#getting cranky about not being as good at wrestling as i thought i was but i have the gumption to scrap

[writhe]

went to a beautiful garden party and had a very uhhh homoerotic experience wrestling except for i either think that, like, everyone there was very into it or i’m really bad at reading vibes

[mrchiipchrome]

Misophonia

W.C.- 2.7k

Happy birthday to meeeeee

——————

It was no secret in the world of women’s football that you and Kyra Cooney-Cross were everyone’s unofficial little sisters. The younger of the two, you, had been moved up from the Arsenal academy at the same time that Kyra joined, and the unfamiliarity of the new team that you were suddenly thrown into made you two bond fast. Really fast.

Within 5 minutes of meeting the other, you had managed to plan at least 4 pranks to perform on the girls. Through Kyra, you also became much closer to the aussies of the team, just a sort of natural consequence of hanging around the Aussie all day. She was like your older, but just as mature as you, sister.

By month 3 of knowing each other, you and Kyra had managed to find every single button to press to make the other go completely mad. For Kyra, the main thing that set her off was when you tapped your feet against the floor repeatedly. For you it was whenever anyone made any type of noise with their mouths, with the obvious exception of speaking.

It just made you so irrationally mad, especially when someone was chewing all up in your ear, the sound so revolting that you often shouted for them to get away. Most of the team had learned their lessons already and knew not to even try to chew loudly near you, as you’d put your headphones on and ignore them for most of the day.

Kyra however, being the annoying little shit (lovingly) that she was, continued to do it every single second that she could, her favourite being when she knew that you couldn’t do anything about it, like in meetings.

She’d sit in the seat right behind you, leaning her head forward so that her chin would rest against your shoulder, and start to snack loudly on a granola bar or smacking her gum. The only thing you could do was sit there and take it, clenching your fist and wondering what it was you’d send in the text to Mini later that evening.

When Kyra would get told off by her team mom later that night she always looked at you, moving her thumb over her throat, telling you that you were dead.

But yet she kept on doing it, and you kept on telling Mini, it happened so often in fact that you too created a special bond with the older woman, her becoming a somewhat mother to you too. You always joined in on their facetime calls, Harper greatly appreciating you too.

Mini liked that Kyra had someone to goof around with at Arsenal, even if it did happen to be a 16 year old kid.

And as much as you liked and worked well with Kyra, not a single adult at Arsenal thought it was a good idea for you two to live with each other, no matter how much you begged and pleaded with them. Instead you were sent to live with Beth and Viv, whilst Kyra got her own apartment. That didn’t stop you from having sleepovers once a week however.

—------

Kyra breathing loudly directly beside your ear is the first thing you notice as you wake up from your nap in the community room at Arsenal, all groggy and confused, yet already annoyed by the girl’s incessant need to irritate you.

“Man, get the fuck out my ear!” Your voice is all scratchy and deep as you shout at the other girl, annoyance at her actions showing clearly on your face. More than a few heads snap up to look in your direction, quickly looking away when they notice the situation you find yourself in, many of them already knowing what the Aussie was doing.

“Awe is wittle baby Y/n a bit cranky from their nap?” Kyra antagonizes, trying to fuel the fire that was sure to start if she continued.

“You do remember that I know where you live? I can easily smother you in your sleep.” The girl’s knew to separate the two of you when the threats started flying, knowing that it could end with you two on the floor, wrestling or trying to strangle the other.

Alessia put her arm around a smiling Kyra’s waist, pulling her away from you even as she continued to breathe loudly, annoying you all the way from across the room. Viv sat down next to you on the bean bag, looking slightly irritated at your little outburst. She knew it wasn’t really your fault, but you’d been working with her on how to regulate your feelings.

“Y/n, we don’t threaten our friends, even when they’re being annoying. How about you go and apologise to Kyra and we’ll go get you some ice cream?” The dutchie was one of your many adoptive mothers in the squad, one of the more prominent ones as she knew exactly the pressure put on you as a young superstar in the making. She just wanted to help, often doing so by coming over with dinner for you and Kyra when you have your sleepovers, making sure that you didn’t trash your diets too much.

Looking down to the floor as you walk over to the older girl, she smiles at you mischievously like she knew exactly what it was you were doing. She knew that you’d been forced by your mom to apologize to her and she was enjoying the process of you going through all the stages of grief before getting to her.

Looking her in the eye, she sees the playful hate in your gaze, she already knew that you didn’t hate her but instead having to apologize for something that she caused.

“I’m sorry Kyra” Lowering your voice, she sees you look down at her in amusement. “I hope you know that I’m only doing this for the ice cream.” The Australian gasps in mock shock at your statement, but mostly at the fact that you’re allowed to get ice cream when she isn’t.

“VIV?! Why is Y/n getting ice cream and not me?” She catches the attention of the entire team with her bold accusation, most if not all of them rolling their eyes at her actions.

“Because Y/n doesn’t start fights, and she’s apologizing for threatening you.” Viv joins the others in rolling their eyes, taking hold of your shoulders as you make your way over to her, pulling you into a side hug.

With your backs to the young Aussie, neither of you notice the way she’s rushing towards you two, ready to absolutely throw herself onto you. She comes in with an awkward angle, her legs wrapping around both you and Vic’s waists, her arms locking around your necks, nearly choking you both out. Her head slots into the space between you and Viv’s heads.

Luckily enough for every Arsenal women’s fan ever, there’s a photographer there to capture the looks of absolute horror on you and the Dutch woman’s face and the unignorable grin on the Australian’s.

“Kyra Cooney-Cross get off right this second or I swear to god I will contact Katrina personally.” Viv comes off more than a little threatening, her voice deadly calm as she speaks to the younger girl. Kyra frowns playfully and slides down you and Viv’s excessively tall bodies, her feet touching the floor after a few seconds.

“What do they feed you dutchies? You need to stop being so tall, it’s annoying.” The short girl looks at you angrily when you pat her head like she was some sort of dog, waiting for a treat. She slaps your hand away when it comes down to pet her again and the only response she gets is a shrug from you as Viv drags you away to her car.

Only minutes later Kyra’s phone pings with a notification from instagram, seeing the ‘yourinstagram tagged you in a post’ had her stressing out. When she looked at the story you had tagged her in, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes, it was a selfie of you and Viv with ice creams in your hands, you with the biggest smile ever on your face and Viv looking slightly fed up with you.

The caption you’d typed out was ‘revenge is best served cold, right @/kyracooneyx’, she reposted your story to her own, typing out a simple ‘I hate you’. But with your quick thinking and amazing humor, you quickly reply with your own story, a caption reading ‘tell that to the ice cream you didn’t get’.

Kyra couldn’t even lie and say that it wasn’t funny, the little giggle she let out an indicator of how she enjoyed the little back and forth.

————————————————

Everyone in the team agreed that the decision to put you and Kyra in the same car on the road-trip across the country was a bad idea. They knew that it would be torture, Kyra would chew in your ear, or simply just breathe loudly next to you, making you really fucking irritated. You would constantly touch her, poking at her like you weren’t afraid of losing your fingers.

The unfortunate person having to sit next to you and Kyra during the entire ride this time was none other than Alessia Russo, someone who really just wanted to sleep the entire 8 hour ride and skip your bullshit, obviously that didn’t happen.

“WHO LET KYRA HAVE SNACKS? I’m going to kill you.” Alessia sat to your left, rubbing her temples at the already growing headache, Kyra sat to your right, a sucker in her mouth and three loud crinkly bags of crisps in her lap. You were in the middle seat, a frankly uncomfortable seat seeing as you were the tallest in the entire car, knees bent inwards trying to fit your long legs between the seats.

“Yeah, Viv did you not ban snacks so that this wouldn’t happen?” Beth questions the forward, who meets Kyra’s guilty gaze in the rearview mirror, looking at her sternly. Viv sighs like she knew it would happen before reaching her hand back and asking for Kyra’s snacks. When she begrudgingly hands them over, you look at her with a huge grin on your face.

“Thank you pa, you’re my hero, saving me from the evil supervillain ready to chew in my ear.” Viv gets a little embarrassed and emotional at you calling her pa, the Dutch name for father you had nicknamed her was something you only called her in private.

“Aww Vivi, did you get a bit embarrassed?” Beth teases her girlfriend gently, tugging lightly at her dark red cheek. It was lucky you’d stopped at a red light, otherwise Viv would’ve probably crashed the car.

All of a sudden, when you’re distracted by Beth and Viv interacting, you hear a couple of loud chews of what sounds like at least 6 sticks of gum. The way you recoil is almost instant, throwing your body into Alessia’s open arms, the woman glaring at Kyra for doing that, AGAIN. Alessia liked cuddling you though so it wasn’t all that bad.

She definitely can’t complain when you fall asleep in less than 5 minutes either, though having to give Kyra a stare down as she tried to tickle your sides definitely wasn’t a highlight of her day.

Within 25 minutes of your departure from the training grounds, Kyra was already complaining about needing to pee, only answering with a shrug and a simple ‘I didn’t need to go then’ when asked why she didn’t go at home.

Viv sighs as she stops at the gas station in the middle of nowhere, Alessia waking you up so that you too could go to the toilet.

“Oh for fucks sake Kyra, you don’t need all that candy. I swear I’m more of an adult than you are.” You told the Australian girl as you came into the gas station, moving towards the bathroom. It looked like you could get every STD possible from simply being in there.

When you exited it was with a grossed out expression, that was until you spotted the slushy machines lined up against the wall. You lit up like a child on christmas morning when you spotted it, quickly filling a cup whilst you commanded her to get you a sprite, the cashier taking a quick peek at you bouncing up and down in anticipation of your drink.

After you paid, you instructed Kyra to pour about half the sprite into the slushy cup, letting her taste it after she’d promised on her mothers life not to make any sound.

“That’s delicious, where did you learn to do that?” She questions you, moving to buy her own slushy and sprite.

“I don’t know, I just did it once and it tasted great. Now you better hurry up because I think Viv is going to kill us if we’re not in the car soon.” With that, Kyra hurries up.

You’re both in the car in record time, all the actual adults in the car’s eyes widening at the half full slushy glasses in your hands.

Only a few minutes later, both you and Kyra are in full on sugar rush mode, singing along with the song on the radio loudly, swaying in your seats as you pretend you’re on the big stage somewhere. They’re all pleasantly surprised when you belt out the riff to Keyshia Cole’s Love, it being legitimately good.

As were Alessia’s instagram followers, the girl posting a video of you singing like you’d just had your heart broken, well that was until you were interrupted by Kyra snacking loudly right next to your ear.

“LOOOOOOVE NEVER KNEW WHAT I WAS MISS- KYRA GET THE FUCK OUT MY EAR.” She does look a little sheepish as she does it this time, pretty clearly not even registering that she was chewing with her mouth open.

Though she doesn’t stay sheepish for long, just like you don’t stay mad for long, because ‘I want it that way’ by the backstreet boys suddenly came on the radio, and that was always you and Kyra’s karaoke song.

It only took you a few more songs for the sugar crash to hit, you and Kyra suddenly going from duetting on songs to snoring loudly in the backseat.

Luckily enough for everyone in the car you managed to stay asleep through the whole ride, only waking up a few times to tell Kyra to ‘get the fuck out my ear’.

Literally everyone is confused when you turn up to the camping site, half asleep and clinging to Kyra tightly, Beth soon taking you from the younger girl so that she could start helping to set up the tents.

“They didn’t cause too much trouble, did they? I know how they can be.” Kim comes up to stand beside Beth, who shakes her head diligently.

“No, they slept most of the ride, they were both drinking some slushy and then had a sugar crash after singing for half an hour.” Beth smiles at you tenderly, the motherly affection clearly something she’d picked up from her own mother.

“Aw well that’s good then.” Kim says quietly, noticing you drooling slightly with your eyes half open, looking like those orange cats you always showed her.

———————

“Kyra if you don’t get the fuck out my ear I will kill you.” It wasn’t even her fault that she was sniffly, she’d caught something from Harper at camp and when you asked if you could come over for your sleepover, she didn’t hesitate.

She looked at you sadly, like she was heartbroken by your insensitive words. It makes you sad to see her like that, so you quickly bring her into your arms, asking for forgiveness.

“I’m so sorry Ky Ky, how about I make you some soup yk feel better?” She nodded wholeheartedly at your words, sitting on the counter as you made your famous soup.

And even though you had to keep yourself from being angry at her every single second, you wouldn’t trade being at Kyra’s home cooking for her for anything.

[emetoniche]

Bahamas Chronicles: Part Two

Okie dokie folks, finally got that second installment for y’all. In all honesty, I’m probably the most proud of this one than any others so far. Just the depth and emotion of this one compared to the others is so much more! That’s part of why it took me so long to write: I couldn’t keep it short. That being said, this is a very long one, so be prepared!

tw: vomiting, severe illness, anxiety, brief mentions of abuse

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Callum couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so good. All of his friends around him on a perfect vacation, just hanging out by the poolside of their resort. Not to mention Eddie, whose head was resting on Callum’s lap, snoring softly. Callum brushed a hand through his boyfriend’s curly hair, a smile forming on his lips. He could stay right here like this for the rest of his life and he would be happy.

A screech from the other side of the pool woke Eddie, who jumped a bit pushing himself up to a sitting position. “What the fuck was that,” he groaned sleepily, rubbing at his face with one hand.

“Justin threw Roan into the pool,” Callum answered with a laugh. He could still see the couple wrestling in the water, each trying to dunk the other. To an outsider he figured the scene might look a bit violent, but he knew this was just the way those two were. They suited each other.

“Hm, well can he do it quieter,” Eddie muttered grumpily. He had pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. “They’re gonna wake the dead screaming like that.”

Callum shot the other boy a glance, a playful smirk on his face. “Somebody woke up cranky, huh?”

Eddie glared at him, his usual permanently cheerful expression missing. “Whatever, I was just comfy. And hungry. Anything to eat around here?”

The flash of concern Callum felt at Eddie’s angry mood was replaced by his excitement to show a new food to his boyfriend. “Yeah! The waiter brought over these awesome dragonfruit tarts, and I saved one for you. There’s also a mango-peach smoothie if you want it.”

Eddie looked skeptical for a moment, then shrugged, forcing himself to his feet. “Yeah, that’ll do I guess. Where did you leave them?”

He headed in the direction Callum was pointing without another word, his steps heavy. Must just be hangry, Callum thought, watching him walk away. That happened on occasion to Eddie; his mood was fueled by whether or not he had eaten anything in the past half hour or not, or so it seemed to Callum sometimes.

A nudge at his foot brought his attention back to the pool, where Ari was floating, staring up at him. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Just saying hi,” Ari responded with a sweet smile. “You looked a bit put out when Eddie left.”

Callum chuckled. “Yeah, well, he’s being a feckin’ eejit anyway, so maybe it’s best if he’s alone for a bit. Get himself something to eat.”

Ari hummed her agreement. “You can come chill with us for a while if you want, if he’s being too big of an ass.”

The shadow appeared over Callum’s shoulder in the moment he was about to decline, and two strong hands braced on his back, shoving him forcefully into the water. Callum let out a small yelp as he fell in, scrambling back to the surface. His aviators nearly fell off in the process of him flailing to grab onto the edge of the pool, but he managed to take them off and toss them onto his towel back away from the edge a bit. Darius stood above him with a mischievous grin on his face, blonde hair dripping onto the concrete.

Callum let out an exasperated huff of laughter, grinning right back at his friend. “Aye, fair play then, I’ll give ya that.”

Darius just shrugged, doing a front flip over Callum’s head into the pool, where he landed with a gargantuan splash, soaking Ari and making her squeal. She reached out and wrapped her arms around Darius’s neck, clinging on like a monkey. He thrashed around a bit, trying to throw her off, but when she held on he stopped and laughed. “I guess you win,” he conceded, shaking his head.

“Yes!” Ari giggled as she splashed backwards off of his back. She turned to look back at Callum. “See? Come hang with us. Eddie’s just being a pain in the ass right now. You don’t need him to have fun.”

Callum wasn’t honestly too fond of the idea of just leaving without telling Eddie, mostly because he didn’t want to start a fight, but in the end he decided that Eddie probably wouldn’t be back for a while. He had time to go swim around with the others for a bit. Besides, with some food in his stomach, Eddie would be in a much better mood.

An hour later, Callum hauled himself up out of the pool, panting and laughing. He was done for now: he had gotten pretty tired from messing around with his friends. Justin and Roan had gone back to their room just a little bit ago, but Ari and Darius were lying in their little cabana, snuggling together on the circular bed/couch.

