nico, now get with the program and close the damn —”

“Solace!”

Both of them jump. When Nico looks, Clarisse is already way closer than she should be. Before he can process enough to slam the door, and heedless of Will’s increasingly-harried oh my gods oh my gods oh my gods fuck fuck fuck fuck, Clarisse is closer, and closer, and then suddenly she’s barging inside, pushing Nico aside like it’s not his damn cabin.

Will groans. “Aw, come on, Clarisse!”

She doesn’t bother to humour him with words, choosing instead to grab him by the collar and drag him bodily out. Will does not make it easy, going completely limp and getting his clothes grass-stained beyond belief, because Clarisse tugs him along like a sled behind her, bouncing over every stone. Nico follows, on the grounds that it’s not being nosy if Will dragged him into it technically.

“You have siblings! You have a boyfriend!”

“And yet I’m choosing you,” Clarisse says easily. “I’ve already told Chiron. It’s a done deal, weatherboy. You’re chariot racing with me.”

Will groans, trying in vain to squirm out of Clarisse’s grip. “There is no reason for me to be your partner in the stupid chariot race, I am a healer, I am at camp to heal —”

She shakes him a little to shut him up. “All the more reason. You focus too much on one thing, brat. All you do is heal and study like a big nerd. You need to get out of your comfort zone.”

“Um, no way. I’m very comfortable in it. That’s why it’s called a comfort zone.”

“You could use some training,” Nico pipes up, and the betrayed look Will gives him would be more effective at making him feel bad if it wasn’t so funny. “Last time I tried to teach you how to use a sword you almost sliced off your own face, so.”

Clarisse looks at him with appraisal. “Maybe you do have some sense in you, di Angelo.”

Nico chooses to take that as the compliment it is.

“Ugh,” Will says dramatically, and finally manages to wrench out of Clarisse’s grip in order to embed the appropriate level of drama in his face-down flop to the floor.

Clarisse kicks him. “You’re pathetic.”

“Ugh.”

Notably, he stops protesting. She kicks him again, affectionately this time, and stomps away.

———

“If I work myself into another coma, I don’t have to chariot race,” Will says gleefully, shoving the bottles of nectar Nico hands him onto a shelf. He’s been buzzing around the infirmary all day, healing things he is meant to be healing with a band-aid and a stop being a clumsy dumbass, dumbass with hymns and salves. “I’m gonna try to cure cancer again.”

Kayla, walking by, reaches out and smacks him. “Try it and I’m crack your country CDs in half.”

Will turns to her, opening his mouth —

“Every single one of them,” she stresses, green eyes narrowed.

— and closes it again, huffing.

“I’ll find a way,” he says glumly.

Nico pats him delicately on the back. “There, there.” A pause. “I mean, personally, I can’t wait to watch you fall out of a chariot.”

The look Will shoots him is nothing short of wounded. “You think I’m so uncoordinated I’m gonna fall out of the chariot?”

“Gracefully!” assures Austin from across the infirmary, smiling supportively. He grins brightly when they turn to look, nose scrunching with the force of his smile. “I’m sure!”

Will’s scowl twitches in the face of his brother’s blind enthusiasm. (It is impossible not to be endeared by Austin. He is genuinely the sweetest kid in the entire universe. Nico even gets, to his horror, the occasional urge to squish him. Gently.) He sighs.

“Thanks, Austin.”

“Of course! Love you Will!”

The twitching scowl melts into a full smile. “Love you too, kiddo.”

———

Watching chariot race practices, very quickly, becomes Nico’s favourite pastime.

He sees, now, why Achilles would bring them up, unprompted, wistful look in his eye, every time Nico visited. There’s a beauty in the rawness of it; the whipping winds, wild horses. Squealing wheels and bending axels, open-backed and inches from death at all time. Dangerous, exhilarating. Humanity, at it’s most thrilling and old — some of the first tools, the first domestic animals, the first machines, all at once. It’s pure, raw excitement.

Also, Will falls out of the chariot, like, eight whole times. And there’s nothing funnier than watching him lose his shit at a splintered pile of wood that was once a carriage, helmet thrown to the ground in a fit of rage, accent so thick he’s literally incomprehensible. Nico never gets to see him like this. His stomach actually hurts from laughter on several occasions.

Slowly, though, he starts to get the hang of it. He’s smart — incredibly so — and when he stops spending half his time complaining, and the other half pouting, he actually gets pretty decent. He’s fast, after all, and quick to observe, to respond; the other teams struggle to land hits on him, in practice runs, and sabotage is difficult when your opponent seems to have an almost prophetic gift to see things coming.

He can’t, however, steel himself to hit back.

And therein lies the trouble.

“For fuck’s sake, Will, I’m not asking you to kill anybody,” Clarrise snaps. “You need to get your head in the game!”

Will’s shoulders curl defensively. “I know! I’m trying! It’s just —” He kicks at their broken wheel, in two clean pieces on the ground. “Do no harm.”

“Do some harm. Or I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Will brightens. “And then ask somebody else to be your partner?”

“No, and then make you my partner forever.”

“Oh.”

Will’s sullen face is hard to look at. He’s got those big, puppy dog eyes, round and sad and pouty. Not even Clarisse is immune. (And certainly not Nico, who finds himself halfway off the spectator’s stands and jogging to the tracks before he wonders what exactly, the fresh fuck, he is doing, and sprints right back.)

“Shit, Solace, don’t look like I killed your goddamn mother.” She cuffs him on the shoulder, sending him sprawling with a muffled oof. “We’ll figure it out. Let’s go again.”

Accepting the spare chariot someone wheels towards her, she pulls herself up, making space for Will to do the same. He doesn’t get on immediately, still looking miserable, but concedes eventually.

His forearms look kind of nice when he grips onto the rails for dear life, Nico notices. From a totally objective perspective.

The four practicing teams guide their horses to the starting line, running a few last minute checks. To avoid spilling any secrets or strategies, everyone uses the same practice-issue wooden chariot and wears the same armour, but it’s still obvious who’s who.

The Hephaestus team’s chariot, despite being standard issue, gleams like it’s brand-new. The wood is polished and looks to be altered, barely; a carved groove here, a sharper wing there. Nothing that could really be considered an upgrade, but definitely making the whole thing look smoother. The spears they hold promise a plethora of untold ability hidden within.

The Hermes chariot looks deceptively beat up. There’s a chunk missing from the top of the left side, and one of the wheels appears to be just slightly out of alignment. Upon careful inspection, though, Nico can see clear, hollow tubing attached along the rails and open to the back — definitely a quick rig of some sort. Base (not acid, Cecil had happily lectured him on the benefits of using a base rather than an acid when dissolving anything from steel to human flesh), if Nico has to guess, or maybe Greek fire.

The Aphrodite-Iris chariot doesn’t have to do much to look great. The whole thing seems to coast gracefully to the beginner line, and neither charioteer looks particularly bothered or preoccupied with the competition — if Nico recalls correctly, and he does, their goal is to win through “gay audacity”, which Nico does not understand but supports wholeheartedly.

Will and Clarisse’s chariot, by comparison, is pretty run-of-the-mill. They haven’t done much training with the Ares horses or the Apollo flying chariot, because Clarisse is primarily concerned with training Will — she knows the equipment is fine.

Lacy, standing at the edge of the track, puts a sparkly pink whistle to her lips and blows loudly. It’s not nearly as loud as one of Will’s sonic whistles, but it does the trick, and the teams are off in a blur of movement; Will and Clarisse in the lead, Hephaestus behind them, Aphrodite-Iris in third, and Hermes lagging slightly behind.

As they turn their first corner, positions largely unchanging, Nico hears footsteps from his left — Lou Ellen smiles at him as she climbs the stand, settling into the space he makes next to him.

“What’d I miss?” she asks, brushing dust off her hands.

He shrugs. “Not much. They were in the lead the last practice round, too, but on the last lap Hermes caught up.” He gestures to the heap that was once their practice chariot. “Julia had her sword at their wheels. They were on the inner ring, nowhere to move; the only way to get rid of them would have been to knock her arm, probably dislocate her shoulder. Will couldn’t do it.”

Lou Ellen winces. “Ah.”

There’s a ripping sound, followed by cackling — the Hermes chariot has finally made use of their hasty rigging, setting off an explosion behind them that rockets them forward. It has the added bonus of shaking the ground, slightly, unsettling the other drivers for just barely long enough for them to pull into third place. Far ahead, still in first, Nico can see Clarisse yelling instructions at Will, although he can’t hear what they are. His grip on the rail has tightened.

“Why,” starts Nico carefully, and based on Lou Ellen’s pinched face she knows exactly where he’s going, “does she make him — well, you know.”

Lou Ellen is silent for a good long while, watching the practice chariot race with eyes that aren’t paying attention. Hermes is gaining, but Hephaestus is gaining faster.

“Clarisse has always liked Will,” she says eventually. She meets Nico’s incredulous expression, snorting. “Well, as much as Clarisse can like people. I got here way after he did, so I don’t have any more details there than you do, but he’s never been afraid of her, and she likes that. He’s never been mean to her, either. I mean, I know she can be a bully, but people aren’t exactly light on her, to be fair.”

The Aphrodite-Iris chariot turns out to have some tricks up its sleeve — it starts to glow; barely at first, but quickly blinding. At its crux, everyone has to look away, allowing them to pull into first.

Well, except that Will doesn’t seem nearly as staggered as everyone else. In fact, he doesn’t look bothered at all — for the first time that Nico has seen, there���s something like competition pulling a crooked smile on his face. He stares straight at the still-too-bright chariot, reigns wrapped around his arms as he yanks them forward.

“Is that why she drags him away sometimes?” Nico asks. “To train?”

“Something like that. Most of his training was with —” she falters. “Well, you know who. Medicine and some archery.”

They’re both quiet for a while. Neither of them ever knew Lee or Michael well, if at all, but over time Nico has found himself almost clamming up at the mere thought of them, the way one might tiptoe around an authority figure when they have something to hide. Forbidden subjects, where before Nico simply didn’t think of them often.

“You can’t just not train, though,” Lou Ellen murmurs, eyes trained on the chariots. Hephaestus throws one of their spears, lodging it in the spokes of the Aphrodite-Iris chariot. They come to a very abrupt and very screechy halt, knocking them out of the race in any real capacity. “Not at Camp Half-Blood. She taught him hand-to-hand because she was the only one strong enough to physically drag him to the arena. Everyone else gave up after the first few tantrums — I think she was kind of amused by the challenge. Or something.”

“Or something,” Nico agrees. Privately, he thinks that there is something about Will Solace that makes you want to protect him. Not frailty — he is not by any means incapable — but something about his smile, his genuineness. The stubborn belief that people are good and kind and worthy of everything he has to give. A naivety, except someone who’s been through what he has (what they all have) cannot be naive — his hope in the world is hard-earned and well-won. It makes people want to protect his hold on it, by any means necessary.

Even, Nico reasons, ornery old fuckers like Clarisse LaRue.

The three remaining chariots start the last leg of the race — Apollo-Ares, barely squeezing out in front; then Hephaestus, quickly gaining; and finally Hermes, lagging slightly but not to be discarded. As they round the bend, Nico watches as Clarisse cuffs Will briefly on the arm, clearly proud. This is the farthest they’ve made in first so far, after two weeks of training. Will, reigns safely transferred back to Clarisse, beams at her — bright enough that Nico can see it from dozens of yards away.

With sudden, calculated speed, the Hephaestus chariot surges forward.

As if coordinated, Nico and Lou Ellen inhale sharply, leaning forward. He sees the scattered few other campers so the same in his peripherals, watching with single minded focus as the chariot levels exactly with Will and Clarisse. Nico eyes the spear nervously — of all weapons, they’re the easiest for Will to dodge, to fight off. More impersonal.

But the sons of the smartest god around would know that.

For at least a hundred feet, nothing happens. Ares-Apollo and Hephaestus stay neck in neck, every urge forward matched, every pesky road-blocking stone avoided. The finish line is dangerously close, but no one pulls ahead, nothing changes. Four shoulders remain tense, four helmets stare resolutely forward.

Then, in a quick movement, the taller Hephaestus charioteer hands the spear off to the shorter, swiftly taking the reigns, and the shorter lunges — aiming right for Will’s shoulder. Will’s quick, though, and has his own spear poised to parry in an instant. There’s a barely perceptible nudge from Clarisse, and then Will’s eyes harden, and he lifts his spear to jab right back, needle-thin tip gleaming in the late afternoon sun, right for the chink in the charioteer’s armour and then —

The charioteer rips their helmet off, dropping it at their feet.

It’s Harley.

Hephaestus’ darling; hell, the camp’s darling. One of their youngest and brightest, with big, mischievous brown eyes, contagious smiles, endless enthusiasm. Cute, clumsy Harley, the only one of Hephaestus’ children Will doesn’t have to nag to get treated, who walks dutifully over the infirmary every time he gets so much as a second-degree burn and treats each one of Will’s overcautious instructions with utmost seriousness. Who Will sends away each time with an affectionate kiss on the forehead and a prized purple sucker — who Will, frankly, favours. Who Will would never, in a million years, even consider hurting.

A dirty trick by the Hephaestus cabin.

But an effective one.

Immediately, Will flinches back, spear dropping from his hand and splintering under thundering hooves and spinning wheels. Without a second of hesitation, Harley launches his spear in the same move as before — sticking it in the wheel’s spokes, inertia sending the charioteer’s sprawling, knocking them out of the race.

Except, maybe it’s different when the chariots are so close. Or maybe the chariot was faulty to begin with. Because as soon as the spear gets wedged, the fragile floor of the chariot seems to implode — sending Will and Clarisse under the still-moving machine, instead of flying over. The horses, disoriented from the sudden change, rip free of their harness, adding more force to the already precarious tumble.

There’s a sharp, sickening crack, so loud Nico can hear it as if it’s next to him. In the brief nanosecond immediately afterwords, he closes his eyes, sending a prayer to his father: please be the axle. Please be the axle. Please be the axle.

As the Hephaestus and Hermes chariots rocket past the finish line, Clarisse lets out a shrill, blood-curdling scream.

———

Nico’s off the bench and halfway towards the crashed chariot before he can blink. He’s not the only one — he processes, barely, everyone else’s quick convergence, including the remaining charioteers — but he’s there first, diving into the wreckage seconds before anyone else is close enough.

There’s not a lot of actual debris, chariots being as small as they are, but the dust cloud from the track is so huge and the pieces of wood are so splintered that it feels like there is. As the dust settles, and he kicks some debris out of the way, he starts to see the shape of Will, kneeling, in front of a prone Clarisse and an ever-growing pool of blood.

There’s a bone sticking straight out of her thigh.

As the rest of the campers converge upon them, Will looks up and meets Nico’s eyes. His own blue eyes are dark, steely — determined, but afraid.

“I don’t have time,” is the only thing out of his mouth before he braces both hands on Clarisse’s leg, immediately starting to sing urgent hymns.

Nico understands.

“Lou, Julia, Chiara,” he barks, taking charge in absence of Will’s voice. The three girls snap forward to him immediately. “Sprint the the infirmary and tell them what happened. Austin’s on duty — make sure he doesn’t come with you, we need him to prep a surgical suite. Send everyone else and send them fast. Bring a stretcher.”

He turns to the Hephaestus kids. “Jake, Harley, start clearing the debris to make space. Damien, join them; move the big stuff first, small stuff is secondary. We need a space for Will to work and a space to lay the stretcher. Jen, Butch, Lacy —”

He barks off a list of orders, doing his best to channel the commands he’s watched Will give dozens and dozens of times. In minutes, he has the track cleared, Will’s medical bag dragged over from the stands, and everyone who is not helping stabilize out to the infirmary to help as needed.

As soon as there’s an opening, he rushes over to Will and Clarisse, kneeling by her head.

“Help is coming,” he promises, watching the glow dim and flicker in time with the rhythm of Will’s chanting. The bleeding has slowed, marginally, but he can tell from the volume of blood alone that this was an arterial hit. It’s going to take more than Will’s raw healing power, although there is a lot of it, to keep Clarisse alive and keep her leg functioning in recovery. He needs tools, he needs nectar and ambrosia; he needs the surgery suite. He needs time.

“Is it helpful for me to knock her out?”

Clarisse, of course, is still conscious. Barely — and in so much pain Nico will be surprised if she’s processing anything at all — but enough that every few seconds she lets out an agonised shout of pain, writhing and flinching so hard Will has to focus on steadying her as much as healing her.

Without breaking his song, eyes still trained on the injury, Will nods. Nico breathes, squaring his shoulders, then shuffled forward to rest Clarisse’s head gently in his lap, fingers pressed to her temples. He presses, hard enough to feel the beat of her heart — weak — through his fingertips, and squeezes his eyes shut.

He’s no son of Hypnos, but dreams are the Underworld’s domain. Are his domain, as heir and prince of the Underworld, in every way that matters, that can be counted.

He lets himself sink into careful limbo; body in physical space, mind and soul elsewhere. Not too much — he’s no use if he falls unconscious — but enough to slip into Clarisse’s mindscape, step into her subconscious.

The whole place bleeds white, hot anguish.

Nico stumbles when he first walks in, nauseous despite being nothing but his own mind. It’s been a while since he’s experienced this kind of pain, his own or not, and he has to consciously beat back memories of brimstone and rot; liquid fire, endless red, red, red.

“Clarisse?” he calls, softly as he dares.

She doesn’t respond. He’s not sure she knows how to respond, even if she could. Cautious of the memory and emotion swirling around him, he steps forward. If he focuses, her anguish is pointed — is central. She will be at the centre of it.

He has volunteered, but he’s not sure he wants to follow.

Steeling himself, he shoulders through swirling masses of pain, of hurt, of fear. It’s blisteringly hot, and feels not unlike the sandstorm he was once stranded within, in the middle of the New Mexico desert four years ago. His face prickles; he’s blinded.

He trudges forward.

“Clarisse? Clarisse! Can you hear me? It’s Nico!”

Desperately and uselessly, he wishes he had more practice. Will has offered, the few times he’s needed to anaesthetize someone, but for the most time Nico has foolishly declined. Why on Earth he would pass up a much easier mindscape to navigate through in preparation for something like this is a mystery to him. Fuck.

“Clarisse! Try to — focus on me, can you hear me?”

He forces himself forward, a few more — well, there’s no distance in a mindscape, nothing measurable, anyway. He forces himself to look up, braving the assault to his face, and try to scan his surroundings. The swirling mass is more centralized, now, almost hurricane-like and conal. He’s closer than he was before, but if he can only find…

He looks up, and almost cries in relief: weak against the roaring storm, but still present, is a flickering, golden light. A very familiar light. Nico squeezes his eyes shut, thrusting out his own energy in an uncoordinated mass — boy, is that going to be uncomfortable to extract later — and flails wildly until he finally feels the warmth of Will’s energy entangling with his own, grounding him. He opens his eyes, and suddenly everything is clearer.

Clarisse kneels in the centre of her mindscape, hands pressed tightly to her ears, eyes screwed shut, mouth open in a silent scream.

“Hey,” Nico murmurs, kneeling in front of her. It takes a few seconds, and a few moments of gentle coaxing, before she looks up.

“It hurts,” she croaks.

She’s more vulnerable than he’s ever seen her — eyes brown and big and wet, pained, face twisted and chin trembling and achingly, unbelievably young. She is nineteen years old, but in that moment she appears almost childlike. The years of warrior’s hardness has abandoned her; she is armourless.

Nico swallows the lump in his throat. “I know.”

“Help me. Please.”

“Come here, Clarisse.” He reaches out and wraps a gentle hand around hers, tugging her close. The knee jerk discomfort at close contact is barely a flicker — he is so entwined in her right now that her fear has started to bleed into his; her rawness. He needs this comfort almost as much as she does. Right now she is a person, in agony, and so is he, and it is unbearable.

He holds her until the pain slowly stops.

———

Will is in the surgical suite for seven straight hours.

“Bed,” Nico says softly, rising up to meet him as he exits. It says something about how exhausted he is that he doesn’t even protest, letting Nico place a hand on the small of his back and guide him past the on-call room, past the patient cots, past the Big House living room couches, past Cabin 7. He leads him across the common and right into Cabin 13, with its double beds and blackout curtains, with its insulated, soundproof walls. With Nico.

He helps him out of his bloodstained scrubs, peeling them off his skin and tossing them directly into a trash can. He’d guide him to the shower, usually, but there’s a — glassiness, to his eyes, that there usually isn’t after surgery. Nico chooses instead to skip it, guiding him into the sweatpants he left behind the last time he was here and an oversized The Doors t-shirt of Nico’s, and then to the spare bed he always uses, across from Nico’s. He peels the covers back for him like he’s a child, tucking him in, brushing the hair out of his eyes. He’s asleep in minutes, curled tightly around a pillow, furrowed crease not leaving the space between his eyebrows, even in sleep. Nico smooths it away with his thumb.

“Goodnight, Will,” he murmurs, brushing the backs of his knuckles across his forehead.

He watches him sleep far past what is normal, and then slips back out of the cabin.

———

“On the bright side,” Will says, squeezing the hand that has left to leave Clarisse’s arm, “you’re free from your chariot race obligation! As am I!”

Predictably, she only glowers.

“Not a chance, Solace,” she rasps.

Will helpfully gets her a glass of water, fussing over her blankets while she drinks until she bats him away. Chris watches the whole thing with great amusement, shoulders brushing Nico’s.

“He’s a mother hen, isn’t he,” he comments, tilting his head in Will’s direction, who narrowly avoids having his fingers bitten off trying to feed her a square of ambrosia.

Nico snorts. “Yeah.” He watches the fussing for a few more seconds, making note of Will’s shaking hands, his shakier smile. “He’s guilty.”

“He didn’t do anything. She doesn’t blame him.”

Nico meets his dark look, mouth twisted in understanding. They both know this logic is futile.

“Yeah, well, someone tell him that.”

“Will — stop it.” In a startlingly quick move for someone on as much morphine as she is, Clarisse darts out and clutches Will’s fluttering hands. He hesitates, wondering if it’s worth it to pull out of her hold and possibly jostle her leg. “I’m fine. And you’re still charioting.”

“You’re not fine,” Will frowns, conveniently ignoring the part of the sentence he doesn’t want to deal with. “Your femur snapped in half and tore through your femoral artery on its way out of your leg. You’re going to be on bedrest for a week at least, and it’ll be tender for a good long while besides. That’s what we in the medical business call a Big Fucking Deal.”

She tightens her hold, staring at him until he finally meets her eyes.

“Will.” She narrows her eyes. “You are still participating in the chariot race. I’m not asking.”

“It’ll have to wait until you’re better,” he says lightly. “Besides, we’re focusing on you right now.”

Nico can see in her face when she decides to switch strategies.

“Okay,” she says, stubborn glean in her eye, “then I’m asking you, as a personal request, to stay in the race. Or else I’ll drag myself onto a goddamn horse myself, killing myself in the process, and that will be on your head.”

The tactic works.

Will scowls. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Clarisse doesn’t bother repeating herself, letting go of his wrists and readjusting her blankets.

“I am done talking now. I believe it’s time for morphine-induced unconsciousness. Please remember that I took down a drakon with my own bare hands; it is well within my abilities to drag myself out of heroin-haze and onto a chariot with no legs, let alone one. Good talk.”

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she leans back on her pillows and passes out. Genuinely, actually passes out — not closes her eyes, not behind to fall asleep; she is unconscious. Snores ring through the air.

“Well,” Chris says carefully, unfolding his arms. “It might be time to let Clarisse rest for a while.”

Will, healer that he is, cannot exactly argue with that. Will, drama queen that he is, decides to make his fury known by stomping out of the room, a feat in flip-flips possible by him alone.

“She is so infuriating!” he shouts the second they’re in the main room, startling several people. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “I put effort in! I failed! She can’t even — it’s not even about spending time together, obviously, since I still have to do it! What does she want from me?!”

Chris, like Nico, has wisely decided to let the hypothetical questions remain hypothetical and stay silent, lest his fury be turned onto them. Ten minutes into Will’s rant, Chris excuses himself to go sit by Clarisse. Nico waves him off.

“Will,” Nico suggests the next time he takes a breath, “let’s maybe go for a walk.” He glances at the group of wide-eyed patients. “I think you’re scaring people.”

Deflating, Will nods, following Nico out the door. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go for a walk.”

The fresh air probably doesn’t fix things, per se, but as they lap around the cabins, Will seems to droop further and further, curling in on himself. The anger recedes from his features.

“I feel really shitty,” he admits softly. “Just, like, generally.”