Callum looked around, but Eddie still wasn’t back. This worried him, but he tried not to let it show as he waved to the peaceful couple. “I’m heading back to my room, see ya,” he called, plastering a smile on his face. Ari waved back, blowing him a kiss. Darius just lifted a hand to wave without even opening his eyes.

As soon as he was out of their line of sight, Callum bolted for the elevator. He was terrified that he had done something wrong and now Eddie was mad at him. Mad enough to just leave without saying anything. Callum had been extremely careful about making Eddie mad since they had started dating. It wasn’t like Eddie would hurt him or something, he knew his boyfriend would never do that. No, it was just because the thought of fighting with the person he loved most in the world made his stomach do flips.

He hated confrontation with anybody, but especially with the people he cared about. It made him feel gross, like his skin was covered in slime or something. And God forbid the other person were to, say, go to bed angry (cough cough Eddie cough cough), Callum was pretty sure he would just curl into a ball and start sobbing.

The second the elevator hit their floor, Callum was off down the hallway, fumbling to get the room key out of his wallet. He was so frantic that it took him a few tries to actually get the key to work, but when he finally did, he pushed the door open so fast he nearly tripped entering the room. “Eddie? Babe, you in here?”

Complete silence greeted him. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, tossing his key, wallet, and towel onto the coffee table in the living space. As he did so, he spotted Eddie’s wallet on the entertainment center beside the television. Callum’s hands shook as he reached for the door to the bedroom, turning the door knob impossibly slow. “Eddie, is something wrong? Are you… are you mad at me?” His voice was shaking almost as much as his hands.

Years of fights between his parents had steeled Callum with a steady resolve to never be like them. He was never going to have those big blow-up fights that they did, and he most definitely was never going to leave the bruises his mother tried to cover with makeup, layers of foundation and who knows what else coating her cheeks and eyes. More than anything, Callum was terrified that if he did end up in a fight with Eddie, he would act just like his father. He knew it was stupid to think genetics would affect a thing like that, but the paranoia hung at the back of his mind, a tiny voice whispering in his ear.

When Callum pushed open the door, Eddie wasn’t on the bed nor in the armchair facing the TV, but the bathroom light was on and shining out from the crack under the door. This calmed Callum somewhat, thinking that maybe Eddie just hadn’t heard him with both the bedroom and the bathroom doors shut. He managed to open the bathroom door, after knocking of course, with a bit of a steadier hand. Well, sort of open it. It hit something when it reached the halfway point, but no matter how hard Callum pushed the door wouldn’t open any further, so he slid in between the door and the wall with a wince when the latch dug into his spine.

Once he had gotten in properly, he glanced down to see what was blocking the door, gasped in alarm, and promptly stumbled backwards quick enough that he smacked his head off of the corner of the door. Groaning loudly and holding his head with one hand, Callum sank to his knees beside Eddie, using the other hand to shake him awake.

Eddie snorted softly, reaching a hand up to swat Callum away, but when the disturbance continued, his eyes fluttered open and he lifted his head a bit to look around. Spit had dried on his cheek where it had trailed from his open mouth while he was asleep and a small puddle of drool was on the floor where he had been. “Cal? Wha- whas goin on… what’re you doin…” he mumbled, still not fully awake. “Your still in the pool…”

“Well, clearly not if I’m sitting here, mo cuishle,” Callum murmured with a small smile, slipping in the Irish pet name that Eddie loved so much. It meant “my pulse,” basically meaning “the one who makes my heart beat.” Eddie had always found it both extremely sexy and adorable.

Eddie’s eyes began to slip closed again as his lips twitched into a faint smile. “Yeah, guess not…”

Callie reached out, positioning himself so he could pull Eddie up against himself, Eddie’s back pressed to his chest. Callus’s legs spread around his boyfriend, like a fence keeping him contained for fear he might run off somewhere. This was a stupid notion Callum realized after a second, but the position was comfortable and so he stayed in it. Eddie’s head rested on his shoulder. With a low moan, Eddie buried his face in Callum’s neck, turning his body so he could curl into the young man easier. “Sorry I lef’ you down there,” he slurred, voice muffled by Callum’s skin. “I didn’t feel good…”

This comment was followed by a low groan as his stomach gave a very audible burble, bubbles trailing up his throat and bursting into the air as a sickly burp. Callum shook his head, rubbing his boyfriend’s back. “No, no, baby it’s okay, I just wish you had said something.”

“You were havin’ fun, I didn’t wanna make you leave,” Eddie responded. His sentence ended with a hiccup that jerked another moan out of him and he raised a fist to his lips.

“Eddie, I wouldn’t have minded at all. I love you, I want to make sure you’re okay. You worried me when you just disappeared.” Callum’s stomach dropped again just from the very memory of thinking that Eddie was pissed at him, but he didn’t want to bring that up right now, not when Eddie was clearly feeling so miserable. “You shouldn’t be wor-”

Callum had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Eddie’s stomach begin to heave under his palms. The only reason he noticed at all was because Eddie gave a guttural retch, causing a river of sick to cascade down his chest and all over the floor. Eddie hardly seemed to notice: his eyes were still half shut. Callum, to his credit, didn’t freak out like he really really wanted to. He took a steadying breath before pushing Eddie forward so he could stand up. His lap was soaked in vomit, chunks hitting the floor with a wet splat as he stood.

“Okay, baby, you have to sit up,” Callum cooed, trying desperately to keep his voice from shaking. He tried to help Eddie stand by sliding his hands under his armpits, but Eddie weighed half again as much as he did so it wasn’t easy. Luckily, Eddie seemed to gain some clarity back, because he forced himself up, using Callum as a crutch.

He lurched forward, practically throwing himself onto the toilet and managing to whack his forehead off the toilet seat in the process. This new, sharp burst of pain sent his stomach roiling again. He gagged harshly. A thin stream of liquid poured from his mouth into the water below.

At this point, Callum was fucking freaking out. He had completely given up trying to stay calm when his boyfriend had rebounded off the toilet lid. Frantically, he dashed back into the bedroom and swiped his phone off the entertainment centre. His fingers trembled violently as he pressed Roan’s contact. She was good with this kind of thing, and her boyfriend was going to medical school, so they were Callum’s first choice. The phone rang four times before she finally picked up, long enough for tears to start streaming down Callum’s cheeks.

“Callum? What’s up?” The voice on the other end sounded gravelly and tired, as though she had just been awakened from a nap. Callum heard a faint “Baby what’s going on?” from Justin in the background.

“Roan? I-I need h-help,” Callum stammered, voice choked by sobs. “Eddie’s r-really sick and I-I don’t know what to d-do.”

“Fuck, okay, we’ll be right there,” Roan said. She sounded fully awake now, Justin still asking her what was going on in the background. The call ended with a beep, and Callum dropped the phone onto the floor. He couldn’t help it: he dissolved into a renewed bought of sobs, curling into the fetal position on the floor. He had never been good at staying calm when the people he cared about were in trouble, even when he was a kid. His parents’ fights would always send him racing to his shared bedroom to hide under his covers and cry.

The struggle between wanting to stay curled like this forever and wanting to go comfort Eddie, who was still making awful retching noises in the bathroom, raged in Callum’s head for a few moments, then finally he managed to push himself to his feet. His own stomach was churning, though not from sympathy. His anxiety reared its head like a great beast, fighting to take control. He somehow shoved it deep down inside himself in time to register a knock on the hotel room door.

When he rushed over and opened it, Roan and Justin immediately shoved their way in, both looking like they had just rolled out of bed into the middle of an apocalypse. Roan’s hair was tangled, her clothes rumpled, but her eyes were wide as she gazed around the room. “Where is he?”

“Um, bathroom,” Callum stammered, still trying to control his tears. He followed the pair to the bathroom, peering over Justin’s shoulder to see Roan crouching beside Eddie who had his cheek resting on the toilet seat, a long string of drool hanging from his lips into the bowl. Roan tore off a few bits of toilet paper, wiped Eddie’s mouth, then flushed the toilet. Callum watched a thick, brownish-yellow slurry go swirling away. “Is he okay?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course not, he barely even knows we’re here,” Roan snapped, taking a thermometer from her pocket and sliding it under Eddie’s tongue. Eddie gagged a bit, but nothing came up and the thermometer stayed in place.

Callum shrank away from the bathroom, going to sit on the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. His shoulders shook with heavy sobs, though he somehow kept them quiet. He didn’t want to disturb whatever they were doing in the other room. After a few minutes, he felt the bed shift beside him.

“Don’t take it personally, she just gets focused and doesn’t like being distracted,” Justin said quietly. Callum felt a hand on his shoulder. “I may be the future doctor, but honestly, I think he’s in better hands with her. When she gets going, I don’t think the whole of the Pentagon could stop her.”

Callum took a deep sniff, raising his head from his knees to look at Justin. He felt like such a baby, breaking down like that. He could feel his cheeks heating in embarrassment. “Right, I know, sorry…”

“Nothing to be sorry for, I get it.” Justin nodded his head towards the bathroom. “I’d probably be doing the same thing if that were Roan in there. Though, it wouldn’t be. That girl’s got the immune system of ten men.” He shook his head with a faint smile, then turned back to Callum. “Right, sorry, got a tad distracted there. But yeah, don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

It was at this inopportune moment that Roan emerged holding the thermometer, a grim expression on her face. “He’s got a fever of one oh four point three,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning on the door frame. “At least that explains why he’s basically delirious.”

Callum’s heart beat immediately picked up by ten paces and his stomach lurched. He tried to speak but instead he gagged into his hand, his system revolting against the raging emotions inside him.

“Oh fuck,” Justin muttered, darting forward to grab the trash bin beside the bedside table. He slid it into Callum’s lap, forcing him to put his legs down from their cramped position. Callum wrapped his arms around the bin, breathing hard.

Roan started forward but Callum held out a hand. “No,” he panted, “Go back in with Eddie, I’m fine.” Roan hesitated for a few seconds, then turned and closed the bathroom door behind her.

Callum did his best to calm himself so his stomach would quit acting up, but with all the thoughts spinning through his head, trying to fight them back only made his head spin, which in turn made his nausea spike. He gagged again, spitting into the bin. “Easy there mate, deep breaths now,” Justin said, patting Callum’s back.

Callum took the slowest, deepest breath he could, but it ended with a retch that finally sent his lunch shooting up his throat. It landed in the wastebasket, the visceral sound making Callum gag again. His stomach slammed inward, his shoulders hitching up to his ears. The heat of his stomach contents through the plastic made him want to drop the bin onto the floor, but he forced himself to hold on through another few bouts, until his vomit had filled the little bin nearly halfway.

His stomach was still angry when he stopped heaving, but it had at least decided to let him stop doing his best impression of the Exorcist child. Justin took the bin from him, setting it on the floor a few feet away where the smell wasn’t suffocating them both. “Feeling a bit better now?”

Callus grunted, not quite convinced yet, but he lay back on the bed to stare at the ceiling. “Maybe. I can’t really tell yet.” He could hear Eddie in the bathroom even with the door closed, alternating between loud retches and muffled whiny sounds. “I wanna go back in with him, but I’m scared I’m just gonna fuck things up even worse,” he admitted to Justin, turning his head to look at his friend.

Justin shrugged. “Yeah, maybe you will.” He paused for a second, then added, “Or maybe Eddie will feel ten times better because one of the few people he loves most in the world is in there beside him.”

Callum hadn’t considered it from that perspective. He pushed himself up onto his forearms, watching the bathroom door. “Yeah…” He stood slowly. His anxiety was still there, running laps and screaming like a banshee in his head, but for some reason his stomach had settled considerably. The knob of the door was cold in his fingers as he turned it. Inside, Eddie was leaned up against the bathtub, eyes closed, while Roan wiped up what appeared to be sick off of the toilet seat. She glanced up when Callum came in.

“He’s not throwing up anymore, but I think he somehow managed to give himself a concussion. His pupils are super dilated and he’s having trouble focusing his vision.” She gestured to Eddie’s forehead, where a bruise was forming. “Did he hit his head falling down or something?”

Callum shook his head. “No, he knocked himself off the lid of the toilet. You know, when he was being sick the first time.” Crouching beside his boyfriend, he put a hand on the young man’s forehead. He was certainly burning to the touch.

At the sound of Callum’s voice, Eddie’s eyes opened just a bit. “M’sorry I made you sick…” he muttered, trying to bring a hand up to Callum’s knee. “Heard you pukin’ in there.”

“No, baby, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Callum murmured, cupping Eddie’s jaw softly. “I’m fine, I promise.”

The faintest of wan smiles crossed Eddie’s lips, and he made a quiet affirmative sound. His stomach suddenly contracted, a dry heave shaking his body, but he didn’t move: he just let it shake his body before falling limp again.

Callum pressed a kiss onto Eddie’s forehead then turned to Justin, who was hovering in the doorway. “I think you need to call 999, he’s getting pretty damn bad.”

A frown appeared on Roan’s face. “999? What’s th-”

“Call an ambulance,” Justin cut her off. “Callum wants us to call an ambulance. It’s the emergency number back home.”

While Roan darted off to find Callum’s phone, Callum turned back to Eddie, brushing his curly hair out of his eyes. “Bloody hell, I hope they get here soon…”

[simiansmoke]

He'd been gone three weeks tops, but from the reaction of other Kongs when they noticed him out and about again, it could've been a year. Though generally their first response to seeing him was 'you look like shit' before getting into hype mode. And truth be told, he did in fact 'look like shit'.

The collar having squeezed his neck for so long left what looked like a permanent hat-line around his neck-fur. Surely it would fluff back out later, but it was holding stubborn for now. The bite on his shoulder was starting to heal, but his arm - despite being rammed back into its socket, still didn't look...quite right somehow. The large bruise on his pec was swelling a darker purple than before and he couldn't keep mudding it without letting it get some fresh air to heal up. And according to most, and most vocally - Cranky, he was looking too thin and needed to go make himself about fifty sandwiches.

Given how the Darklands didn't exactly come stocked with a plethora of fruits and vegetables, and not much grain either...he'd out right refused to eat most nights. Sure, he'd grab something when he was in another kingdom, but it wasn't his usual calorie load, and he must have lost about fifty pounds. Which sucked balls because he'd been working on putting on at least another two hundred before the next wrestling season. His bulk sabotaged, he planned on getting a pretty large serving at the mess hall after a long soak in the hot springs dulled his aches.

Sitting in front of practically a mountain of food courtesy of his Dad's strict order pushed forward to the cafeteria line, he sighed, face in hand and elbow propped up on table as he surveyed the spread. His stomach had gotten used to being asleep, so he was trying to work up some kind of ravenous feeling to help him get back on track. Still...the thought of him missing the mark of not just the wrestling season, but of the likely impending war made him lose his appetite all over again. That plus... his face turned an indignant shade of pink as he poked at a banana leaf plate of rice. How many of his friends did he chase away during his collared cruelty? It was like waking up from a daze, whiskey scented breath and a list of people that were once good friends - now turned venomous enemies at whatever you stupidly and senselessly said to them the night prior. "...well I guess everyone hates me now. Fun!"

[withswiftieness]

he's back at the bar. all of the personal growth, and all of the things he's been through in the last two weeks, and logan is back at the bar. old habits die hard, of course, but the fact that he found himself so easily back at the place he hadn't thought he'd be back to . . . it's comforting, the smell of alcohol mixed with cigarette and vape fumes, but it isn't where logan wanted to be right now. where he wanted to be was back at the x-mansion, at callie's bedside, but he'd been there for almost two days straight, and storm had almost forced him out saying that he needed some air. she was right, of course, logan did need air, and there was nothing that he could do for callie by sitting and watching her sleep, but that was where he wanted to be. it was his fault that she had been injured in the fight with victor, even though she had forced herself along on the trip, and while everyone was insistent that she would wake up soon, logan just wanted to be there to be sure that she did. he knew what it was like, after all, to wake up in a strange place and not know who anyone was or what was going on, and the least he could do for her, after everything else, was make sure she didn't wake up like that.

and yet, here he sits, at the only bar in town he's not been kicked out of yet, with a bottle of whiskey and shot glass in front of him. the bottle is half empty by now, and he can feel a slight buzz, but for once, he's not even trying to get drunk. he just doesn't know what else there is for him to do at the moment since he can't be at callie's bedside. the longer he sits here with his thoughts, however, the more he's able to convince himself that he should just leave before she wakes up. thus far, everyone that logan has ever cared about, he has directly or indirectly put them in danger in some way or another, he's even gotten some of them killed, and he doesn't want that this time. in the short amount of time that the two have spent together, logan has grown quite fond of the hacker's presence, and while he wouldn't dare to call it love just yet, there is definitely something other than her being a good distraction for the night. he does care about her, but that is such a treacherous road to travel down he's all but convinced himself it isn't worth the trouble anymore.

'aw, look, folks! it's the wolverine!' wade's voice echoes across the bar, and logan cringes, immediately pouring himself another drink before the merc can even reach him. he's not surprised that wade is here, but he really is not in the mood for the amount of energy he always brings with him.

"wade, what the fuck--"

'am i doing here? good question, one that you, peanut, should already know the answer to.' wade plops himself on the barstool next to logan, reaching for the bottle of whiskey that is immediately snatched out of his reach. 'so cranky. jesus. i thought you'd be in a better mood, considering, y'know . . .'

"considerin' what?" logan finally turns to the other, but he's met with the blank expression on his mask, and he sighs. as much as he hates to admit it, he knows exactly what wade is referring to, but that is also the reason he's currently at the bar, and not back at the mansion with callie. "don't even start with that shit. she's just a friend that helped me find victor, nothin' else."

'a friend that you've been watching sleep for two days?' he reaches for the bottle again, wrestling it out of logan's hands before sliding it back across the bar. the bartender barely even has time to catch it before it slides off completely, and he shoots both mutants a dirty look, but says noting. 'that's super weird, btw. very edward cullen.'

"wade, i'm not in the fuckin' mood." glaring, the wolverine lifts the shot glass to his lips and throws it back, wincing at the burn in his throat. "go home."

'iiiiisn't that where you should be? i mean, we went to allllll this trouble to get you back, log. the least you could do is, i don't know, stay?'

"i was home. storm said--"

'you need some air. i know. i was listening.' logan shoots him a look, and he shrugs absentmindedly. 'thin walls. you can hear eeeeverything, and i gotta tell ya . . . you guys should really consider adding a sex ed class to your roster.'

"jesus christ . . ." logan waves the bartender back over with the bottle, but wade reaches out and pushes the bottle back again, earning him another glare as logan turns towards him on the stool, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.

'no, but i have been called marvel jesus on occasion.' the bartender sets the bottle down anyways and walks off, mumbling under his breath something about mutants. wade shoots him a look, eyes of his mask narrowing, but his attention is quick to turn back to his friend.

"look, wade. i appreciate you comin' here, but i don't need your fuckin' mouth right now." he reaches for the bottle yet again, only to be body blocked as the other leans over the bar, head shaking. it's starting to get irritating, and logan stands, walking around wade, who hops up to sit on the bar. in the process, he knocks the bottle off, but logan catches it just before it falls, much to the bartender's relief.

"knock it off before you break somethin', would ya?" he settles back at his own seat, pouring another shot, and wade hesitates before sliding off the bar and walking to logan's other side, snatching the shot glass from him. irritation peaks, and he stands, slamming his hand on the bar. "goddammit, wilson--"

'i know, i know.' both of his hands raise, shot glass clutched between two gloved fingers. 'shut the fuck up or i'm gonna get clawed, right? trust me, i know. everyone knows stabbing me is your second favorite pastime.' logan's eyes narrow, and finally, wade offers the drink back.

'look, buddy. i think you might have problem. maybe you need to talk to someone.'

"what, someone like you? no thanks." logan downs the shot and immediately pours another, but he hesitates this time, staring at his own distorted reflection in the glass. he knows what wade has come here to say and to do, but that doesn't mean that he wants to hear it. he just wants to drink his problems into oblivion, and now he can't even do that.

'as much as i would love that, and let's be honest, so would they,' he's gesturing at dead space in reference to the people supposedly watching that only he can see, 'but no. i'm talking about that girl you've been watching over like a fucking hawk since you came back. she's who you should talk to.'

"yeah . . . that's probably not a good idea." and down goes another shot. he's starting to really feel it now, but not enough to drown out the annoying presence of the mercenary. nothing ever does. "bad shit--"

'--happens to people you care about. i know. you said that in logan, 2017. brilliant movie, by the way.' logan is staring at him now, with an expression that wade can only read as he is about to get a set of claws through his mouth if he doesn't get to the point before the other gets to the end of the bottle. 'look, my point is . . . she's not dead, log. she's still alive. sure, she might've got tossed like a used condom at a college party, but she's alive.'

"there's somethin' fuckin' wrong with you, y'know that?"

'obviously. you say that at least ten times a day.' he shrugs again, walking back to logan's other side, and sliding the whiskey bottle back out of his friend's reach yet again. 'but just . . .' for once, wade pauses, watching as logan just stares at the bar's surface.

'bad shit is part of life. you can't run away from it forever.' this gets logan's attention, as deadpool rarely says anything serious, but he doesn't respond. he's past the point of arguing or bantering. he just wants to be left alone . . . but at the same time, he almost doesn't. he doesn't want wade to stay, but he doesn't exactly want him to leave, either. really, he doesn't know what he wants, other than to be back at the mansion, but he's convinced himself that trying to be there for callie is only going to get her killed, and he isn't sure if he can come back from that.

'you're gettin' kinda old to be running anywhere, really.' and now logan is rolling his eyes, rubbing his hands down his face. exasperation does not begin to describe the way he's feeling at this point.

"did you just come here to run your fuckin' mouth, or do you got somethin' to say?" a brow raises, and for longer than normal, wade is silent. it's . . . odd, given how little silence there is when he is around, and for a moment, logan thinks he's finally going to leave, but he doesn't, much to the wolverine's annoyance.

'i just came here to say, maybe stop being such a broody little bitch, for once, and actually consider that maybe your whole life doesn't have to be a taylor swift album. the tortured poets department, not reputation. reputation is more trev's thing if you ask me.'

" . . . what the fuck does that even--" realizing there is no point, logan waves him off, but he doesn't reach for the bottle again. instead, he reaches for his wallet and tosses a wad of cash onto the bar to pay for his drinks. this seems to please the mercenary, and he bounces on his heels with his hands behind his back.

'anyways, i've got a date with a spider, so i'll seeya back at the mansion. have dinner ready for me when i get back, babe!' before logan can respond, wade is already booking it out the door, and he slumps against the bar, another sigh escaping his lips. he's finally gotten the silence that he wanted, but unfortunately, the point the mercenary was trying to make has stuck, and he doesn't even want to be at the bar anymore. he knows, of course, that wade is right, however stupidly he put it, and that he does not have to spend his life sulking in bars alone, but he just doesn't want to see callie hurt. then again . . . she has already been hurt, and aside from a minor concussion, she will be fine. she is just . . . alone, at a place she does not know, and logan isn't going to let her wake up alone, scared, and confused like he had so many years ago, she will at least (hopefully) remember who she is when she wakes up.

swearing under his breath, and checking that wade is not watching him from outside the bar windows, logan finally stands, fishing his keys out of his jacket pocket. going back to be with her right now is probably a bad idea . . . but fuck it, he's had worse ideas. at least with callie, he won't have to listen to wade's mouth . . .

[cha-melodius]

I'd love to see "9. Neighbor is hilariously crabby about carolers so I’m gonna sing to him every night" for Napollya - and while Illya is probably the logical choice for being cranky about carols, it could be fun to see Napoleon be the grumpy one, as well! But I truly have no preference, this is such a very them prompt.

(Hellooooo as I mentioned in the Ao3 notes, I can't ever not take on a challenge when posited to me, so you get your grumpy Napoleon. Although really it's less grumpy Napoleon and more soft Illya. Fluff all around, here. Thanks for the prompt, I hope you enjoy it!)

Another Christmas Song (This Time I’ll Sing Along)

Read it on AO3 (G, 2.9k)

In the six months since Illya’s new neighbor moved into the brownstone next to his, he has learned a few things about him: 1. he’s ridiculously good looking (he learned that on the day he moved in); 2. he’s a very proficient chef (that one, a few weeks later, when he invited Illya to his extremely well-provisioned housewarming party); and 3. he sings. A lot.

The shared walls separating their houses are not particularly soundproof, at least not in the face of Napoleon Solo’s rich tenor. Illya more or less knew this from previous experience, but he never had much of an issue with prior tenants. Not that Napoleon’s singing is an issue, per se. Illya had thought at first he might need to invest in some noise cancelling headphones, but Napoleon turned out to be an exceptional singer, with a repertoire that includes everything from standards to pop songs to entire opera arias. So the only issue is that, in the six months since he moved in, Illya has been slowly, steadily, and inexorably falling in love with him, like a sailor drawn to the rocks by a siren’s song.

It’s ridiculous, because they barely know each other. Besides the aforementioned party, where Illya was only one of many guests—Napoleon is apparently as popular and outgoing as Illya is quiet and largely reclusive—they’ve hardly spoken. They exchange polite greetings when they happen to bump into each other on their way in or out. One time, the power had gone out in a storm and Napoleon had knocked on his door to see if he had any candles (he did; Illya is nothing if not prepared). Occasionally Napoleon comes by to drop off some kind of baked good, usually with the explanation that he’d made too much and someone should eat it. Illya has thought about trying to reach out more, invite him over for dinner or something, but Illya is not much of a cook, so that would probably just end up being embarrassing. Instead, Illya listens as he sings and tells himself it’s fine and not perhaps a little creepy.

(At least Napoleon knows he has an audience now, because once, in a fit of madness, Illya had asked him about a song he’d been singing that had subsequently gotten stuck in his head. Napoleon had apologized profusely and offered to keep it down in the future, and Illya had awkwardly told him no, he enjoyed it, and somehow also managed not to grin like an idiot at how pleased Napoleon had looked.)

When the holidays had finally rolled around, it was safe to say that Illya expected to hear Christmas carols, especially since he witnessed Napoleon wrestling a large conifer through his front door immediately after Thanksgiving. Illya is usually not much for Christmas carols, not celebrating the holiday himself, but he thinks his mind could be changed hearing them in Napoleon’s voice. He never gets to find out, though, because Napoleon’s song choices don’t change to reflect the season. It seems odd, but he doesn’t really think any more about it until the carolers arrive.

Every year, a few groups of neighborhood kids go caroling house-to-house to collect money for charity. It’s the kind of thing that Illya thought only happened in movies until he moved here, but he always listens politely for a song then sends them on their way with a donation. The first time a group comes by this year they stop at Napoleon’s door first; Illya is in his front room at the time and can just hear the knock on the neighboring door, then the faint, slightly out-of-tune sounds of ‘Silent Night’ filtering through the windows.

“Hold on, hold on,” Napoleon says, the words just audible. The kids falter mid-verse and taper off in their singing, understandably confused. “Is that really the best you’ve got?”

Illya cannot quite hear the response, but there’s a stretch of quiet where one of them must reply. Then, the first notes of ‘Away in a Manger’.

“No, look, I’m sorry. Not that. Truly, I don’t mean to be rude, but can I just— Here’s a donation if you don't sing any more. All right. There you go. Merry Christmas.”

The final sendoff is so incongruous with the rest of it—which is frankly baffling—that Illya actually bursts out laughing. He’s only ever witnessed Napoleon be unfailingly genial, so this response is more than unexpected, and he only just resists opening his own door to find out what the hell is going on. It’s not long before there’s a knock on his own door, though, and he opens it to find some very uncertain looking kids.

“Do not mind him. He is…” he trails off, searching for the word. “Grinch.” It’s not really true, not that he can tell at least, but the kids giggle and seem to accept it as a suitable explanation. Then Illya stands there through two out-of-tune songs, because —even though he will deny it—he is sometimes a bit of a soft touch.

About a week later, a different group comes while they are both at home. This time they stop at Illya’s door first, and after they’re done with him he has the challenge of keeping a straight face at the loud groan from within Napoleon’s house when they knock. Probably he should have warned them not to bother, but he was honestly curious about whether the previous time had been a fluke.

Apparently not.

“Wait, what are you planning on singing?” he can hear Napoleon asking after he’s closed his own door. “Do you know anything else? Maybe something untraditional? Christ, I’d take ‘The Chipmunk Song’ at this point.”

No singing is forthcoming, this time, not that Illya can feel too disappointed by that. He’s not entirely sure what ‘The Chipmunk Song’ is, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know.

He can’t stop thinking about Napoleon’s unexpected reaction to the songs, though. The man sings constantly, and he seems rather festive about the season in other respects. Surely there are some holiday songs he likes. Illya has no idea what really possesses him to do it, considering it could not matter less to him whether or not Napoleon likes Christmas music, but one evening when he knows Napoleon is around he unearths his guitar from the closet it got buried in when he moved and searches the internet for chord charts that might suit. He’s not much of a singer, not like Napoleon at least, but he can hold a tune, and he’s always been good at picking up songs. He reads through the lyrics and rejects a few outright—too maudlin, too goofy, too outright stupid—and settles on one that he knows is a classic but not the kind of thing you’d hear from carolers.

“In the meadow we could build a snowman,” Illya sings, trying—and mostly failing—not to feel painfully silly about the whole thing. It doesn’t take long to get a response, though.

“Not you, too!” Napoleon calls out through the wall, and Illya nearly breaks off in laughter. He keeps going, though, determined to get through it. When he finally finishes he wonders if he should say something, but in the end he decides to leave it at that. The joke was made, he’s pretty sure Napoleon laughed, the end.

Or maybe not. Illya doesn’t mean to make it a thing, but playing his guitar again after so long makes him realize how much he missed it. He supposes he could play anything, dig out his book of Russian folk tunes perhaps, but it’s also tempting to keep doing holiday songs to mess with Napoleon a bit (no, he would not like to examine that impulse too closely). So every night, around the same time, he pulls out his guitar and picks a song. The first few are all over the place, though he sticks to popular numbers rather than religious carols, which he suspects suits both of them better anyway. 

Then, without meaning to, he hits on a bit of a theme. I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm, Sleigh Ride, Let it Snow. They’re songs less about Christmas and more about wanting someone to keep you warm in the winter. Logically, it makes some sense as to why he’d gravitate toward them. Illya is used to the cold. And, well, he can admit, at least to himself, that it’s not a coincidence that he’s singing these particular songs to someone. Napoleon could probably draw some pretty damning conclusions if he were paying attention, though he’s probably not. Besides those first couple of days, he hasn’t made any kind of indication that he’s even been listening.

Really, Illya could play anything. He thinks a moment, then carefully types the words into the search bar of the guitar tabs page. Just to see, as if the chords for that song might not be there. He’s familiar with it, of course, who isn’t, with how often it plays everywhere. The results he gets are a surprise, but only because there are so many more than he expected. How many different songs on the theme of “All I Want for Christmas is You” do there really need to be? Apparently, quite a few. It’s kind of convenient, though. Illya could pick an obscure one that Napoleon is unlikely to know. Plus, Illya’s singing voice isn’t that strong. Napoleon probably won’t even be able to make out the words.

So he chooses one, by some indie singer-songwriter he’s never heard of and strums a few chords. He’s pretty confident this is not a song that typically plays on the radio. Napoleon’s repertoire might be large, but the chances that he’d recognize it by melody seem low. The song is simple enough, and when he finishes, it’s the same as usual: there’s no reaction from the other side of the wall, not that he really expected or hoped for one. Emboldened, he chooses a different one from the list the next night, and then, the next night… what the hell.

Mariah Carey, eat your heart out.

He finishes the song. No response. It’s stupid that he feels disappointed, but he does.

The next night, Illya doesn’t pull out his guitar. The joke has run it’s course, and there’s not much else to say. Things are quiet between their two units, and in the end Illya turns up his TV on a show he’s not even watching just to fill the silence. He supposes things will probably go back to the way they were before, and why shouldn’t they? Nothing has changed.

The following day is Christmas Eve, which means Illya has the day off, and even though hanging around his house is pretty unappealing, there’s not much else to do. Napoleon must be home, too, because Illya hears him knocking around the kitchen in the morning but never the sound of the front door. It feels odd like it never has before, knowing that they’re both just there on either side of the walls, and he wonders if he should go say something. Make sure Napoleon knows the whole song thing was a joke. That he didn’t get the wrong idea. Never mind that it would actually be the right idea.

He doesn’t, of course. That would probably be weirder than the singing. Instead he putters around his house, making some idle preparations for his trip home for New Years, until daylight filtering through the blinds starts growing dim. When the knock comes at his door, he assumes it’s more carolers—sometimes they come by on Christmas Eve—but that’s not what he finds when he opens it.

“Hi,” Napoleon says, sounding oddly tentative. God, he looks good. He always looks good, but there’s something about today that’s somehow more—the soft cerulean sweater that brings out the blue of his eyes, the way his hair is falling in soft curls over his forehead, the almost hopeful smile on his face, the ruddy flush to his cheeks that Illya can’t tell whether is from the cold or something else. He’s holding a round tin, which usually means cookies.