Nico softens like a goddamn slab of ice cream on hot pavement. For the second time in three days, he opens his arms in offering, although this time it’s significantly less difficult.

“Come here.”

Without even a beat of hesitation, Will collapses into him, arms around his waist, head tucked under his chin. Nico fights the urge to wince — Will, usually, takes quite a bit of pride in his height. He likes to be the one to wrap around people, not the other way around. Nico has been indoctrinated into Will-affection, in the time since the Giant War, and if Will is the one curling into him, seeking comfort, than he is struggling.

Nico hates it when Will struggles. He always feels out of his depth.

“There, there,” he hedges, feeling a good bit like an NPC. “It’ll be okay.”

Will makes a small, wounded noise. “You don’t know that.”

“Um, yes I do, I know everything forever. I’ve never been wrong even one time in my life.”

His awkward attempt at lightening the mood is rewarded by Will’s laugh. It’s slight, and nowhere near the brightness it usually is, but it’s there and it’s genuine and that’s all Nico wanted, really.

“You good?” Nico asks softly, squeezing his arms.

Will nods. “Yes.” He hesitates. “Can I stay here a little longer?”

Nico wraps his arms impossibly tighter, aching at the quiet vulnerability in his voice.

“As long as you need.”

———

The last practice before the chariot race is nowhere near as fun to watch as the others. In fact, it’s not fun at all.

Clarisse, casted and upright, appoints her brother Sherman to race in her place, much to both his and Will’s very vocal complaints. Will’s, because he still doesn’t want to race at all and especially not now that Clarisse is out of the running, and Sherman’s because, well, when isn’t Sherman complaining about having to breathe the same air as someone or whatever.

Clarisse silences both of them with a glare. “Do it,” she orders.

They comply, stomping over to their practice chariot.

The practice race is awful. Nico is surprised, frankly, that they managed to finish at all, as badly behind as they managed. He could practically hear their squabbling all the way from the stands. For as much as Will is generally easy to get along with, he’s impossible when he’s stubborn, and worse when he’s petulant. He takes every command from Sherman like it’s a personal offence, and Sherman, being who he is, does too. Every shout to veer right or deflect an attack somehow sounds like a jab at Will’s speed, or a remark about his general intelligence. When they stomp off the track, helmets thrown in a heap with the rickety chariot, Nico is almost relieved.

“We’re going to lose, tomorrow, and I can’t wait,” hisses Will darkly, fists curled at his sides.

Nico watches him warily. “You’re not even going to try?”

“What, so he can remind me that even when I’m trying I’m a useless idiot? Not a chance.”

Nico has to almost jog to keep up with him, striding as powerfully as he is. He’s not even sure where he’s going — he seems to be, mostly, going away from the track and from Sherman, wherever that may be.

“You’re not a useless idiot,” Nico offers, when some of the stormcloud has lessened its hold on Will’s usually sunny face. “Nobody thinks you’re a useless idiot.”

Will closes his eyes, sighing. “I know.”

“And Sherman is just a generally grouchy person.”

“I know.”

“It feels very, very weird to be the optimistic and comforting one, right now.”

Will snorts, finally meeting his eyes. “I know.” He flops onto the ground, cheek resting in his knees, and pats the space next to him. Nico sits much more delicately. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole lately.”

“You’ve been stressed,” Nico points out. “A little assholery is warranted.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Nico knocks their shoulders together. “I forgive you, then.”

Will smiles. “Thank you.”

For a while they sit in comfortable silence, watching the hustle and bustle of camp. Will’s presence is a comforting one, even though Nico can feel the turmoil leeching off of him. Strangely because of that, actually — sometimes Nico feels like he’s the only one who struggles out of the two of them. Will spends so much of his time smiling and joking and lecturing, hands on his hips, that Nico had almost forgotten that he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, either. He’s just good at faking it.

“I’ll be watching, tomorrow.” He bites his lip. “And I won’t, like, bring pom-poms, or anything, but I’ll be cheering you on.”

Will grins tiredly. “Silently and in your head?”

“Uh-huh.”

His smile softens considerably, melting into something almost shy, before he turns back to face forward.

“Well, then, damn. I guess I’ll have to try.”

———

On the morning of the chariot race, Will acts like Nico is escorting him to his goddamn execution.

“It is a race that will last a maximum of twenty minutes,” Nico says with no small amount of exasperation, “including prep time.”

Will looks no less grim. “A twenty minutes that will never be returned to me.”

Nico rolls his eyes and decides to stop humouring him.

He drops him off at his chariot with a quick pat on the shoulder, jogging back to the stands. They’re full, today, as expected, with every camper and countless others cramped into the minimal space. Nico looks at the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, and is about to consider breaking his promise and fleeing back to his cabin before he sees a doodled-on hand stick in the air, waving wildly. He exhales in relief and heads over to sit in the spot Kayla and Austin have cleared between them.

“How miserable is he?” Kayla asks brightly, tapping her purple shoes. “He left before we woke up this morning. Assumedly to sprint around camp a few times like a feral cat.”

“Pretty miserable,” Nico answers. He reaches over to pat Austin’s head when he rests on his shoulder, knowing he’s nervous even if he tries not to show it. “A lot of it is self-induced, though. Like, yeah, Sherman is going to be a dick and it’s going to be stressful, but I feel like, in the grand scheme of things, this is among the least stressful things he’s ever been forced to deal with.”

“There was that one time he had to remove a brain tumour in the middle of the forest,” Austin muses. “I think that was probably pretty stressful for him.”

Nico opens his mouth. He closes it again.

“Demigod life is a nightmare,” he settles on eventually.

“Hear, hear,” both siblings mutter.

They lapse into silence as they turn back to the racetrack, evaluating the turnout.

Competition will be hefty.

Sherman has finally arrived, Ares horses in tow. The garish things look almost wrong next to the brightness off the flying Apollo chariot, but that may just be the tension between the team’s charioteers that’s so potent it seems to warp the air around them. Nico is vaguely surprised that they’re managing to stand so civilly next to each other, even if they could not be more visibly uncomfortable. Will, at least, tries for a smile, which drops immediately when Sherman mutters something too quiet to be picked up this far.

Nico sighs. This is going to be hard to watch.

There are about twenty other chariots lines up. Hermes, Hephaestus, and Aphrodite-Iris, like at practice, but Athena is competing too, as well as Nike, as per usual, and Tyche. In fact Nico, and by extension Hades, is one of the few cabins not participating — everyone else seems primed and ready for a chance of laurels and extra dessert. And, of course, settling personal rivalries via bloodshed, et cetera, et cetera.

The biggest competition, if Nico had to quantify it, will be Hephaestus, tricky as they were during practice; Athena, for obvious reasons; and Will and Sherman themselves will be their own worst enemy. He can’t tell if it would be better for them to fail out early to avoid racketing tension up further, or last close to the end to keep things at a healthy simmer.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. The second warning whistle goes off, and the chariots rush to the starting line — Will and Sherman at third position, Demeter to their left, Dionysus-Hypnos to their right. The stands go silent, the charioteers get in position, and with a sharp, shrill whistle, they’re off.

The first few seconds, as always, are chaotic.

In the ground with the settling dust are three separate chariots, including, surprisingly, Hermes, whose rigging backfired and sent their entire chariot up in smoke. They are luckily unharmed due to their unusually well-prepared fireproof armour, but neither Julia nor Connor seem too pleased about being out so soon.

The rest of the race continues on without them. Athena has a decent stretch of first place, but Nike is following fast. Behind them, barely a hair’s breadth of distance, is Will and Sherman, rocketing forward smoothly. Unlike Clarisse, Sherman does not care for giving Will any learning opportunities — despite the horses being Ares’, Will is on the reigns. Sherman is armed with his sword and his spear, slashing and jabbing at anyone who gets too close. Neither Ares or Apollo is big on tricks, not like some of the craftier cabins, but together they’re fast and strong and make a formidable opponent.

Or, well, they would. If they were working together, rather than two people simply being in the same chariot.

They cross into the second lap, Will guiding them across the innermost ring to move them up past Nike. They’re gaining on Athena, now, but that won’t be an easy task — challenging the camp’s wisest never is.

Kayla hisses through her teeth. “Shit.” She purses her lip at the trailing Nike chariot ��� they’re gaining, and they’re seething. Damien — at least Nico thinks it’s Damien, it’s hard to tell with the helmets — has an arsenal of throwing knives poised in his left hand, and as his teammate steers them steady, he takes aim. Nico has to resist the urge to shout a warning.

As the short knife sails towards the reigns wrapped around Will’s hands, though, aim ringing true, Will’s spine goes ramrod straight. Almost as if he can feel it. With an eighth of a second to spare, he shifts and jerks his hands out of the way, avoiding the knife and managing, somehow, to stay on track.

With a skill and ferocity that has Nico’s jaw brushing his toes, Will dodges all eight of the knives lobbed in his direction. In one memorable manoeuvre, he rips his left hand from the reigns, holding them in his teeth, and uses it to shove Sherman down behind the wall of the chariot right before a knife would have lodged itself in his uncovered cheek. Out of weapons, he steers their chariot right next to Nike, allowing Sherman to sever their reigns and send them rolling to a sad, victory-less stop.

Without pausing to look behind them, they race on.

Athena’s chariot has a lead, but their chariot is built for stability, not speed. They’ve accounted for every possible sabotage and built accordingly. They have not accounted for, however, stubbornness and sheer force of Will. The Ares-Apollo chariot gains on them, helmets glinting, skeletal horses gaining faster, faster, faster. Both Sherman and Malcom, Nico believes, have their spears drawn, ready, as the space between them gets smaller and smaller, to fight barbarically for first — for honour.

Nico doubts even Rachel, powers of prophecy fully restored, could predict what happens next.

Either too furious to accept a loss or simply deciding to throw the game, one of the Nike charioteers crawls out from their carriage, darting onto the live track. They scan the ground, looking for something. When they stand in the dead centre of the track, body perfectly tense, gripping something glinting in their hand, Nico gets it.

Austin gasps, nails digging into Nico’s arm. “Oh, no.”

Before anyone can say anything, they take aim. They measure once, twice, and then let the knife loose with deadly precision, knife cutting through the air with ease and hurdling with impossible power towards to two finalists chariots.

If the knife hits the Athena chariot, it will slice clean through the axle. Architectural wonder it may be, the chariot cannot withstand Celestial bronze at terminal velocity, and it will give, and the chariot will crumple. In an effort to lesson the chariot’s load, the Athena charioteers have largely forgone armour. Their fall will be painful and disastrous; as deadly as Clarisse’s, if not moreso. A hit to the Ares-Apollo chariot will be similarly as race-ending, but both Will and Sherman are in full armour. It will be bruising, but not deadly. They will lose, but they will survive.

All they need to do to win is shift, just slightly, so that the knife hits the Athena chariot.

Will, like with all the others before it, seems to feel this knife coming. Unlike the others, he glances backwards, looking at the knife, looking back at the Athena chariot. Sherman follows his gaze, and seems to realize what Will has calculated a split second after he does. He shouts something — presumably an order to move, to shift, to sabotage.

Will hesitates.

The knife hits the Ares-Apollo chariot, slicing through the left wheel.

It careens around, unbalanced, dragged into a heap by untethered horses.

The Athena chariot pulls forward to victory, the remaining functioning chariots quickly following.

The Ares-Apollo canon is left broken and humiliated only a few feet from victory, the almost-first-place.

———

As soon as they come off the track, things get messy. Both Will and Sherman are covered in dirt and grime, striped with grease from the broken wheels, bleeding sluggishly from various scraps. Sherman has his non-flailing hand clamped to an oozing wound on the side of his neck, and Will is limping.

“—and I cannot fucking believe you, Solace! All I asked for was effort!”

“Oh, forgive me,” Will says sarcastically, finally close enough to hear. “In the hustle and bustle of being shot at, I made a couple errors.”

“That gonna be your attitude in battle? ‘Oh, sorry, there was a monster chasing me so I lost all focus —’”

“Battles are not usually fought on a chariot going a hundred fucking miles per hour!”

“That’s no excuse! You need to be —”

“What, Sherman, fucking what? What indisputable flaw do I have, oh great one, that needs to be so desperately remedied?”

It’s startling when Will’s composure cracks. When he goes from bitey and sarcastic, eye-rolling from his usual distance, to right in Sherman’s face. It’s eerie to see him at his full height, no slouching, reminding anyone watching that yeah, actually, their laidback medic is six-two, strong, capable, in more ways than what they’re used to.

Sherman, in usual Ares kid fashion, doesn’t even flinch.

“Your reflexes, for starters,” he says coolly. “No matter what you do, Solace, you’re always one second too fucking late.”

A collective gasp ricochets through the gathered campers. The tension rackets up so rapidly that Nico coughs, lungs suddenly constricted. Will rears back so violently Nico is half-convinced Sherman actual punched him.

Sherman, for his part, seems to realise he’s crossed some kind of line. The cold look on his face twists into a scowl, uncomfortable and apologetic at once. “Look, Will, I just mean —”

“You don’t get to say that to me.”

Will’s quiet voice seems to echo through the entirety of the valley, cutting through laboured breathing of charioteers, pegasus neighing, even the crashing of the waves in the distant shore — everything goes silent.

Nico likes to think he knows Will pretty well. He knows what he sounds like when he’s giggly, watching his siblings argue about nothing; when he’s excitable, rambling about his newest obsession; when he can’t choose between amused and stern at whatever dumb thing Nico has gotten himself into. He knows what he sounds like when he’s exhausted, too, overworked and done with everything; when he’s annoyed, when he’s hurt and sad.

But he’s never heard Will sound so dangerous.

“Of all people.” His words are articulated, deliberate. The usual warmth of his eyes is gone. He’s completely still in a way he never is outside of surgery — no shaking in his perpetually trembling hands, no bounce to his curls, none of the constant energy that seems to constantly exude off him. Still, cold. Icy. “You do not get to talk to me about being one second too late.”

Sherman looks stricken. Guilt is written across each of his features, and for a second he steps back — as if afraid.

“Will, I —”

The son of Apollo turns without another word, striding over to the distant tree line and disappearing into the woods. No one chases after him.

No one even moves.

———

Predictably, the silence does not last long.

“You fucking idiot!” Clarisse explodes, the second Will is out of eyesight. She bats Chris’s hand away from her, and he, surprisingly, lets her go easily — his usually understanding face has hardened. She hobbles towards her brother, remarkably quick with her clunky cast, and starts truly tearing into him. “I asked you to do one fucking thing! One!”

Sherman quickly gets defensive under the scrutiny. “Well, you didn’t make it fucking easy! Just because he’s your protege doesn’t mean he’s my fucking problem —”

Nico doesn’t stick around to listen to their argument. He searches around the gathered crowd until he meets Kayla’s eyes, flicking his head towards the woods. She nods frantically. Knowing he’ll make sure they have privacy, he takes off, aiming for the same place Will went, barely slowing down once he enters the forest.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Will?” he calls, well aware he’s not going to get an answer. “Where are you?”

While there’s definitely no response from Will, he damn near jumps out of his skin when a dryad melts from her tree, shuffling towards him.

“Blond boy?” she asks, leaning close so he can hear her whisper. “Tall? Crying?”

Nico swallows. Fuck. “Yeah.”

“Headed down southeast, ways past Zeus’ fist.“

“Thank you,” he says, hoping she understands how much he means it.

She nods, then disappears back into her tree.

Following her directions, Nico jogs down beaten paths, heading in the direction that he is vaguely sure is southeast and mostly praying that he’ll find Will eventually. He shouldn’t have that much of a head start, since Nico left maybe five minutes after he did, but who knows. Will’s fast, and sometimes this forest seems bigger than it really is. It’s easy to get lost.

He searches for what feels like hours, and might actually be hours; sky darkening as the sun disappears into the lake. The temperature drops significantly. Nico is hoping that he won’t be spending the night sleeping in the dirt when he hears sniffling.

Heart pounding, he freezes, focusing on the sound. It’s muffled, sobs choked-off and sound hidden behind cupped hands. The echo sounds strange, too; it’s close, that much is obvious, but Nico almost can’t tell if it’s coming from the left or the right. Truthfully, it doesn’t sound like either.

On impulse, he looks up. Almost invisible in the branches of a large oak tree is Will, stained clothes blending in with the scratchy bark, leaves covering the rest of him.

Except, perhaps fittingly, his bright, golden hair.

Worried that calling out to him might startle him right off the tree, Nico begins to climb. He’s not great at climbing — he doesn’t have a natural sense of what is and isn’t a good foothold — but oak trees are easy. Every half-step has a branch, and this tree is old enough that the branches are thick, sturdy. He’s twenty feet up before he even realizes, barely breaking a sweat.

He pauses a few feet shy of his target, straightening until he’s standing on an almost flat branch, arm looped tightly around the trunk.

“Will.”

Will startles. He looks around frantically, struggling in the dark, until his bloodshot eyes finally land on Nico. He bursts into more tears, shoulders shaking as he sobs.

Alarmed, Nico crawls all the way up.

“Woah, Will, breathe, vita, breathe —”

He’s not sure what tree-sobbing etiquette is, but regular sobbing etiquette often involves some kind of comforting physical touch, so he goes with that. And Will, he knows, likes to be crowded, likes to be almost suffocated with the sights and touch and smells of other people, to remind him he’s not alone, even if he feels it. So Nico scoots as closely as he dares, legs wrapped around the branch, and slides one arm around Will’s back, one against his chest, and tugs him closely.

Will comes easily.

With a bit of manoeuvring, he’s tucked under Nico’s chin, shoulders hunched and shaking, enveloped entirely in Nico’s arms. He can feel a wet spot growing on his left sleeve, and honestly he should be at least a little bit disgusted, but he barely even notices. He’s too busy fighting the lump in his own throat, blinking back his own tears.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Will’s curls. “Let it out, Will. You’re allowed.”

Will wails, a deep, choking, broken sound, and Nico loses the battle with his own tears. He’s never heard Will like this. He’s never heard anyone like this, except himself, in the echo of this same forest, years ago. It hurts like biting ice.

“It hurts, they’re gone, they’re gone, and I hate them, I hate them so much —” he heaves, dragging in breath like it cost him to say it, like part of his soul was dragged out of his vocal chords — “and I hate myself for hating them, I hate, they’re gone, I’m never —”

He dissolves into sobs, again, words breaking into nothing understandable, crying around the same repetitions over and over again. Nico hides his crumpling face in Will’s hair, wincing at every broken cry, every hitched breath, every moaned word. His heart feels like it’s breaking into a million fractals. He’s never felt so out of depth in his life.

“Let it out,” he whispers again, for a lack of anything else to say. “Let it out, sweetheart, let it out.”

For a long time, Nico had no one to hold him.

When he lost Bianca, he was by himself. And when he thought he had someone to guide him, someone to fix him, he was wrong — he was vulnerable and easy to manipulate. He had no one to hold him until he was too bitter and too closed off to let himself fall apart, anyway, and losing Bianca stayed somewhere rotten inside him, a bruise that never, ever stopped aching.

Until Will.

Last December he had cracked like an egg. He hadn’t meant to — it wasn’t even in the back of his mind — but he’d opened the door to Will’s smiling face on the morning, cold and sad as it was, and just started bawling. Some part of him, some deep, buried part, stomped it’s way from the prison Nico had kept it in and took the hell over, yanking open the floodgates, forcing him to expel every last drop of shadowy, strangling pain that had stayed inside him so long. He thought he was going to die. His entire body shook and jerked like a rowboat in a deep ocean storm, and it had been Will’s lighthouse, his endless, light eyes, his warm hands, his firm hold that had held him steady until he’d dragged himself out to the other side. It was and is the most painful thing he’d ever done in his life. And the most important.

He doesn’t think Will has had anyone to hold him, before, either. Not ‘til right this moment. Not Chiron, not his mother, and certainly not an older sibling. Will has been running on empty for as long as Nico has known him. Longer.

“Let it out,” Nico whispers again, and holds him tighter.

———

By the time either of them move again, it’s pale, early morning, and they’re damp from the dew and Will’s tears. Nico is as stiff as the tree he’s sitting on, but doesn’t dare say a word about it.

“I don’t want to go back,” Will croaks, the first either of them have spoken in hours.

Nico tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, resting a gentle hand on his cheek. “Okay.”

“We can’t stay here forever.”

“We can stay a while.” Nico pulls away slightly, just enough so that he can cradle Will’s face in both hands, tilting his chin up to meet his gaze. “I mean it, Will. As long as you need.”

“What if I’ll never have enough time?”

“Then I’ll stay with you until time runs out.” He presses a tentative, careful kiss to the centre of his freckled forehead; staying when Will shudders, leaning into it. Against his skin, he murmurs, “But you’ll have enough time, vita. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“I don’t want to be strong.”

“So don’t, I gotcha.” He presses another kiss slightly above the first, and another, resting again at the crown of his head. “But you can be.”

They stay like that until Nico’s face starts to go numb, and even then he doesn’t go far, shifting so his cheek lays on the top of Will’s skull. He ignores the slight tickle of his curls against his nose, focusing instead on the brand of his hands on his waist, the shakey but constant inhales, holds, exhales, again, again, again.

“Clarisse is my friend,” Will starts. “She was as important to me as — as Cass, before the war.”

Nico hums. “But she betrayed you.”

“All of us.”

“And you resent her for it, a little.”

Will nods. “It’s disgusting.”

“It’s human, Will, Christ.” He moves them around so they’re both sitting facing each other, Nico’s eyes firmly meeting Will’s. “I will never fully forgive Percy for letting Bianca die. Never. It’s not fair to him, and I love him anyway, and I am choosing to move past it. But I will carry that burden. Am I disgusting for that?”

Will glances away. “No.”

“Will, you — look at me.”

He does.

“Clarisse actively chose her pride over her people. So did the rest of her cabin. She’s not fully responsible for that choice, and the blame, as always, lands on Kronos’ shoulders, but —” Nico laughs, a bitter, defeated sound. “Out of all of us, you lost the most. No one lost as many as Apollo. No one burned as many shrouds. You’re allowed to be hurt, allowed to be angry.”

“I forgave them,” Will admits. “I did it publicly and called off the stupid rivalry right after the war. It was the first thing I did as head counsellor.”

“Trying to do what Michael would have done?”

“Are you kidding me, he —” Will scoffs, swiping at the tears trickling down the corners of his eyes. “If Michael were alive, and he found out I forgave them after what happened to Lee, too Diana — he would have been furious. He would stop speaking to me. If I was trying to be like Michael, I might’ve refused them treatment.”

Nico tries to imagine that for a second — Will refusing anyone treatment. It makes something sour uncurl in his stomach, something unsettling.

“You would never refuse someone treatment. I didn’t even — I didn’t think you guys were allowed.”

Will shrugs. “There are no rules to our practice. I just never made refusal an option, and the kids are too young to know any different.”

‘The kids’ — as if Kayla and Austin aren’t as old or older than Will was when he was in charge, when he held the bashed pieces of his brother’s brain as it oozed out of his skull. As he sat, exhausted, hands shaking, next to Nico, and embroidered twelve shrouds. As if Yan and Gracie are his, rather than Apollo’s.

“You forgave them so your siblings wouldn’t grow up bitter,” Nico realises. “Oh, gods, Will.”

He shrugs again, picking at his nails. “For me too. Grudges aren’t healthy.” He tries for a teasing smile. “You’d know.”

“I would.” Nico tries to smile back. It’s easier than he thought it would be, although it fades back into something serious quickly. He reaches out, linking his hands with Will’s to stop him picking before he bleeds. “You can be selfish sometimes, you know.”

“Not in front of anyone.”

“You’re admitting it in front of me,” Nico points out.

Will hesitates. “That’s — different.”

“How?”

“You get it.” He looks down, voice quiet. “You get me. I can —” He meets Nico’s eyes again, a kind of helpless smile on his face. “I dunno. You’re safe. You’re okay with me, even when I’m ugly.”

“Even then,” Nico echoes quietly. He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind Will’s ear again, even though none were loose. His fingertips linger, and the skin under his touch warms. “Especially then.”

“You can, too, you know, I lo —”

“I know.”

Will exhales in relief. “Good.”

He slumps forward until his forehead rests on the swell of Nico’s shoulder, breaths warming the air between them. Nico tries to match his rhythm — in, out, in, out. Hold. Out, in.

“Can we — hide here, for a little bit? Just a little longer.”

“Of course,” Nico murmurs, squeezing his wrists. “I’ll hide you as long as you need.”

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Law catching you impersonating him…

Placing the white hat on top of your head, you wiggled it slightly to get the right adjustment. It was a slightly looser fit but it was enough to not slip off.

Crossing your arms, you attempted to pose with a menacing scowl.

“I’m Trafalgar D. Water Law.” You declared mimicking his tone.

Shachi and Penguin threw their heads back with a cackle. Ikkaku clasped her stomach and barrelled forward. Bepo jumped up with his paws in the air.

“Do another one!” He cried in delight.

Turning your back to them, you laughed before recomposing yourself and then whirled around halfway. One arm was extended, fingers and palm facing down.

“Room.” You called out, resulting in the same boisterous laughter from the crew. You flipped your hand upright in the same manner as the broody captain did. “Shambles.”

…silence.

You frowned and looked at the faces staring back at you all traces of their previous smiles gone. Had you done it wrong?

Even Bepo was looking at you funny with his jaw slack.

Looking over your hand and stance, you scratched your head. “I’m sure I got it right.” You said and glanced at your friends. “Was I not deadpan enough? Or broody? Maybe I wasn’t dramatic enough…”

“Y/n-ya.” Law called out.

Turning your head to him, you sent him a quick wave. “Oh, hi.” You said before returning to figure out what was wrong with your performance.

Recounting all the elements, it took you longer than it should have to realise that their lack of cheers was because you all had been caught by the Heart Pirate Captain.

Your stomach should have dropped, you should have frozen in fear like the rest but there was a sense of pride in you. Law was far too rigid, his reasons were valid, but a simple moment of lighthearted humour surely couldn’t hurt. Although, maybe he’d disagree if it was at his expense.

He stepped forward and you couldn’t help but internally chuckle at his unruly hair. You would definitely attempt to rake your fingers through that mess to bother him next.

He looked at his frozen crew and with a single glare, they scurried to their usual duties. Bepo squeaking in a panic before he too vanished to hide.

Law looked at you and let out a small sigh. “I told you not to take my hat.”

He reached out to take it back when you ducked and stepped out of reach.

“You also told me that I’d be back on the Thousand Sunny three days ago.” You argued.

It’s not that you didn’t love a few extra days on the Polar Tang but you were desperately missing the antics of the Strawhats and it was starting to show aboard the Heart Pirates.

Law said nothing to address the delay. He closed the space and lifted the soft fabric from your head to place it back atop his own but this time, it carried the faint scent of your shampoo.

You watched as he turned and started to walk away. With a smile, you cupped your hands over your mouth.

“Admit it, it looks better on me!” You called out behind him.

Law merely lowered his head, hiding a small smile - it definitely looked better on you.

~ More imagines here ~

[simp-ly-writes]

OH, BABY!

─────── · · A Smosh FanFic

Pairing: Boyfriend!Spencer Agnew x gn!Partner!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: Smosh Baby #2! The sequel nobody knew they wanted or needed that finds you walking around the office with a robotic baby and leads to you and Spencer realizing that getting another cat was the best choice for now.

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, established relationship, no mentions of pregnancy only wanting to have kids later, children, light swearing, domestic fluff, fluff, suggestive themes, attempt at humour.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,000~

─ · · A/N: This was so fucking cute and wholesome to write, thank you so much @itgirlcat for the wonderful idea. So much love your way! 🫶

─────── · ·

"You're kidding me," was all you could think to say while deadpanning towards the camera that a crew member held closely to your face. Their ominous laughter ran down your spine as all the blood drained from your face, 'I am NOT ready to be a parent.'

And next thing you knew you were being lead into a dark room, a singular bassinet laid there in wait as you took steady steps towards it. To your surprise, Tommy jumped out from seemingly nowhere as you screamed and ducked down behind the bassinet.

"Throwing your own kid in the line of fire... and I thought we couldn't get a worse parent than Angela-" Tommy began to say, spinning around the bassinet for you to see a small robotic baby staring back at you.

"Hey, I was a good fucking parent, and we all know that!" Angela yelled from across the room as the house lights came back on and you were unsure of where one bit ended and another started.

"So let me get this straight, you want me to... watch over this baby for the WHOLE day? I have work, and responsibilities-" you began to ramble, somewhat dreading the day ahead as the robotic cries started to drown your senses.

Tommy picked up the baby, giving it a kiss o the head before shoving it in your arms and showing you how it worked as you quietly nodded along. Now taking a closer look to what the infant was wearing: a small Smosh games hoodie seemingly custom made with a little pair of jeans and leather boots to match.

"OMG ITS SPENER!" you yelled out in excitement, all worry and your ability to listen to the instructions going outside the window as you placed the baby on your hip and walked straight to Spencers desk to show him apparently his new son.

─────── · ·

Turning past the kitchen/break room and into the office spaces, you walked along the faux-glass walls before reaching your boyfriend Spencers shared space with Damien and Shayne, the later two no where to be seen as Spencer sat hunched over his desk. Infamous can of Kickstart within reach and a framed picture of the two of you just to the side of it.

You remember that picture fondly when you accompanied him and his family on vacation back to Florida, touring where he went to school and grew up brought a smile back to your face. Especially the baby photos what were all across his parents' home walls, you look down to baby Spencer, silently asking them if they are ready themselves- not truly expecting an answer you clear your throat and watch as he fixes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and turns around.

"Hey! How're..." Spencers sentence slowly falls off as he takes in the little person within your arms with a raised brow. Shock is raised in his eyebrows, a certain softness in his gaze as he moves to stand, greeting the robot in your arms with a soft whisper. "And who is this little guy, lookin' very handsome."

"Mhmm, I guess so..." you sass back- Spencer can only scoff in return. You try to hold in a laugh as you pass over the baby into his arms, taking in the sight with a tilt of your head and matching his earlier tone, "This is Spener, my... baby..." you are unsure of how to properly address the situation and by the sour expression of unsureness on your face has Spencer laughing wholeheartedly.

"I can't believe you cheated on me," he fakes a sob, holding the baby closer to his chest as you wrap an arm around him. "You know I could physically never, Spencer. I mean we both are still virgins!" you state towards the camera with a wink that Spencer joins and in that moment Shayne and Damien appear back from their break.

"Spener and Spener!" Damien greets with a wide smile, pulling you away from Spencers side with a hug before sitting down at his desk and Shayne does the same, not even batting an eyelash to the scene before doing a double take.

"What the fuck you guys?" Shayne states in disbelief, now at a full stand one more, only to let a sigh out in relief as he takes a step closer. "Oh, we are doing another one of these videos? Do you think you are going to be a better mom than Angela-"

"I heard that!" Angela yells from seemingly no where yet appears right behind you, wagging her finger in Shaynes space as Amanda steps out from behind her. "I hate these babies," Amanda states, looking disgustedly at the robotic creature as it gets passed around the friend circle before ending up in her arms.

Its robotic screeches happen once more as everyones gazes snap towards you and the keys swirling around in your hand. It takes you a moment to realize why everyone is staring at you before you take the baby out of Amandas arms and towards the couch behind Spencers desk and take a seat.

Pulling up the back of baby Spencers hoodie you insert one of the keys into its back, praying for it to be the right guess upon first try- it was not. Pulling it back out, irritation growing over the deafening cries as you can hear multiple people moving around their offices. Ians just behind you all, God I hope I don't get fired for this. You joke to yourself before the cries stop once more, apparently it needed a diaper change.

─────── · ·

Over the next few hours, you bring the baby into every meeting both in person and across zoom. Into the bathroom as you had to turn the face away from you, feeling utmost awkward with your fake child. And even on videos and live streams, your favourite of which was trying to make bits with it... them- in Try Not To Laugh.

Lets just say its easier said than done getting the right costume to put with a baby carrier strapped across your front. The TikTok you filmed for the main channel was doing increasingly well as comments flooded in, loving to see you with baby Spenner walking around the office and how everyone also worked with baby Spencer.

─────── · ·

Your day continues outside of the office as you and Spencer sign yourselves out of the office and decide to make a home video on your phones cameras. Taking the baby to the grocery store as you look over the various baby foods, baby Spener sitting in the cart as the actual Spencer rests his hand across your hip or the small of your back, walking with you and the cart through isles while picking up things you both actually need for your apartment.

"Babe do we need more eggs or did we grab those last week?" Spencer asks from down the isle as you look over the snack selection, now bouncing baby Spener in your arms. "No, we have some left still," you call back before pointing at the various colours and designs for the two of you.

Spencer smiles warmly, crouching down beside you both as he takes a photo and pulls some chips from the isle, placing them in the cart. "Park next?"

"I like the sound of that." And to the park the three of you go, some part of you did feel like a bad parent, holding the baby in your lap while going onto the main roads without a baby seat in the back. Yet you remind yourselves this is just for the video, not an actual baby, its just a robot.

While at the park, you take a short video of Spencer and... Spener going down the slide together. You push them lightly in the baby swing and go on the sea-saw together before taking a walk on the beach to end the day. Watching the sun set over the water you turn to look at Spencer to see him already looking down at you.

"You know... I don't think I would mind this being our future. Not anything soon... but I really like the idea of this later," Spencer comments, looking for your reaction before matching your smile as you lean to put your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapping around your waist. "How about another cat for now?" You tease yet a part of you is being very serious in that moment, feeling as Spencer stills before rubbing small circles into your side with his thumb.

"What would we name them?" Spencer asks, looking down at the robotic baby in your lap that is now in nap mode... or more likely out of batteries as you both forgot to return to the office.

"Well... I do like the name Spenner-"

"Oh fuck off," Spencer whisper-shouts, yet you can hear the smile in his words as he shuffles to look at the side of your face.

"Okay, but how about Spoons or like Crash... Bandit?"

"Cyclops? Dee?-"

"-Last name twenty?"

"Read my mind babe."

─────── · ·

When you both return to the office the next day, everyone looks anxiously at the baby as you hold it up like Simba and announce. "It is out of batteries, we win these!!!" you cheer as the office claps and joins you. Courtney running over to give you a hug as Tommy takes the child finally from your hands.

"Ready to see how you did?" Tommy asks in a teasing tone, already leading you away from the group as everyone gets ready to start work for the day. The cameras are already set up in the set you started this experiment in, now literally seeing it in a new light as the crew had placed lamps around the room and a small carpet on the floor to create a more homely atmosphere.

"Did I kill it?" you question as Tommy stares at the back lights of the infant with speculation before putting back down its hoodie and placing them gently back in the bassinet. "(name)..." Tommy starts as you can already hear the dramatic sound effects being added in post-production.

"Tommy..." you tease back, leaning more closely in as he too does the same, your noses almost touching before you both pull back with a laugh. "Well, I can officially say that you did NOT in fact kill the baby, and you did better than Angela, congrats! But the bar was already on the floor-"

"I. Am. NOT. A. Bad. Parent. You take those words back Tommy!" Angela shouts once again, turning up in the most unknown of places and all you can do is laugh, loving this bit of the video before doing your outro to the camera.

"Thank you all for getting through this video, if you see a new fuzzy child on either me or Spencers instagrams in the near future... you now knew why," you laugh a bit before continuing. "So please like, subscribe, share this to all your friends and family to show them how much of a better parent you could probably be than me!"

And the camera fades to black.

─────── · ·

🔔 Smosh Pit just posted! watch now?

─────── · ·

Another Smosh Baby?!

Smosh Pit ✓ [Subscribed] 👍 67k | 👎 8.36M subscribers 300k views 1 week ago it's official... click to read more

1,110 Comments

username01 (name) and spencer are couple goals. like did anyone elses heart hurt during that montage. i would sell my literal soul to have that at least once in my life, even if just for an hour or two...

↳ username88 woah okay my dude, do you want to talk about it because damn? ↳ username01 god i was really in my feels when i wrote that shit lol...

username20 Those "Angela not being a good mom" bits throughout the video were so funny. It was like something out of a horror film mixed with looney tunes logic XD

username14 24:01 That montage was giving me the UP movie scene and I was not ready to cry like that on my lunch break 😭 ughhh why must they be so perfect with one another

username54 Anyone else wondering where Tommy keeps getting all these kids from? LMAO /positive

username70 OMG (name) and Spencers new cat is so cute!!!!!

↳ username88 OMG OMG OMG, what did they end of naming she/him/them??? ↳ username70 They ended up adopting a stray, she is called Dee! (last name twenty)! ↳ username88 so cute! i am so happy for them 😭🫶 ↳ username70 me too, me too. 😭

username19 (names) change up from the start of the video is so visually poetic, the arts department and editing bay were both COOKING on this one. Chefs Kiss! 😘

username30 15:24 yeah sure... you both are virgins mhmmm.

username45 when (name) and Spencers wedding happens its going to be a civic holiday, i'm telling you this now. we all are not readddyyyy for itttt

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: I wrote this surprisingly quickly- hope you all enjoyed, let me know what you want more of or if you'd like to see something different! 😄

─ · · SPENCER AGNEW TAGLIST: @lisiliely @missflufffanfics @little-stitious-studios @thejourneyneverendsx @sibsteria @lizzylynch1 @babble2

[luveline]

you did this with Steve and James but I would love a Remus fic where they are play fighting and he accidentally hurts her

for u my love boyfriend!remus x reader

Remus can be intimidating when he wants to be usually, but on top of you like this with a huge smile on his face and his eyes lit with excitement, he's the opposite of scary. 

"I'm gonna make you sorry," he threatens. 

You have your hands joined and held in front of you, pushing him away so he can't kiss you. You never know how you and Remus get into these situations, playfulness bordered by a fierce competitiveness that means neither of you are willing to back down, no matter how badly you'd both like a quick kiss.

"You couldn't make a puppy sorry, Remus," you say, huffing at the strain and effort it takes to hold him up when he's this desperate to reach you. 

He ignores your hands, his fingers squeezing yours brutally in hopes you'll give in, and ducks down into your space anyhow. The bed groans beneath you as your squirm away, pushing your hand (with his still twined into it) against his handsome face. 

"You suck," you trash talk, "and you won't win!"

"I always win," he says, which isn't explicitly true. 

"No! You give me the giggles and I can't fight back, you cheat!" 

Remus presses harder against your palms. "I don't cheat! Dove, I swear to fuck, if you don't let me kiss you–" 

"You'll what?" 

"I'll kiss you!" he warns. 

And there it is, he's making you laugh, and when you laugh you get distracted and your resolve weakens. Your arms shake in his hold as you do. Remus sees an in, pressing forward hard. You startle and he startles at your startling —he tries to back off, but you know he's already falling forward. You flinch and pull your arm up, fingers tangled in his, too late to shield your face as his chin connects with your nose with a loud smack. 

You both curse at the same time. Tears are instantaneous in your eyes, the shock of a whack to the nose inescapable. 

"Ouch," you whine, though you have enough sense to see the humour in the situation. You're a little winded. Remus really did fall smack dab on top of you. "You okay, babe?"

Remus pulls your hair by accident as he pushes himself off of you, and your hiss visibly panics him. The fog of pain clears from his expression, and your sweetheart hurries to check you're alright. 

"I'm fine, are you okay?" he asks, hand on your face, turning your chin up to better see your nose in the light. "I'm so sorry, dovey, I don't know how I– fuck, your nose is bleeding a bit." 

"It is?" you ask. Remus is quick to press his sleeve to your nostril, which feels quite tender, now that he mentions it. 

"Oh, no," he murmurs, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek. His palm is warm, the roughness of his pen-wrought callus familiar against your skin. "Dove, I'm sorry. Don't cry."

You blink hurriedly. "No, I'm not crying. It's just 'cos it hurts." 

You don't mean for it to come out that way, you're trying to explain that your tears are because he's hit you in the face with his face and there are delicately interconnected systems under the surface being disrupted, but Remus takes it for an admission of pain and goes berserk, which is to say he dotes on you as though you've broken something. Soft kisses pressed to your cheek, whispered reassurances. You try to tell him it doesn't matter, that he's being too much, but it's so wildly nice to be cared for that the words get stuck in your throat. 

"It only bled a little," he reassures. "Do you want me to get you an ice pack?" 

You nod silently, enamoured with him, wanting to bask in the warmth of his attention just as long as you can. 

"Okay," he says, climbing off of you to leave and find one. He doubles back before he reaches the door, and when he leans over you, he smiles wryly. "Told you I'd get that kiss, didn't I?" 

You laugh breathlessly and let him kiss you. He's very cautious to avoid your nose. 

[reveluving]

the bump in the night ; rick flag x reader

summary: someone made Mrs Flag cry, and her family is not having it.

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, shadow-magic f!reader, reverse comfort & humour!

a/n: this AU is based on this piece I made a while back, 'cause you already know I can't do this special without hubby Rick and the kids! hope you enjoy it & don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

» wanna know what I have in store this fall? come & check out my m.list for 'reve's quirky reverie 🕷️'!

'For now, they had a plan, hoping it could bring a smile to your face.' ;

Coming home to his daughter's hugs had become an everyday thing if Rick didn't have to work overtime, but if the flicker of sadness in her eyes was anything to go by, something had to have happened while he was away.

“Mrs Bedford was saying bad stuff to mama while we were at the park.” 

It was the same thing she told her brothers when they got home from school, and just like them, it was enough for Rick to get the whole picture.

Ah, Mrs Bedford. Or as the neighbourhood youngsters, children and teenagers alike, like to call her 'the modern witch of the road', and not in the cool way. Her husband was no better, always bugging you at any given opportunity. The worst part was Mrs Bedford always antagonized you for it, even if she knew you didn’t entertain her husband’s behaviour. It was also extremely hypocritical of her, considering she herself has tried to make her move on Rick. A lot. Only to be met with disappointment each time. 

Her children were just as bad, too, to put it lightly.

“What did she say?” It was the green light Irene needed before she explained what had happened to a T, courtesy of her father’s eagle eye. Unlike most days, it was just you and Irene visiting the park since your sons had football practice. 

The two of you were feeding the ducks when Mrs Bedford came up to you.

“You on your own?” Was the first thing she asked you before you questionably said ‘yes’, despite Irene being there too, and the little girl realized Mrs Bedford wouldn’t have gone off on a tangent about you and your ‘possibly tainted history’ if her father or brothers were around in the first place.

“I don’t know what you did but I can see it in your eyes, Flag. You’re no saint. You can fool the others with your little flower shop and your so-called angelic kids, but not me.”

Though Mrs Bedford knew nothing about your powers or your time in Belle Reve, instead, spewing hate out of jealousy and hatred for you for being the favourable neighbour, she wasn’t completely wrong. You have hurt people, you’ve even killed some, but they were for the greater good. Since your freedom from hell on earth, you’ve barely used your umbrakineses. It wasn’t until the birth of your children, to which all three of them gained your abilities did you realized you couldn’t run from who you really were—it wasn’t right nor fair to them.

Then, telling them your story as a criminal and how their dad was once your enemy was another thing. You weren’t sure what reaction you were expecting, but it was certainly not amazement and sparkles in their eyes. As they grew older, they began to make sense of how their parents somehow knew people like Aunt Harley, Uncle Robert and hell, even Nanaue.

And at that point in time, Mrs Bedford reminded you of Waller, turning you into submission as you could do nothing but listen to her make a mockery out of you for turning over a new leaf. Irene had to watch your face drop as the woman insulted you, and she knew she had to tell her family about it. 

Irene insisted that she was fine about heading home early, even if you tried to convince her otherwise. She wanted nothing more than to do something about that glazed look in your eyes.

As soon as you stepped foot into the living room, a tear rolled down your cheek. You couldn't help but apologize to her, to everyone if they were with you then. You weren’t entirely sure if it was because you seemed weak over a bunch of words or their fate of ending up with you as the wife and a mother of their family.

Irene shook her head, hugging you with her face in your tummy.

"You're not a mean person, mama. You're the nicest and coolest mama we could ever ask for, and we love you." 

It was simple, something you've heard of thousands of times in your lifetime, but you very much needed it today.

Ever the sweet girl, she accompanied you as you lay in your bed, telling you random stories about what she painted during art class or what she ate at lunch, anything but the time Mrs Bedford’s son, Kyle pushed her off the swing while his older brother, Blake laughed and praised him for doing so. You didn’t need to know that. 

Not yet.

You listened with a warm smile, embarrassed but nonetheless thankful for how observant she was of your feelings before eventually dozing off. 

Irene was careful yet quick to jump off the bed, running downstairs to shush Richie and Ethan as they returned home. 

The more she explained, the brighter their eyes unnaturally glowed. Richie was starting to look like their father as he crossed his arms, listening to her like a police officer, while Ethan seemed like he was already thinking of ways to counter the Bedford’s undignified acts.

Basically, the Bedfords were not the greatest people. Each and every one of them. 

Though they had a myriad of ideas, they weren’t sure how much their father would appreciate it, even if it was for your sake. Still, they thanked Irene for being there for you, promising that something would be done, no matter what it would be.

For now, they had a plan, hoping it could bring a smile to your face.

After an unexpected nap, you came down to find your kids huddled on the couch, whispering and hushing each other. Curious, you approached them.

Ethan was the first to notice you, offering you a grin before showing you what was in their hands, “Look, ma, I think we got it.” 

You leaned in to take a closer look, only for your breath to hitch at the sight of life on their palms. There, they showed you the differing mass of shadows they conjured, a tougher one you just taught them about a week ago. You have always loved this trick as a kid, and it only aided your sanity when you were by your lonesome in the penitentiary. In a way, you were replacing what life truly was by making your own, even if they were temporary because there was no telling when or if you’d ever be free. 

Yet, here they were, prompting joy and pride as they held the wispy animals of their choice; Richie with what seemed to be an adorable little puppy, Ethan creatively emulated a bioluminescent jellyfish and Irene…

Oh, Irene.

She scarcely remembered how much you loved making her laugh by conjuring butterflies when she was still very little if not for the twins confirming it. 

The butterfly was as small as her hand, but the wings were majestic, idly flapping before flying over to you, leaving cloudy black trails and landing on your outstretched finger. 

You stared at their creations ever so lovingly, already on the brink of tears. You were just as mad at yourself for doubting your worth, and your potential, just because of the things you had to do in the past, for the sake of the person you were now.

You embraced Irene in a tight hug before pulling your boys in as well. You sniffled, absolutely joyous and blessed to be surrounded by the most loving people. Nothing could deter you from this, not even as the shadow puppy yipped and chased the jellyfish and butterfly in excitement. Your cat, Tofu, must’ve heard the commotion, too, as she came from the kitchen to check, only to be frightened and jump on the couch with you as the puppy came running to her.

Rick finally arrived about two hours later, coming home to hear laughter before he saw Irene running across the room, followed by Tofu and the shadow puppy in tow. The jellyfish laid on Richie’s head like a nest whereas the butterfly decided to make Ethan’s shoulder its home as they hung out with you on the couch.

“Daddy!” Irene greeted him before running over to him. He didn’t question the questioning look she gave him just yet and instead, hoisted her up, laughing as Tofu and the puppy pawed at his bootlaces.

“What’s going on here?” He raised his brows, amused by what could be described as a fever dream of a sight.

“The kids learnt how to make little lives.” You giggled, allowing Rick to sit next to you as you scooted over.

“And I got a new hat,” Richie gestured to the jellyfish, who he has now dubbed as Jelly. As if it understood, Jelly immediately floated away, leaving Richie’s hair flattened, “Never mind.”

You shared a laugh as he deadpanned before you turned to Rick, “Was work okay?”

“Yeah, the usual. Decorated the place today, actually.” He took his phone out of his pocket, opening his gallery and showing you and the kids the spookily tacky decor that furnished his workplace.

“Did you really paint ‘dead inside, don’t open’ on the entrance door?” The twins gawked.

“Fitting, ain't it?” Rick joked, prompting smiles and chuckles from you once more before falling back on the couch, “But at least I’m off tomorrow, so I was thinking we could eat out for dinner.”

“Oh! We should head to Pop’s since they’re also offering their apple betty.” Ethan suggested.

“Well, I think that’s a good idea, so,” Richie trailed off, raising anticipation from the rest of you before jumping off the couch and running up the stairs. Ethan and Irene simultaneously gasped before the former took his sister out of Rick’s arms to chase their brother together. You and Rick could only watch with delight as Tofu and the shadow creatures followed them too.

“Everything okay?” He wanted to know, but he wouldn’t pry if you weren’t ready to tell him.

“Yeah,” You nodded, gazing down for a moment before continuing, “Something happened earlier but…”

“Richie! You better not lock the door or I swear to God!” Ethan’s voice rang out from upstairs, followed by Irene’s ‘language!’, and you couldn’t help but shake your head in amusement. 