“Hello,” Illya answers in return, making the greeting into half a question.

“I made you some holiday treats,” Napoleon tells him, holding up the tin. No excuses about having made too much this time. Illya swallows and tells himself he’s reading too much into it. “Er. Can I come in?”

Right, it’s cold outside, and he’s not wearing a coat, having just come over from next door. Illya steps back and ushers him into the entryway, taking the proffered tin. As they walk into the living room, Napoleon looks around curiously at Illya’s rather sparse decorations; the only other time he’s actually been inside was when the power had been out. Illya carefully sets the tin on the coffee table, then kind of wishes he hadn’t because he’s not sure what to do with his hands anymore. He almost crosses his arms over his chest before he remembers that someone once told hime it makes him look extremely intimidating, so he settles for awkwardly leaning on the back of an arm chair. At least Napoleon doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself either; he ends up with his hands jammed in his pants pockets, which maybe draws a bit too much attention to his thighs.

“You didn’t play last night,” he says finally, a forced nonchalance to his tenor.

It’s very much not what Illya was expecting. He blinks at Napoleon, unsure of exactly what to say. “You don’t like Christmas music.”

Napoleon huffs a laugh, looking down at the floor as he shakes his head. “Not exactly true,” he says. At Illya’s cocked eyebrow, he adds, “I’m a singer.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Illya deadpans.

“A professional singer,” Napoleon says, rolling his eyes. It seems to have worked, though; something unwinds between them, a tension releasing. “I also give vocal lessons over at the music academy. My entire November and December are full of nothing but those songs, the ones all the carolers sing, so yeah, I’m not very keen on hearing more of them.”

“Sorry,” Illya mutters, unable to keep himself from wincing.

“No, no,” Napoleon jumps in quickly, “my point is, that’s not what you were singing. You know, I’d pretty much written off all Christmas music. But hearing you… you gave me a new appreciation for it.” He pauses, a tiny smirk playing on his lips. “Some of it.”

“Oh.” Illya is slightly taken aback. Him giving someone an appreciation for Christmas music seems like some kind of very strange joke. “Really?”

Napoleon’s grin widens at his bafflement. “Yeah. I have to admit, though. I, uh.” He hesitates, biting his lower lip. “I was hoping the song choices were deliberate?”

“You… recognized them?”

“Of course I did.”

Illya could claim, like he had considered doing earlier, that he hadn’t meant it. That he hadn’t even paid attention to the lyrics, even though he’s pretty certain there’s no way he could sell that lie. That it was only meant to be a joke. That he’s not already desperately gone on his neighbor. Then again, Napoleon said he’d been hoping.

“I—” Illya starts, then swallows. “Yes.”

“Good,” Napoleon says, then he crosses the living room in a few confident strides, reaches up, and pulls him down into a kiss.

Illya stiffens in surprise for a moment before he melts into it, one hand finding Napoleon’s hip as the other comes up to cradle his jaw, drawing him closer. His fingers twine into Napoleon’s curls like he’s been dying to do for months, and Napoleon smiles against his lips before he finally pulls back to breathe, resting their foreheads together.

“You’re my Christmas wish, too,” Napoleon confesses, murmuring into the space between them.

The next morning, Christmas morning, Illya wakes to singing. It takes a moment for him to realize it’s louder than normal, and for the previous night to come back to him. A slow grin curls onto his lips as it does, and he stretches under the covers, reveling in the slight soreness that lingers in his muscles. After a moment he manages to peel himself out of bed, only to discover that his robe is missing. He tugs on a pair of pajama pants instead, following the song as he shuffles out to his kitchen, and smiles to himself as he recognizes the lyrics.

“I won't ask for much this Christmas, I won’t even wish for snow, ‘m just gonna keep on waiting—”

Illya slides his arms around Napoleon’s waist and drops a kiss to his neck as the other man relaxes back against him. It’s hard to believe—Napoleon cooking breakfast in his kitchen, wearing his robe, singing for him…

“I love your singing,” he murmurs against Napoleon’s skin, his brain-to-mouth filter failing him this soon after waking.

Napoleon just chuckles though, turning to capture his lips in a kiss. “That’s good. It would be kind of awkward if you couldn’t stand it.”

“Sing some more for me?”

“Tell you what. Get your guitar, and I’ll sing whatever you want.”

Illya smirks. “Even a holiday song?”

“For you?” Napoleon says. “Anything.”

[unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin]

For the pregnancy series can you do Matt Jackson? Maybe pregnant with their first child? Thanks!!!!!! I know you’re shocked that I would pick him!

Taglist: @fiskers7136 @peachmango-kombucha @kcloveswrestling @bellalutionn

An: you!? Wanting Matt Jackson? I never would have thought!

“Calm down buddy.” You mumbled, running your hand over your large stomach that was snuggly tucked into one of Matt’s shirts. You were standing in the kitchen when your son decided he wanted to move around. You let out a small huff of pain when he kicked one of your organs. “Jesus, you are just like your daddy.”

“Was that an insult or complement?” You turned to see your husband come in from being outside. He had been over at Nicks, talking about something with AEW.

“It will be and insult if this kid keeps using my organs as a damn wrestling ring.” Your groaned. Matt walked over, rubbing small circles on your stomach.

“He’s just ready to be a young buck.” He gave you a play full smile.

“Not with 3 months to cook still.” Matt ignored you as he kneeled down to be at the height of your bump.

“You gonna be a young buck? Of course you’ll need a brother to be the next greatest tag team.” He spoke as he rubbed your stomach.

“Excuse me mr, your not the one lugging around a watermelon for 10 months.” You flicked his forehead making him stick his tongue out at you.

“Your mama is just cranky because I forgot ice cream at the store.”

“Mathew…” you warned, which made him chuckle.

“I better get up before your mama kills me.” He kissed your stomach before getting back up. “Can I get a kiss from you?”

“You got ice cream?” He sighed, making you giggle. “I’m going to go rest. Come find me when you fix my problem.”

You made your way into your living room, carefully sitting down. Your hands immediately went to your stomach to sooth the stretched skin. Matt hollered a good by as he walked out the door, promising to be back in a few. You smiled down at your stomach where your son was. “Your daddy really is amazing. Your gonna love him.”

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

Do you ever imagine what Jack's side of the family is like? The side filled with ranch dressing, melted cheese, lots of fudge, and generations of supernatural hunters.

I imagine they're a mixed bag of doctorate earners and trailer park underachievers (or whatever look "Fun Danny" was rocking in Identity Crisis). Jack could have siblings, or maybe cousins he grew up close too, and Danny and Jazz could have cousins or second-cousins.

They could all meet each year and do an RV convoy to the Fudge Festival Rodeo. If they had missed doing that a year and his extended family hadn't seen him sense he was 12, they could gush about how much he grew (based off Elle, at 12 Danny was 4 feet even and still had a round chin like a baby). If Danny's cousins shared Jack's body type, they could be just a little older or his age still be able lift and toss him in the air like a preschooler.

the fact that we see nothing but one aunt in the show gives me the impression that he either doesn't have much extended family or that they're estranged due to distance or their profession

I write Jack to have been ostracised for his belief in ghosts and not treated very well by other kids at his school who thought he was weird, I've also written him as an only child, but considering his pride in being 'A Fenton!' it would make sense if he had a large close knit family, so a lot of cousins and aunts and uncles would make sense in that regard, and also it does just Feel Right for Jack to be part of a big family

so if their extended family are never mentioned in the show it may be simply because of distance, we know they had to travel by plane to visit Aunt Alicia so Maddie's side of the family are quite far away, Jack's might be the same, also Alicia's character was very southern and somehow I feel like Jack's family would have Big Country Folk vibes so maybe Jack and Maddie both came from the country

I always figured the Fentons settled down in Amity Park because it was considered a good location to open the portal, maybe it had a history of natural portals, high levels of ambient ectoplasm or other supernatural phenomena (I think I talked about this in another post once) so maybe they had to travel quite far from home to find somewhere with the right conditions for their work

I giant Fenton Family Reunion sounds like so much fun tho, like yes I'm so here for everyone being big and boisterous and fun, having them all be supernatural hunters of some kind could be a whole lot of fun and make an EXCELLENT headcanon, but I like to think they all sort of see Jack's work as like, a funny gimmick, like 'oh here's Mad Cousin Jack (affectionate) with his ghost stories!'

except like, one grizzled great uncle who Knows Things and has a ton of stories about ghosts and cryptids that he hunted back in his day, and he and Jack will talk for HOURS, but the uncle gets all cranky about these new fangled hunting weapons 'what happened to good old salt and blood blossoms?'

there's so many other good visuals like Jack sharing knitting tips with his aunts and Danny and Jazz getting pinched on the cheek and told they need to eat more because 'Fentons are built big and strong!' and your idea that they get tossed around by their bigger cousins is just *mwah* beautiful I love it, they're the outliers in the Fenton clan and get a lot of lighthearted ribbing for being so small

every year someone challenges Maddie to an arm wrestle, every year they lose, the Fentons love Maddie because she's small but she's fierce and strong as hell

also the mix of 'doctorate earners and trailer park underachievers' is so good I love that, like since as far as I'm concerned Jack is autistic as hell, and autism can run in families, I love the idea that half of them have their own neurodivergencies and weird interests so Jack's devout study of ghosts is just another one of the oddities of the Fenton clan, most of the rest of them are farm folk or tradies and it's not at all unusual to have an astrophysicist chatting about jigsaw puzzles with a bricklayer because it's both their hyperfixation

but it wouldn't matter what differences they had they would all go mad at the fudge festival and wrestle each other and holler and hoot out the RV windows whenever they drive past each other

the Fenton clan just sounds like they would be so much fun and I want in

also post-portal incident Danny would finally be strong enough to impress the cousins and they all get so fucking excited when he finally wins an arm wrestle

[catzula]

a/n: I just love Suna so much *screams*

honorable mentions: crackfic-like? The handsome-stranger-you-meet-at-the-airport au, swearing, 1.2k

It's a night flight.

Suna always preferred night flights, anyway.

Suna doesn't like flying. Sitting in a cramped seat for hours can't be anyone's favorite hobby, but he hates flying with a passion. For starters- it's unhygienic. The air has a strange smell to itself, as well, and it never fails to give him goosebumps and an urge to stop inhaling altogether.

He hates the tasteless coffee they serve, and the little packets of nuts remind him of the day he had discovered his nut allergy in a flight like this. The leather seats making him feel sticky with sweat, but the air conditioning brings him on the brink of hypothermia.

If there was an injection of sorts he could take that would put him in a coma during the flight, Suna wouldn't think twice before taking it, and based on all this, it's fair to say he can get a little cranky in airports.

As someone with not too much energy to spare, airports are exhausting for him. He already doesn't like running, but Kita is a little too punctual to let him rest or buy a coffee from Starbucks. The twins' fighting about something new every other minute never already driving him mad, but being surrounded by overly stressed people doesn't help, either.

"I will jump out of the window if I have to sit next to Atsumu on the flight." Suna had told the captain months before, the exact moment he had heard he would have to fly with the team.

That was the very reason the middle blockers seat was all the way in the back, located next to the window and a stranger. Suna can't be happier- all he wants is some peace and quiet, anyway, to wear his sleep mask and headphones and cut ties with reality as much as he can.

"You good there?" Suna barely hears Atsumu's irritating voice through his headphones, lips curling in annoyedly as he turns to the boy to send a glare- but to his surprise, the fake blond isn't looking at Suna.

"Oh, I- ah fuck- yeah!" He hears a voice, and it takes him a second to notice you who stands before the seats, arms reaching up for the overhead cabins and successfully blocking Suna from his seat. You must be the stranger he'll have to spend the next eight hours with, he supposes.

The tired gaze looks you up and down, you who is fighting a bag half your size- shouldn't that be under the plane?- and trying to push it into the overhead cabins. It's apparent you're struggling, arms shaking with the heaviness of the bag, biting your lip to muffle the sounds of your wrestling.

Despite your words, anyone who has eyes could tell you are, in fact, not fine.

In desperate need of a pair of longer arms, you peek at the tall brunette standing next to you; he's huge, broad shoulders and a height that makes you wonder if he hit his head on the way here. He looks familiar- if you weren't in as much of a pinch- you might've let out an audible gasp when you realized why he looked so familiar.

He's the stranger you'd seen earlier that day, standing in the line across of you, looking tired and black-painted nails scrolling down his phone. The all-black fit he has only adds to the mysterious aura surrounding him, arms slumped forward nonchalantly. You remember thinking if you'd ever see him or anyone as handsome ever again, making scenarios in your mind as to what kind of a man he is. You never thought you'd ever meet him again, though.

Suna notices the silent cry of help you have in your eyes, even when you avert your gaze away from him and mask your desperation- but he's no fool, he can tell when someone lookshim with an open need of help.

Well.

Suna admits he's no saint, either.

He can help you out, and you both can sit your seats, but he doesn't really care, nor has the energy to help you. All he wants to do is to sit down already -even though it would suffice if he just pushed the bag with his fingertips, but Atsumu beside you smiling at you does look a little more eager to help than he does, anyway. There you go, a prince charming ready to help.

Suna seems unfazed by the glare you send his way -any scenario you've created falling in disappointment, too, really? He wouldn't even offer to help?- as he bends in half to slip through the triangle-shaped gap you've created with your arms, slipping underneath them to get to his seat and-

A shriek outs your lips as you watch the bright blue bag slide from your fingertips, it's almost like slow motion, watching the object fall right on top of the boys' head.

"Ah! What the-" Suna groans in pain right after hearing a loud thump caused by the crash of the luggage and his skull. "What the fuck?"

Fox-like eyes are quick to find you, going between your panic-stricken and slightly amused face and the bag resting before your feet. "I-I'm so sorry!" You exclaim, but your strained voice sounds more like you're holding back a laugh instead of guilty.

Well. Karma is a bitch.

"Here, let me help." Atsumu offers maybe a little too late as he lifts your bag off the ground -Atsumu hopes he managed to hide how much he struggled, too. Honestly? What do you have in there?- and places it in the cupboard. "Thank you." You at least have the decency to look grateful at the blonde, giving him a pretty smile. "I'm so sorry," you repeat, turning your focus back to the brunette, who is rubbing his head in pain. "It just slipped out of my hand!"

To your dismay, Suna doesn't even spare you a glance as he mutters a "Whatever." Frowning and finally plopping himself down on his seat.

You narrow your eyes but stay silent as you do the same, too, settling in the seat, accidentally elbowing him one too many times as you try to get your damn jacket off.

You can feel his dissatisfied glare as the flight attendant brings the man sitting beside you a packet of ice, and you ignore the "tch!" sound he makes as he places the ice on the crown of his head.

"Bye, Suna!" The blonde you've seen earlier waves a goodbye at the stranger sitting next to you- Suna, you think, a pretty name for a man as cross as him.

"Are you okay?" You mutter under your breath, raising your gaze to take a better look at him. His face contorted in pain- he's the type of handsome you only get to meet in an airport. It's unfair how good-looking the man is, his shapely lip rolled between his teeth, deep-brown locks tousled and messy, and he has the prettiest eyes you've ever seen in your life.

Suna doesn't answer your question, but he makes it clear he's heard you with a scoff, eyes rolling in annoyance, averting his gaze to his phone. It makes you feel angry- being ignored as if you're a six-year-old kid.

"I'm not sorry, actually. You had it coming." You huff pettily, lips pursing when he keeps his silence.

"Okay, I'm a little sorry." You mutter after a few awkwardly silent seconds, suddenly feeling guilty. You did drop a heavy ass bag on his head, after all. "But not much."

You turn your eyes away from him when he sighs, annoyance evident in the sound. "And?" He hums, voice monotone and deep. "Which answer I give will make you stop talking to me?"

Suna knows that was unnecessary as hurt and embarrassment flash across your face- he notices that's the first time he even looked at you that night. Well, he can get unreasonable at airports, he agrees.

"That was rude." Suna comments after a few awkward seconds.

"It was." You agree. "But I was rude, as well."

"You kind of were."

To his answer, you can't hold back a lighthearted chuckle, the oddness of the situation dawning on the both of you. "This might be in the top 10 strangest ways I met someone." You chuckle, he does, too, but with a sarcastic quirk of his brow.

He has a pretty smile, plump lips curving just enough to show you a glimpse of his white teeth, enhancing the sharp features of his face. "Only top ten? That's a shame."

You don't speak as Suna closes the sleeping mask over his eyes -it has a cat print on it too, how cute- as a smile still lingers on his lips. "Good thing I have eight hours to at least make it into top five."