“It’s all good now.” You reassured him. You knew you could’ve told him, but it wasn’t worth dwelling on. You had children to nurture and a husband to take on the world with.

“The Bedfords?” He guessed. If it wasn’t them, then it had to be Mr Walker.

“The Bedfords,” You confirmed with a tight smile, “I’m just more upset that Irene was there to hear it.”

You didn’t explain any further and Rick took it as a sign to drop it. If they were able to make you this upset, then it was best to ask the kids instead. 

“I’m sorry,” He pulled you to his chest, planting a slow and gentle kiss on your forehead. He rubbed your back, sighing at the very mention of that family. Rick loathed that they were influential enough to be one of the higher-ups of the school’s PTA, though he was confident that money was involved in it too. He hated that they were reasons why you’d come home ranting about how Mrs Bedford bugged you again, or when he had to make sure Mr Bedford knew he was making a promise and not an empty threat whenever it involved their kids and his, "You know I can talk to them." 

It would do no good, but it was worth trying. 

"No, you know how the Bedfords are. Don’t worry, okay? Not now,” You kissed the inside of his palm before pressing your lips against his, soft, sensual and safe. Rick moved forward, deepening the kiss as held the nape of your neck. You pulled away but not before nuzzling his nose, “We should be celebrating.”

He nodded, though he knew it would only linger in his mind for a while. Still, he adhered to your wishes, standing up before offering you his hand to get ready, “Right, right. Shall we?”

You snorted, placing your hand in his the way a princess would when a prince asks for a dance. Unexpectedly, he twirled you around, wrapping his arms around you he pulled you in, chest to chest. You playfully smacked him, though it did very little to wipe off the pleased look on his face as the two of you headed to your room. 

You and the boys were the first to head out to the front yard, chatting and evaluating the decors of the houses while waiting for Rick and Irene. 

“What happened today?” He asked his daughter quietly as they stood at the front door, helping with her shoes while she slid on a jacket. 

“Mrs Bedford was saying bad stuff to mama while we were at the park.” She whispered back, swinging her arms as she watched her father tie her shoelace, “Like, really mean stuff. No one was around except us so she was kinda loud, too.”

Rick fumed, clenching his jaw as he could already hear and picture whatever nonsense she loved to spit out. 

“Mama got kinda quiet when we came home, and then she started crying. About how she’s sorry she was a criminal and how we’re ‘stuck’ with her powers.” She added. If anything, she and the boys thought your abilities were the coolest thing to have ever happened to them. 

He shook his head—who wouldn't crack after being subjected to their ways for so long? He hummed, hiding the seething resentment by ruffling Irene's hair.

"Can you help me distract your mother while I talk to the boys for a bit?" She nodded diligently, skipping over to you before Rick called out to his sons, "Need some help, boys." 

They rushed over, glancing at you before Ethan spoke up first, "She told you?" 

"Yeah." Rick replied as he locked the door.

"Can't we do something about it?" Richie asked with a frown.

"You boys are not punching Blake again." Rick reminded them with a small smile. 

"You didn't seem to mind it," Ethan mirrored his father's amusement, "He was yelling at our teammate and encouraged his troll brother to push Irene off a swing." 

"I'm mad, too," Rick was more than mad, but he couldn't let his emotions run wild, "Look, we'll think of something, alright? For now, just make sure she's happy." 

That's all they ever wanted.

The drive to Pop's was a lively one, and so was the dinner itself. Though you knew you'd be thinking about Mrs Bedford's words every once in a while, the smiles and laughter of your family were already a welcoming distraction as it is. 

Midnight rolled around, and everyone had returned to their rooms with sore cheeks and a full stomach. You were the first to slip under the covers after a shower, hoping you wouldn't be too tired as you waited for Rick, though it didn't work.

By the time Rick got out of the bathroom, you were peacefully asleep, your face just a breath away from your husband's pillow as his scent soothed you like no other. 

Rick smiled to himself, changing into his PJs before sitting on your side of the bed. The dip roused you from your slumber just a little.

"Rick?" You murmured, fluttering your lashes tiredly.

"Forgot to get some water," He caressed your cheek before bending down to kiss it, "I'll be back." 

You mustered a closed-eye smile and before you knew it, you drifted off once again, lulled by the way he patted your back.

Once the coast was clear, he moved off the bed, silently slipping out and closing the door before heading over to the twins' room. He knocked on the door, just enough for them to hear before doing the same with Irene's door and headed downstairs.

Rick sat down at the dining table with a glass of cold water, arms crossed and lost in his own thoughts before hearing light footsteps approaching.

Richie, Ethan and Irene carefully pulled their chairs back before taking a seat, and just like that, the discussion began.

But it didn't seem like they were getting anywhere and at some point, they just started shit-talking.

"Man, I wish coach would just kick Blake out." Ethan groaned, his head falling back. 

"Tell me about it. He's shit at quarterback." Richie clicked his tongue.

"Boys." Rick warned them, partially because his youngest was listening.

"Sorry." They apologized but Irene didn't seem to mind.

"How about…" She chimed in, tapping her finger on her chin, "We scare them?" 

"Like…?" Richie cocked his head, hoping she'd say more than just that.

"I don't know, I just thought it'd be cool since it's Halloween and stuff. And, well, maybe we could use our powers, but I know mama and daddy wouldn't want that." She shrugged, pouting because she hadn't thought it far enough.

"It would be a miracle to scare them without using our powers in the first place," Richie sighed, looking over to his father, "What do you think, dad?" 

No reply.

"Dad?" Ethan followed suit as the three of them raised their brows.

“How far are you in your shadow puppet practice?” Rick asked out of the blue, staring ahead as though imagining whatever idea he had played out. 

“Uh, pretty far, I think? Ma taught us how to merge our shadows into one if we wanted to make a bigger animal.” Richie answered, earning affirmative nods from his siblings. 

“How big?” 

“Like, this big!” Irene opened her arms wide to let him know just how big of a monster they would be able to make if they wanted to. They haven’t, there was no reason to, but the more their father asked, the more it piqued their interest.

Rick thought it through for a moment. It has been a while since he has seen you make that one particular lifeform, but it was worth a shot. If it were able to render Waller speechless, then it’ll definitely make the Bedfords piss their pants. 

No actual attacks, and definitely no killings. But he’ll make sure they shudder at the mere thought of Halloween. Put the fear of God in them. They had it coming, too, stomping on other neighbours’ happiness for years just for the fun of it. 

He just had to play it safe. 

He slowly broke into a sinister smile.

“You three ever heard of a hellhound?”

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

» a/n: ahh hubby rick <3 ;; gorgeous rose divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

[daydreamtofiction]

Thou Shalt Not Covet // 10: Baptism

Contents | Part 9 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Female Reader) The morning after stirs up a new Ellis, one who returns home with a newfound fire.

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, religious imagery, sexual references, scenes of verbal & physical conflict. Readers must be 18+

"Shit." 

You stirred slowly at the sound of Father Benedict's voice, his weight disappearing from beside you, making the mattress bounce and the bed frame creak. 

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit shit." The words left him in a panicked hiss, each utterance catching between his teeth.

You opened one eye, vision fuzzy in the dull morning light, too tired to make sense of what was happening. Why was he swearing? Had he already begun to regret what you'd done?

He hurried across the bedroom in a blur of bare skin and frantic whispers, hopping and stumbling into a pair of underpants as he made his way towards the window. 

"What's wrong?" you croaked, watching as he craned around the curtain, peering down towards the ground outside.

A knock at the front door answered your question. He ducked down quickly, adjusting himself in his pants as he slowly rose back up again. Another knock. 

"Fuck," he whispered. "Shit, fuck-"

"Father?" a distant voice called out. "Father, are you in there?" 

"Is that June?" you asked quietly, eyes widening as you sat up and clutched the duvet to your bare chest, as though the sound of her voice alone was enough to make you feel indecent.

He groaned despairingly into his hands as she knocked again, calling out to him with concern through the letterbox. 

"What's going on?" you whispered. "Why is she here?" 

"Because I- shitting hell," he hissed. "I overslept."

"For what?" 

"Morning bloody prayer. I can't believe I-" He stopped, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before unlatching the window and pushing it open. "June! June, up here," he shouted, waving down at her with an apologetic smile. "I am... so sorry, I- I wasn't feeling well last night and I've slept in."

"You slept in?" she replied. Her voice was faint, the wind carrying most of it away. "But I've already opened the church doors-"

"No, no that's fine. Really, I just have to get dressed and then I'll be there." 

"Well people've already started arriving. What do I do in the meantime?"

"Tell her to try out some of her standup material," you muttered from the bed.

He choked back a laugh and swatted his hand at you, like a silent telling off. "Just-" He cleared his throat, taking a moment to straighten his face. "Just tell them I'm running late but shouldn't be more than a few minutes." 

You weren't sure if she said anything else after that - the woman tended to mumble at the best of times - but the sound of her footsteps fading over the gravel driveway made it clear she was retreating.

Father Benedict shut the window and turned around, blowing out a puff of air as he leaned back against the wall. "I can't believe I overslept." 

"You were up late, to be fair," you replied. 

He allowed his eyes to wander, just for a moment, over the messy bed, your bare thigh peeking through a gap in the duvet. "Still," he began, shaking it away and rushing to the wardrobe. "I have a responsibility to my congregation, I can't just... not show up, it's..." 

You sat quietly as he rummaged through his clothes, hanger hooks screeching as he moved them back and forth along the rail. He pulled out a shirt and shrugged it on, turning towards you as he buttoned it up.

"This isn't how I'd ideally have liked this morning to go. But I shouldn't be gone for more than a couple of hours," he said. "I lead prayer, then afterwards I host a small social meet for some elderly members, but it won't take long."

Your back straightened slightly. "Y-you... want me to stay here while you're gone?" 

"Yeah," he replied casually as he grabbed a pair of trousers and stepped into them. "Unless- Do you have to be somewhere?"

"No- well, not until later." 

"Okay. Just... help yourself to something to eat, preferably stay away from the windows-"

You giggled. 

"And I'll drive you home when I get back." 

"You really don't have to-"

"I want to."

You conceded, nodding softly and settling back against the headboard. 

He pulled open a drawer and grabbed a pair of socks before hooking his fingers into his shoes and making his way towards the door. "Okay, back soon." 

"You might want to fix your hair," you called out. 

He stopped, turning back to look at you as he ran a hand through the wild locks. "Better?" 

"It'll do." 

You sat on the back doorstep of the rectory, warming your hands on a mug of tea as you watched your dress blowing on the washing line. Last night's storm had given way to a mild morning, but the wind still had a bite, making the dress flutter and dance in the air, the bright yellow fabric billowing like a flag at full mast. You never drank tea; why you'd chosen to make some now was a mystery. It just felt right, the kind of thing a normal person would do whilst they sat waiting for clothes to dry.

The garden was quaint and secluded, a boarder of thick bushes and tall trees beyond the mossy stone walls, enclosing the small pocket of green in total privacy. You sipped your tea as birds chirped and bounced from tree to tree, the smell of the toast you'd made still drifting out from the kitchen.

Maybe this kind of life wouldn't be so bad, you thought. You were sure you could learn to like tea, hang washing on the line every morning, make breakfast as birds sang beyond the garden wall. You could bake cakes for parish fundraisers, have a bunch of kids and give them 'sensible' names like Jacob or Charlotte, take them to mass every weekend, say grace around the dinner table. Maybe it wouldn't matter that you didn't actually believe in any of it, because once the church doors closed and the kids went to bed, it'd be just the two of you. And he already knew, but he wanted you anyway. 

"God, Ellis, get a grip," you muttered. "One night together and suddenly you're the pastor's wife." 

You rose to your feet, pausing on the doorstep to gaze up at a blanket of soft grey clouds rolling in overhead. It was going to rain again, you thought. You made your way back into the kitchen and tipped the last of the tea down the drain, swilling the mug with water and drying it with a tea towel. It was nice to see an empty sink; no plates covered in dried food, no wet, grimy sponges or wine glasses rimmed with Gina's lipstick.

Gina. 

Your stomach turned at the thought of her; how she was probably at home right now waiting for you to come back, or maybe she didn't even care that you were gone. Could you even call that place home anymore? Home was supposed to be a sanctuary; a place of warmth, comfort, safety. Yet all that house seemed to be was a collection of closed doors, strangers with familiar faces and rooms you never spent time in.

The sound of the front door latch made you still, a click followed by a creak, footsteps moving through the house towards you. For a moment you worried it may not be him, how you would explain why you were there, alone, wearing clothes that didn't belong to you. But the fear was fleeting, quelling instantly when a deep, rich voice chimed from the living room.

"Ellis? Are you still here?" 

"Yeah, I'm in here," you replied. 

He stepped halfway through the door with a smile; the same smile you'd come to look forward to whenever you arrived at church. It was charming, gracious, every inch of his face brightening the moment he laid eyes on you. You smiled back, though you weren't sure you could ever produce an expression as naturally warm as his. 

"Hi," he said. 

"Hi." 

"Look what I found." He moved further into the kitchen, revealing a small leather handbag dangling by its strap over his index finger. 

He handed it to you with a smile and you thanked him in a relieved sigh, making your way to the kitchen table and unzipping it with haste. He pulled out the chair beside you and sat down too, stealing a piece of half-eaten toast from the plate you'd left on the table and munching on it quietly as he watched you. 

You took out your phone, tapping your thumbs with futility against the shiny black screen. "Dead," you said. "Thought as much." 

"I think I have a charger somewhere if-"

"Nah it's okay. Haven't paid my phone bill so it makes no difference anyway." 

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he swept the crumbs off his hands. "Do you want to use my phone?" 

"You have a phone?" 

"Why wouldn't I have a phone?" 

"I don't know, just hard to imagine a priest... texting."

"I text." 

You couldn't help the amusement creeping across your face, the thought of his name popping up on your screen; what would you save him as? Ben? Father Benedict? Perhaps just Father would suffice. Daddy?- No, Ellis.

"Do you think priests take vows to live like it's the 1800's or something?" he asked.

You shrugged. "I just assumed if you needed to use a phone you'd have one of those old rotary ones or something." 

"Oh my god." He laughed, too amused to notice the blasphemous slip. 

You slid the phone back into your bag and dragged the zip closed slowly, watching each metal tooth knit together with far more focus than the task required. 

He stopped laughing and cocked his head, eyes darting over your face. "Are you alright?" 

"Hm?" 

"You. Are you okay?"

You remained quiet for a moment, chewing the inside of your cheek in thought. "Y'know I've never liked that question. It's too broad, don't you think? Makes my brain feel all jumbled." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, okay in what sense? Physically? Mentally? Right this minute or in life in general?" You relaxed slightly into the back of your chair. "Sometimes, people don't even actually want to know how you are at all, they're just saying it instead of 'hello'..."

A smile curled slightly at one side of his mouth. "Well I actually want to know how you are." 

"In which way?" 

"Let's go with all of them. How are you? In every iteration." 

"Hm. Well, physically, I'm tired, a little sore, my foot is killing me. But emotionally I feel... weirdly calm; like last night changed something in me. But I'm not necessarily sure that's a bad thing."

"You feel different?"

"Yeah. Don't you?" 

He let his head fall slightly to one side, his gaze turning distant, just for a moment. "No." He shook his head, focusing his attention back on you. "Honestly, I thought I would. I went to sleep last night convinced I'd wake up full of regret and shame and- no offence-"

"Mm," you replied sarcastically.

"But I didn't. I still felt... like me. Like nothing's changed." 

"Even after all that sinning you did?" you joked. "You sinned a lot, father." 

He dropped his head to hide a smirk. "Hey, what happens in the rectory stays in the rectory." 

Your shoulders shook with a chuckle, making him smile. 

"I like it when you laugh," he said softly. "You don't do it enough." 

You glanced across at him; at those sea foam eyes, so striking against the tired red of their waterlines. 

"I have a stupid laugh," you replied quietly. 

He smiled, shifting in his seat to move himself closer, his body leaning in slowly towards you. "You have a lovely laugh."

It was strange, how even after a night like last night - after growing so familiar with the intricacies of his body and submitting yours so willingly to him - the sight of his face edging closer, lips parting gently in anticipation, was still so butterfly-inducing. 

You'd resigned yourself to the idea that you'd never get to kiss him again, that when the sun rose that morning, all of the intimacy you'd shared would be washed away with last night's storm. Yet here you were, gazing at him through heavy lashes, your focus rolling slowly back and forth between his eyes and mouth as you sat perfectly still, letting him come to you. Closer and closer until you couldn't see anything but him, couldn't hear anything besides your own heartbeat, the gentle pattering of rain against the kitchen window. 

Rain. 

"Oh, shit!" You jumped up quickly and bolted to the back door, throwing it open and hurrying over the grass towards the washing line.

You were back in the dress, although you weren't sure it resembled sunshine much anymore. There were patches that hadn't fully dried, smudges of dirt from holding your shoes in your lap, and a small bloodstain on the skirt. Yesterday, you'd felt pretty when you put it on. Today, you hadn't even dared glance at your own reflection. 

Father Benedict turned the heat up in the car, sliding the vents to point the warm air in your direction. You were thankful for it, relaxing back into the seat and staring out the window as he drove, slowing for a red light almost as soon as he pulled out of the church grounds. 

"So where are you going to say you were last night?" he asked. 

You could tell the question had been itching to get out, dancing on his tongue until he finally found the right moment to let it spill. 

"I haven't thought about it," you replied. "Suppose it's none of their business where I was." 

"What if anyone else asks?" 

You narrowed your eyes at him, sensing there was a specific answer he wanted to hear, one that would free the tension he'd been holding in his shoulders since he'd got behind the wheel. 

"I'm not going to tell anyone what happened, Father," you finally replied, trying your best to make your voice sound soft, reassuring, trustworthy. 

He glanced over at you for a second before fixing his gaze back on the road, the light finally turning green again.

"Thank you," he said. "I mean, it's not that I- I'm not saying I want to pretend this never happened or anything. I just..."

"Want to pretend this never happened." 

He laughed gently through his nose. "No. I just need to figure out the best way to navigate through-"

"Navigate," you groaned teasingly. "God, you sound like an internet life coach."

He rolled his eyes. "Navigate is a perfectly normal word."

"It's a fluffer. You're fluffing up the point you're trying to make." 

He looked at you again, longer this time. "Alright. I don't want to give up my priesthood." 

"I know. I never expected you would." 

"It's who I am. My faith, it's... such an integral part of me. And that's not me saying last night wasn't also me. I just... You've thrown some things into question, made me act in ways that definitely wouldn't go down well if the church found out." 

"I made you?" 

He smirked. "Mhm, all your fault." 

You turned back to the window, biting your lip to suppress a smile. "At least you won't have to deal with me hanging around the church anymore." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Well I admitted I lied. I'm just a big fat nonbeliever. No reason for me to attend services anymore." 

He paused in thought, steering the car smoothly with his large, agile hands. The movement made you shiver; the sight of his fingers curling around the wheel, the protruding knuckles and prominent veins, even more attractive now you knew what it felt like to have them on you. 

"So does that mean you won't be coming to help out on Thursday?" he asked, entirely oblivious to your ogling. 

"Thursday?"

"The communion session."

You closed your eyes, letting out a long, exasperated exhale. "Shit," you whispered. "I forgot about that."

"You don't have to come if you don't want to," he said. "I can make do-"

"No, no, I offered to help out."

With every traffic light, every turn of a corner and familiar street, you felt the tension turning your limbs to stone. Nerves flooded your stomach at the thought of walking back into that house, confronting the people you somehow wanted to slap and thank at the same time. 

Father Benedict bumped the kerb gently, rolling to a stop beside the front gate. He pulled the handbrake, the car plummeting into silence as he switched off the engine, the only sound coming from your deep intake of breath, the sigh that left you as you turned your head to face him. 

You took a moment to look at him, to let your eyes skim over every line and curve of his face. You would see him again, of course you would, but not like this. 

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" he asked.

You nodded, allowing a quick smile before grabbing your bag and the straps of your shoes. 

"Ellis..." 

You glanced back up to find him staring straight ahead through the windshield, head tipped back slightly against the headrest. 

"I meant what I said last night." He didn't look at you. "You shouldn't let anyone who isn't worthy go near you again." 

It made everything feel more real, somehow, hearing those words repeated without the cloud of heat and lust surrounding you. 

"Promise me," he said, finally making eye contact. 

"I promise." The words left you in an awkward stammer, mouth moving before your brain had a chance to catch up. 

You undid your seatbelt and reached for the door handle, the hinges groaning and grinding as you pushed your elbow against the door, always forgetting how stiff it was until you found yourself fighting to open it.

You leaned all of your weight into it, but it didn't budge. "It's jammed," you said. "Like actually jammed this time." 

He sighed and unclipped his seatbelt. "Honestly, this piece of shit car," he mumbled as he leaned over to help.

His body was stretched across yours, so close you could see the muscles straining in his neck, feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. You pressed your back into the seat to give him more room, watching his throat bob with a hard swallow as he pushed on the door, finally getting it to open.

"There we are," he groaned. 

"Thanks," you said softly.

He looked at you, still leant over your body, eyes falling to your chest as it rose and fell with slow, heavy breaths. And when his gaze snapped back up to meet yours, there was an entirely different expression on his face. 

"Alfie!" Gina's voice screeched in the distance, turning the heat between you ice cold. 

You turned to see her on the front doorstep of the house, her panic and anger clear despite the distance between you. 

"Alfie! It's Ellis, she's back!"

You sighed and climbed out of the car, closing the door behind you with your hip.

"Where the fuck have you been!?"

You didn't answer her, walking barefoot over the pavement towards the gate, barely getting it open before Alfie appeared at her side. He pushed past her, steam practically rising from the top of his head as he came bounding down the path towards you. 

"What the fuck are you playing at, Ellis!?" he shouted. 

You'd never seen him like this before, so aggressive in his movements, clenched teeth and balled fists, the fury palpable beneath his skin. 

"Just disappearing like that!? Not answering your phone all night!? Do you know how fucking worried we've been!? We were this close to calling the fucking police!-" 

He stopped a few feet away from you, his focus shifting to the tall figure emerging from the car. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as he watched Father Benedict approaching. 

"Don't I know you...?" he muttered in confusion. 

"It's the vicar," Gina called out, hurrying down the path. 

"Priest," you corrected bluntly.

"Really, Ellis?" Alfie snarled. "Is this a fucking joke!? I've been up all night with no idea where you were, and you've been with him!?" 

He marched angrily towards you, stopping suddenly when Father Benedict stepped in the way.

"Whoa there," your priest said calmly, voice so deep it was almost inaudible.

Alfie took a breath, back straightening as he glared at the man in front of him. "What? You think I was going to hit her?" He sneered in genuine offence. "What kind of man do you think I am?" 

"Probably best I don't answer that question," Father Benedict quipped.

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Let's just calm down and go inside," said Gina, grabbing Alfie by the sleeve of his shirt.

He shrugged her off. "No. I want to know who the fuck this guy thinks he is." 

"He's the guy who let me sleep on his couch when I said I didn't want to come home," you said. "Because I caught my boyfriend fucking my best friend, in case you'd forgot that part." 

"Oh of course you're piping up now you've got this dick head sticking up for you." 

Father Benedict smiled, which only seemed to irritate him more.

"What's a priest doing getting all pally with some random woman who doesn't even believe in God anyway? It's fucking creepy, you're a fucking creep." He pointed his finger in his face, spitting the words at him. 

"Put the finger down," he said calmly. 

"What? This?" He began pushing it hard into his chest, poking and prodding him roughly.

"Oh Alfie, grow up," you said. 

"I understand you've been worried about her," said Father Benedict, gripping him firmly by the wrist to stop the childish assault. "But taking your anger out on me isn't going to solve anything. I was just dropping her home." 

"Do you want a medal?" He snatched his hand away. "Want me to thank you for harbouring her in your house while I worried sick all night?" 

You couldn't help but scoff. "I wouldn't have left in the first place if you hadn't been sleeping with-"

"You shut-"

It all happened so fast you barely had time to react; Alfie turning towards you, pointing in your face as he took another quick, belligerent step forward. Father Benedict intercepting with a swift swing of his arm, his fist cracking against the side of his face and knocking him to the ground. 

You took a sharp breath, somewhere between a gasp and a choke, watching as Gina dropped to her knees at Alfie's side with a panicked yell. Father Benedict sucked in the air through his teeth, hissing as he shook his hand, a pained expression scrunching his nose. 

"Oh my god," you breathed, grabbing him by the upper arms and pulling him back, dragging him over to the car.

"Fuck sake," he whispered, opening and closing his fist. 