[fatefulfaerie]

Mortality

Zelink Week 2021 prompt #7/7 @zelinkweek2021

Word Count: 3,684

Incarnation: Breath of the Wild 2 (pre)

Additional Prompts Followed: Forsaken Fates, Lost Eternities

Inspired by this art by @morniae

A big thank you to @braidy-maidy and @linktheacehero for beta-ing!!

He wasn’t expecting a fairytale reunion as his horse trotted slowly, arriving at the Forgotten Temple with next to no fanfare. All sorts of geniuses from every race of Hyrule had gathered to study this place, to pull it from its lost state and unearth its secrets, to discover the reason behind its eternity and maybe even why its fate was to be forsaken and forgotten to all of history.

Link left his horse with the many others that were being cared for on the left side of the canyon and began to navigate the ruckus on foot. It seemed crowds of scientists and historians alike were out here securing their tents, making food, and languishing in a well-deserved rest. Link felt as if he stuck out like a sore thumb with his small brain, but no one paid him any mind, not even her.

In fact, she was nowhere to be found.

Perhaps he was expecting some fairytale reunion as he peered his head around every Sheikah, Goron, Rito, Zora, and Hylian in sight. He didn’t care that there was no fanfare, in fact, that may have made it even harder to spot her if it were a big deal that the hero of Hyrule had arrived. Thank Hylia these ruins were more interesting, that no crowd had congealed into a true tidal wave of obstacles. He missed her dearly, after all, no matter how short a time two weeks was in comparison to a hundred years.

He made his way all the way to the shrine in the back when he finally saw her. Zelda smiled when she spotted him and bounded over, clutching the Sheikah Slate.

“Thank the goddesses you’re here,” she said, pecking his cheek. “They haven’t made anything good for dinner in days.”

She walked right past him. Link’s mouth popped open as she practically flew to another inscription of the ruins being studied. Purah, following close behind Zelda, approached Link as he looked over.

“Two weeks she hasn’t seen me and I get a colder welcome than ten thousand year old ruins.”

Purah clicked her tongue and began to cross past Link.

“Sounds like you better get cooking.”

And so he didn’t see his blur of a girlfriend until dinner, when he was serving a ladle-full of meat stew to everyone who passed by with a bowl, salty chunks of meat and sweet carrots swimming in a broth that radiated a scrumptious scent for at least a mile.

The last person he served came up wearing a forehead beaded with sweat and sticky blonde hair from a hard-days work. As she approached, she lightly hit the empty wooden bowl against her hand, and pursed her lips taut with eyes almost apologetic. Her steps shuffled in the sand.

“Look who it is,” Link said before she could muster an apology. He looked more amused than upset, anyway. Zelda sat on her heels in front of the cooking pot and handed him her bowl.

“Sorry,” she said, “it was just a busy day. We think we’re close to finding--”

Link and Zelda’s eyes met. They both knew what she was going to say. The entrance to the caves. The hidden reason why this expedition was such an extensive operation. Only Purah and Impa knew the true reason, after all. Everyone else was just here for research. Bless their hearts.

They knew they needed to find it, but not finding it meant more of an excuse to not go down there.

Yet.

To not let go of the illusion of peace.

Yet.

To not face their mortality once again.

Not yet.

Link looked down to pour soup in her bowl. With everyone else fed--and Zelda more than likely went to the back of the line on purpose so that she would be the last one to eat--Link poured himself a bowl as well. They soon sat down in front of Zelda’s tent.

“When are Impa and Paya arriving?” Link asked.

“Tonight,” Zelda replied, but she swallowed hard, regretting taking another spoonful with a “mm”. 

“Oh my gosh I almost forgot!” she said enthusiastically. “You should have seen it, Link. The reunion between Purah and Robbie? They just marched up to each other, both short, old, and wrinkled, said each other’s names and walked off. It’s hard to believe they used to be lovers.”

Link choked on his stew.

“What?”

“Did I not...mention that?”

Link was still coughing, eyes tearing up.

“No?” He croaked, before coughing a couple more times. “You’d think I would remember something like that.”

“Believe me I wish I didn’t,” she said, before changing the subject. “Oh yeah, how did the meeting go?”

“Horrible,” Link said between spoonfuls.

“What do you mean?” Zelda inquired, slightly disappointed. She had hoped diplomacy would work.

“If I had known that Kohga had an eight year-old hiding somewhere in that hideout, I never would have attacked him,” Link started. “Apparently we needed him to keep his son in check. The kid is so hell-bent on revenge that he didn’t even read the treaty. He’s determined to hunt us down until the end of our days. Even his guards think he’s taking it a bit far. I could see it in their faces when Sooga was going on and on about his forces being strong and ready to fight. Those poor men and women are tired.”

“I thought the Yiga wore masks?”

Link shook his head.

“Not anymore,” he replied. “Sooga wants them to be proud of themselves, whatever that means. Goddesses, that whole meeting was like getting a child to eat their vegetables. I’m pretty sure Riju was about to slap him at the end, the little runt recycling the dogmas of the Yiga that are ten thousand years old now. Even when I ask him why he said such things about Hylians, he doesn’t give a straight answer. He knows less about history than I do and I had amnesia. He’s just been conditioned, raised to hate.”

“That’s unfortunate, but not hopeless,” Zelda said. “I’m sure Riju and the rest of the Gerudo will be able to work it out if the entirety of the clan no longer backs him. Is there any danger until then?”

Link shook his head and swallowed his current spoonful.

“Not yet,” he said once he could. “The only reason they haven’t attacked here is because he wants to find the entrance of the caves as much as we do. He didn’t say it outright, but he’s waiting for us to do it for him.”

“That’s not frightening at all,” she said sarcastically. “We’ll have to increase security when we do eventually go down there, make sure he doesn’t follow us.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Zelda,” Link said. “He’s only eight years old, and he’s pretty short and lean.”

Zelda smiled as she sipped her soup.

“I remember a little eight year old like that who could best adult knights,” she said with a smirk. “People say he saved Hyrule.”

“Really?”

“Never grew an inch after eight years old though.”

Link scoffed.

“I can and will pour the rest of this stew over your head,” he said as he held it up. Zelda laughed, but put her arms out in defense.

“Don’t you dare!” She exclaimed. She stood up and began to back away “I’m a princess!”

“Not anymore,” Link said, forgetting about the soup and tackling her. They wrestled playfully, rolling down the rocky slope and laughing joyfully until they stopped suddenly in a gulch, Zelda hovering over Link and sharing with him panting breaths.

“I win,” she said.

“By chance,” Link argued. He brought a hand up and lightly coaxed her head to lower. It, however, did not take much effort, as Zelda more than willingly met his lips to his, exploring his mouth and enjoying the sensation. She felt her cheeks warm. Kissing was all they had ever done, so being flush to him was frankly exhilarating, but she didn’t mind it in the slightest.

They both heard the reigns of horses, the clatter of a covered wagon, the jingle of Kakariko-style bells, but it blended too much into the rest of the ruckus for them to think anything of it.

“Paya, you brought us to the wrong place,” Impa said. “I wanted to go to the research expedition, not a mating ritual exhibition.”

Zelda pushed herself off Link and attempted to fix her hair, composing herself as best she could. Link stood up, but he let his messy hair be.

“H-hey Impa,” Zelda said, walking towards her oldest friend. Despite her feeble frame and short stature, Impa hopped off the wagon like a child. “How was the trip?”

“Long,” Impa said, bruskly.

“She’s a bit cranky,” Paya explained as she stepped off and started to untie the two brown horses from the wagon. “Where do these go?”

“Over there,” Link said, pointing over to the mini-stable on the left of the canyon. “And your tent is the one next to ours. If you’re hungry, there’s probably some stew left.”

“Please,” Impa said, allowing the young man to lead the way to the appropriate cooking pot. She even let him help her walk when the terrain wasn’t the smoothest.

They had left Zelda alone, but it gave her the opportunity to help Paya with unloading the wagon, and to catch up with one of her newer friends before they all turned in for the night.

Zelda was surprised to find Paya as reserved as she was when they first met, but after a bit of grilling she admitted to Zelda that Impa had told her of their true purpose here, that sealing Calamity Ganon may not have been an ending they could trust. Her red eyes were sad and apologetic for learning the secret but Zelda wouldn’t have it, insisting to Paya that it was okay, that it won’t be a secret for long, and that Hyrule was going to be okay.

That last one was a lie Zelda thought about well into the night.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Zelda.”

He opened his eyes to the dark tent, the edge where tan cloth met a small patch of dry grass.

Link couldn’t believe a whisper was what woke him up. Still half awake and already turned away from the center flap of the tent, he kept his eyes closed, hoping he could doze off again.

“Zelda, wake up.”

Someone gently shook Zelda’s foot, and Link guessed the voice belonged to Paya.

Link felt Zelda’s arms slide away from holding him and he tried to slow his breaths. They both would feel so guilty for waking him.

“What is it?” Zelda asked, the rustling that followed suggesting that she got out of the tent. “Should I wake up Link?”

Paya must have shaken her head, or said something to suggest that it wouldn’t be necessary, because that was the last Link heard of the conversation.

He inwardly wrestled with the decision to get up anyway since he was, in fact, awake, but his comfort insisted otherwise and he drifted off before he made up his mind.

“Link.”

The sunlight was bright, even through the dulled filter of the canvas tent.

He felt Zelda’s hand on his shoulder, and he rolled over at the gentle prompt. Link found her green eyes.

“We found it,” she said. “An entrance to the caves.”

Link closed one eye and scrunched up his face. Zelda knew he did that when he was both tired and confused but with his messy bedhead she saw it as adorable.

Link moved his arm to the other, pinching his own skin somewhere around the wrist and, once he felt pain, his entire body sighed exasperated. He faced the top of the tent and closed his eyes far too tight to go back to sleep.

He opened the blue gems one at a time and took a deep breath.

“I assume we are leaving as soon as possible?”

Zelda nodded.

Link didn’t say another word when he got up and started getting ready, almost ignoring Zelda and how she sat on her heels in her own silent and undetectable bout of sadness. He even left her there in the tent but Zelda let him have his space, let him breathe his last breaths in this wild, fresh air, let him hear the birds and see the sun before she dragged him down to hell, back down to war, back down to fear and panic and worry and trauma and everything he had worked so hard to heal from.

It wasn’t until they were several steps into the caves that his stoicism really started to wear at her. One statement and all of him was left in the tent. He just…walked, looking forward, not saying a word. Zelda hated it as much as she did a hundred years ago. She tried to remember that he wasn’t really mad at her back then, so he couldn’t be mad at her now…

Right?

She looked over at his profile again.

Right?

“Link?”

The hooves of the large, blue ox behind them clapped along.

“I, uh…” she began when he gave no response. “I’m sorry about all this.”

“It’s not your fault,” Link said quickly and briskly.

Zelda’s lips parted. Her pacing slowed to a halt. If she hadn’t stopped pulling the ox along, it would have rammed into her.

Link looked over his shoulder when he realized he was the only one moving, turning around completely to see Zelda with a slightly furrowed brow.

“Why don’t I believe you?” Zelda asked.

He decided to look elsewhere as he hugged his arms close, the stone ground, the cavernous chasm above them, the rocky wall, anywhere but Zelda.

“I’m not mad at you, I...” he said quietly, “I’m just feeling a little off, okay?” He said quietly. “I had trouble breathing when I left the tent this morning.”

Zelda’s expression softened. She closed the distance between them and attempted to comfort him with a hand on his shoulder.

“You could have told me that,” Zelda said. “I’m nervous too. We have a right to be. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Yet Link still refused to look up.

“I almost collapsed, I felt so weak,” Link said. “The dread, the fear of facing it all again, the thought of losing you…it gathered, I felt it here.”

He placed a hand on his chest and he started to pant. His fingers began to clutch at the brown leather, the blue cloth and he stumbled to his knees.

“Link!” Zelda exclaimed as she grabbed him under his forearms, kneeling down with him. His breaths were shaky and fast, and he stared down at the ground.

“Link,” she repeated. “Link.”

The next sound from Link was the combination of a spurt of fresh paint and a croaking frog, warm vomit spilling from his mouth in smelly chunks of beef and carrots. It was instinct that Zelda stood up with a yelp and backed away with arms floating up, the gathering of vomit ending up mere inches from her toes. If she had stayed where she was, her pants would have been covered in Link’s partly-digested dinner.

“Oh gosh, Link,” she said once she got over the shock, rushing to his side and drawing circles on his back. He didn’t react though, only staring at the mess on the floor with his weight on his hands.

Zelda’s eyes stung with tears as she ran her fingers through his hair, some drops even lopping onto Link’s mess. She held him as best she could while still giving him the distance he needed, but that could never stop her from the occasional kiss on the side of his head and whispering sweet assurances of love into his right ear.

After a couple fruitless lurches of his back and neck, Link hurled a second time. As ironic as it was for her to hope for anything from the goddess anymore, Zelda prayed it was the last one.

“Zelda,” he said between heavy breaths. It was apparent his lungs were exhausted. He coughed a couple times.

Link looked into Zelda’s eyes, finally, although they veered towards horror, the green marbles conveying desperation for how to relieve this poor young man.

“I know,” she said, trying to smile. She wiped away Link’s tears. “I know.”

Wary of the mess near them, she brought him into a proper embrace, rocking him back and forth and holding him in such a way that she was sure he knew he was held. She wasn’t sure how secure he could feel on the cusp of embarking into danger, but she would try her best.

“I’m scared, too,” she said. “Down here is an untouched wild that was left alone for a reason we know not of. Nothing is scarier than the unknown, especially for us who have been hurt again and again by the unknown. Hope has betrayed us too much for us to readily depend on it, but we have to try.”

Link looked up, tilting his head to see her.

“How?”

Zelda lips parted. She stammered speechlessly. He seemed so hurt by her hopefulness.

“Together,” she said, attempting to fake her confidence. There was still a small question mark at the end of her statement that she didn’t mean to expose.

Link stood up and faced away from her. He crossed his arms.

“Do you know how long a version of Ganon has been terrorizing Hyrule?” Link asked. “How long he has been reincarnating?”

Zelda, who was now sitting on her heels, shook her head.

“No,” she said honestly.

“Do you know what makes us any different from the people who tried to stop him in the past?”

“No,” Zelda repeated, again, honestly.

Link nodded.

“I don’t either,” he said. “And that scares me.”

Zelda stood up.

“Link, we—”

“I can’t lose you!” Link exclaimed, turning around quickly. “I ignored it, okay?! All this time when you talked about there being caves, there being another journey, I ignored it! I put it off! I casted it aside! I focused on us.” His voice broke. “I thought that was all there would ever be…”

He placed his hands on his hips and collected himself.

“This morning it all collapsed,” he said. “Right before my eyes. Everything I could have ever hoped for.”

Zelda scoffed.

“Do you think I was happy to have found these caves?” Zelda asked rhetorically. “To have been woken up in the middle of night and told that this place I saw in my nightmares was indeed real, that I was to investigate a threat that hasn’t been faced in ten thousand years of Hyrule birthing warriors more capable than you? I had to keep a straight face, but Link, I wanted to scream so loud that even Lurelin could hear me!”

Zelda released her residual anger at the world in heavy pants of her breaths. Once she sighed herself calm, she snagged a small rag from the heaps of resources strapped to the patient and by now likely deaf ox.

Zelda stepped forward and washed Link’s stunned face clean of vomit.

“Then I thought of our future,” Zelda continued. “I was angry because coming down here means jeopardizing that. I scorned myself for how selfish that was. I told myself that this wasn’t about me and you, that this is about a peaceful Hyrule. That helped but...do you want to know what really helped?”

“What?” Link asked.

“The people of Hyrule want to live in peace, and so do we. They want to raise families without worrying about another Calamity.” Zelda smiled. “I think we do too, when the time comes.” She perished the thought. That was a long while down the road. “But this isn’t just about a peaceful Hyrule, it’s about our peaceful Hyrule. I’m no longer a princess, distanced from others by a pedestal, and you are no longer a knight, distanced from others by a sword. We actually feel like a part of Hyrule this time. Of course we loved the Champions, my father, but we aren’t acting as Hyrule’s weapons anymore. We don’t feel like cards to be discarded or pawns to be knocked off in a game of chess. All of this is voluntary. We can’t blame a kingdom or a calamity this time. The possibility of losing each other is already giving us stomach-churning guilt because no one told us to go down here. We came down here because we want to preserve peace for all of us, preserve peace beyond even our lifetimes.”

Zelda placed a hand on Link’s cheek.