"I can't believe you just did that." 

"I'm so sorry, I just- I thought he was going to-"

"What the fuck!?" Gina shouted. "Aren't you supposed to be a fucking pacifist or some shit!?" 

Alfie groaned, pushing her hands away as she tried to examine his face. 

"Just go inside, Gina, Jesus Christ!" you shouted. 

You took his hand in yours and he let you hold it for a moment, looking over the grazes on his knuckles in stunned silence.  "It's okay, I'm alright," he said, gently pulling away and shaking it out again.

"You prick," Alfie spat as he clambered to his feet.

You sighed, nodding towards the car. "You should go." 

He hesitated, eyes darting between his hand and the face he'd just pummelled with it. 

"I'll be fine," you insisted. "Honestly. He's a dick but he wouldn't hurt me." 

"Forgive me for finding that hard to believe." 

"He wouldn't, I swear. I just want to go upstairs, get a shower, get my stuff together. I'll be alright." 

There was a deep, reluctant rumble in his throat before he finally gave in, turning to make his way to the driver's side door. You exhaled a shaking breath, crossing your arms over your chest as you watched him get in, trying to ignore the chaos still erupting behind you. 

He got in the car and shut the door, concern etched between his brows as he looked at you through the passenger window. You gave a reassuring smile and waved him off, stepping back through the gate.

"Wait, Ellis," he called as he rolled down the window and leaned over. "Here." 

You walked closer, plucking a small piece of paper from his outstretched fingers. 

"If you need me," he said simply. 

You looked down at the paper as the car rolled away, a mobile number scribbled hastily across it, 'I text' written below. You laughed to yourself and closed your fist around it, turning on your sore, bare heels and making your way up the path towards the house. 

You'd made it halfway upstairs when you heard the front door slam behind you, the sound of footsteps hurrying after you. 

"Wait, Ellis," Gina barked. "Do you not think we need to talk!?" 

You spun around, looking down at her as she followed you. "No, I don't." 

"I'm pressing charges on him," said Alfie.

"He was protecting me," you replied angrily. "He thought you were about to hit me." 

"Look, I don't care about what happened out there," said Gina. 

"I fucking do," Alfie mumbled. 

"We need to talk about yesterday." 

You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs. "You mean when I walked in on you screwing my boyfriend?" 

"Ellis-"

"How long? Actually, y'know what? I don't care. You're welcome to him. I was done anyway." 

"What?" Alfie shouted, jogging up to catch you. 

You walked down the landing to your bedroom, turning just before you reached the door. "I was done. With us." 

He pushed past Gina, making his way towards you. There was a bright red mark on the side of his face, a cut on his lip and blood smeared around his nostril. You almost felt bad for him, but then he spoke. 

"You are fucking him, aren't you!" 

You sighed, opening the door and stepping into your room. "What are you-"

"The priest! That's where you were last night, that's why he just punched me in the face like some fucking yob in a nightclub-"

"Anything to make yourself feel better about what you did, Alfie." 

You slid open a drawer and pulled out a towel, wedging it under your arm as you fished for some clean clothes. 

"You're not denying it," he said from the doorway. 

"I have denied it, you just don't want to listen." 

"Bullshit. You've been acting different ever since you started going to that church. I knew there had to be a reason for it. It's not normal, Ellis! And I don't buy for one second you've just made innocent pals with that guy. It's- It's weird! Leaving me here so you can go and spend time with that-"

"Do you know what, fine. Yeah, I slept with him," you began, walking towards him. "And do you know something else? He was better, and bigger, and more skilled than you could ever hope to be." 

He swallowed, his face hard and unamused, eyes scanning your face in an attempt to figure out if you were lying or not. 

You came face-to-face with him, leaning in to speak slowly and quietly. "He made me come so hard he had to cover my mouth just to keep me quiet." 

You elbowed past him, leaving him speechless behind you. 

"Ellis," said Gina, standing in the way of the bathroom. "I just want to talk-"

"I don't have anything to say," you interrupted bluntly. "Our entire friendship has just been you keeping me around to make yourself feel better. Patronising me, infantilising me, making me feel so wildly uncomfortable about who I am. You've made it very clear you can have any man you want, yet you decided to fuck mine. All because I stood up to you at the christening, made you feel stupid for half a fucking second." 

She shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. "It's not like that." 

You stepped around her, pushing into the bathroom. 

"I think I actually have feelings for him, Ellis." 

"Of course you do. And you know what? Congratulations. I'm glad it's you he'll be flailing about on top of instead of me." 

Her jaw sharpened, teeth grinding behind pursed lips. "Y'know... I think you should probably look for somewhere else to live..." 

You gave a dry laugh. "Shags my boyfriend then kicks me out. Classic Gina." 

You slammed the door and locked it, letting your forehead rest against the wood for a moment as you caught your breath. That was so unlike you. All of it. The harshness, the sarcasm, the honesty. It felt good. So why were you trembling?

You stripped off your dress and sat on the edge of the bath, gently peeling away the dressing from the sole of your foot. It didn't look as bad as it felt, the dried blood covering a small slice, the skin around it darkening with a bruise. 

You turned on the shower, holding your hand beneath the water until it warmed up, watching the stream run off the tips of your fingers like ribbons. This water was going to cleanse you; wash away the dirt and sweat and rain, the anger, the shame. You were going to scrub it all away and step out anew. 

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[la-petite-lapin]

Double the Love | Part Nine

Double the Love masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x female civilian!OC Word Count: 2.5k Series warnings (may change between chapters): 18+ Minors DNI, angst, mentions of death, mentions of violence, swearing, mentions of nudity, mentions of sexually explicit content, OC has anxiety, communication, polyamory, M/M/F

A conversation and a confession

Simon doesn't say anything for a while. I sit next to him silently, waiting for the words I know are coming. Knowing that they're going to hurt.

I've accepted it. They're probably going to want to move out after this. God - how am I going to explain this to John...

"We thought you needed space today," Simon starts softly, his gentle tone soothing a part of me that I didn't know needed soothing. "We... I've messed up today. I should have shown you more affection. I shouldn't have let you doubt this."

I blink up at him, dazed and bewildered. He's going to have to spell this one out for me.

Like he's reading my mind, he explains, "We really like you, Tali. We didn't want to scare you away after how intense last night was." There's another beat of silence as he glances at Johnny, still fast asleep, and adds, "I think this a conversation that all of us need to be present for."

They like me.

The realisation sets in like a freight train. They really like me.

A giddy feeling somewhere between excitement and confusion creeps in, all but erasing the sadness I felt just moments ago. Simon looks at me, head cocked to one side like he can sense the heavy mix of emotions swirling around inside of me. There's a glimmer in his hazel eyes as he carefully watches my expression.

"Can we... can we wake him up now, please?" I know that it's selfish, but I need to know that this is resolved. I need to know that they both feel the same so that we can move on. So that I can think and plan and mentally prepare myself for what people are going to say.

Oh God.

What are John and Gaz going to think? The people I work with? I'd like to think that I don't really care about the opinions of others, but I do. Deep down, I do. Strangers can be judgemental and mean - especially where poly relationships are concerned. Shit, what about PDA? That's going to draw unwanted attention and...

"Hey, love." Simon gently squeezes my hand with his, scarred fingers surprisingly gentle against my much smaller ones. "Where did ya go?"

I swallow, suddenly aware of how dry my throat is, and how my knees are shaking. "I was just thinking."

"About?"

"About this. Us." When he squeezes my hand again, I carry on, shifting closer to him on the sofa until I'm tucked seamlessly against his side. "People are going to judge us."

There's a pause before Simon does something that surprises me. He barks out a laugh. A loud, gruff laugh that startles me for a second, almost making me jump.

I look up at him like he's gone mad, and he looks back at me, eyes twinkling with humour as he smirks. "You really think that's going to be what they focus on, princess? I walk around in public, 6'7, dressed in all black with a bloody mask on. Johnny's hardly a wallflower either. You really think people will be rushing to judge the sweet, beautiful woman walking around beside us?"

Well, when he put it that way, I suppose they wouldn't.

"I mean, there's always going to be a chance that some people will, but fuck 'em. I've caught enough stares to last me more than a lifetime. 's like water off a duck's back." Some of the amusement leaves his tone, eyes solemn again for a moment as he adds, "But seriously, love, if they don't know us, then why should we bother what they think? It's something Johnny said to me when we first started going out. I used to get so fucking stressed out about people looking at us and whispering shit. Just wanted to rip their heads clean off their shoulders. But it's not our problem - it's theirs."

I nod slowly. It seems to simple when he says it like that. I know it won't be, but it gives me hope. Hope that - one day - I'll be as nonchalant about it as Simon is.

There's a grumbling sound from the other end of the sofa. One that draws both of our attention. "Wha's all this about problems and heads?"

Si and I look across at the same time, meeting a pair of heavy-lidded, confused bright blue eyes.

"...and so Tali thought we weren't interested, and that we were ignoring her," Si says, rounding off his summary-version of our conversation to a now wide-awake Johnny.

"Right," the Scotsman says, cradling a mug of black coffee like it's his firstborn. "Well, respectfully, tha's a bunch of shite." He turns to me with wide eyes, and I try not to look sheepish. "Ye know that now, right?"

I offer him a small smile. "Right," I repeat.

The three of us are still in the living room - myself tucked back into my armchair, and the two of them sitting on the sofa facing me. There are some important matters that need to be discussed, questions that need to be asked, and ground rules that need to be laid. Things that won't get done if I'm sitting next to either of them. It'd be all too easy to get lost in their eyes, snuggle up to their ridiculously toasty body heat and drag them back into their room for round three.

I need to stay focused for this.

"So, what does this make us?" I ask, hoping that I don't sound as nervous as I feel. I'm surprised that I'm not physically shaking.

Johnny shrugs, glancing from Si back to me again before saying, "Our girlfriend. Partner. Take yer pick," just as Simon says, "Whatever you want us to be."

"I think I'd like to be your girlfriend, if that's okay." When they voice their more than enthusiastic approval, I turn to my next question, a nervous smile forming on my lips. "What will you tell John and Kyle?"

Simon frowns at my obvious hesitance, the movement tugging at the scars around his mouth. "Captain Price we can leave to you, if you're more comfortable that way. And Gaz... we can tell him we're together whenever you want. He's pretty open-minded."

I swallow thickly. "They're both coming over at the weekend."

There's a beat of silence before Johnny starts laughing. "Making plans with our friends without us already, lassie? We've only been together for half-an-hour."

My cheeks heat up and I fight the urge to get embarrassed. "John made then plans, not me."

Simon grins. "I think it's cute. It's good that you get along with Gaz; he's a nice lad."

We're getting side-tracked!

I clear my throat, all business once again. "There's something else that I need to tell you."

They both look at me, expressions holding varying degrees of concern and blind acceptance. They're looking at me like I hung the moon.

I know that it probably won't change the way that things are between the three of us, but I'm still nervous. Because - technically - I've been lying to them since we met.

They still don't know that I'm Alex's sister.

"Did Price ever tell you how he and I met?"

The question hangs in the air between us. I watch as it dawns on them: he never did. Regardless the pair stay silent, giving me the space to take a deep breath and continue on.

"We met over a year ago, when he came to inform me that my brother had died."

Simon's face turns a sickly greyish-white hue. "You- you never told me that he was military."

On the other side of the sofa, Johnny's expression darkens. "I didn't even know that ye had a brother." He pauses, eyes locking onto mine as he says, "But... if the Captain came to tell ye, tha' means... he was somethin' to do with our lot."

Si's head starts shaking before I can even get the next part of my confession out, like he knows exactly where this is all about to go. "My name - my full name - is Talia Keller. And my... my brother's name was Alex. Operations Officer Alex Keller."

Johnny lets out something between a groan and a choking noise. My heart is beating in my throat, palms clammy and chest too tight. Simon isn't even looking at me anymore; he's looking at the floor, the walls, the ceiling... anywhere but me.

"I... how? Alex never told us he had a sister." Simon sounds borderline frantic. I try not to let that statement hurt me; try to remind myself that it has no bearing on the love that my brother felt for me. Catching the look on my face, Simon adds a broken, "I didn't mean it like that."

If I didn't know any better, I'd say he wanted me to walk over to him and tell him that it's all a lie. One big, sick joke. That I actually met John through a friend of a friend, or some other totally normal circumstance. Not via a death notification.

"Calm down, Si," Johnny says suddenly, his soft, placating tone cutting through the room. "Calm down and let our lass talk." Blue eyes lock onto mine, offering me endless reassurance. "Carry on, love."

I clear my throat, hands clenching and unclenching into fists at my sides as I will myself not to cry. "Our parents died when we were young, and Alex joined the army when I was still just a kid. He was all I had left after our grandmother passed. And - when he died - John came to the flat to tell me he was gone." I remember the crushing weight of the loneliness I felt in those days that followed, and it brings a weak, bitter smile to my lips. "But he didn't just tell me and go. He left his number and he made an effort to be there when I needed him. He pulled me into his life; kept reaching out even when I was too stubborn to see that I really needed him around."

Johnny frowns, and I can see the unshed tears shining in his eyes. "But... why didn't ye tell us, love?"

I shake my head, my own tears falling freely. "I don't know," I say, honestly meaning it. "I just... I don't know. Maybe I thought it would be easier? So that you wouldn't pity me for it?"

Before Johnny can reply, Simon is standing up - crossing the living room with long, precise strides. He scoops me up from the armchair, cradling me in his big, muscular arms. I wrap my legs around his waist on instinct, burrowing my face into the crook of his neck to hide myself away from the world, letting the tears pour out.

"We don't pity you, princess," Simon says, his breath warm against the shell of my ear. I can hear the sofa creaking softly as Johnny stands up. Can feel his fingers brushing through my hair. "Just wish you'd told us sooner, that's all."

I peel myself away from Simon long enough to manage two words before I'm burying my face back into his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, lovie," Johnny coos. "There's nothin' to be sorry about."

Once we've all calmed down, Simon announces that it's time we all head off to bed. It's gone 11 and not only do I have work tomorrow but they have to nip across to the base for a meeting, so he has a point.

As Johnny and Simon rattle around the apartment, double-checking that they locked the front door when they came in earlier, and making sure all the windows are shut, I start to head off to my room. The room I sleep in alone.

"Um, where do ya think ye're going, lassie?" a voice calls out from the top of the hallway. I turn around to see Johnny standing there, his broad frame practically filling the space as he folds his arms across his massive chest.

I let out a quiet squeak. "Bed?"

Simon appears behind him, resting his chin on top of his boyfriend's - our boyfriend's - head. "Nice try. Get your arse into bed. I'm not in the mood to chase you tonight." With an adorable flash of vulnerability softening his battle-hardened features, he adds, "I want to cuddle."

Melting inside, I backtrack down the hallway and push their door open, hopping into what used to be my bed.

After a few minutes, I doze off, and when I open my eyes again, I'm bracketed on both sides by the warm, muscular bodies of my boyfriends. I try not to giggle like a teenage girl internally, but it does a lot to shake off the remaining sadness lingering from our conversation about Alex.

I roll over, accidentally slamming face-first into Simon's bare chest. Instead of whining about it, he grumbles, "Are you going to sleep like that?"

I blink, pulling away to glance down at myself. After I flopped down onto the mattress, I hadn't thought to take off my clothes. Or find myself anything suitable to sleep in.

"No?"

Simon chuckles indulgently, joined swiftly by Johnny - his rock-hard chest vibrating against my back.

"Jesus, lassie, just sleep naked like us. 's easier," the Scotsman says, drawing my attention to the fact that they are both indeed naked. "Saves us havin' to move wardrobes around."

I ignore him, kicking off my jeans before pulling my shirt off over my head. I lay still for a moment before something occurs to me - another question I forgot to ask earlier. A glaringly obvious one.

"What happens after Johnny's stitches have healed?"

Silence fills the room. It makes me wonder if it's something they've been wondering too.

Johnny speaks first. "Tha' depends, lassie. We'd have to ask Captain Price. An' it depends on ye, and want ye wanna do. But we'll both have to return to active duty."

Before I can ask what that looks like for them, Simon clarifies, "That means we'll be out on assignments more often." I don't think I'm imagining the heavy note of sadness that weighs heavy in his voice as he adds, "Sometimes we'll both be gone for weeks at a time, with no way of getting in touch with you."

As much as I hate it, I've already made my peace with that part. The bit that I don't get is the living situation. When they are here, I'd like to stay with them. I can live in the flat while they're away, but what about when they aren't? It's not fair on Winnie to have all four of us staying here, encroaching on her space. This apartment is just as much her home as it is mine.

"Do you two have a place together?" I ask, more out of curiosity than anything. I highly doubt it, since they ended up here with me in the first place.

Simon shakes his head. "We never saw a need for one. When we're in the country, we stay in the barracks with the other soldiers." A frown forms on his lips and I pull back a little further so I can comfortably cup his jaw. I smooth my thumb along the length of his cheekbone. "But I don't think that's a place that I'm happy with you being in."

I open my mouth to protest but Johnny's hand appears from behind me, swatting the air between us. "Can we talk about this in the mornin'? Some of us would like to sleep."

With a soft giggle, I roll over again and press a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose, then his forehead, and the cheek not pressed against the pillow. I settle my head into the gap underneath his chin, feeling the comfortable weight of Simon's arm come to drape over my waist and onto Johnny's. I can hear the sound of them kissing goodnight over my head, and it warms my heart even more than I thought I would.

Sandwiched between the two of them, I doze off again.

a/n: hi guys! I felt bad leaving you on a cliffhanger with that last one, so here's part 9 :) thank you so much to everyone for the kind words and support, both on posts and through messages, it does mean a lot 🧡 - lapetitelapin x

[raineandsky]

#88

tw: home invasion, knife/stabbing

The superhero doesn’t get much warning that someone’s in their house. They glance into their bedroom, into the mirror propped up at the opposite end, and make eye contact with someone hiding in the shadows on the other side of the doorframe.

There’s a half-second where they both seem a little startled to see each other. Then the intruder leaps out of their hiding spot and makes a haphazard strike, their blown cover making their attack a blatant scramble.

The superhero steps back, just. A blade swings into the space they leave. They feel the waft of cold air breeze over their face, the quiet phew as it cuts the air in front of them.

“Fuck,” escapes the intruder’s lips in a breath, and the superhero has half the mind to glance at who on earth has the gall to break into their house.

A villain. No surprise there, really.

The villain makes another attempt at a stab, which the superhero deftly avoids. Thieving, maybe? The superhero ducks under a second swing, the blade sweeping over their head. But the villain wasn’t looking for anything. They were hiding. They were trying to catch the superhero unawares.

Fucking assassin.

The villain leaps for them again, finally finding their rhythm again after the surprise. The superhero dodges their blade and shoves them back. Their back bumps against the wall with a dull thump.

“Who sent you?” the superhero snaps. The villain replies with an animalistic snarl and another swipe of their knife. The superhero’s too close—the edge of the blade tears a deep crimson streak across their chest.

“None of your fuckin’ business,” the villain retorts coldly. “All you need to know is that I’m here to make sure you get what you deserve.”

Their chest burns. Their breathing is uneven. Shit. “Come on, [Villain],” the superhero says with forced nonchalance. “Humour a guy here. Who was it?”

“No one sent me,” the villain spits. “Your death is for my own gain.”

The villain leaps. The superhero’s mind is distant, thinking about the heat in their chest, and they notice entirely too late. The villain shoves them into the wall this time, the force of it bringing a bright flash of pain with it.

The superhero throws a punch. The villain sweeps out of the way like this is easy. “Your retirement will bring more joy than you could ever know,” the villain teases, already closing the space between them again. “To us, and to your own.”

Bullshit. The superhero heaves a breath that aches in their lungs. They throw a foot out in a vain kick that the villain barely even has to avoid. “You have brought that agency to its knees. The heroes won’t miss you.” A smile splits on their face, unnerving and cold in the low light. “[Hero] won’t miss you.”

The hero? The gash on the superhero’s chest is dribbling. Every breath is like lava is being poured into a crack in their heart. That doesn’t make sense. The hero loves them—everyone loves them, everyone, they do, they have to—

“Me and your little dog have gotten quite friendly recently,” the villain continues into the silence. “They tell me you’re quite the fuckin’ shitbag, [Supervillain].”

The hero. They wouldn’t. The hero, they– they love them. They wouldn’t.

“Liar,” the superhero spits like a curse.

“Yeah?” The villain brushes the knife against the superhero’s throat; a promise, a warning. “They didn’t send me, if that’s your concern. No, they asked me not to bother. I was sent by nothing but the love I feel for the person you’re destroying.”

Did the superhero not turn the heating on on their way in? It’s so cold. A hand sits numbly at their chest. One thought keeps sinking in their mind like tar —no, no, the hero loves them, of course they do, of course, they have to.

A whir of sirens pierces through the superhero like an arrow to the head. They grimace, and the villain turns to glance out the window at blurry reds and blues. 

“Shit,” they say shortly. “Shit, you fucker.” They jab their blade disturbingly close to the superhero’s face. “If you survive tonight, consider me a recurring problem. I will stab you as many times as it takes to watch your hold on [Hero] loosen.”

The superhero’s emergency call is in their hand. Did they get that out? Huh. Those sirens must be the police, then.

“I have a lot more people on my side,” the superhero rasps, but when they have the mind to look up, the villain’s already gone.

Their chest is white-hot by now. They have to sit down. Each breath is scorching, short with pain. Agony has crept into their muscles; everything aches with exhaustion.

Well, a promise for a promise. If the superhero survives this, both the hero and the villain are fucking dead.

[vgilantee]

dear devoted delicate {xavier thorpe}

xavier thorpe x reader

requested: by my beloved julie @websterss <3

words: 2.2k

a/n: the reader is an outcast of an unknown type, but not a werewolf. i love werewolves, but because of some of the setup, it's gotta be a non-werewolf reader. also i went a little off-prompt but it's still the same in essence, and all the important bits are included, just shuffled up a little. oh and yes the title is a line from the song older, but i used it mostly because dear is a sweet petname, and butterflies have delicate wings. i think i'm clever. oh and if you're new here, i hate writing dialogue and it shows in this also if you want to see some really cool drawings of poisonous plants, send me an ask (please) because one of my favourite things ever are vintage botanical drawings (this will make sense in a minute dw)

warnings: n/a. just some sweetness. there is swearing though so idk if that counts as a warning

pronouns: she/her (maybe she/they? i can't remember if i threw in a 'they' lmao)

Once a month - sometimes twice if you were incredibly unlucky - you were kicked out of your room for two days while your roommate had a handful of her younger cousins over. 

Before Nevermore, you loved the full moon. Now you had a love-hate relationship. You still loved the moon itself, but you never enjoyed showing up at your friend’s dorm, backpack over your shoulder and sleeping bag tucked under your arm, sheepishly asking if you could once again sleep on their floor. You could, in theory, go back to your room to sleep as your roommate and cousins wouldn’t be there, instead transformed into wolves and galavanting around the woods. But in your second month at Nevermore, you did that, and woke up to a room full of the less-than-dressed human werewolves, some of whom had chosen your bed to curl up on, with you still in it. Never again. 

Full moons on the weekend were the worst. With no classes to occupy your time, you often found yourself moving from place to place around campus to find somewhere you could hide out before getting bored and moving on. 

Xavier watched as you jogged past the archery field, headphones in and running shoes muddied. It wasn’t unusual to see you go past during club practice, though you tended to avoid it after a downpour. He’d asked you about it once, after seeing you in the library one rainy Saturday afternoon.

“My room already smells like wet dog at the best of times, I’m not going to add to that.” Your voice was light with humour; you adored Sofi and she always made sure to not bring in any smells with her. But the comment stuck with Xavier and the next time you were sat next to each other in Torture through History, he sketched out a wolf before moving his hand to bring it out of the page. You giggled quietly as the ashen wolf shook itself, small flecks mimicking water coming off, then curled up next to your hand. You had smiled down at it fondly as it fell asleep before dissolving into charcoal dust, leaving a light smudge on your hand. Xavier watched you and pretended not to notice the warmth that came to his face as you looked up at him, the fond look still in your eyes. 

“Xavier, are you going to take your shot? Or you just going to keep staring at ‘em?” He shot up a middle finger over his shoulder before turning to follow its movement to see his club mates smirking over at him. 

After ducking into Ash’s room to change into more comfortable clothes, you make your way down to the library. Ash was generally the most reliable for having space on their floor for you to crash, the thin roll-out mattress a permanent feature in the beanbag corner of the dorm. 