“And we will,” she said. “We have to believe we will. If we don’t think we’ll get out of here, then there is no chance we will. This is our first on-our-own decision and it’s a damn risky one. We can always turn back if--”

“No,” Link interrupted.

Link’s hand went to hers and his thumb stroked her soft fingers.

“No,” he repeated, however shakily. “We are going through with this. I just need to process it, that’s all. I didn’t think we would actually be doing this. I think we both held on to the fantasy of peace. I definitely held on to it too much.”

He finally let her touch soothe him.

“I’m here,” Zelda assured him softly. “I’m right here.”

She took his hand and placed it on her heart, the rhythm of which pulsated through his own veins.

“I’m not supposed to be alive right now,” Zelda said. “I should have died an eighty year old queen about thirty years ago but here we both are, young and spry. These caves are filled with dangers we don’t know, but with my heart in your hands and your heart in mine I know we can dare to do the impossible again.”

Link met his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. He tried to breathe the way she was, to feel her calm and to adapt it into his own body.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m ready.”

[sorry-rosie]

I keep seeing mentions of drama in Mia’s tags but I do not see it? Being a person who stalks Mia’s tag for fan art and content often. Something about blaming Chris or Mia for Village’s events. 

I’m going to go into my thoughts on the matter anyways since it comes up a lot from what I read online, spoilers obviously under the cut. Probably going to be a long one.

For one Chris was a little sloppy with his plan and honestly he needs to use his words more as a professional, I do think Mia is justified in yelling at him. And who cares if she yells? Leon and Piers (possibly more) have been cranky with him over less. She’s a momma bear looking for her husband and child. She is allowed to be justifiably angry with the person who in the present had obligation to protect her family, even if she did bad things in the past. Because the BSAA did promise. She gave up her privacy and both her and Ethan are presumed missing, so they probably have very little freedoms in their daily lives.

But to blame him for the events is ultimately incorrect, I do agree, and I don’t think Mia herself was blaming him for literally everything, just mad since he promised them safety. And a theme of 7′s last DLC is how Ethan always kept his promises. Perhaps she had too high expectations for Chris. I wouldn’t say she’s incorrect for that either, I mean, Chris’s accomplishments in the series are huge. Heisenberg is very aware of them and I’m sure Mia would be too. He had founded the BSAA after all, so it’s not a leap in logic for her to expect him to keep them safe, keep the deal they made with her. So that’s why Mia acts this way in the prison scene and why I could see people blaming him somewhat. He is the experienced military man in a position of power in this situation.

However, in the end we have to keep in mind the BSAA is probably infiltrated by the Connections. Even he was blind to the BSAA’s plans so I do not blame him much personally, the Baker file DLC makes clear that the BSAA and Miranda were in the same league. I guess we’ll just have to see where that plotline goes on that front, but there’s our villains, clear as day.

On the other hand Mia has been out of work in bioterrorism for what’s going to be a decade in a few years and has suffered the wrath of the consequences of her actions directly in 7. Besides that, the BSAA had promised her immunity, Ethan had forgiven her, and while you may think she’s undeserving of it, in the end she doesn’t have to prove that she has redeemed herself. Because if that were the case, no one would ever be satisfied, and frankly the law doesn’t work that way. Grand gesture redemptions scream artificiality, so she’s doing about the best she could do by making Ethan happy at the very least and living a new life. All the while wrestling her own trauma inflicted from 3 years of living at the Baker estate. 

She’s done bad things. But she just isn’t guilty for 8, in fact she’s barely even in the game. It feels so out of left field to blame her for everything that ever happens. Blame her for 7, sure, but it’s so weird here. While you could be upset about her lying to Ethan about his condition, I can see why she did it. They are already in extreme danger from the Connections with or without Rose, I can imagine, since they are living in Europe without any say. 

While it’s questionable her decision to have a kid, she’s trying to balance safeguarding Ethan from the truth that might get them targeted by both the BSAA and the Connections while trying to make him happy. Happiness for him might include a child. In both 7 and 8 their relationship provides a lot of fill-in-the-blanks for players, which I don’t mind because it lends itself for some more subtle story-telling elements, but oh man do some of these hot takes seem the farthest from what was intended by the developers. 

To be honest, Ethan’s opinion on Mia is the only one that really matters. He still loves her even in death, is sorry, even, for dying. He could’ve left her after 7. By my calculations, they had about a 2 year period after 7 where they were childfree, not expecting either. So to assume he was trapped is very untrue in addition.

Whether or not you personally forgive Mia is irrelevant. You could think whatever you like. And of course, Chris isn’t really blamable either in this game. Potentially there could’ve been little things that might’ve saved Ethan. There’s no guarantees however, and Ethan is quite reckless and ballsy when it comes to protecting his family, so I can’t imagine him going strictly by one of Chris’s plans either. In the end I think Mia and Chris did all they could.

But anyways, as for Mia’s morality, I like her because she does bad things. It’s okay to like bad, messy, complicated characters. No need to defend them, or erase what makes them, well, them. Because that’s life, and morally pure characters are often boring and unrealistic, AND Ethan/Mia’s dynamic of Ethan being more perfect husband material while Mia’s so flawed gives me life. That’s the point of them. 

Psst, by the way Capcom, don’t you think Mia would be a really good horror protagonist since she has a lot of baggage. How about some more psychological horror like people loved in Beneviento’s house? You do like money right? 

I’m kidding, but I do think more people would like her character anyways if she had more content and the developers weren’t so scared of using her. Not everyone has to like her, but just wanted to give my opinions real quick since I’m one of the few people who really likes her on here.

[dapandapod]

Lambert the lark

On Ao3 here! 

This one is for @mayastormborn, because singing Lambert and because Lambert looking very much indeed like Paul Bullion with his curly hair and fancy beard. I had fun.

Beware the swearing and actually rather filthy songs that Lambert likes. Oh and a surprise sentimental thing in the middle there.  It was supposed to be a 5+1 but writing is hard so it turned into a 4+1. Please enjoy!

1. The bar

Let it be known Lambert likes to sing. Let it be known that when Lambert is drunk, he sings very loud.

Most patrons of the tavern he favours in the little shit town Mulbrydale, they know.

Most people living close to the tavern know too. And all the horses in the stable behind the tavern.

Yes, it is known that Lambert likes to sing.

The poor bard entertaining for the night is looking rather exasperated, and there is a bet going on in the corner when the bard actually will just march out. Lambert couldn’t care less. Earlier that day he got paid for a job well done, a basilisk tormenting the locals' livestock decapitated and shoved into the eldermans face.

It was glorious.

So it only makes sense to have a glorious finish, beer foam stuck in his mustache and voice roaring louder that the poor blond lad trying to play his lute. How the fuck does the loud drunk ginger know every song?!

It takes another three tries at a ballad until the bard gives up. Or rather, explodes.

“IF YOU ARE SO KEEN ON SINGING WHY DON’T YOU TAKE THE FUCKING STAGE?!” He screams at Lambert.

Money changes hand in the corner, the bard storms out, and Lambert takes the stage.

Let it be known that Lambert loves Fishmongers Daughter and knows all 27 verses.

Let it be known Lambert still did a better job pissdrunk than the actual bard.

2. The bath

Hot springs are the best thing ever. Really, nothing is as good as settling in to one of the stone pools and soaking in the slightly-too-hot water. Best thing those fuckers funding Kaer Morhen back in the days ever did.

Lambert leans back against the stone, his angry orange locks curling even tighter in the steam. In the next pool over sits Jaskier and Eskel, Geralt is still wrestling with his towel by the wall.

“Hot springs are the best thing ever.” Lambert says, voicing his thoughts. If the moan from Jaskier is anything to go by, he agrees.

“Move over.” Geralt mutters after finally being defeated by the towel.

Lambert opens an eye to peer at him, then spreads his arms across the edge of the pool and closes his eyes again.

“Asshole.” Geralt says fondly, then proceeds to climb over Lambert to get down into the pool.

Stark naked.

Lucky Lambert wasn’t looking, because otherwise it wouldn’t have been Geralt calling Lambert names, but Geralt instead declaring what Lambert was seeing.

“Aaaasshoooooleee.” Lambert sings, his voice bouncing around the walls, giving it a rather otherworldly feel.

“Oooh, nice resonance! Do it again!” Jaskier sits up a little straighter.

Lambert smirks and peeks at a glaring Geralt who now is soaking too.

“Aaassshoooooooolee.” Lambert sings again, and Jaskier joins him, harmonizing. It sounds lovely, so they do it again and again, creating a little melody.

“Please.” Geralt huffs, but he is smiling.

“Nah, I rather like it.” Eskel says agreeably, and really, if Geralt dislikes it Lambert has to continue. Those are the rules.

They experiment a bit with tempo, making it canon, Lambert taking a really low note that Jaskier can only barely meet, and oh the discord of that note sounds great too.

“I'm going to steal your job.” Lambert declares to Jaskier, when they dry off. “Im going to get so much fucking coin.”

Jaskier only snorts.

“I would like to see you try.” He says, amused.

Oh, little bard, you just wait.

3. The night

Silence is different in the woods. Especially at night. The way that everything is asleep, even the trees quieter than in the day. The fire crackles merrily anyway, the wood popping and fizzing. Lambert is feeling a little forlorn, he sits close to the fire and stares at the flames, hugging his knees to his chest.

Aiden is half laying on his bedroll next to him, working on a leather braid for his saddlebags.

It is strange, Aiden is right there, but Lambert feels lonely.

Achingly alone, small among the giant trees, old in a world that forever is new.

His mother died long ago. But her voice comes to him, words half forgotten and a melody that reminds him of honey and of sleep. Before he realize it, its leaking out.

He is humming, a deep murmur in his chest. He can see Aiden look up at him from the corner of his eye, but he keeps his eyes on the flame. Idly he drags his chin back and forth on his freckled arm, letting his beard scratch and soothe him. The heat of the flames feels good, his back too cold in contrast.

“What is that song?” Aiden asks quietly, he, too, afraid to disturb the night.

Lambert finally looks over at him, the light dancing on his face, making his hair look like its own fire.

“I don’t really know. My mother sang it to me.” Lambert never speaks of her. But this is Aiden, and the world is sleeping, and he tastes honey.

“Will you sing it for me?” Aiden asks, of course he does. This is why Aiden is here.

The words are old, the language has long since changed. He sings of rolling hills and budding flowers, of rivers feeling lonely and luring travelers into their cold embrace. He wonders if that is how drowners came to be.

Aiden watches him all the while, the braid still in his hands. Lambert watches the fire, sings lowly into the night.

It feels good, singing her song to the darkness. It feels ever better when he stops and peeks through his locks at Aiden.

Aidens face is hard to read, but his actions are not.

“Get over here, wolf.”

With Aidens arms around him, with the taste of honey on his lips, the crackling of fire behind him, Lambert joins the forest in its slumber.

4. The fight

It’s raining, fuck, it’s pouring down. Thunder is rumbling ahead, the raindrops fat and absolutely much wetter than rain has any right to be. They are soaked, the drop bounce off the armor, the weapons get slippery in their grip, their hair sticks to their faces and necks.

Geralt hates it. As they fight the griffin, he grumbles and mutters.

Lambert thinks he is being dramatic, really, it’s just some water. (Though, to be fair, it’s easy to be positive when Geralt is so extremely cranky. If Lambert was alone, he would be just as miserable, if not worse.)

The griffin is very big, and very angry.

It swoops down from the sky, Lambert aims with a crossbow at it’s wings.

“One little griffin were going shopping in town” he sings, clenching one eye closed while aiming. The griffin flies right above him, his talons inches from where his head was just a moment ago. Lambert swirls around untroubled, and aims again.

“But there came a Lambert, and shot it down.” Water is dripping from his eyebrows, eyelashes, running down his cheeks, but it doesn’t matter.

The shot is clean, it hits the target and a loud shriek announces that the griffin felt it too.

“Stop that! You are just pissing it off!” Geralt yells from the other side of the field, ducking from said pissed off griffin. Lambert smirks, shoving his hair out of his face with the crook of his arm, water sloshing everywhere.

It is a small miracle that he still has a grip on the crossbow. They charge the now grounded griffin, splitting up to make things difficult for it.

“ONE LITTLE GRIFFIN IS FEELING FEELING A LITTLE CRANKY!” Lambert sings, or rather howls, swinging his sword in a tight arc, aiming for the griffins flank. From the other side of the beast, Lambert can hear Geralt harumph in annoyance. It’s fun to work with family.

“BUT THERE CAME A LAMBERT AND-” Here Lambert has to pause.

He even takes a step away, scratching at his wet beard thoughtfully. He turns and yells towards a small grove of trees.

“JASKIER?! WHAT THE FUCK RHYMES WITH CRANKY??”

“Lambert come on!” Geralt yells, and yes, alright, fair.

“OH, NEVER MIND! I GOT IT! BUT THERE CAME A LAMBERT, HE GOTTA HELP GERALT, OR AIDEN WON’T GIVE HIM HANKY PANKY!”

“Wow! A true poet!” Geralt yells again over the shriek of the Griffin. “Now come help me fucking kill it!”

+1 The competition

"You really think you are going to win this?” Jasier says, disbelief and amusement clear in his voice.

“I hope you are ready to pay for my new sword, bardling.” Lambert says with a confident grin. Jaskier shrugs, strapping on his lute.

“Your loss. You do remember I am a very famous bard and poet across the continent, and a very sought after professor at Oxenfurt?”

Lambert makes a very charming snorting sounds and waves it away.

“Work hard tonight, and don’t think of trying to cheat!” Lambert tells him, and waves Eskel and Jaskier goodbye.

They agreed that Geralt is too biased towards Jaskier, so Eskel would go with him while preforming and Geralt with Lambert, to make sure none of them is cheating.

As if Lambert would need to cheat.

They walk towards a rather shadylooking bar by the docks, another one of Lamberts favorites. More than one turn around and give a (semi)friendly nod when he enters. The two of them order their drink and settle down.

“Soooo, when are you gonna go about earning those coins?” Geralt asks, sipping on his tankard.

“As soon as the poor lad stops his wailing. Gotta give him a chance, don’t you think?” Lambert smiles, and Geralt rolls his eyes.

There is indeed a poor lad by the elevated area, trying to sing heroic ballads with an accompanying lyre. Talk about reading the crowd wrong.

As soon as the lad is sat in a corner drowning his lack of success in wine, Lambert rises and stretches.

“Alright, time to make good on this bet.” Lambert steps up and begins clapping his hands in a beat. A few patrons see what he is doing and humours him, so he adds the stomping. And proceeds to sing the filthiest song he knows.

Without going into details, it involves what a lady has under her skirt, and how she uses it when she is a lady with mighty needs. To put it nicely. It takes exactly one verse and one chorus before the coins start.

Lambert gives Geralt a victorious smile.

“Alright, how much did you get?” Lambert asks Jaskier. “I hope you won’t have to add too much from your own pocket, swords are rather expensive.”

“132 crowns and 36 ducats.” Jaskier says with a triumphant smile. “The fine ladies at the brothel where quite generous.”

“Where is Eskel?” Geralt asks, looking around.

“Oh, he found a lady with horns and decided to see if they were real.”

“Again? He really has a thing for succubuses, doesn’t he?” Geralt muses.

“Sure seems like it. So, Lambert, how did it go? How much?”

Jaskier won. Lambert blames it on the florence, being slightly less of value than the crown. He lost by three. THREE. Lambert is pissed and Jaskier laughs, but really, he is sweating big time. Lucky he dresses in layers, because fuck that was close. Jaskier declines every challenge there after.

[jovialyouthmusic]

Double Trouble

Following Bastien and Sophia Lykel, the proud new parents of twins.  Sophia’s parents come to visit.

Word Count 2293

A/N Nothing to report, just fluff. The chapter got a bit long so I’m splitting it.

6a Granny and Grandpa

‘There they are!’ Sophia threw her arm up in the air and waved as she caught sight of her parents, Bob and Edith, coming out of Customs into the arrival lounge at Cordonia’s main airport. Costa and Althea had not stayed long when they visited, but the Turners would be there for a week.

‘What are we going to do with them?’ Sophia had asked Bastien ‘I love them, but it takes all my energy looking after the twins. We can’t really ask Hana to help while they’re here. She deserves a break’

‘Don’t worry, Regina has invited Edith and you for afternoon tea for one thing. You can take your mother shopping in the Capitol and Bob and I can look after the twins. I’ll find lots of things for us all to do, and if you’re tired, you can just rest. I’m sure your parents are capable of taking the twins for a walk in the grounds.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps we could invite Costa and Althea back, after all they haven’t met yet.’ Bastien’s foster parents were often busy visiting others that that they had fostered over the years, and were ‘foster’ grandparents to many children, so had missed both their wedding and the reception back in the palace after their honeymoon.