On your way, you detour to your room to kick your muddy runners under your bed, though not before making an ‘I’m watching you’ motion toward a curled-up Sofi with a smile. 

It wasn’t uncommon for couples to be hidden away in the library, especially not on an overcast weekend. But the Grimmstone library was the only library on campus that held an original copy of an 1800s toxic botany encyclopaedia. 

After a few false turns with quick apologies to the interrupted couples, you finally found the right - and luckily empty - aisle. With your forefinger running gently along the worn spines, you made your way down the rows of books, glancing at the names of authors until you found the one you were looking for. 

After carefully sliding the hardcover book off the shelf - nearly dropping it as the loose plastic dust cover slipped - you sat down at one of the desks lining the centre of the room and began flicking through. You flicked the book to the back, finger running down the yellowed page until you reached the name you were looking for: aconitum.

----

“Big scary werewolf and you’re afraid of a little butterfly?” You laughed as you wandered into Plant Toxicology with Sofi. 

“It flew right into my face!” She waved her free hand in front of her, mimicking the butterfly’s movements. 

“And you squealed!” As you laughed, Sofi gently hip-checked you, nudging you toward your usual desk, before laughing with a shake of her head and walking toward her own. You nodded hello to Yoko as you sat beside her. 

“Alight, class. Group paper time.” The sounds of groans and heads hitting tables bounced around the room. “I know, I know. Now, rows one and three, turn around and give a little wave to your partner.”

----

You were hours early to meet your study buddy, but it was a non-issue. The time alone allowed you to make meticulous notes on the plant before worrying about formatting them into a presentable paper. 

The notes you made were messy, quick dot points from the encyclopaedia that could make into a decent assessment. The paper was only short anyway, the first report of the semester that was more of a benchmark than a large percentage of your grade. 

Headphones in, it wasn’t long until you found yourself with your feet up on the seat and book resting open on your thighs, reaching around your bent knees to occasionally take notes. 

You were in the middle of triple-checking the spelling of a latin nomenclature when a flit of grey out the corner of your eye caught your attention. But as you turned your head to see what it was, all you could see was another couple darting down an aisle, whispering to each other. You shook your head with an amused exhale before turning back to your note-taking. 

Just as you leaned forward to take a note, you saw the grey again. But this time, instead of a moment at the side of your vision, the grey moved in front of you just long enough to make out the shape of a butterfly before it landed on the tip of your nose. 

Cross-eyed to stare at the charcoal insect, you pulled out the headphones slowly, trying not to disturb it. You knew it wasn’t real, recognising the trademark sketch lines of Xavier’s art. 

Another pair of butterflies began to flutter in front of you, bouncing off of each other with tiny plumes of dust. You let out a small giggle and the bug on your nose darted away, flying right into the other two where all three of them exploded into a shower of dark powder onto the desk. Once the last of the dust landed, you turned quickly to look over your shoulders, dropping your feet to the floor, trying to find the artist.

You met Xavier’s eye as he folded his sketchbook closed in his right hand. His head was tilted with a smile as he made his way toward you, backpack slung over his shoulder. 

“Howdy, howdy partner.” You wriggled your fingers to wave as he pulled out the chair beside you, dropping down and letting his bag fall to the floor. As he did, you noticed that Xavier’s pulled-back hair was a messy damp, the kind that comes with being caught in the rain. 

“Started the fun without me.” He gestured lazily to your notebook and the two thick library books in front of you (at some point during your research you wandered back to the shelf and found a second book with information on the deadly plant).

“Wanted to make you jealous, of course.” You shot him a wink with a small giggle, turning back to your book just in time to miss the tips of Xavier’s ears go pink. “The butterflies were definitely a welcome distraction though,” you thanked, turning in your chair to face him fully, “I felt like I was going cross-eyed staring at these pages.” 

“I’m happy to distract.” Xavier sent you a dopey smile and raised one hand to flatten down flyaways, and you bit the inside of your lip while ignoring the warmth that grew on your face. In your attempt to break eye-contact and hopefully get rid of the blush, your gaze flicked down to his mouth and caught him licking his lips. 

Almost in sync, you and Xavier looked away from each other and as you looked over at the textbook, you heard him clear his throat. 

“Okay, so,” Xavier broke the silence after a moment, “what have you got so far?”

You quickly delved into giving him a rundown of the notes you had made so far, explaining ideas you had come up with for it. However, you made a point of not looking up at him. It was a little awkward at times, where you would catch yourself beginning to look at him but quickly found a drawing of the purple flower far too important to not look over at. 

Neither of you noticed that the sun had set until the howls of classmates made their way from this distance, the sound causing both of you to turn and look out the window. 

“Shit, I didn’t realise how late it had gotten.” During the week, there was an 8pm curfew, but over the weekend library hours were extended and they were a little more lenient with the time you had to be back at your dorm giving you until midnight to be back. There was just one downside to being in the library late.

“Oh my god we missed dinner.” Xavier sounded devastated at the realisation, and you looked over to see him with the back of his hand pressed dramatically to his forehead. 

“You hungry?” It wasn’t long past dinnertime, but because of the routine that came with living at Nevermore, you knew the answer would be yes. “I may or may not have some snacks hidden in my dorm.” He perked up, and though he would never tell, he was more than a little excited to be spending more time alone with you.

---

Xavier sat awkwardly on your bed as you kicked off your shoes and began to pull a box out from under your bed. Pushing some heavy clothing out of the way, you pulled out a bag of chips and a couple of packets of sweets. 

“It’s not really a dinner, but it’s food.” You showed him the food you had stashed, offering it weakly. Xavier scooched himself onto the floor, patting the space beside him and you sat yourself down cross-legged. 

As Xavier pulled open the chip bag, you sent Ash a message saying you might be over late, but would try to be as quiet as possible. They sent back a thumbs up, and you shoved away your phone just in time for the chips to be held out in front of you.

Between the sweets and bag of chips, you and Xavier managed to talk about anything that came to mind as time quickly moved by. During your time, both of you got more relaxed, losing any vague semblance of good posture and leaned against the side of your bed. And maybe closer to each other, but only maybe. 

Xavier pulled his sketchbook out of his backpack and leaned forward, listening to you talk as he drew. He hid his sketchbook from you as you tried leaning over him, giggling into his ear as you did. 

You let your body flop onto the ground beside him, staring up leaning on your hand as he readjusted how he was sitting to keep hiding what he was drawing from you. Then he tucked his pencil behind his ear and held his hand above the page. 

Lifting up with a rain of dust, a dozen small butterflies began to flit around your room. They bounced off each other, spinning in circles as they danced.

Much like the interruption of howls earlier in the evening, you are brought back into reality by the buzzing of your phone against the hardwood floor. 

“I don’t mean to stop you from whatever you’re doing,” Ash skipped the greeting as you answer the call, “but if you’re sleeping here tonight you might want to think about showing up soon.” 

“Hello to you too.” Sitting up properly, you watched Xavier as he turned on his phone screen and showed you the time, and you widened your eyes. “Oh fuck. Okay, thanks, Ash. Be there soon.” Xavier stood first, offering you a hand to pull you up which you happily took pretending not to notice the way he squeezed your hand shortly when you stood.

“I can walk you over if you want.” You were already shaking your head at the offer, knowing that you would be cutting it thin getting to Ash’s dorm and Xavier’s dorm house was in the opposite direction.

“No, it’s okay. I don’t want to be the reason you get in trouble.” He held the door open for you, leaning on the outer frame. As he pulled it shut his arm brushed your side. 

There was a beat of silence as neither of you wanted to move. Although you had spent the night hanging out, the softness in that moment was different and not something you wanted to break.

Steeling yourself for a moment, you darted forward and kissed Xavier on the cheek, turning and beginning to walk away before you could see how he reacted. 

Xavier watched as you moved quickly away, his cheeks and ears pink, He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times trying to figure out how to react. Once you disappeared around the corner, he let out a breath and sheepishly smiled to himself.

comments and reblogs are appreciated! as are asks about the fic!

rambles, feel free to ignore: this fic isn't… okay so i hold myself to very high standards which is a problem with my brain and things, and i need to stop doing that because i end up giving up on things that aren't perfect instead of appreciating that i have made something and it's mine and from my brain. again, a problem i need to sort out. but all this being said!! by my self-imposed standards this isn't amazing, and really i'm posting it as a "here! it's done! take it before i take it back and destroy it!" and that's only happening because it was a request from a mutual.

tl;dr: these rambles are more to say that i like this fic, and i'm happy enough with it, but my standards are so high that i don't think it's good enough. which is a common thing with creatives and just know that what you make is good because it's yours and you made it, and that's all that matters!

[iamjustaholeforyousir]

I Disrespected You

part 8 of Look What We Became

summary: some feelings are discovered, and grand schemes are made amidst jealousy and obliviousness.

warning: angst, kissing, mention of cheating, alcohol, brief smut, jealousy, stupid harry.

word count: 3,548

minors DNI

part1 part2 part3 part4 part5 part6 part7 part8 part9

The dinner was a success, if looked at from the outside, but for you it was anything but. After Harry had left you on that balcony, you could not help but feel a sense of sadness. On one side you were glad that Harry had run to prevent Prince William from doing anything to another person and on the other you were sad that he had left you yet again for her and you felt guilty. You imagined how he would have held her and reassured her that everything will be okay, how he would wipe the tears of terror from her face as he would kiss her calm. 

You decided to go back in, and find someone to stop your brain from thinking further. 

Your whole night was ruined so to say, until you met gemma. She was looking beautiful as always, and her sense of humour had made you forget about the night. 

But you were soon interrupted by your husband as he held onto your arm and pulled you away, no words were exchanged as he took you upstairs towards your chambers. 

He never once looked back at you and you never once looked at anything but him, he seemed determined to take you, and you did nothing to protest, it was a if the world had slowed down around you, as if you had gone deaf for the world and the only thing you could hear was his breathing and yours. He did not let go of your arm till you both were inside the room, he closed the doors and lightly pushed you against them.

Your back was flush against the doors as he moved closer to you.

Your breath hitched and you suddenly became very aware of what was happening. His hands found your waist and held on to it as he came closer. 

You could feel his hot breath against your face, the smell of wine was fainter than the last time you were this close, his eyes drifted from yours down to your lips as yours went on his but you were quick to look up. He closed the gap between you two, his lips felt heavy on yours, as he took your upper lip between his and slowly pulled away, and you let out the breath you were holding. It was very gentle, the way he kissed you, but little did you know it was only the beginning of something wild. His hand found you zipper and he pulled it down and your dress fell of your shoulder, your hands fly up to your chest to keep it covered and he moved closer to kiss you again, but this time it was more urgent, it was long, fast, as if he was searching for something, the room had gotten hotter, and his hands were touching the bear skin of your back, and as he continue the same feeling of frustration filled you, like it did during your bath. 

You focused on the kiss now, as your lips moved in perfect sync. 

Soon his hands left your back and moved to yours to pry them away from your chest, he kissed the corner of your mouth, he trailed kisses down your neck and you sigh. 

It was a feeling you wanted to memorise for the rest of your life. He kissed your clavicle and peppered kisses on your chest.

You wanted him to tear the dress apart, it was getting so hot, and then he stopped entirely. 

His face came to level with yours for a moment as he stared into your eyes.

He ducked down again and you felt his hands hook under your legs as he picked you up, your hands found shoulders.

The skirt of your dress now looped around your waist, and your legs were exposed. 

He found your lips again and pushed his body between your legs, the feeling of pure pleasure filled your body as he provided friction to your pussy, your head hit the door, in ecstacy, and his lips found your neck.

A particular hard grind almost made you moan out loud but you covered your mouth with your hand, too embarrassed about what you were about to do. 

“Don't you hide those pretty noises from me princess.” it was the first thing he had said to you, his voice was commanding, authoritative, “if i am making you feel something, i want to know exactly what it is.” he whispers against your jaw. 

“Let go for me princess, I want to see you absolutely wild for me.”  he moaned, this feeling, you wanted to feel this every second, you wanted to be this close to him always, you felt so loved, so desirable, so needed. 

He jerks you away from the door, and takes you toward the bed, he was gentle as he laid you down, he did not let his lips lose contact with your skin. 

His knee was between your legs and he encouraged you to grind against it by pulling you down on it.

That did something to you, it made you think, why was he doing this? Suddenly, what happened that made him want to touch you like this?

You take his face in your hands and gently pull him away from your chest to make him face you.

Both of you were out of breath as you looked deep into his eyes trying to justify his behaviour. 

“What?” he asked, he looked scared, “princess what happened? Are you hurt?” he asked, slightly sitting up 

“No, i am not hurting prince harry i just… i… why are you doing this?”

“Do you not want this?” he asked, even more concerned. 

“It's not that, i just don't know why you would do this with me when you love-”

“Princess, I would not want you to be thinking about her when I am touching you like this.” he says, moving closer to you

“Yes, I know, I mean I understand, but why are you..touching me like this.” you ask him

“Are you not liking it?”

“It's not that i just don't understa-” you were cut off by a knock on your door. You turn your head but Harry keeps looking at you, you don't answer and neither does Harry, the person knocks again and this time you look at Harry as if telling him to answer.

He reluctantly gets up and opens the door, “what do you want?” he says, and you could hear the venom dripping from his voice. 

“Can I come in?” a woman says. deborah. 

“I am actually in the middle of something with my wife.” he says, the conversation sounded as if they both were never in love.

“You are touching her!?” she says and harry just scoffs, he turns around looking at you before he goes out and closes the door. 

Your curiosity gets the best of you as you quickly stand up and press your ear against the door.

“And so what if I am? Hm? She is my wife, I can do whatever it is I want with her, I can kiss her, I can touch her, I can love her.” 

“But you don't love her! You love me! And you won't just stop loving me because of what I did!”

“You have some nerve saying that! I don't even know why you would do such a thing in the first place, I came running to you to protect you from that pathetic excuse of a man and you show me gratitude by being a whore for him!” 

“It was only to make you want me more! To make you realise what you had forgotten!” 

“What I had forgotten!? Is fucking you the only way to show you love? And letting another man touch you in front of me, telling him how he is better at it than me, what exactly did you accomplish from it!” Tell me!”

“I WANTED TO PUNISH YOU!”

“PUNISH ME! FOR WHAT! WOULD YOU LIKE IT! TELL ME! WOULD YOU LIKE IT IF I MADE YOU SIT IN THAT ROOM AS I FUCK MY WIFE SENSELESS!?” 

You gasp, how could he say something like that? Why didn't you go deaf before hearing something like this? 

There was a long silence. 

“I never want to see you near me ever again. I don't want to see you near her again. I didn't touch her, because I was in love with you, but you, oh you jumped at the first opportunity you got! I was ready to give up my whole life for you, I was ready to leave the castle, deny the title of king if it meant living a life with you! But you just wanted to be queen, you never loved me at all, because if you did, you would have the need to punish me for something that isn't my fault. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lady I need to please.” 

You quickly moved away from the door and went and sat on the bed. 

He enters the room, and sits next to you on the bed. You refuse to look at him at all. You had a pained expression on your face, he touched your cheeks and you looked at him “do you think of me as dim witted?” you ask him, and it throws him completely off guard

“I never said that-”

“But you think so, don't you?”

“Where is this coming from?”

“It's coming from the fact that you don't think I will realise something is wrong when you suddenly start acting like my presence doesn't appal you!”

He remained silent, and you knew he had gathered what was going on by now.

“I am not a sword of revenge! I am a human! And just because I am your wife, doesn't give you the right to use me out of spite! You don't need to do anything with me! Like I said before, I really like you, but recently, you are making me loathe you! You.. you  are using me to wash her away! How do you think I would feel!”  god you hated crying, but your anger got the best of you.

“It's not that I don't want you to touch me, of course I do! It feels great when you do! But I want you to do it out of love, not because your ego was bruised by another woman!”

You wipe the tears off your face and get up, fixing the skirt of your dress, and putting your sleeves back up, you reach behind your back to close the zipper. 

And damn this dress and damn the zipper, because both were not cooperating with you. 

And you completely let go as fresh tears of frustration start pooling in your eyes. 

And again, you feel soft hands against your back, as your husband pulls the zipper up. 

“I know, i have been a pepper arse to you.” he starts

as he looks at you in the mirror.

“And you have the right to hate me, but I am not using you to get revenge. I respect you, and I would never do anything to do otherwise. Forgive me princess, it took me time to realise my liking for you, and forgive me, that this realisation came to me after such an incident. I was trapped in the prism of this fake love, that I did not want to see anyone else. I don't love, yet, just the way you don’t love me yet. I understand if you don't believe me, and I understand if you don't want to do what we were about to do. I just..i-” he cut himself off, not knowing what to say.

You turn around and look at him, “I would like some time to think on my own please.” you say and he only nods “i shall go down and bid our guests goodbye, i hope you will join me soon.” he says and fixes his dress shirt before exiting the room. 

Harry went down with shame, his anger does get the best of him, fuck her senseless? Really? Those are the best words he could say? What an arse! But most of all, Harry was scared, he was scared that he had let her down, scared that she would hate him forever, scared that she might find comfort in someone else. 

And that led him to the realisation that this is exactly how she must have been feeling when he went up to her a week before their marriage. 

Not really focusing on the path, he bumps into someone, “watch where you are going, dickless,” said the most appalling voice, and Harry was in no mood to talk to him, “why so quiet? Hm? Now that you know I am the better man, you don't have anything to say? Where are your manners? Congratulations would be nice!” 

William could really get on his nerves, but right now his wife had taken over his mind, her tears, her hands, her skin, her lips, her breath, her scent, the way she moaned, the way she sighed, the way her body was covered in goosebumps when he whispered against her skin, the way her fingers would tangle in his hair, the way touched his face, the way her hips moved against his, her, her, her, just her god he was going crazy! He ran away and he could hear William saying some shit, but he needed to find Gemma, because she was the only person who could tell him what to do.

Gemma looked at her brother, she didn't know how to start, whether she should comfort him first about the whole deborah situation, or she should scold him for the next deborah situation, or she should give him advice on how to talk to his own wife, or if she should start with teasing him for almost having sex. 

So all she said was “wow.” 

“Wow? That is all you have for me? Wow!?”

“I am processing all of this! And the fact that it happened in an hour or so! What do you want me to say!” 

“Okay, oaky, first I want you to tell me how to tell Y/n that I am not using her.”

“Well Harry, you were using her. She is quite smart, you know, smart enough to figure that out.”

Harry just groans, “gemma! I know she is smart! Trust me, if she weren't, I wouldn't be here right now!” 

“Yeah, you would be fucking her sensless.” 

Harry’s whole body cringed at that, he was disgusted by that comment he had previously made. 

“Look my brother, your choice of word was horrible, and you telling that to another woman, that you one you were previously involved with was an even stupider move, and now all you can do is give her some time to think and do everything in your power to please her.”  she looked at him for a while, “at least that is what father does when he displeases mother.” 

“Yes Gemme but it is because they are in love!”

“And you are saying that you are not falling in love with the princess? If you really think that then you are truly stupid.” 

“Whatever do you mean?”

“If you weren't falling in love with her, it wouldn't matter to you how deeply you hurt her, i know you, you are nice to people, but someone who came in between your life and jumbled it a bit, i don't think you appreciate that s lot, as you older sister i have noticed your disdain towards change bother. And this girl changed your entire life, and now you come to me for advice and you haven't done that since you were five and fancied princess Divina.” 

“I was a child then.”

“But you were smitten with her,” she says, “look, all i am trying to say is, stop denying your feelings for another woman, just because you think you are in love with one. Tell me truly bother, has it really been anything with Deborah but physical affection? She was just a pretty face, that had enamoured you, possibly seduced you, and tricked you into thinking of it as love, didnt you yourself say that she told you she only ever wished to be a queen one day. Her actions towards you were not one of love but merely shallow attempts of getting a taste of royalty.” 

Harry just looked at her, confused, but deep in thought.

“Think of it as your own brother, and when you come to a conclusion, please consult before acting on it.” she says and leaves.

Harry leaves shortly after, keeping in mind his duties as the prince. 

Upon reaching the ball room, he sees you, standing there, standing alone, like a lost puppy, he decides to approach you, but stops when he sees a man reach to you first.  He sees as the man takes your hand and kisses the fabric of the glove gently. He sees you smile at him and bow down. 

A feeling of pure hatred filled his heart, not for you. Never for you, neveragain. But for the man, touching you. Getting to be so close to you, making you laugh. And the worst part was that you looked extremely comfortable around him, touching his arm, laughing so freely, looking at the both you felt like the world did not exist and it was just the two of them. 

The whole concept of rationality left Harry's body as he stormed off to the wine fountain.  

You could see Harry leave from the corner of your eye, and the way he strutted away, made you concerned. 

“Excuse me please Prince Benedict, I must go to tend to my husband.” you say, he gives you a sly smile, “and i must go tend to your sister, she has been gossiping with those old ladies for ages now!” you both laugh once again, and part ways.

“Prince harry? Should you think you have had enough for the night?” you ask, gently, but all you are met with is silence, as you watch him pour another glass for himself. 

“My lord, I advise you to stop for the night.” you say again. 

“Why should you be concerned with what I do now?” he asks, rather harshly, “perhaps you should go to laugh with your prince.” 

So this is what it's about, “I assure you my lord, he is not my prince.”

Harry just scoffs, “he might as well be, when you two are so close, he is touching your arm as you are his, tell me princess, did you not like it when i touched you, was i lacking? Or have you found this prince to be a lover, if so I am completely okay with it, but a heads up would have been great before I almost vandalised you.”

“It is not the case prince harry, prince benedict is my sister, sarah’s husband. He only ever came to say hello. And as far as you are concerned, you do not lack prince harry, the only reason i was not willing to be touched by you was the reason why you had decided to touch me in the first place. I do not want to be a mere replacement, I want to be the one you cannot replace. And of course in some ways i am irreplaceable, since i am your wife, and you cannot leave me, or get another one, till the very day i die-”

“Why must you bring up your death so soon, eager to leave me alone are we?” he asked 

“Those weren't my intentions at all.”

There was a long silence before you spoke up. “I really enjoyed the way you…the way….we touched,” and his head snaps towards you, “it was nothing like i had ever felt before, and if what you say is true, prince harry, that your feeling for me a similar to those of mine for you, then i would very much like us to explore further.”

“Are you sure you are not saying this because of some bullshit you were told about a wife’s honour?”

You just look down, truth be told, you had remembered your mothers words, a wife’s duty is to please her husband, and it was looking like you were only displeasing him. 

He seems to cat h up to what is going on “i do not wish to make you do something you do not please to so, if you are not ready, or simply just don't please to do this, i will not force you, my actions were irrational and out of thoughts, i suggest we must get to know each other before taking a step too big, what say you?” 

You look up at him a smile, it was the biggest smile he had seen you give, 

“That is a lovely idea my lord.” 

And a lovely idea it was indeed.

A/N: I AM SO SORRY FOR POSTING THIS SOOOOOOO LATE, BUT I WASN'T WELL, I HAD BAD FEVER AND MY EXAMS ARE COMING SOON, BUT DON'T WORRY, I WILL TRY MY BEST TO POST MORE OFTEN.

stay safe❤️❤️

@strwbrrydaydreams @remuslupinwifee @inlikea-coolway @mypolicemanharryyy @sunshinemoonsposts @stilesissaved @novalunosising @sleutherclaw @dear-mylove @kiy0hime @rafaaoli @st-ev-ie @urmomsksjdjdjsj

[gremlin-girly]

Flufftober Day 2: “Left. Other Left!”

From @flufftober 's prompt list

Title: “On your Left!”

Pairing: Sam Wilson X Reader

Tags: Fluff, Sam Wilson x gn!reader, established relationship,  Remember to wear protection!!! (helmets!), no beta we die like men, flufftober 2024, gn!reader

Warnings: implied sexual content (at the very end)

Summary: Your boyfriend suggests going for a bike ride and picnic one sunny day, only for you to end up being glared at by ducks and soaking wet.

Word Count: 1k (1034)

As always I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated or copied. My warnings are non-exhaustive and I may have missed something (though I try not to) so please read at your own risk.

I hope you enjoy; feedback, likes and reblogs are always welcome!

Prev | Next

“But... everyone can ride a bike .”

"Everyone but me," you huff, not directly at your boyfriend Sam, more at yourself. You had always been slightly embarrassed about it. It's not that you couldn't ride a bike. More that you tended to fall off a lot more. There were countless memories of you face first in a fence after going left instead of right and perhaps a sheepish apology or two to neighbours after removing a wing mirror. Bikes weren't fun. At least, not to you anyway. The thought of spending your weekend working up a sweat, wobbling on a bike, was less than appealing.