‘Oh my goodness, I can’t imagine how that would go – but it’s a good opportunity’ Sophia said ‘I suppose there’s no harm in asking if they’re free’

At the airport, Bastien smiled to see the joy on her face.

‘Go on, I’ve got the pushchair’ he said, putting his hand on the handle of the double stroller. The twins were mesmerised by the noise and bustle of the airport terminal, Theodore looking all around wide eyed and Beatrice frowning in disapproval, fidgeting and wriggling in her seat. Sophia rushed forward to greet her parents. Edith hugged her, but she was scanning the lounge for sight of the twins and broke away from her quickly.

‘Where are they? Is that Bastien over there?’ she asked impatiently, while Bob gave his daughter a warm embrace.

‘You’re looking well, Sophia’ he said fondly ‘How are you coping with being a parent?’ Edith was surging determinedly ahead toward her quarry, her luggage forgotten. The trolley was laden with bags and Bob looked tired.

‘It’s hard work, Dad’ she replied ‘But we have a lot of help – we’re lucky really, the Palace is a great place to stay right now.’ Edith was out of earshot but Sophia could hear her delighted cries at meeting her grandchildren.

‘We’d better catch up’ Bob said, and Sophia kissed his cheek as he went back to pushing the luggage trolley.

‘How on earth did you get all these bags on the plane?’ she asked incredulously.

‘Your mother’ Bob said, as if that was all the explanation that was needed, but went on to elaborate. ‘She harassed the check in girl thoroughly. I think she overlooked the baggage limit just to save her eardrums’

‘You must have had to pay extra, surely’ Sophia replied, and her father shrugged, smiling warmly.

‘It was worth it for the sake of my only daughter’ She squeezed his arm as they caught up with Edith, bending down and cooing at the babies. As usual with any new stimulus, Theo regarded her with fascination, fingers stuffed in his mouth, and Beatrice continued to wriggle, but she was engaged at the new person paying her and her brother such close attention,

‘They haven’t got your lovely fair hair’ Edith said, looking back at her daughter. ‘You were such a pretty baby, strangers didn’t believe Bob was your father because you were blonde’

‘It’s genetics, Mum’ Sophia sighed ‘You must both have recessive genes’ Edith sniffed, unconvinced.

‘Well, they’re very bonny.’ she conceded ‘How did you get here? Did Bastien drive? How are we all going to fit into the car?’

‘We’ve got a minivan’ Sophia explained ‘We’ll all fit in fine – and your bags’ she looked back at the trolley ‘At least I think so’

‘We’ll manage’ Bastien asserted. Bob had been gazing fondly at the babies, but his attention went to his son in law.

‘Lykel’ he said, taking his hand and shaking it firmly ‘You’ve got a hard job looking after twins’

‘They keep us on our toes, Sir’

‘Now then son, it’s Bob’ Bastien smiled wryly.

‘With respect, you used my surname, Bob’

‘Well dammit so I did. Force of habit, s – uh Bastien. No offense’

‘None taken, Bob’ Edith was talking to the babies in a sing song voice, which caused Theo to reach out to try and touch her while Beatrice stopped wriggling to concentrate on her voice, staring at her intently.

‘They’re such little darlings’ Edith gushed ‘When is Granny going to get a cuddle?’

‘You can help when we get out to the car, Edith’ Bastien said ‘It will be easier to keep them in the stroller for now.’ He looked at the baggage trolley. ‘Let me take that, Bob. Sophia can take charge of the twins’ They set off for the car park, Sophia taking the lead and Edith walking beside her, Bastien and Bob taking up the rear. It was warm outside in the Mediterranean autumn air, white clouds billowing up in the sky as the day wore on. They reached the minivan and began the loading process.

‘Would you mind taking Beatrice, Mum?’ Sophia asked. She’d never been able to change her habit of calling her parents Mum and Dad. It just didn’t feel natural calling them by their names. ‘She’s more likely to get cranky. Theo’s pretty laid back’

‘Well who’s a gorgeous girl?’ Edith enthused as Sophia unbuckled the baby and handed her over. ‘Granny’s been waiting to meet you and your brother’ Beatrice sat quietly in her arms, happy at being paid exclusive attention. Bob caught up with them and beamed as Sophia handed Theo over to him so that she could wrestle with getting the stroller folded up and stowed away and putting the nappy changing bags where they could be reached easily. Bastien was taken up with manhandling the bags into the back of the van, scrutinising them first to work out how best to stow them away.

Sophia climbed into the van and reached out to Bob for Theo first, knowing that he would be content to be buckled into his baby seat. Edith was only too happy to spend a few more moments rocking her granddaughter before handing her over.

‘Now Beatrice will probably cry when I buckle her up’ Sophia explained ‘But as soon as we get moving she’ll quieten down. Theo will be fine’

‘I’ll sit next to her’ Edith offered ‘Granny will keep her quiet’ Sophia pursed her lips dubiously but said nothing. Beatrice squirmed and grizzled as she placed her in the car seat and adjusted the straps. Edith swiftly climbed into the next seat and leaned over her as Bastien crammed the last bag into the back.

Bob wheeled the trolley back to the collection point while Bastien got into the driver’s seat. Bob came back and sat beside him whilst Sophia settled next to Theo, who kicked his legs happily. He seemed to like the motion of the minivan, whereas Beatrice just wasn’t happy being strapped into anything. It wasn’t as if she could get anywhere under her own steam, just that she hated any kind of confinement apart from being held and fussed over. Happily, the fact that Edith was paying the little girl attention pleased her, and she quietened down before they started off.

‘Beatrice must really like you, Mum.’ Sophia said ‘Normally she cries until we get moving. Not that we’ve manage to get them out and about much. It’s like organising a campaign getting them ready’

‘Well four pairs of hands are better than two’ her mother said ‘I know you have extra help at the Palace, but whoever it is can have a little holiday while we’re here’ Sophia sighed inwardly, knowing that things were never that simple with her mother, well meaning as she was.

It wasn’t a long journey to the palace, and Edith carried on talking to Beatrice all the way, only looking up when they got to the palace gates.

‘Oh, here already? How’s the King? Didn’t you say that the Queen’s expecting a baby too? Theo and Beatrice will have a real life prince or princess to play with’

‘Mum, I told you we’ll be moving to Edinburgh when the academic year starts’ Sophia said.

‘Oh, still so far away.’ Edith sighed ‘However will you manage the twins on your own? You should move back to the island, then we can babysit for you.’

‘Now Edith, that’s a huge commitment.’ Bob said firmly. ‘Much as I love the idea of being a grandpa, I want to enjoy my retirement. Sophia and Bastien will manage just fine without us.’

‘I’d planned to set up my own security consultancy, but I can delay a lot of it while we settle in’ Bastien explained ‘Most will be done remotely anyway, so I should be at home most of the time once it gets going’ Edith boggled at this.

‘You mean you’ll be a house husband?’ she gasped ‘Sophia, you should be the one staying at home’ Bob coughed loudly, and she looked sheepish. ‘Oh dear, I’m being old fashioned, aren’t I? Things are different nowadays I suppose’ Sophia rubbed her forehead.

‘I was honoured to be offered the job.’ she explained. ‘I didn’t think I’d fall pregnant so fast. They deferred, but I really want to take it up.’

‘I’m sorry dear.’ Edith sighed ‘It was so different in my day. You were expected to be at home to look after your children and wait for your husband to get home’

Any further discussion was halted as the minivan drew up at the security post at the Palace gates and went on to stop in front of the staff wing after being checked over.

‘Let me have Theo this time’ Edith offered as they started to unload, so Sophia handed him over and carried Beatrice herself, leaving the two men to unload the baggage. They climbed the stairs to the apartment.

‘Now Mum, you know you can’t stay with us this time. The twins have the spare room, so the King has very kindly put you in a suite in the guest wing. It’s not far from us, and we can all eat together. Your suite has a very nice view out over the grounds at the back’

‘Oh’ said Edith ‘That sounds lovely. When can we see it?’

‘I just need to check the twins aren’t hungry or need changing, then we can all go over and take your bags’

‘Are you bottle feeding them? I fed you of course, but I stopped when your teeth came through’

‘I’ll feed them for as long as I can’ Sophia explained as they reached the apartment, and she unlocked the door. She went along the corridor to the nursery, and Edith exclaimed at the room.

‘Oh my, aren’t you a lucky boy?’ she cooed to Theo ‘Your mummy didn’t have her own room until she was at school’ She made a face and held Theo away from her body. ‘Oh dear, I think he’s a little damp, darling’

--------

At first Edith had been a little peeved not to be staying with her daughter. Sophia and Bastien had discussed putting the twins back in the main bedroom and reinstating the spare room, but it would have been too disruptive. The suite Bob and Edith had was one that was usually put aside for nobility to stay in the social season when there were balls and other occasions to attend. Edith was most impressed at the grand décor and soon forgot all about the little apartment in the staff wing. The arrangement meant that everyone had their own space and weren’t on top of each other.

After taking all the bags through, Bastien sent for a meal to be served in the Turners’ suite, and Sophia sat feeding Beatrice whilst it was all laid out on the table. She felt a little guilty at always feeding her first, but she was impatient where her brother was not. Edith paraded up and down with Theo, singing and chatting to him.

‘What’s in all the bags, Mum?’ Sophia asked.

‘My painting things’ she replied. ‘After all, I work by Royal appointment, you know’ Sophia suppressed a smile, as she knew that remark to be caused by Regina politely saying she’d like to see Edith paint the palace grounds. Beatrice stopped feeding and Sophia waved her mother over to swap, handing her a napkin for her shoulder.

‘Make sure she’s winded’ she warned ‘If she gets tummy ache neither of them will settle.’ When Theo had been fed and winded, Sophia went to sit at the table. Theo was happy to sit in his bouncy chair, and surprisingly Beatrice was too.

‘My foster parents are passing through tomorrow’ Bastien said casually as he passed the breadbasket to Bob ‘If you like, we could meet up with them.’

‘Oh, Althea paints, doesn’t she?’ Edith piped up ‘Of course we should meet them’

‘Perhaps we should plan an outing’ Sophia suggested ‘I’m getting a bit fed up of the same four walls. A walk along the seafront and lunch at a café would make a change’

‘That’s an excellent idea’ Bastien replied, standing to take some plates back to the kitchen and stopping on the way back to put his hand on her shoulder and lean down to kiss her cheek. ‘I’ll get in touch with them and arrange it’

@sirbeepsalot @katedrakeohd @fluffyfirewhiskey @kingliam2019 @rainbowsinthestorm @camillemontespan @texaskitten30 @bascmve01 @nomadics-stuff

[twoidiotwriters1]

Déjà Vu (Or are we losing our minds?) IX -Modern!Shirbert

Words: 2,967

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Nine: Captain Shirley and Prince Blythe.

Try not

       to

        forget me.

Gilbert woke up with the sea breeze hitting his face, the rotten fish also accompanying him on this journey, though he had no time for feeling sick, he had to find his way to Captain Shirley's room. It was easy if we were talking about finding it, harder if you take into account the fact that no one else could see him enter.

Why was he doing this in the first place? Easy.

Captain Shirley was the most vicious human to ever sail across the seven seas, and she had stolen something valuable from Gilbert's father, who was none other that the King of Prince Edward Island. Gilbert, being the impulsive young prince he was, decided to infiltrate the lines of this redheaded pirate in order to retrieve his father's treasure and take it back to safety.

There was a slight issue with this plan, though. Gilbert was infatuated with Shirley, and each day on that ship only meant a day more closer to irrevocably fall in love with her.

As he silently moved through the dark and cold night, Gilbert heard most of the tripulation downstairs, getting drunk or loudly snoring on their hammocks, he saw the dim candle light coming from the door in front of him, and he quietly opened it.

That was it, all he had to do was to kill the Captain and take back his father's crown back to where it belonged. He entered, the enticing smell of wine and dry flowers filling his lungs, he tightened his grip on the dagger he was holding and urged himself to move forward.

There was a curtain dividing one corner of the room, it looked light and thin, and the shadow of Captain Shirley was delicately drawn across it, she appeared to be laying on some kind of fancy bed for one, though he could hear a strange noise similar to moving water coming from it.

As he stepped closer, he heard her low breathing, and confident that she wouldn't wake up on time to avoid her imminent ending, he decided to take a moment before ending her life.

However, as he peaked through one side of the fabric covering her bed, Gilbert's eyes widened in disbelief. He didn't know how he managed not to scream, or even fall to his knees and cry, begging God for mercy and forgiveness after what he saw:

Captain Shirley was indeed fast asleep, but she wasn't on a bed, she was on a wide bathtub, long enough so it could cover most of her body, water was spilling thanks to the movements that the ship suffered from the nightly waves, but down where her legs were supposed to be, all Gilbert could see was a fish tail.

But that couldn't be a fish tail, because it was attatched to a woman! Or that could not possibly be a woman, that had to be... a siren, a mermaid.

Gilbert's stomach churned in horror as he remembered the horrid tales he'd heard during childhood, but he also found comfort in finding the reason why his heart had fallen victim of this creature's looks. It was obvious now, no human could have eyes like hers.

Though he was terrified beyong belief, he took in at every little detail he could catch, it isn’t every day that you get to see a real mermaid:

Her hair looked like fire, one that could live underwater and swing back and forth under the tides, her skin was white and freckled, like a snowy field with dry leaves of its trees and bushes. Her tail, though intimidating and hard to get used to, was of a charming pale blue, like looking at an early sky forever reflecting on her scales.

In her body Gilbert found the elements coexisting and sharing their home within every inch. Could she really be considered a monster when all she was built of was pure beauty?

Deep and raspy voices from outside the room caused Gilbert to quickly found his way to the door, waiting against it ready for any sort of attack that never came.

"We do it tonight," Said one of the voices. "Captain Shirley's a good leader all right, but she ain't gonna last forever. Remember the rumors."

"Rumors are rumors," The other man replied. "Do you really believe that she's some kind of creature that will abandon us as soon as we get too close to Green Gables Island? Wake up, Sloane! Mermaids aren't real!"

Gilbert gulped, his eyes going back to the curtain covering Shirley's real identity.

"Creature or no creature, we're taking her out," the other growled, "she's bad news. Willy and I have taken a decision, and the rest agrees, we're getting rid of Shirley, she's cursed."

"You're just a filthy traitor, that's it! Don't think I believe your little story, we know you're angry because she refused your advances, you're desperate to show her a lesson, aren't you? Heh! She'll have you begging for mercy in no–"

There was a sudden wrestling sound between the two man and a body crashing against the very same door Gilbert was standing, he prayed for Captain Shirley to be a heavy sleeper.

"I'd keep my opinions to myself, Jerry boy, if you don't want to end up at the bottom of the sea, sharing the same fate as our captain... she may give you a nice treatment, but I assure you, sirens get cranky when they starve."

Gilbert listened as Jerry pushed his way out of Sloane's grip and waited until they sounded far away. They were going to kill the captain and this had nothing to do with no curse, it was merely about a man having no honor, but what could he expect from a pirate?

New plan, he was going to search for the crown and then leave the rest to the tripulation, surely the mutiny was the perfect excuse in case some objects went missing from the Captain's room.

Something was bothering him though, and it was his moral compass.

Was he really going to let the tripulation kill her like that?

Well you were going to kill her moments ago, He thought bitterly.

Drowning in uncertainty Gilbert got closer to the bathtub, watching her lay there with her eyes closed. Only then he realized she was fully naked, he hadn't processed it since the fish tail was far more distracting, the scales only reach her sides and covered some parts of her chest, but she still had a human chest. Embarrassed and overwhelmed Gilbert turned around and weighed his options.

He could walk out of there with his father's treasure and never look back, or he could help the woman that was known across the world as this wickedly intelligent, viciously skilled pirate, survive the mutiny and have a new helping hand on his side that would assure him to return home safe and sound.

He convinced himself that this was a matter of clever negotiation and nothing else. No feelings of attachments whatsoever.

So he woke her up.

"Captain?" His voice came out weak and fearful, so he tried again. "Captain Shirley!"

Her eyes snapped open, quickly grabbing the gun that was hidden on the side of the tub Gilbert couldn't see. He flinched and closed his eyes, ready to get killed, but nothing came.

He opened his eyes and found the gun very close to his nose, the Captain's hand was unwavering and her eyes resembled the most vicious of hurricanes.

"What are you doing?" She asked in a low, dangerous voice.

"Good evening, Captain," Gilbert gulped, raising his hands in surrender. "I'm her to save you."