"Aw come on now, hon. " Sam said gently, rubbing your shoulder. He was doing that sweet, reassuring smile of his. Which only meant one thing. "I'll help you."

"It's not that easy, Sammie." You sigh. "Plus, I dont want to ruin my new jeans when I fall off!"

Sam grinned."Haha, no way you're that bad. "

You gave him a look and he raised his hands defensively, chuckling.

"Okay, okay, calm yourself. " He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your temple. "But humour me, let's go on a short bike ride and a picnic next weekend.  I promise it'll be fun. "

You gave him a sideways glance only to be met with wide, mahogany puppy-dog eyes. Your face falls, knowing you can't say no to that handsome face.

Sam had set the picnic blanket and hamper up for you both already, well-organised as always.

"Hey, handsome," You smile at him, hoping that if you bat your eyelashes enough, he'll forget about trying to get you on the bike.

"Oh no," He grins, making his way over to you waggling a finger. "Don't try it. We're getting on the bikes first. "

Your scoff of frustration is muffled by Sam's chest as he wraps his arms around you. He looks down at you fondly, reassuring smile plastered across his lips.

"You'll be fine. I'll be right next to you."

You grumble something unintelligible as you remove your arms from around his waist, dragging your feet as you walk towards the bikes. Sam joins you on the bike path with his bike in tow not long after you've finished adjusting your helmet.

“Redwing is manning the fort in case anyone tries to steal our stuff," he says, fiddling with the straps of his helmet. He hitches a long leg over his bike with ease, settling onto the seat. He glances over at you, hands on the handlebars ready to go. Seeing the displeased look on your face and sensing your anxiety over the short cycle, he offers you a reassuring grin. "You'll be fine."

You mimic his motions and sit onto your bike. Sam looks on patiently, waiting for you to move off first. You take a deep breath. Oh, the things you do for love.

You push off from the ground, your foot finding the pedal with ease. Your arms wobble and for a moment you think you might fall but you straighten and with a push of the pedals, your bike sails gently over the dirt path. You pick up a little speed, feeling more confident, the whip of wind against your face feels amazing and you can't help smiling.

You hear the whirr of the wheels behind you as Sam catches up to you, and you beam over at him.

“I’m doing it!” You say gleefully, handlebars wobbling ever so slightly again.

“Yeah you are sweetheart!” Sam calls from somewhere behind you. The whirring sound gets faster and he calls out again. “On your left!”

Your head whips around to your right and you hear Sam say “Your other left!” from your left side but it’s too late. As you turned your head, your arms mistakenly followed suit. You had a moment that could only be described as an out of body experience as you watched yourself veer into the lake in slow motion.

Ducks angrily quack at you for disrupting their peaceful swim and you remain seated, soaked and sullen in the water glaring up at your boyfriend – who, in all fairness to him, is trying very hard not to laugh at you – with the wheel of your bike spinning with comical squeaks.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks, dismounting his bike with a stifled giggle. It only makes you glare harder.

“Do I look okay?” You snap haughtily, folding your arms across your chest with a pout. This makes Sam’s lip quiver and the shine in his beautiful brown eyes tells you he’s close to bursting with laughter… And that’s what makes you break into a grin.

Taking it as permission to laugh, Sam doubles over howling at you and you quickly follow suit. The ducks glare over at you both. As Sam wipes tears from his eyes, he wades into the water and offers you a hand up, which you gladly take.

“I’m sorry for not believing you,” He says, grinning brightly at you and pulling you closer. You roll your eyes playfully and bite back a smile.

“As you’ve waded in to rescue me from the ducks, you are forgiven.” You joke, making his smile grow. “But I don’t really want to sit in these wet clothes to eat.”

“Raincheck on the picnic?” He suggests, still grinning down at you.

"Raincheck." You confirm, sighing at the state of you both. You look back up at Sam and you can feel your heart swell with adoration. Moments like these, the happy memories they become, make you certain that you love him with all your heart. Sam clearly feels the same way, because his lips meet yours in a tender kiss.

"Come on, let's get back to our stuff. Then we'll head home and I'll run you a bath." He bends down to retrieve your runaway bike from the water. As you wade up the bank wrapping your arms around yourself, you turn back to smirk at him.

"Make it a shower for the both of us and you've got a deal."

Sam's eyebrows raise as he pushes the bike behind you but he chuckles. "Yes ma'am."

[spnexploration]

Captions

Happy birthday Dean Winchester! (it's already the 24th in Aus!) Here is quite honestly the siliest thing I've written 🤣

Warnings: None

Word count: 268

“You ok? Dean, are you ok?!” He shook his head, putting his hand to his mouth. He’d been thrown when he was struck by the witch’s spell and looked a bit dazed. The witch had disappeared.

He flapped his mouth, but nothing came out.

Suddenly, words appeared on a little black tape in front of his chest:

I'm ok

What the duck?

I did not say duck

What the shell is going on?!

“Dean, I think you have captions...”

How the shell can I have captains?!

They're not even good captains! Every second weird is frond!

I couldn't help the giggle that burst from my mouth. He glared daggers at me.

Let's find Spam

Even Dean laughed at that one. We went through the building looking for Sam. Dean had to stop trying to call out after I burst into laughter at “SPAMMY” appearing in front of him.

Sam did an absolute double take when he saw Dean's magical captions appear. “What happened?!”

“Dean got hit with a spell, I think the witch had a sense of humour.”

Duck off

“Also he's channeling his inner Ken Behrans.”

Doo?

“Remember that meme from Australia where someone on TV said Canberrans but the caption said Ken Behrans? That's you, right now.”

Dean just glared.

“Alright, I think the witch is gone, let's get back to the bunker and see if we can turn off,” Sam said.

“I dunno, I kinda like him like this,” you said with a smirk.

I toe where you sleep, britches

“Aww, poor baby can't even threaten properly,” I said, patting Dean's shoulder condescendingly. He glowered.

[twstgarden]

✰ ��� match-up trade for @quimichi ❞

━ match-up trades are open. for more information, please visit the catalogue and the rules. commissions are open. ko-fi is available if you want to support me. ━ a florist sorting through the flowers to find your perfect match. according to the red tulip’s petals, your matches are…

━ 𝙘𝙖𝙚𝙡𝙪𝙨 / 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙯𝙚𝙧 ━

➻ the courageous trailblazer of the astral express appears to be your best match! believe it or not, he's actually an option as a match. his composed yet somewhat endearingly eccentric personality may suit your tastes well.

➻ to start, your fashion sense is something he might take a liking to. casual and comfortable styles tend to be somewhere in his fashion calibre and your tastes suit him perfectly.

➻ caelus would first be drawn by your polite and helpful personality, thinking you are some light in people's lives as you leave your way to treat people kindly.

➻ he also loves your sense of humour. you make him laugh and you're a sweetheart, what is there for him not to like?

➻ finding out more about your personality is what keeps him intrigued. you tend to be sleepy most of the time? he'd make sure you get proper rest at the end of the day. sarcastic AND has dark humour? you just made his heart flutter even more.

➻ he'd love to take you out on dates, especially late at night when most of the city is asleep. he'd sit on the benches with you while having some ice cream and a conversation to go with it. other times, he'd sit in a luxury speedster - a car model in penacony - and have a little date while looking up at the stars or have a snack while laughing and sharing stories.

➻ overall, you'd have a heartwarming and peaceful relationship with caelus, with a hint of "silliness" here and there.

━ possible matches: ➻ gepard landau (loyal and kind, neat and has a great temperament, may suit well to your tastes) ➻ jing yuan (responsible, kind, and respectful ; great partner ; literal green flag) ➻ boothill (honest and loyal, can make you laugh)

━ 𝙖𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 / 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙧 ━

➻ the renowned traveler of teyvat is your other best match! he is also a part of the choices, surprising as it seems. his blunt yet humble front appears to be compatible with your own.

➻ at first glance, aether thought you were fairly quiet and reserved, but with a kind heart. after getting to know you more, he adores your sarcasm and rather endearingly talkative attitude. he would sit and listen to all the things you had to say with a smile on his face.

➻ he loves sitting in windrise with you, feeling the breeze in the air while having a hearty conversation and sharing strawberries and watermelons.

➻ he makes sure to spend quality time with you every chance he gets, and he spends it in a variety of ways - walking together, lying on the grass while looking up at the starry sky, listening to songs, or even taking a nap. the comfort and peace he finds in you makes him feel safe, and he hopes you feel the same way.

➻ on his travels, he would occasionally collect mini cacti or pictures of ducks that he may come across, wanting to show them to you on your meet-ups or dates.

➻ knowing your preference to stay indoors, he loves spending his not-so-busy days resting at home with you.

➻ overall, you'd have a wholesome and healthy relationship with aether. a proper definition for what you both share is comfortable, peaceful, and full of wonderful surprises - after all, he is a traveler, so he is bound to have new experiences that he'd love to share with you.

━ possible matches: ➻ diluc ragnvindr (a gentleman ; the standard ; protective, loyal, and caring ; his line of work may not suit to your tastes, however, even if he is repulsed by alcohol) ➻ wriothesley (charming and strong ; appears to be a great partner) ➻ lyney (friendly and full of surprises ; would make you laugh and feel contented)

© twstgarden 2024 || please do not steal, translate without my permission, or use this to train a.i.

[little-peril-stories]

Whumptober 2023: Are You Nobody, Too?

So these tags happened in June:

Okay. Like, I know not everything needs to be explained in a story. Sometimes, things can just happen. But once an idea gets into my head, it's very hard to let go. So, here's Where She Learned To Do That.

(It's so long omg I'm so sorry in advance please forgive me.)

Whumptober 2023 Masterlist

Warnings: angst, blood (only a little), traumatic memories

Chapter 46 | Chapter 49 | Box in Your Heart | TPOT Masterlist | Finale Part 1

Word count: 6500 || Approx reading time: 26 mins

Are You Nobody, Too?

Teaser: “Can I help you?” He looks me over with a vaguely confused and slightly appraising look. As his gaze travels, I remember what Stella said about him being a bad apple. More important, though, is the thing she said about him starting fights. “I think you might.”

“Oh. Look who’s back.”

I glance up from the gravy stain I’m scrubbing from the front of my apron, wondering what has lent the vaguely sarcastic, displeased quality to Stella’s voice. Not that it’s that different from how she usually sounds, but there’s a touch more disdain there. Even though I’m not sure if she’s actually talking to me or if she expects a response, I ask, “Who?”

Victoria, next to me, looks around at the empty dining room. “Um…”

“Not in here,” says Stella impatiently. “Out there.” She jerks her head toward the window, where the sun is shining brightly despite the chill that’s creeping in—hinting at the looming autumn, heralding the end of summer, turning the leaves from brilliant green to yellow.

Celeste, hearing the tone, joins us. “Oh, that Bailey boy.”

“Oh,” Victoria says. She sounds disapproving, as I guess she’s supposed to, but maybe I’m the only one who notices her cheeks turn a little pink.

“Who?” I think sometimes they forget I’m not from around here, and that Bailey boy means nothing to me, and it certainly won’t bring out the shocked-and-appalled reaction Stella is clearly looking for.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I steal a glance outside. All I can see of the man in question is a set of long legs, a relaxed, loping gait, and a head of golden curls. Nothing questionable that I can see, certainly nothing to put such disdain into Stella’s voice.

When I look back at her, she’s frowning. “If you don’t know him, Lucy, consider yourself fortunate. A bad apple, that one.”

Chuckling, Celeste murmurs, “Oh, Stella, he’s not so bad.”

I duck my head slightly, glad of my long sleeves, and wonder if Stella knows how skilled she really is at picking out rotten apples from the ripe ones. “Oh, I see.”

Victoria gives me a half-warning, half-amused look. I know what you’re doing.

And it works, too, because after a few long minutes of making Stella wait for me to ask about whatever gossip—and unsolicited advice—she obviously wants to share, she launches right into it. “He goes away in the spring and summer, that boy, off working who-knows-where, and I think we can all agree it’s hardly likely to be honest work, but he comes back when the weather turns cold.” She screws up her face. “I’ve thrown him out of here for starting fights more times than I can count, and he’s…well, he’s quite the Romeo—it’s no secret—more lecherous than I’ve ever seen or care to see again. Stay away.” She spins to face Victoria. “Isn’t that right?”

“Of course,” Victoria squeaks, her cheeks flushing fully. I swear Celeste, who has a far more palatable sense of humour than Stella does, is about to burst into a laugh.

So am I, but I keep it together. After all, I’ve only been here since the spring, not even a year, and I don’t want to ruffle Stella’s feathers too much. She’s the one who pays me every week, after all.

“You’re going to have to use soap on that apron,” Celeste says lightly, watching me struggle, “or it’s never going to come out.”

I nod, resigned to the fact that she’s probably right, but really only half-listening, anyway. Something Stella said is sticking in my brain, and it’s not the thing about staying away from That Bailey Boy.

***

I sit on it for days, obviously, because the very thought of putting my idea into action makes me break out in a cold sweat, and it’s easier to keep working my ass off and stay on Stella’s good side. I don’t even bring him up again, mostly because I don’t see him, and I have a feeling that if I get Victoria on the subject, she’s either going to talk my ear off about whatever happened between her and That Bailey Boy or get annoyed at me for prying, and I don’t have the energy for either.

But one day he’s just out in front of some house near the outskirts of town, chopping wood. It’s the sound, the thwack and crack of splitting logs that draws my attention first, then the bright sunny hair, and I recognize who I’m looking at.

I don’t realize I’ve stopped until he halts what he’s doing and says, “Uh…hello?”

And I suppose I have little choice but to say, “Hello,” and I guess my idea is now a plan.

“Can I help you?” He looks me over with a vaguely confused and slightly appraising look. As his gaze travels, I remember what Stella said about him being a bad apple.

More important, though, is the thing she said about him starting fights. “I think you might.”

He frowns and stands up straight, leaving his axe in the chopping block. “And how’s that?”

Before I can lose my nerve, and before I can think things through, I say, “I hear you like to fight.”

Fuck, what a way to begin.

Luckily, his mouth twists into a barely stifled laugh. “You’ve been talking to that old bag who runs the inn.”

“So?” Why am I so nervous? I’ve seen what a real bad apple looks like. This guy’s nothing.

Leaning against the handle, he tips his head to the side. “Who the hell are you, anyway? Never seen you around here before.”

“I’m Lucy.” I rush the name, throw it out before I can fuck up and say the real thing. “I want you to teach me to fight.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Why the hell would you need to learn how to fight?”

“I just do.”

In case anyone ever tries to hurt me again.

In case Constable Baden Hatchett ever finds me, and I have to choose to fight or die.

“I don’t know, Miss. I got enough trouble as it is.” There’s something off about the way he says it—like he doesn’t really believe his own words. Like he’s still fighting back a laugh. “But I sure appreciate you thinking of me. Even though we’ve never met before now.”

A smirk that feels familiar even though I’ve never seen it before slips over his face.

“I’ll pay you for the lessons.” I almost say, I can make it worth your while, but at the last second, I realize that is open to far too many interpretations. “It’ll be a business arrangement.”

“Girls don’t fight,” he says pointedly, and now it’s me who’s smirking.

“They do,” I say, “and they can get damn good at it if someone teaches them how to do it right.” Girls do fucking fight, and if they did it even more, they might have fewer worries and fewer scars. “I want to learn how to protect myself.”

He stands up straight again, resting his hand on the axe handle. He sweeps another curious gaze from my face to my feet. “And you’re asking me?” I nod. “What’d you say your name was again?”

“Lucy.”

“Why you wanna defend yourself, Lucy? Who’re you afraid of?”

Clenching my jaw, I say, “I’d just feel safer if I knew how to protect myself, that’s all. Just in case.”

Back down goes his head, tipping to the side. “Well. Guess it’s the gentlemanly thing to do, saying yes.”

“Just lessons.” I don’t know if he needs the reiteration, but Stella’s warning is ringing in my head now that I’ve gone and done exactly what she said not to do. “Fighting. Self-defence. That’s all.”

“You really gonna pay up?” Up, down. The gaze flicks over me again.

What else can I do but nod? I don’t want to give up part of my wages to this stranger who I’ve been explicitly told to avoid. But who else would have even listened to my request?

“All right then, Lucy.” He extends a brown, calloused hand. “Henry Bailey.”

“Pleased to meet you, Henry.” I wonder if he can tell how nervous I still am.

“It’s gonna be a pleasure doing business with you, I’m sure.” He cracks another smile. It’s handsome, and I hate it, because it’s not even malicious. Sly, perhaps, and undeniably bemused. But there’s no cruelty or debauchery in his gaze.

“See them stables over there?” He points. “They’re not being used right now. Meet you there tomorrow.”

“I have to work.”

He snorts. “Then come after you’re done.”

“I work late.”

“You wanna learn, or what?”

“Of course I do, I just—”

He lifts the axe again, shrugging his shoulders. “Before work or after work. Your pick.”

I grit my teeth, already wondering if I’ve made a terrible mistake. “Aft—no.” Do I want to be alone with this man in the middle of the night, in the dark? “Before.”

“All right then. See you at sunup.”

The next log lands on the block, splits with a shriek, and the two halves hit the ground, the cut clean and perfectly precise.

***

“I’m not teaching you shit,” he says, “till you can make a fist and hold it right.”

I haven’t spent much time in barns before, and I’m not sure I like it much. A musty smell clings to the air, and even though it’s a bit too dim to see properly, I’m sure there must be dust everywhere. There’s still hay littering the ground, not particularly fresh, and I definitely heard something skittering around—or several somethings, more like—when we opened the door. Henry Bailey is wandering around, inspecting the space, kicking detritus out of the way to clear a space in the middle. Even though it’s early, with autumn light creeping up the horizon, he doesn’t seem tired.

Lucky bastard.

“What do you mean, hold it right?” I ball my hand into a fist and peer down at it. When I look up, he’s smirking.

“How d’you like broken knuckles? Shattered elbows?”

I watch him warily. When he doesn’t say anything else, I realize he actually expects an answer. “I don’t, obviously.”

“Then you’re gonna have to learn how to make a real fist.”

“Okay…” I relax my hands. “What do I do, then?”

He pauses now, studying me again. “Why do you want this again?”

“That’s none of your business.”

His mouth twitches. “You came looking for me, asking for lessons, but it’s not my business.”

“No.”

With a shrug, he says, “If you say so.” In a few strides, long legs sweeping up clouds as he walks, he appears in front of me. “Don’t slouch like that. You already look like you’re fucking terrified.”

“I’m not,” I say, glaring.

“Bullshit.” Out of nowhere, he winks. “That Stella hag told you all kinds of stories, didn’t she?”

“How do you know I know her?”

“She hates my guts and tells all the pretty girls to stay away,” he says with a grin. “I broke a chair in her inn once.” He pauses. “No. Wait. Twice.”

He hates my guts. Like everyone else.

I don’t hate you.

The same words—that conversation, that ridiculous sentiment expressed to someone I barely knew a damn thing about, almost a year old now—come back to me, and it sounds so real, as if he’s here standing in front of me, and not this guy. Fire sweeps through my face, just as it did back then.

Henry notices, and a flicker of laughter crosses his face. “Jeez. I’m not that scary.”

“No,” I agree. “You’re not.”

“Well, then, fucking stand up straight.”

We stare at one another, both of us sizing the other up, and I’m keenly aware of how much this first lesson is going to set the tone for all the ones that follow.

“You are an asshole, though,” I say, but I straighten my spine, put my shoulders back, and plant my feet.

That Bailey Boy barks out a laugh. “Now we’re getting somewhere. If you want to fight, we need more of that and less of the—” He adopts a high-pitched voice that’s obviously meant to mimic mine. “—pleased to meet you, Henry horseshit. If you got a spine, you’re gonna have to show it.”

“You really are an asshole.” He has no fucking idea. “I have got a spine.”

“Good. Then you’re gonna prove it.” In one smooth motion, he clasps my wrist and pulls my arm up, raising his eyebrows when every part of me goes stiff. “Thought you weren’t afraid of me?”

But it’s not him, not really. “I’m not.”

“Look.” He lets go. “You asked me for this. You just said you aren’t scared. But I barely touched you and you froze. You’re either in it or you’re not, so which is it?”

“I…”

Once again, he just waits for my reply.

“I’m in it,” I say.

“Then wipe that look off your face and get used to this.” He takes my arm again. “Lots of ways to make a fist. Thumb in, thumb out, below, on top. Straight on, twisted. They all work for different things, long as you know when to use them.”

This makes me glare. “I thought I was supposed to learn the right way.”

“Joke’s on you. They’re all the right way. Depends on what you’re trying to do and who you’re up against.”

 With my eyes narrowed, I wait for him to tell me he’s messing around.

Instead, he lets go, leaving my arm in mid-air, and says, “How would you hold your arm if you were about to punch me?”

“I am about to punch you.” I make a fist and draw my arm back.

The smirk on his face says that I most certainly am not, and his words confirm it as he points out everything I’ve done wrong in the last thirteen seconds in the simple motion of pulling my arm back for a strike.

“If you can,” he says, when he’s done, paying no heed to the flaming heat in my face, “you should try to build up your strength. Get some muscle. If you’re really serious.”

As if I’d know the first thing about doing that, or even have the opportunity to even try. “How much free time do you think I have?”

He shrugs. “Just a suggestion.”

Without warning, he moves behind me. “You scared of getting jumped?” It’s unsettling how his voice has gotten closer to my ear, but I can’t see him anymore. “That why you want to learn?”

“Sure.” I doubt Baden Hatchett or any of his constables would be sneaking up from behind if they got close enough to rearrest me, but it’s a true enough statement.

“You been jumped before?”

Long ago, a boy and a girl in an alley. Their faces flash in my mind. A year later, another alley, a man, falling snow, and that same boy, with his hands brushing my face.

I swallow the sudden temptation to cry. “I guess.”

“You guess?” Still behind me, Henry snorts. “You’re a real puzzle.”

Good. I’m going to keep it that way, too.

“Still. Smart.” He laughs. “Lotta nasty people out there.”

I whirl around, stupid Stella’s stupid voice in my stupid brain. “Don’t you dare try anything, Henry Bailey. I’m trusting you, and I’d you—”

“Jeez, Lucy.” He sighs and takes a step back. “This doesn’t seem much like trust, does it?”

And now we’re back in another long stare, a stand-off. I hate myself for looking away first. “You’re trying to scare me.”

“You think you’re gonna take on a grown-ass man who wants to hurt you, and you can’t even handle being a little scared?”

…She was looking for good pickpockets but also ones who could handle being scared a little…

“Stop messing with me.” Anger spills into my voice. “I’m fucking serious about this, and you’re hiding behind me and making fun of me. Are you going to teach me, or should I fucking find someone else?”

That Bailey Asshole is grinning. “You sure got a mouth on you.”

“So I’ve heard,” I snap. “Are you helping me or not?”

“Where the hell did you come from, Lucy…?” He pauses then, realizing that I never gave him a surname.

With a huff, I spin on my heel and head for the door. What a goddamn waste of time.

Footsteps, dust, and a grip on my wrist.

“Let go.”

“Lesson one,” he says smoothly, ignoring the command. With his free hand, he takes mine and guides it up to the wrist that grabbed me. “If someone grabs you. How to get out.”

The panic that was welling within me begins to ebb. He’s serious. He’s going to teach me.

He’s serious, and so am I.

***

Victoria practically goes into hysterics when she sees the bruises for the first time. “Lucy! What on earth happened to you? Are you all right?”

A quick glance in the mirror reveals the weeks’ worth of bruises that have built up on my arms, legs, and back, most of which have resulted from me falling into things after losing my balance or tripping over my goddamn skirt. I told Henry I wanted to wear trousers, thinking it would be easier to learn, and he just laughed in my face.

“Uh…no?” He’d cracked up, even twisted the knife a little harder by pretending to wipe tears from his eyes. “Why would that be a good idea? Are you likely to be wandering around in pants? If you don't learn how to fight in a dress now, you won’t know what to do when it really counts.”

Infuriatingly, he was right, and now I have purple and yellow splattered all over my limbs to show for it.

Of course, Victoria doesn’t know that this is all pain I’ve willingly signed up for, and she flies across our room, only half-undressed, to clasp my hands. “Who did that to you? Are you all right? Who’s hurting you like this?”

“Oh, my goodness. Victoria.” I know I should take her questions seriously, but the earnest concern in her face is so sweet and endearing—and misplaced—that I have to giggle. “No one’s hurting me. You don’t have to worry.”