“Save me?" She let out sarcastically. Not even caring that he'd found her in such a vulnerable state, if anything, now that she was awake Gilbert was having a hard time trying to remember why did he ever thought she ever needed help.

"Sloane and company are planning a mutiny, they’ll attack later tonight and if you don't follow me they'll kill you."

"Oh, please," She replied. "Are you really expecting me to believe that, boy?"

"I'm only telling the truth," He frowned. "I can't do anything to convince you besides maybe the fact that I'm holding a dagger, like you can clearly see, and I didn't try to cut your throat before waking you up, did I?"

"No, because you're not that stupid," He felt a sting of annoyance at her retort. "Sloane's been on this ship for years, why would he try to kill me now?"

"I heard him speak to Jerry... he uh– I think his interests may be a bit... compromised… after the last talk you two had."

Shirley wasn't one to blush at such bold statements, not from embarrassment anyway. However, anger was a whole different thing. Her face shifted from understanding to tension, to a new calculating glare.

"I don't know you," She tightened the grip on her gun. "This is not the way men like you are meant to act. Who are you?"

"Men like me?" He asked back.

"Pirates," She spat. "In all my years of leading the Cordelia, no man has ever showed a glimpse of decency. Let alone to a woman they barely know."

"You're my captain," He replied in confusion. "Aren't I supposed to respect you?"

She blinked, her frown only increasing as her tail swung to a side, leaving the water and filling the room with a splashing noise. Almost instantly two perfect and fuctioning legs were hanging from the edge of the tub, and now she looked definitely naked to him.

Gilbert turned around instantly, the Captain let out a short and charming laugh.

"Boy you do not turn your back when someone's holding a gun in front of you!" She exclaimed. "You must be truly too new in this scene, why in the hell are you mingling with pirates?"

"Why is a siren leading them to victories?" He still has his back to her. "Aren't you supposed to... uh..."

"Finish that sentence, boy."

"I would rather not to," He said quietly.

He didn't hear her move, but somehow she'd circled the tub and was now standing in front of him again (thankfully now wearing a silky robe to cover her human form), the gun finding its way to his chest, and the cold metal causing him to jump back.

"I said," She repeated calmly, "finish that sentence."

"I'm sorry, Captain," He started, trying not to sweat. Were mermaids capable of hearing a man's heartbeat? "My father used to tell me stories about the sirens and their... unusual habits."

"Unusual indeed," She smirked. "All true as well."

Okay, now he was scared.

"All those treasures, all those stones you humans keep like they belong to you…” She started, “They all come from nature, and some of them belonged to us first. Some of my peers decided that eating the humans were the easiest way to get rid of you but you’re smart enough to learn not to repeat past mistakes. Soon enough you were avoiding our islands, and we were abandoned to our luck by our rulers. I'd had enough, if you can fight it, you can at least learn to control it, so I did.” Her eyes had a bit of sadness in them that she quickly covered with her usual glare.

"Sloane knows what you are, he’ll kill you…"

"Sloane was an accident," She frowned. "That nasty rat! Thought that after all these years under my protection he had at least a bit of loyalty towards me, but you humans have flimsy minds and those pesky emotions... I should've seen it coming, you're all liars. He got obsessed with who I really was and when I told him I cannot have those human feelings I guess he took it as an insult. Men are completely empty-headed.”

He was certainly insulted by this, but she still had her gun pointing at him so he decided not to make any comments.

"Why are you helping me?" She asked. "If you, like Sloane, are expecting to gain my favor..."

"No," He quickly responded. “It’s… it’s true, I'm not a pirate. I’m not like them.”

The hand holding the gun lowered, but only by half an inch.

"What are you?"

"I'm the son of King Blythe."

She froze in place, her eyes widening in shock and then... she laughed. She laughed and lowered her gun, walking away from him.

"A Prince!" She said in amusement. "Are you trying to teach dear father a lesson? Is this your way of showing him you’re not just a boy?"

"You stole his crown," He replied with more courage than the one he actually felt. "I'm here to take it back."

"So you were going to kill me," She smiled. "See? All of you, liars."

"I'm not!" He defended. "Listen, just give me the crown, we can make a deal."

"I don't make any deals with fake royalty," She eyed him up. "A human prince comes into my ship and demands I give him back the treasures his people stole from others. Not only that, but he promises he won't kill me if I cooperate! How charming must be, to have such an empty and conceited mind…”

Gilbert was about to answer when a lamp was thrown into the room through one of the windows, shattered glass spread across the floor along with flames and Shirley's mouth fell open in outrage.

"I told you!" Gilbert yelled in irritation. "We've lost precious time! It's too late now!"

"Get out of my way!" She yelled over the banging sounds her former men trying to break the door. She ran over to where her sword was and took it with her dominant hand while the other held her gun expertly.

"You're gonna need my help!” Gilbert insisted.

"Oh please, pretty boy," She scoffed. “You know nothing about me."

"I've done proper training, I can fight!"

"You won't last!"

"You have no one else!" They were shouting at this point, the door was going down splinter by splinter and lightining was falling from the sky, announcing the callous storm. "Give me a sword!"

"You'll kill me!" She replied. Her hair was still damp and every time she moved tiny drops would land on Gilbert's clothes. "I won't die like this!"

"I won't kill you if you give me the crown!" He growled. "You can keep everything else, I don't care for it! You're right, we steal, that's all we do, but I need that crown before winter!"

"Why?!"

"Because the King is dying!"

A harsh bang and one of the handgrips fell. The fire was spreading quickly and it was her against everyone on that ship. That could easily change though, she just had to trust the prince. Shirley groaned in frustration and ran over to were she kept her extra weapons, when she came back, it was with a second sword that she offered to him hastily.

"I'm going to regret this," She grumbled.

The door finally gave in, and as the dust and storm made its way into the room, she asked him:

"Ready, Prince of Blythe?"

"Yes," He lied.

As a large group of men ran into the room holding swords, guns, and knives, a dazzling lighting turned everything white, blinding him briefly.

____________________

Gilbert woke up.

Outside his room a second thunder caught his attention, there was a storm outside but he'd forgotten to close the window before going to bed and now the breeze was hitting his face fully. He got up, slightly dizzy from his sleepy state and with the memories of his dreams making everything confusing.

He touched his desk on his way back as if to make sure he was in his real room. The light from the street illuminated the place where Gilbert had been sleeping moments ago. Half of his covers were a little wet from the time the rain started and he was knocked unconscious by all the time he'd spent walking around town with Winne.

He pulled the covers out of his bed and left them on the floor, Mary would certainly be pissed the next morning if those covers ended up smelling, but he was too tired to care, he'd wash them later.

He crawled his way back and fell heavily on his pillow, the smell of dry roses raising like a faint reminder of this other world, this other life he'd shared with this striking redheaded pirate.

"The mermaid…” He mumbled, half asleep. His eyes widened, Gilbert sat up abruptly and repeated, this time in a much more shocked tone, “Pirate!"

____________________

"I'm..." Anne mumbled, half asleep. "I'm... Pirate!"

Her eyes opened lazily in the dark, her own voice had woken her up though she didn't remember what she'd said. In her phone the time said four in the morning and the sound coming from her window told her it was raining outside. It was too dark to see anything but what the lightning showed her from time to time whenever it blasted across the nightsky.

Anne sighed in contentment, this was her favorite weather to wake up to apart from that early morning bliss she could get from hearing the birds singing outside on the cherry tree every summer. What a treasure it was, to be able to experience these kinds of sounds and smells, and colors. How sad that the king wouldn't get to witness those in the near future...

Anne frowned as she caught her own thought. What was she talking about?

Her dream of course! -She turned once more on the bed, hiding under the covers- She's not going to remember all this tomorrow, of that she's sure… but what a nice dream though, the Prince was specially endearing.

Taglist.

@ninizkd @http-itsrebecca @fuckthisshitimoutyall @just-here-to-escape-from-reality​​ @little-boats-on-a-lake @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual

[susoftjockau]

Has Connie yet considered that Steven can literally carry her like a feather anywhere she wants and how unfairly attractive that is?

Connie was a very strong woman. Tennis was a sport that benefited from weightlifting, and her parents had happily sent her to every self-defense class she could find, and those two things combined had made her confident in her physical abilities. She never really had to use that strength, or the self-defense moves she had learned, but nowadays Connie was quite confident that she was a force to be reckoned with. She was all dense, powerful muscles with a head for strategy. Sure, she hadn’t been in a lot of fights, but she was sure she would be able to handle it. She’d pinned all those boys in her self-defense classes, after all.

Which was why Steven carrying her around like an unruly toddler left her in an utterly wild state of emotions. From what she had seen with the gems, carrying around anyone shorter than you was standard operating procedure, and post-growth spurt Steven apparently took that to heart. She remembered the first time it happened, when she was talking to Ophelia after practice. Steven had tapped her on the shoulder and said, “We’ve gotta get going. I’m not gonna have time to finish making dinner before the movie.”

She looked back at him with a giggle. “Then you go make dinner and give me a call when it’s ready. I’m having a very important conversation about how Oceandale is a trash show with terrible writing.”

She had absolutely not expected for Steven to pluck her up like a blanket and toss her over his shoulder. She didn’t even know how to react, just a small gasp and a hot face as Ophelia burst into giggled and waved. “Guess Steven says no! Later, Connie!”

It took a minute, and Steven was halfway across the stadium before she sighed. “You made your point, dork. Let me down.”

“Nah,” he said cheerfully. “It’s kinda chilly. You’re a good scarf.”

She laughed and squirmed a little, only to find that her squirming didn’t budge him. She frowned, pushing a little harder, then shoving with all the strength in her arms and legs. Any humans would have stumbled. Even a bodybuilder would have flinched as her muscles flexed and strained, but all that got from Steven was a little chuckle as he readjusted her on his shoulder. The little bounce made her squeak as she lost purchase and flopped back down. “Are you really trying or just playing?”

He hadn’t even noticed. That should have been embarrassing (and it was, a little) but, instead, her stomach twisted up, her heart racing a little from the thought. He really was strong, wasn’t he? She was just kind of stuck here, thrown over his shoulder. His really broad shoulders. He was so soft it wasn’t even uncomfy, but there was all that firm muscle underneath that she could feel as he walked. He could just hold her forever, take her wherever. He could walk off behind a building, maybe, and she would just sort of be carried along for the ride. And if he swung her around and kissed her, strong arms locking her in place as his mouth was all strong and hot and irresistible over-

Uh oh, not this again. She yelped and shoved at him again. Another chuckle. “Do you want down?”

She squawked with outrage, giving his back a hard thump with her fist, since he was apparently impossible to hurt. “Don’t say it like that! I’m an adult!”

He laughed, her free hand (he was only using one hand, that wasn’t fair!) coming up to cover his mouth. “Sorry. Do you want me to put you down? I can’t tell if you’re actually trying.”

“Of course I’m not,” she mumbled. Her pride was a little wounded, but worse was the fact that every word out of his mouth only made this stupid situation hotter. This was why they only ever did friendly cuddles. She wouldn’t get worked up from friendly cuddles. Well, she did get worked up from friendly cuddles sometimes, but being reminded that Steven was strong enough that even her impressive athleticism was like a kitten against a tiger was much worse.

He slid her down, arms wrapped around her waist her he brought them face to face. She pointed her toes and wiggled her feet a little, trying to find the ground, but Steven was still effortlessly holding her up. Stupid growth spurt. Stupid tall boy. Maybe it was problematic to prefer tall boys. Obviously, if it was problematic, she could and should stop enjoying looking up at him immediately. Mmm, she definitely was not getting all tingly from looking slightly up at him, without her feet touching the ground, and admiring that he was nearly twice as broad as her. Of course she wasn’t. Dammit.

“You were trying your best, weren’t you?” She tried to hold back the pout, but it was too late. He saw, and a grin burst across his face. 

She put her hand over his stupid face. Smug grins were also not attractive and did not put butterflies in her stomach. “Shut up, Steven.”

He shook off her hand with a giggle. “Connie, I can lift buildings.”

“I’m very strong,” Connie mumbled, looking away as her pout deepened. “I’ve pinned lots of boys before.”

He laughed harder. “You’re not lift buildings strong! Connie, I’m magic. Even for a gem I’m really, really strong. I can literally pin you with a foot without getting up from the couch.”

It was absolutely not fair that he could say something like that and she wasn’t allowed to yell at him for it. He was not allowed to put an image in her head of him showing off his super strength, sitting lazily on her couch while his foot rested on her chest, with no leverage at all, and kept her absolutely pinned. There were biological reasons to enjoy a strong partner. Even someone who wasn’t hopelessly in love (which she wasn’t) would find that kind of thing attractive. Her thoughts were starting to drift towards other things on could do while being pinned by a strong partner, and she grumbled, “Stop bragging already.”

“Aw, hey.” He kissed her forehead, setting her down. He was even taller from this point of view. Oh, for the love of all that was good, could her brain and body tone down the pining for a minute? Steven ruffled her hair gently. “While dinner’s cooking, we can wrestle, and I’ll let you pin me. Wanna try that?”

“No,” she muttered. It was absolutely not exciting in a similar yet different way to imagine pinning superboy Steven to the ground and feeling like she was wielding power over one of the strongest beings in the universe, no sir. Platonic friends absolutely did not get all tingly and giddy from head to toe at an idea like that. Outside her head, Steven simply raised an expectant eyebrow andshe was forced to confess, “Okay, yeah! Yes. I’m cranky you have superpowers and I want to prove I’m strong.”

“You are strong,” he said sweetly.

Her heart fluttered, and she buried that feeling deep with churlishness instead. Connie ordered, “Let me give you a piggyback ride too.”

It turned out that carrying Steven around only made him more likely to carry her. This was mostly fine, because Connie was not attracted to Steven, and if she told herself that enough maybe someday it would be true.

- @universallywriting

[pale-silver-comb]

I forget what episode it was, but what are your thoughts and feelings about the time Eliot broke Parker's pinata? I love Eliot but that was a real dick move. I just wanted to hug Parker and punch Eliot in the nose.

I think that’s the Gone Fishin' Job.

Hmm, honestly? I never really saw it as a dick dick move. Eliot can say or do things that are mean but I don’t consider that to be one of them. Not to that extent anyway. While I ship Parker, Hardison and Eliot romantically, Eliot’s relationship with Parker can sometimes come off as squabbling siblings or like two five year olds on the school playground. Not in a way that would make me ship them platonically. More just that’s their brand of fighting. Parker pokes and prods at Eliot to see what he’ll do. She enjoys pushing his buttons. Sometimes he pushes her away, sometimes he snarks at her and sometimes he just lets her do what she likes.

I mean, if Parker had just come in her with piñata and Eliot had gone up to her and smashed it for no reason because he was tired of seeing it?  Or if she had said “stop” or “no” when Eliot was wrestling with it? Oh man, yeah, I would have been like “wtf???” But Parker has already opened her piñata and is deliberately pouring all the contents on the table and, more importantly, she empties what’s inside onto Eliot/Eliot’s side of the table. Not Sophie’s side or even in the middle, but she deliberately swings her body towards Eliot. Now, while I don’t think that was Parker asking for her piñata to get broken, I do think that was Parker’s way of engaging Eliot in play, like she often does. Eliot and Parker have a very specific rapport and it’s for that reason she does this type of thing only with Eliot. I mean, Parker has literally chucked a crowbar at Eliot’s head before. They are actual children. She knows what’s coming and so does he. (Unfortunately, Eliot is not having a good day, being hurt and forced to work by Nate, so he is not in the mood to have stuff dumped on him.)  They squabble - like they often do - and then he rips the head off, much like a sibling or little kid might when annoyed.

Not that a reaction makes an action okay or not okay but I don’t think Parker is genuinely upset about it either.  Lowkey sad, sure, but not in a way that I, as a viewer, am left properly angry at Eliot beyond “aww dude, no”. Although, yes, I do want to pet Parker, poor lamb, when she makes the wee sad sounds. 

I may be completely wrong and it is a dick move (I mean, did he have to do it? no) but I’ve never read that scene in a bad way because it’s pretty on brand for Parker and Eliot. It’s not an ooc moment for them. Parker knows dumping stuff on Eliot when he’s cranky is going to get some kind of equally cranky response. At this point it’s clearly part of the fun for her since she continues to do it. I mean, this is literally them:

Also because there is no way Eliot would do anything to hurt Parker on purpose. If it turned out he had hurt her and he didn’t realise how much that piñata actually meant to Parker, I am certain he’d be mending it himself or out buying her or making her another one.

That’s just my take though! With different characters who had a different relationship, I might have read it differently.