“Lucy! Don’t lie to me!” She stares at a nasty one on my upper arm, dealt when I fell directly onto the corner of the barn’s windowsill by pure bad luck. “Look at the state of you!”

I bite my lip. Telling her I’m spending hours outside of work letting Henry Bailey put his hands all over me as he teaches me how to defend myself in case my former fiancé and jailer ever reappears to cart me back to prison or to the gallows… Not a wise idea.

“I’m…” Even though I lie to her every day of my life, I still hate it. There’s not a mean bone in her body, not an ounce of spite in her blue eyes, and I can’t imagine how hurt she’d be to learn I’ve never once been truthful about who I am.

“You’ve been sneaking out, too,” she says, “so early in the morning, and—”

“I fell.” I’m not sure Victoria’s stupid enough to believe me, but all I can do is try. Then again, I told her the IA tattoo, something I succeeded in hiding for only about a month, was a religious thing I got in church as a child, and she believed me, so… “I go out for walks before work. To wake up. Um…hear the birds.” Good god, I’m really giving myself away with that one. It’s almost winter. What birds? “Watch the sun come up. But I fell down the hill the other day. It hurt like a b—”

I stop myself just in time, and to my relief, Victoria pretends not to giggle.

“It really looks awful,” she says, brushing a finger over one of the lesser bruises, lightly enough that it doesn’t ache. “You must be more careful.”

“I know.”

When she lets go of my hands, she begins to pull away, then pauses, twisting a golden curl around her finger. “This has nothing to do with…”

“With what?” I keep my voice calm, face unworried.

“Never mind,” she says. “Just take care, all right?”

I wonder… If she can tell I’m lying about this, does she know I’m lying about other things, too? But she hasn’t said anything yet.

“You must be exhausted,” she says, returning to the task of getting ready for bed. “We’ll turn down the lamp early tonight.”

I smile, relief and gratitude warming my chest. “Thanks, Victoria.”

Because she’s right. I’ll be back at it again tomorrow, and before winter hits full force, I am going to knock Henry Bailey on his ass.

***

I’m going to knock Henry Bailey on his ass because he’s still an asshole, but we’re this far into our arrangement, and he’s only gotten more confusing and more annoying. He hasn’t yet taken a cent yet that I’ve offered, despite his apparent interest when we first met, which is beyond concerning, but has instead promised he will the first time I best him, something I haven’t had the chance to even try, let alone succeed at.

That’s only part of it, though. He still does things to irritate me, and the more I ignore the attempts at flirtation that started in earnest about a week into our lessons, the harder he tries.

“Congratulations kiss?” he teases the first time I land a kick, dislodge his grip, and “escape” to the designated safe spot we’ve set up in the barn.

“You wish,” I say, jumping back down.

With a wink, he just says, “You know it.”

Standing behind me, observing silently as I hurl practice punches at a sack of old hay (as if I’m letting you throw at me before you can do it right, he said), he guides my arm with deft, steady fingers, a little too close.

“Back off, Henry.”

“Just trying to protect you from damaging yourself,” he says, and even though I don’t turn around, I can tell he’s grinning.

After a particularly tiring session, watching me pant and try to catch my breath, he asks, “Want me to carry you back to old Stella? It’ll be heroic and romantic. Her head might just fall right off.”

“No, thank you,” I mutter, swiping at the sweat on my forehead with one hand and brushing away dust from my skirt with the other.

“You know, you wouldn’t be so bleeding hot if you just pulled up your sleeves.”

“I don’t want to pull up my sleeves.”

“Afraid to show a little skin?”

“Around you? Definitely.”

He’s sprawled on the floor. Just watching with undisguised amusement. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Why? Because I’m not swooning over you like everyone else?”

He was in the inn last night, with a group of men I assume go out with him to work during the warmer months. I told him if he broke any chairs or did anything to make Stella mad—which inevitably makes my life ten times more difficult—I would be the one cracking chairs over his head. Every girl who passed through, even the ones who were obviously there with their husbands, spent a few extra seconds staring at his stupid chiselled jaw and glossy golden head. Including, as was noted by me and Stella and Celeste, our sweet Victoria.

“Didn’t you learn your lesson last time?” Stella snapped, confirming my suspicions that there was some encounter in the past she hasn’t told me about, and Victoria blushed and avoided looking at him for the rest of the night, at least when she thought no one was looking.

For his part, I’m not even sure he noticed she was there.

“Is that jealousy I detect, Miss Prim and Proper?” He snorts. “Miss Prim and Proper who’s secretly plotting to kick someone’s ass in the future?”

Oh, and he’s constantly badgering me about why I want to fight. Who I want to fight.

“Henry, just mind your own business, for god’s sake.”

Outside, the wind picks up. Autumn is in full swing, with maple leaves now the colour of crabapples, some of them already starting to fall and coat the ground, painting it the hues of the season—sun-bright yellow, brilliant orange, and of course, blood red.

I love it and hate it at once. It’s beautiful, but there’s little I can do to quell the memories that are steadily rising as we draw closer and closer to the one-year mark of what happened to me last fall.

“Hey!” Henry sits up, snapping his fingers. “You even listening?”

“No.” I look away from the window. “What did you say?”

There’s a knowing glint in his eyes. I don’t like how well That Bailey Boy can read people—or, at least, read me. “Who you thinking about all the time, Miss Lucy?”

“No one.”

He rolls his eyes. “I can’t figure you out. You’re not thinking about anyone, you don’t got a sweetheart as far as I can tell, but it’s always back off, Henry.”

“Not everyone has to fall in love with you, you know, you insufferable dickhead.”

That makes his jaw drop. “How’d you get so feisty? You were falling over all winded three minutes ago.”

“I’m better now.” I am suddenly regretful of my choice to do our lessons before work begins. The idea of facing the day after all this, particularly this stupid conversation, is exhausting. “You’re being an idiot.”

And I’m being mean, but I don’t care. I don’t want to talk about who I’m thinking about all the time.

“Never had a girl call me a dickhead before,” Henry says, and instead of being pissed off, he just gives me the most ridiculous little pout I’ve ever seen.

In spite of myself, I laugh.

“See you tomorrow,” he says, getting to his feet, and without another word, he disappears.

***

For some stupid reason, I expect things to get better and easier once he actually lets me spar with him. It’s all slow and pretty fake—he never looks that concerned when I’m going for him—and still I end up with more bruises and even less confidence than before.

“Your head’s always somewhere else.” It’s almost a scolding. “You get caught up in thinking about your lost love, you’re gonna get caught off guard.”

“There’s no lost love. Don’t you ever listen to me?”

“Then why won’t you let me kiss you?”

“You’re such a prick, Henry,” I say, and he falls to the floor, howling.

“Where have you been all these years?” he asks, not for the first time, and I can’t help but smile.

“You like being insulted right, left, and centre?”

Flashing me his most winning, beaming grin, he says, “By you, darling? Of course.”

“You’re so disgusting.” I wrinkle my nose, and as usual, he doesn’t seem at all put off. “Why don’t you make up with Victoria?”

“Who?”

“You’re a pig,” I tell him, and he shrugs. I can tell he’s lying about not knowing who she is.

By the time the trees are almost fully bare, my bruises aren’t doubling in number at the rate they were before, and I’m tripping over my skirt less, and it’s starting to feel intuitive every time I shake off his grip when he tries to catch me off guard.

But the sky darkens early, and the candles have to burn longer, and wind whistles through every door and window.

And in the night, there are memories whose hold no amount of training can dislodge.

“Again,” I say. It must be the third time he’s pinned me today; honestly, I’m not even certain. He looks down at me with a piercing gaze.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Again,” I repeat, pushing him off. He doesn’t resist. One of these days. I’ve got to get the better of him one of these days. Otherwise, what’s the point? If I can pin him, I might have a chance in hell of pinning anyone else who might ever try to lay their hands on me.

He purses his lips. Is he annoyed? What the fuck reason does he have to be annoyed? He’s the one who keeps winning. “I think maybe you should take a break.”

Irritably, I point out the window. “I have to work soon. This is all the time I have. One more go.”

It’s still dark, even though my duties at the inn start soon. Autumn is well and truly upon us, almost over—any day now, it’ll turn to winter—and I don’t want to walk back to Stella’s alone and cold in the gloom, thinking about having had my ass kicked again and again and again.

“All right,” he says, but I can tell he’s not happy. “One more.”

I guess he could sense the mood I’m in today from the moment we started, because he hasn’t made many jokes at all. Or perhaps the cold weather and dark sky bring back awful memories for him, too.

“Fuck it, Lucy, pay attention!”

My head cracks against the barn floor, and it fucking hurts.

I hit my head on a cobblestone road, once. Years ago now. It bled, leaking hot liquid down my face, and a boy whose name I did not know pressed a handkerchief against it to stem the flow. It hurt like this, if I remember correctly, around the same spot. I went back alone to a room in a sleazy boarding house and cried myself to sleep.

“Fuck! Hey! You okay?”

I sit up, moved by the worry in Henry Bailey’s voice. “I’m fine.” Wincing, I gingerly touch my fingertips to the throbbing spot on the side of my head. “Shit.” The skin is broken; the pads of my fingers come away red. “Shit.”

“Fucking hell,” he says, next to me now. “I didn’t mean to knock you over that hard. Are you all right? How many fingers am I holding up?”

I bat his hand away. “Seriously. I’m fine.” If he’s upset now, he’d lose his shit if he knew what kind of shape I was in around this time last year. One little knock to the head is nothing.

“Answer me, damn it. How many—”

“God damn it, Will! I’m okay! Just give me a min—”

A boiling surge of mortification hits me so hard, it’s more likely to knock me out than the smack of my skull against the floor.

Fucking shit.

“Henry,” I say quickly, but I said what I said and I can’t take it back. “Henry. I’m okay.”

He leans back on his heels. “You hit your head real bad, or are you still thinking about No One even while your head’s bleeding?”

No one. No one.

I close my eyes. I don’t want to look at him right now.

“Just hold on a minute.” I hear him stand up and walk away, and it’s a relief to have some distance between us. I can’t pretend that my head isn’t throbbing, or that this miserable anniversary I’m living through isn’t fucking me up big time, or that I don’t sometimes look at Henry and see Will. Wish I was seeing Will.

“Here.” I open my eyes when he comes back. There’s a wad of cotton in his hand. “To be honest, I’m surprised you haven’t needed patching up before today.”

Somehow, that makes me smile. “You’re an ass.”

“And you’re a clumsy scatterbrain.” Henry presses the cotton against my temple. “Wanna actually tell me what’s eating you?”

All I can do is shake my head and say, “I’m fine.”

He sighs. “Y’know, out of everywhere in this boring-ass shithole of a town, I’d be the last person to judge you, right? You get that?”

I do. I really do. But he doesn’t know what he’s asking for. Stella thinks he’s such a rascal, a bad apple, a no-good sort of man with no decency at all, but I think even he’d be floored to find out what’s hiding in my past.

“I appreciate that.”

He studies me, quiet for a while, blue eyes more serious than I’ve seen them. “It’s all right, you know. If you're…if you’re not. Not all right, I mean.”

I’m not all right. But I don’t think I need to say it. He obviously knows.

“You remind me,” I say, “of…” Can I say it? I don’t think I can. “Someone I knew. Someone it…” I swallow a lump in my throat. “Someone it hurts to think about.”

“Will, huh?”

I don’t look at him, and I don’t answer.

“Will is No One, your tragically lost sweetheart.” He leans back on his hands, and before I know it, he’s spinning the wildest fucking tales I’ve ever heard in my life. “Died too young of a mysterious fever. No! Poisoned by a jealous rival.” At my incredulous look, he keeps going. “Uh…a sailor lost at sea? No. He…shot a man through the heart, all to defend your honour, and now he’s on the run.” I laugh, wiping my eyes, annoyed at how close to and yet how far from the truth that one is. “He left you at the altar, and you’ve got a secret kid squirrelled away somewhere.”

“Henry!”

“He broke your heart, and when you see him again, you’re gonna give him the punch in the kisser he deserves.”

Ignoring the voice in my head screaming at me that Will wasn’t the one doing things like running away and earning a punch in the kisser, I tell him, “Wrong. Wrong. Unbelievably wrong.” Since I can’t correct him, I just finish with, “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “I bet.”

After a few breaths, he stands up to grab his scarf and begins to wrap the scratchy grey wool around my head.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demand, pawing at him to get him to stop.

“What? Don’t got any real bandages for this. I’m gallantly saving you from bleeding out in this gross-ass barn. You should be thanking me.”

“Gee, thanks.” But I’m laughing, even though my head still hurts and probably will for the rest of the day. “I don’t think we’re in bleeding out territory, though.”

He sighs again. “Well. That’s good news, I guess.” At the pause, I know what’s coming, and even though I want to get my back up, I know he’s right. “Can’t drift off like that. You do it all the time and I keep telling you, you gotta stay focussed.”

“I know.”

“And if it’s really not that bad…” He gestures toward the cotton pressed to my head. “Then you’re lucky, but what if I was actually trying to hurt you? Being sad isn’t an excuse for acting like an idiot.”

I know I deserve the chiding, but despite that, the scolding forces out of me a sideways glare. “You’re one to talk.”

With a snort, he says, “You think I got my reputation because I’m sad? I’m just an asshole.”

“No, you’re not,” I say impatiently. “Just an idiot. Like me.”

He’s quiet for a moment or so, just staring.

“What?”

And then he grins. “Got you to say I’m not an asshole.”

“Ugh.” The urge to take it back is strong. But I’m laughing again.

“Tell you what.” He fixes his shirt—tucking it in neatly (sort of), rolling down the sleeves. “Take a day or two to sort yourself out. Make sure that isn’t worse than it looks.”

“But—”

Holding up a finger and shaking his head, he goes on, “I’m not going anywhere, anyway. I’ll be here till the spring, so what’s the rush? Take a few days off. But I’ll give you a challenge.”

I frown, suspicious. “What kind of challenge?”

“You come back, all fixed up and fired up and ready to go, and we get back at it. Practice as long as you want or whatever, but when you decide you’re ready, we spar.”

“How’s that different from what—”

But there’s that annoying, mischievous grin. “Forget paying up. You win, I’ll never hit on you again, ever.”

I blink. This was not what I expected him to offer.

“You pin me, knock me off my feet and get me at a disadvantage, then I promise I will let you sulk in sorrow and self-pity about your long-lost Will for as long as you decide that’s what you want to do.”

“But if you win?” I’m not sure I’m going to like what’s coming.

He winks. “Then I get to give you one kiss and see what happens.”

“You’re so disgusting,” I say. “You don’t even want to kiss me. You just want to say you did.”

Laughing, he says, “Then I guess you better win.”

The cotton is red when I pull it away from my head, but not nearly as bad as I feared. His gaze, when I look up, is fixed on me, glinting and laughing and full of challenge.

“So? What do you say?”

“I say Stella was right about you all along.”

But.

Outside, the sun is teasing its way into the morning. If I don’t get moving soon, I’m going to be late, and then I’m really in shit.

His proposition is unbelievably stupid, a trap because he thinks there’s no way I can get the better of him, and he’s sick of me getting lost in thoughts and memories while we’re supposed to be fighting.

“One week,” I say. A smile spreads across his face. “A few days off. Time to practice. And then in a week, I’ll take you up on your stupid offer. And I’ll win.”

Narrowing his eyes, he asks, “You serious?” I nod. “Then shake on it.”

His grip is firm, like this is some kind of binding contract to him, and I suppose it is. I try to match the pressure and steadiness of his hand curled around mine.

“One week,” he repeats, and I do the same. When we let go, he sweeps a still-concerned-but-less-so-now glance over me. “Want me to walk you back to the inn?” I shake my head. As if I want Stella, Celeste, or Victoria to see me strolling up with him That Bailey Boy on my arm and blood on my head.

“Just you wait, Henry Bailey,” I say, getting to my feet. “You’re gonna rue the day you ever agreed to teach me how to fight.”

With a laugh, he shoves his hands into his pockets and heads for the door. Before he heads out into the grey morning light, he shoots me his signature sly grin, and said, “Can’t wait, darling,” and vanishes.

“You’re an ass!” I call after him, but he’s gone, his hearty laugh already fading.

He is, and maybe I’m a fool for taking him up on his offer, but for the first time in weeks, I’m feeling something other than the empty dread these long, bitter days have brought.

For the first time in weeks, there’s a fire burning inside me, buoyed by an old friend, one I haven’t met with in far too long.

Hope.

Chapter 46 | Chapter 49 | Box in Your Heart | TPOT Masterlist | Finale Part 1

Whumptober 2023 Prompts Fulfilled

No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.” | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

No. 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.” | Debris | Pinned Down | “It's broken.”

No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.” | “Just hold on.”

No. 15: “I don't need you to help me; I can handle things myself.” | Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay.’”

[prosciuttulipa]

Hello my dear, I want to try JJBA (part 3) match

• I am a girl and prefer men

• I am a very kind, caring and compassionate person but very insecure about myself and my abilities. I can have a temper, but I am pretty good at controlling myself

Though with strangers I am quiet and closed, but with people close to me I can relax and be as active, joking and goofy as I want to be. But if the situation calls for it I can get surprisingly tough

• About my likes and dislikes. I am obsolutely in love with animals (they are incredibly cute(≧▽≦)) and nature (open water, rain, wind make me smile)

But I really dislike cruel and dishonest people

About hobbies, my favourite music, anime/manga and cooking my favourite food is my life

• My love languages are definitely physical affection, words of affirmation and acts of service. I am a very affectionate person and really want my loved ones to be comfortable and happy

I accept any signs of love. Seriously, I cherish any sign of affection. But touch is very important to me

• The green flags in a relationship are a certain amount of care, attention to my and his feelings (I want to know that the relationship is going in the right direction and my partner likes everything as much as I do) and a good sense of humour (I really-really like jokes, but my sense of humour may not be understood by everyone(⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠))

To me deal breaker is cruelty to me or any other people/animals/children(I know they can be annoying but they are just kids), insults and disrespect to my family or my hobbies. These are the two most important things in my life and no one has the right to speak bad of them

• I am a short girl 159 centimetres / 5.21 feet, I have a large build with broad shoulders. I am not thin, but I only have a few extra pounds. I also have dark green eyes, thin pink lips, and shoulder length brown wavy hair

I'm afraid I wrote too much, sorry if something is unclear english is not my native language. Anyway thanks, I'll look forward to it(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

P.S Your posts are incredible, keep it up!

Congratulations! You have been matched with...

You and Jotaro are two peas in a pod: closed off around strangers but warmer to their loved ones, wielding a bit of a temper, and a preference for actions to convey love. On the outside, people might mistake you two as not being particularly caring of each other, but that's far from the truth.

Jotaro Kujo

The two of you would have a slow start to your relationship, making small talk over your favourite manga and anime. But as time goes on, the masks you both wear would drop, revealing two individuals who felt more comfortable revealing their odd senses of humor and tender hearts. He's taken aback by how much you love nature, and finds himself the chattiest he's ever been in his life, trading animal facts back and forth with you. You're the one who encourages him to get into marine biology, a dream that he had always kept to himself because he was afraid of how it would be received. When he comes over to visit you for the first time and finds that you've cooked for him, he has to duck under his hat to hide his touched expression.

Even before you get into a proper relationship with him, Jotaro shows his interest in you by allowing you into his personal bubble, not protesting when you cling to him or offer him hugs. When you two become official, he becomes a lot more forward with touching you. In public, he'll always have an arm loosely wrapped around you, wanting you safe and close; in private, he's a cuddle bug, often dragging you into his lap to press his face into your neck. Although he's not much for speaking, he's big on being honest, bluntly asking you if the relationship is going well, and answering your questions in turn.

Dates with him would often involve going out into spots of nature, enjoying the sights in comfortable silence. If the weather is bad, you're both happy to chill and watch anime together. Overall, Jotaro finds a safe haven with you, someone who mellows him out and reminds him of the good in the world.

The Matchmaker's Gift:

A simple melody with sincere lyrics, Jotaro finds you as a source of inspiration to better himself and find the good in the world.

You send Jotaro this as a reference to his love for everything marine. Rolling his eyes fondly, he saves it to his playlist.

Intense and slightly sad, Jotaro hopes this song conveys how he'll be with you till the end of the line.

[12romy]

Thanks @sebchal for tagging me!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Oof. 57, damn that's a lot, what am I doing with my life?? 53 of them in F1 (I know it says 52 but one of them is on anon lmao)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

GUYS I JUST COUNTED AND APPARENTLY I'VE PUBLISHED AROUND 477K FOR THE F1 FANDOM??!!??! SEND HELP (there's another 100k in my wips rn)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

F1rpf, although I have a fic for The Sandman and one for Our Flag Means Death (let's forget about my works for spn lol)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

So the first one is Odd ducks, the fic I wrote for The Sandman, which is pretty normal since the fandom is bigger. After that, only F1, with Let's try something else (sewis fake dating feat Seb and gay panic), A Change of Habits (my lonnnnnnng chewis fic following the 2022 season), Your Crush is Showing (Brocedes, the first long fic I completed. Lots of smut.) and finally, Remember to forget (me), brocedes lewis!amnesia fic. I am very proud of the last one, mostly because it's super angsty and I torture Nico so much in it lmao

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do, actually, but usually I procrastinate on it, and I took ages. It's just, like, I feel it important to thank everyone for the comments, but it can feel a little repetitive and so I just tend to... Push it back to the next day, again and again. When it's on a multi-chapter fic, I reply before publishing the new chapter usually, but if it's a one-shot or the last chapter... Well. You'll get an answer but god knows when ahah

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oof, that's between Losing it all, a really dark fic about Nico, and Too Late, a bad ending 3344 fic based on Monza 2021 :)

(be careful about the tags if you go and read them btw)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Damn, that's a difficult question, I love writting sappy endings... But actually I think it's the ending of Welcome in the family!

It's a cute fic about Kimi/Tonio/Minttu, and the ending is definitely what I consider one of the happiest, mostly because of a little time-jump that allows to see the future ^^

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I did once, actually, on the 3344 fic I mentionned earlier. I think the person was just a max fan and didn't appreciate the way I make him suffer... I had put the write tags and all, so idk why they clicked on it. Anyway, it was scary and upsetting and I'm glad it only happened once ^^"

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Hell yeah. Go have a look, honestly, there's no way I can summarise it. I write way too much of it, I think (and most of it hasn't been published yet I think)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Nope, but I should, it could be fun! Actually, I'd like to write a Lewis/Lil Nas X one day, so who knows. That's not at the top of my list, though.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I... Don't know, actually? How do you even check that? I hope not ahah ^^"

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Someone offered to translate one of my fic in Chinese!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I DID, The Prince and the Knight, with my wonderful @feuerspirit !!!!!! And I don't want to spoil, but me and @metheevilgenius miiiiight publish a little os at some point ;)

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Oh, such a hard question... I'll go with brocedes, but it's really mean to make me chose only one. They're just.... *siiiigh*

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Definitely this BDSM seb/charles/mick and lewis/pierre I have started. I didn't publish it and it's like 20k long but I'm completely stuck and haven't worked on it in a long time. Not totally happy with it either ^^"

16. What are your writing strengths?

Uh, good question? I don't know, I get compliments about the characterisation... But other than that, I like to think I have a pretty good sense of humour and I'm able to make people laugh (or like, I hope. I make myself laugh, which is a good begining)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

The fucking dialogues.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I like to use petnames in other languages cause petnames always feel more personnal when you use it in your own language. So with the F1 drivers, it's nice cause not all of them are english! I tend to put some German or some French sometimes in my fics for full sentences, but I try not to do it too much. If you don't understand the language, it can be very frustrating.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Time to dig up my old ff.net account lmao

Nah, actually, I remember very well of my first fic. I was 15, it was two pages long, I was feeling bad about writing a fic in the first place although it didn't involve any romance. I deleted it a few hours after posting it, ahah. It was for the fandom of a french youtube show called Aventures. It's like, people playing a dnd style game, it's pretty cool and I was really into it for a long time.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

The fic I love the most of is definitely Up or Down. It's one of my favourite fic I've wrote. It's one of my early work, so it's a little clumsy and far from perfect, but I have good memories of myself writing it. I was in vacation in Rome at the time, alone, and I spent my time wandering in the city and thinking about my fic, it was amazing. And well, the content of the fic is also nice I guess XDDD

-

noooo idea who did this thing, and who didn't, so ignore if you've already done it or don't want to! I tag @feuerspirit @n-ico-ando @sunshinesebby @sionisjaune